#best silver investment companies

[bullet-prooflove]

Something Else: Bode Leone x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @jeysbae @cloveroctobers @dizzybee03 @a-porcelain-gir1 @missy203 @floydsglasses @@alixw22x @shelbygeek @muligatorrr @jaybae @yousigned-upforthis @kmc1989 @brenobikenobi @mini-bee-bee @timmybradford @zippeylay @rhilee91 @switchbladeclub @itzkiarabxtches @girlinwounderland @choppedgalaxynerd @drunkangels @freecreationpost @stefani-topaz @chlo-lo14

One of Bode’s favourite things about being out on parole is the upgrade in shower facilities.

In prison you get ten minutes in the company with at least one other person, you try not to look but it’s incidental. The water was always freezing cold or scalding, there’s no in between. It was different at fire camp, you get fifteen minutes to yourself but the water pressure was shitty and the temperature tepid at best.

At home with you he gets as much hot water as he wants for as long as he wants, and baths…

They are a game changer after a hard day working construction or volunteering with Cal Fire.

Another thing he enjoys is the aromatherapy aspect. He’s used to relying on the shit they have in commissary and then what Cap was able to source from the General Store. It was always nameless, scentless, rough on his skin.

When he comes across the Wild & Sage stall at the Farmer’s Market he’s overwhelmed, he’s always liked the idea of natural products he’s just never been able to try them due to his legal predicament.

“I don’t know what to choose.” He says softly to you, his fingertips trailing over the silver reuseable containers. “There’s so many…”

“That’s what samples are for.” You say quietly, taking his hand in yours. You dab your fingers into the moisturising cream before spreading it across the back of his hand. He raises it to his nose inhaling it and that scent, the woodsy overtone, it makes everything feel a little lighter. His skin feels softer, less tight, less dry.

He spends over thirty minutes in front of that stall, talking with the vendor, trying all the samples. He works out what he likes, what he doesn’t like. He ends up spending a small fortune on toiletries, something he’s never done in his life.

“It’s nice to see you investing in yourself.” You tell him, when you come back from the florist with a bouquet of sunflowers tucked into the crook of your arm.

He smiles when the bathroom door clicks open, he sees your shape beyond the frosted glass, hears the sound of your clothes falling onto the tiles. This is the other thing he likes, the company.

“Hi.” He murmurs as you step underneath the stream of water with him.

“Hi.” You say, your fingers threading through his damp hair as you press against him.

“God you feel good.” He whispers against your lips, your fingers wrap around his cock and he inhales sharply because the sensation of your hand working him over, it’s bliss.

“But this is better right?” You tease, your thumb tracing over the tip of his cock.

He moans into your mouth because you, you have magic hands. He’ll never get tired of the way you touch him, the light brush of your fingertips, the steady intense pressure of your palm. The ecstasy, it builds in the base of his spine, searing through his synapses as you stroke him a little faster, a little harder. His breathing becomes ragged, his kisses messy, he’s right there at the edge of the precipice when your pussy envelops him.

He can’t think, he can’t breathe, all he can do revel in the sensation of that tight wet heat as it grips him.

“Baby.” He drawls as you clench around the tip of his dick. “Fuck baby, fuck!”

He comes so fucking hard that he sees stars, his release spilling into you. When he pulls out, it coats the head of his cock. You grasp his shaft, smearing his spent all over your pussy and he almost loses it all over again. You kill him with this shit, he swears to God, you do.

“You are something else you know that?” He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest coming to rest upon yours. “Truly you are.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mistressofpuppets86]

Fireworks of our own

Pairing: Present day James Hetfield x reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Synopsis: You’re settling into life in a new town and a new state after a massive and massively unexpected inheritance. You become close with the highly recognizable and hot as fuck heavily tattooed… and somewhat recently divorced… silver fox that you learn lives across the street from you.

Warnings: 18+. There will be smut. Minors, fuck off. RPF. 1st person POV. 20-ish year age gap. Reader is early 40s, James is 60. Reader’s race is not mentioned or described, but is AFAB and female identifying. Due to the lack of female readers with my body type when body type is described/hinted at, reader is also short and somewhat plus-sized, and has small breasts. Unprotected sex. Public sex. Creampie.

Moving into the large expensive house I’d inherited in Colorado turned out to be one of my smarter decisions.  The house used to belong to my step-aunt and step-uncle.  I didn’t find out until after they were both gone that they’d made an agreement codified in their wills.  What it boiled down to was that their biological relatives were a bunch of greedy vultures who loved to squabble over anything of value, vying with each other for the best of whatever it was and only caring about what benefit there was for themselves in literally any situation.  It shocked me as much as anyone when I was the one named sole beneficiary of their entire estate.  I don’t know what would have happened had I turned it down, but turning down enough of a bank account to make me independently wealthy plus a variety of stocks and other investments that were continuing to provide income and a plush house in the ski town of Vail was not something I would do.  I never had to work again if I didn’t want to, and the house was entirely paid off.  It would have been complete idiocy to reject all that.  In further interest of not being a complete idiot, I also took measures as soon as possible to ensure my step-aunt’s and step-uncle’s wishes were respected.  In the event of my untimely death, ‘those people’ would still inherit nothing.  I used the same lawyers my step-aunt and step-uncle had to ensure my will was as ironclad as theirs had been, in case ‘those people’ contested mine as my step-aunt’s and step-uncle’s had been contested when I was named sole heir.

What surprised me was how friendly the rest of the residents were, and how patient they were in getting me integrated into the community.  Being autistic and having ADHD made social interactions feel weird and awkward to me when I was around new people.  Everyone in Vail was new to me.  I’d moved here alone and used a moving company to do all the hard work for me.  My friends were all online and lived in other states if not other countries so it hadn’t seemed like a big deal for me.  Especially since I was such an introverted type by nature.  But something about Vail put me at ease and made it easier for me to open up to people.  It helped that they were understanding of my differences and made an effort to work with them rather than treating me with pity or like I was something to be shunned.

The real shock was my across-the-street neighbor turning out to be James fucking Hetfield of all people.  Thankfully he’d been amused rather than weirded out by my reaction to seeing him and learning he was my neighbor now.  I didn’t hide that I was a fan, but I did at least try to keep things mellow in his presence.  It helped that he was super down to earth and generally a fun guy to be around.  It didn’t take me long to relax around him while we talked and got to know each other.  I definitely had my freak-out once I was alone in my house though.

That was months ago.  Now we’re at a local park for a Fourth of July community event.  I had worn a cute spaghetti strap lavender dress with white flowers on it.  The hemline fell to a little below my knees, and there was a slit from the hem to mid thigh on the left.  The skirt part was flared enough to mostly hide my chubby belly while the bodice was a little fitted to give me some shape, with lightly padded breast cups that flattered my small bust.  I’d paired it with black strappy low-heeled wedge sandals and my hair was brushed and twisted up in a claw clip.  I spritzed on some orange-vanilla-cinnamon body spray, and was ready.  I had never been a makeup girl so I didn’t even own any.  James had given me a look I couldn’t interpret when he’d rung my doorbell so we could drive over together, but he’d also offered me his arm with a playful grin.  I’d happily taken it, grinning back and trying to ignore the way my heart fluttered in my chest as we walked to his vehicle together.  He was looking especially good himself today.  Well-fitted jeans, a t-shirt that hugged his lean body just right and showed off his tattoos, and one of his many pairs of black boots.  One of his many cowboy style hats sat on top of his silvered head.  Normally that kind of thing didn’t have any special effect on me.  But when that sort of hat was on him, it made the song lyric ‘save a horse ride a cowboy’ come to mind.

He parked and we walked toward the entrance.  When I saw just how many people were gathered in the park, my steps faltered.  It was weird.  I’d had no crowd anxiety at the few concerts I’d managed to get to, but this made me hesitate.  Maybe it was because at concerts I was surrounded by fellow metalheads and felt safe there.  Even when I didn’t know them personally we were already bonded through the music and shared love of the same band.  That connection and feelings of belonging and community weren’t present here at the park.  I’d barely stopped walking when I felt James’s arm drape over my shoulders and pull me in close to him.  I looked up at him even as I leaned against him and wrapped an arm around his waist.  Instead of the irritation or other negative emotions I had expected to see in his face and eyes there was nothing but understanding, patience, and reassurance.  “We’ve got this, babe” he murmured, giving me a squeeze.  I smiled up at him and gave his waist a squeeze as my heart flipped in my chest at the endearment and his embrace.  Then we entered the park together.

Once the initial anxiety had dissipated I was able to relax and enjoy the afternoon.  James insisted on paying for everything no matter how much I protested and reminded him I had my own money.  He countered that it was the gentlemanly thing to do.  Having no answer to that, I gave up trying to prevent him from doing it.  What was even more surprising to me was that he didn’t end up mobbed by fans.  I was sure at least some people recognized him - especially with his tattoos so readily visible and recognizable - no one approached for autographs or photos or anything.  With as at ease as he was, I could only be happy for him that he could still go out in public and do normal things like anyone else.  

We both lost most of the carnival games we played, but James had a decent win at one of them and insisted I pick out the prize since he intended for me to keep it anyway.  I chose the plush possum - about the size of a housecat - as soon as I spotted it.  I tucked it into the tote bag I was carrying, positioning it so the fuzzy head was sticking up out of the top.  “So he can see everything going on” I joked, making James laugh.  

As night fell we found ourselves at the edge of the grassy area that had been set aside for fireworks viewing.  With the setting sun, the warmth from the day seeped away and left everything on the chillier side.  Enough that it made me glad for the two blankets we’d brought… one to sit on, and one to cover up with.  We ended up with him using the tote bag as a pillow, and me - at his insistence - using his shoulder as a pillow.  Not that I minded, of course.  His arm wrapped around me and kept me close beside his warm solidness.  Without thinking about it, I rolled onto my side and snuggled closer with an arm over his waist.  I felt him stiffen for a second and panicked that I’d overstepped, but then I felt him relax and his arm tightened around me in a brief squeeze.  “Comfy?” he asked playfully, his voice low enough only I could hear what he said.

I shifted my head to look at him and my heart skipped at how close his face was to mine.  It was difficult to see much in the darkness but I could make out the amused quirk of his lips.  “Very much so… babe” I replied just as softly and playfully, pointedly tossing his earlier endearment back at him.

James let out a quiet bark of a laugh.  “Shit.  And here I thought I’d gotten away with that” he joked, the tip of his nose brushing against mine.  I knew he could feel my racing heart but he said nothing about it.

“Mmm… you kinda did, in a way” I murmured, rubbing my nose against his in turn.  “Clearly I didn’t mind you calling me that since I didn’t raise any protest.  And I certainly wouldn’t be laying like this with you right now” I pointed out even as I felt him roll onto his side facing me.  He murmured a quiet agreement, his lips close enough to mine I could feel his breath as he spoke.  Then his lips were on mine, tentative and testing at first then with more confidence and assurance when I responded eagerly and kissed him back.  A soft moan left my throat and my leg slid over his hip, my own hips pressing against him.  I felt the rumble of his moan too and his strong hand spread over the curve of my ass, pulling me even more tightly against him.  Tight enough I could feel his hard cock through his jeans.  I rolled my hips against his and deepened the kiss.

Carefully, James slid my dress up over my hips to my waist and my own hand tugged his jeans zipper down, fingers delving into the fabric to free his length.  I could feel exactly how thick he was too, my hand wrapping around him and stroking until his hand gently took hold of my wrist.  “Gonna bust like a virgin boy if you keep that up” he growled softly in my ear.  “And I wanna be in you when I bust” he added with a nip that made me whimper in pleasure as much as his words did.  I let him take control again, his long fingers tugging my panties to the side and guiding his tip through my slick folds.  “Holy fuck you’re soaked” he murmured as he sank into me.  I made a noise of need, and he quickly smothered the sound with another searing kiss as his hips slowly rolled and he thrust into and out of me.

The way he filled me was absolute perfection, and each drag and push of his cock would have had me moaning loud enough for us to be caught even over the noise from the fireworks show starting had he not kept his mouth on mine and my tongue busy with his.  It was bliss and torture at the same time that he kept his pace steady, his movements small but intense so we could both finish but hopefully not have our activities noticed.  “James… getting close” I murmured against his lips, my pussy fluttering around his cock as he brought me closer to my peak.

“Good.  Cum for me, my love.  Cum all over this cock” he murmured back.  The command in his tone, him calling me his love, and the way he was fucking me sent me over the edge.  He kissed me hard to keep my moans muffled, grunting softly and bucking into me hard as he followed me over that edge, his hot seed shooting deep into me and filling me to the brim.  We lay there in each others’ arms after, his cock still buried inside me, kissing slowly and languidly for a short while.  But then the finale of the fireworks happened and we knew our cover would be up soon.  He withdrew from me and tugged my panties back into place before his cum could leak out onto my thighs.  Then he kissed me once more and rolled onto his back to tuck his cock back into his pants and zip up.  We pulled our arms out from under the blanket to make everything look innocent just in time for the end of the display and the other attendees to start packing up to go home.

“What did you two think of the show?” a man around my age with a woman who looked to be about the same age at his side asked us as James helped me to my feet and we started folding up the blankets and gathering our things by the light of cell phone flashlights.  James and I exchanged a mischievous look and grinned.

“It was great” I replied, my voice even.  “Best display I’ve ever seen” I added.

“I was just telling my girlfriend how much better the show was this year than last year” James added, his eyes and smile full of mischief.  I felt my cheeks heat but I grinned back and made a comment about how I was glad to have been part of it.  Warmth blossomed in my chest at him declaring me his girlfriend.  The other couple seemed a little surprised but continued the conversation and didn’t seem to be judging either James or I over the obvious age gap between us.  I couldn’t tell if they knew who James was and accepted it as a general celebrity thing or if they were just chill like that.  Either way worked for me.

James draped his arm over my shoulders again and I put my arm around his waist as we walked back to the parking lot, each of us carrying things as we had done coming in.  His cum slowly leaked out of my hole and soaked my panties as we walked.  When we got to the vehicle, I reached for one of the blankets to put on my seat for the drive home.  He raised an eyebrow in question.  “If I don’t put down a barrier, I’m going to leave a wet patch on your seat from your cum soaking through my clothes” I said bluntly, leaning in close.  He smirked at me and held me close with his hands on my hips.  My arms went around his neck and he kissed me gently.

“Mmm… worth it though” he teased, making my cheeks heat again.  He kissed me once more and gave my ass a double-handed squeeze.  “Now let’s get home so we can get fully naked.  I wanna taste your pussy before I fuck you properly and have you screaming my name while I fill you with my cum again” he growled softly in my ear.  I shivered and made a needy sound that brought a grin to his lips.  When he released me and went to the driver side with long strides, I wasted no time getting into the vehicle and closing the door, buckling my seatbelt.  My panties were wet with more than just James’s cum, and I was eager for not just the rest of the night with him but the rest of our lives together.  I knew, somehow, that we belonged only to each other now.

[sunsblogs]

CADECON - SİLVER

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[munsonownsmyass]

Joel Miller x reader

Summary: When Joel spots some coffee, he's willing to trade just about anything to get it.

Notes: Okay, so this is a horny thought that was caused by this convo between me, @boliv-jenta and @misspearly1 . So we just kinda decided to all have a go at "What would you or Joel trade for coffee" and well... here it is.

Warning: Pining, if you squint? Joel being a simp for coffee, kissing, SMUT! 18+, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, fluff.

Life could easily get boring in the apocalypse, but one highlight during the lonesome days were whenever Joel stopped by. Your little town were not far away from Jackson, and you’ve formed an alliance, helping each other out. Most of the time it was simple trades, Joel usually the one making the trips. From time to time, he brought Ellie. You always enjoyed their company, although Joel’s was the one you craved most.

Stoic and closed off to most people, you got to see his softer side. A side of himself he rarely showed others, but Ellie brought it out in him. And then of course there was the fact that Joel was very handsome. Like ‘daydreaming about him’ handsome. You would often catch yourself not listening when he spoke, lost in the depts of his brown eyes or the way the sun would fall on his scruffy, yet perfect face.

Today was one of those days. His hair was freshly cut, making the silver streaks shine in the sun and his scruff had been tamed, making him look younger, lighter. As he speaks to one of your companions, you get lost in his features, shamelessly staring at his perfect lips as he talks. Wondering if anyone has ever looked this good, you will yourself to move, sighing heavily as you prepare the goods for him to take home.

Behind you, Joel stops at the door, offering to help you pack. And of course, you oblige, taking every change you can get at spending more time with him. Often, he just gives you short answers, other things probably weighing heavy on his mind. But some days, he talks more and a few times you’ve managed to make him laugh. Okay, maybe just a little chuckle, but it was still the best sound you’ve ever heard.

Deeply invested in a story about your recent hunting failure, you don’t notice Joel stopped packing and is staring at one of the shelves. When the answer never comes to your question, you turn and find him with a bag of coffee in his hands.

“Coffee? You have coffee?” He says cautiously, almost as if the coffee could disappear at any moment. You almost want to laugh, the expression on his face unlike anything you’ve seen. How a bag of grinded up beans could make anyone’s eyes shine with such glee, is quite endearing. “Yeah, we have coffee. There are more bags out in the bigger storage.” You say softly, walking over to him.

”What can I trade you for it?” He asks, turning the bag around in his hand. It’s funny how his eyes light up as he looks at the coffee, almost like he’s looking at a long-lost lover. Giggling softly, you take the bag from him.

“Do you even know how much this is worth?” You shake the bag lightly, before throwing it back on the shelf. “Imagine all the stuff I could get for it.”

You know he hears you, but Joel doesn’t even look at you. His eyes linger on the bag, and you can actually see the desperation in his eyes. Never really liked the taste, you didn’t understand the yearning people could have for the smelly, dark liquid.

“I could get you whatever you wanted.” He states, taking a step closer. He leans against a shelf, and you can see the wheels turning. “There must be something I could give you.”

“A kiss.”

You blurt it out without thinking, instantly regretting your words. You’ve wanted Joel for a long time, but you’ve kept it hidden. Well, until now. Turning around slowly, you barely meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, I... I didn’t…”

Fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you mentally scold yourself, already prepared for his rejection and ready to move away to spare yourself the shame. “You just look like a good kisser, is all.”

‘You look like a good kisser?’. Mortified that you even said that, you move to run away but is stopped by Joel’s hand on your shoulder. His finger hooks under your chin, gently forcing you to look at him. Here it comes, the rejection you’ve feared.

But it doesn’t come. He just looks into your eyes, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. Then he leans in, his lips finding yours. His soft, perfect, incredible lips. With your heart racing, threatening to burst through your chest, you wrap your arms around him, not wanting to ever let go. It’s good. So incredibly good. And the small moan coming from Joel was beyond good.

Breaking away for air, you gasp, still unable to process it. You kissed Joel. He kissed you. But… did he only do it for the coffee? Before you can ask, his lips claim yours again. Turning you around, Joel pushes you against a wall, sweet moans filling the air as he presses against you, caging you in.

You taste the faint hint of whiskey on his tongue as you deepen the kiss, the hunger for him taking over. Slipping a hand under the hem of his shirt, you rest your palms against the warm skin of Joel’s stomach. He shivers under your touch, one hand gripping your hip as he braces himself against one of the top shelves with the other.

He pushes your legs apart, his thigh grinding against your core. You whimper at his touch, your needy fingers clawing under his shirt at his soft flesh. A smirk spreads across his face when he pulls away. He chuckles softly, cheeks flushed red as he takes you in. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

“I-” You pause, still trying to catch your breath, your whole body on fire. “I think you earned that coffee.”

You both chuckle, Joel resting his forehead against yours for a minute, only to lean back down and press a soft kiss to your lips. “Nah, darling, we ain’t done yet.”

With a mischievous smile he backs away, his eyes never leaving yours as he closes the door to the small storage and locking it. The second he returns his lips are on you, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin on your neck. You almost rip his shirt off, not having much patience to unbutton it. You just want to feel him against you, been craving it for so long.

Joel guides you to the nearest table, swiping away some cans to make room for you. They fall to the floor with a loud bang, but you don’t even care. All you can think about is the man in front of you and how much you want him. With frantic hands, you both pull at each other’s clothes, idle fingers exploring every inch of bare skin. It’s a mess of heated kisses, teeth and touches, Joel leaving marks on your skin, your nails clawing into his shoulders.

Joel buries his fingers in you, his skilled fingers working you open enough to take him. He hits that perfect place you, making you cry out his name in bliss. Unable to hold back any longer, Joel lines himself up at your entrance, coating his cock in your slick.

He bottoms out in one thrust, setting a brutal pace. He rams into you hard, making you moan out in pleasure at his rough, deep rhythm. The table rams into the backwall with every thrust, cans and bags falling to the ground. But neither of you care, to far gone in each other.

“Fuck, darling. You feel so good.” He drawls in your ear, his hands gripping your hips harder as his hips slap against you, filling you with every drag of his delicious cock. His pace quickens as he chases his release, his fingers rubbing your clit in rhythm with his cock. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

And with his sweet praise, you’re gone. Your orgasm ripples through you like an inferno, your tight little cunt convulsing around him. Joel grunts as he buries himself deep inside you, filling you with him cum. Thrusting a few more times, riding out his high, Joel peppers your skin and lips with soft kisses, muttering under his breath what a good girl you were for him, how good you felt.

You claim his lips again, the kiss sweet and tender. For a while you just stand there, hearts beating wildly in your chests as you both come down from your highs. You hold onto him for as long as you can, not wanting him to go back to Jackson. It could be months before he came back, if ever. As if he senses your concern, he softly cups your cheek, bringing your eyes to his.

“Ever wanted to see Jackson?”

TFC girls: @mindidjarin @e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @pedrito-friskito @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @thisishellfire @officialjanetsnakehole

No pressure tagging: @fandomnerdery @lucy-sky @missbeewrites @charnelhouse @absurdthirst @scorpio-marionette @wildemaven @iamskyereads @littlemisspascal @darlingshane @kirsteng42 @firstofficerwiggles @chasingdreamer @writerwoed

[terrence-silver]

What if John disapproved of beloved? Would Terry go as far as leaving them, Is he more loyal to him than to beloved?

---

Okay, I mean, to answer this, we got to research the supposed thirty something years of weird stalemate and absence John Kreese had in Terry's life and how Terry said, to quote, 'It's the best thing that's ever happened to him', which sounds like something someone embittered who had his heart broken by a close friend would more or less say anyway in the vein of 'You left!? Well, guess what!? It did me a world of good!' even though they're still hurting and reeling and probably will for the rest of their lives. Even their world actually collapsed when it happened.

I actually believe Terry Silver has a limit in patience. Perhaps not in devotion.

But, in patience? Yes.

Terry literally had the Cobra tattoo removed from his rib at some point or other and left a scarred maw behind because, well, yeah, if there's a brotherhood of two and one of the brothers leaves, there's no more brotherhood.

He's not a dog that can exactly be kicked without consequences.

You do it once and you wind up in jail under false charges, as witnessed with Kreese's case.

😬

I think his limit comes about when he tries everything --- and I do mean everything --- and nothing he throws at the wall for a person sticks or makes them happy. Truly content. Like in the case of John, Terry tortured a teenager for him, bribed referees, procured a champion, trained said champion, meanwhile, sent his depressed friend on a vacation, bought revenue locations for him all over town, offered him jobs time and time again, tried to bankroll his entire existence and ultimately, John still disappeared on him ---- or rather, made it clear he didn't want to be found. I think the fact Terry attempted so much and went truly and above and beyond for a friend only to still have that friend turn his back on him led to such a huge psychical shift and even breakdown for him that it shook Terry's existence and for a while, it is safe to say he indeed left John be for ages even though I'm convinced a man of his means undoubtedly knew exactly where the guy was; which means...Terry has the capacity to be loyal to himself and let the situation germinate untouched under extreme measures, and do so for thirty years. Ironically...it is still a form of devotion. If Johnny said, leave me be for the rest of my life, Terry could very well do it because it's anything Johnny says, always, for the rest of his life --- but I digress.

Point is; Terry Silver has limits.

Which means...if John didn't approve of beloved...and if it went to some really excessive measures where beloved's very existence could endanger their friendship, Terry Silver might just break away...but only ever if he himself considered beloved worthy enough for it. Very important to note.

He won't do this for just anyone. If for anyone.

Because I think Terry's self aware; like, don't figure he's gonna mess up half a lifetime of knowing John Kreese over someone he's randomly fucking or someone who's company he's effectively sponsoring, for example --- if John said he didn't like someone who has temporary written all over them, Terry could be very easily influenced by his Captain to leave such a person --- I mean, he very clearly leaves Cheyenne without a word and nobody can tell me it's, among others, not because it was blatantly obvious John didn't like her. So happened Terry internally agreed, cut his losses and moved on because he just about knew this would be the result of the relationship sooner than later anyway. You don't invest your stocks into a sinking ship; it's just basic business and Terry Silver's a businessman, first and foremost.

What if his relationship wasn't a sinking ship?

What if it was sturdy? Durable? Meant to last?

I think Terry would be heartbroken he has to do this, that he has to choose, that his hand is pushed like this, but he and John would have a huge fallout and it wouldn't be easy. It would be messy. Unhinged. Volatile. It would just about be the hardest decision Terry probably had to make where his connection to someone is concerned; he'd feel controlled. Ripped out of his own roots. Forced to choose. Lacking choices and authority, which he'd undoubtedly despise. He'd feel cornered --- and when a beast is cornered, it bites. It would leave behind this huge, gaping wound behind and Terry would try time and time again to make it work, but ultimately, if it didn't, he'd let John go and that would possibly just shatter his mind for a long while because here he was, attached at the hip with John since they were effectively boys in uniform and they were meant to die for each other, if need be, and here John was, leaving over something as offensive as Terry finding true love. John had his shot fair and square, Terry would be convinced --- with Betsy and Terry was happy for him when it happened ages ago, and now, when the opposite is true, John can't be happy for him!?

Terry Silver would be crestfallen and the distancing that takes place between him and John after this is probably the most sordid, complicated, layered and harrowing instance of two old friends falling apart imaginable to the degree if he ever had children with beloved he'd STILL downright name at least one of them John in spite of everything that happened because if the original had to be cut loose, Terry will create a new one literally out of his own flesh and blood mingled with beloved's and raise one that'll be so much a part of him he'll never leave or be able to because that's his child. His legacy. He'll have the upper hand this time. He'll ensure everything's under control. Everything will be as Terry Silver imagined it.

He'll have his own John. He'll fix the course of history this time around.

He'll have a second shot.

Terry's patience has a limit...but his devotion does not.

How's that for meta?

[strangestcase]

Ok ok i now i might sound weird. but i personally believe BTAA is probably the best Batman media available rn . due to my tastes.

-lots of rogue drama

-i mean it. it's like 80% rogue drama.

-evil and fucked up riddler let's go

-harvey makes me cry

-two face? written like a human being with a personality and a life? his ocd? i love him your honor

-the bruharvey

-worldbuilding through ad spots, tv/radio broadcasts, songs and snippets of dialogue. every now and then you'll hear some filler that tells you so much about how the people of gotham have adapted to the evil peanut rogues gallery- an ever-growing aversion to clowns, companies banking on supervillain attacks, politics, etc...

-penguin and catwoman have gone from being my last faves to being faves! every scene w em is a TREAT

-vicki vale. return of the queen!!!

-it's made me invested in ROBIN??? i can't hate any of the characters honestly.

-and the dialogue is so YUMMY everybody talks like it's a competition and i love it!!!!

-NARRATOR SASS

-the joker is amazing. he manages to be the most threatening presence in Gotham without overshadowing the other villains or overstepping on their niche and those are like the main two issues of post-silver era joker characterizations.

-the music is amazing, and so is the acting

-and of course, my favorite batman adaptation trope: ambiguous time period

please. please listen to BTAA.

[somethingkindazainy]

♡ Pairing: Minho x Jisung ♤ Genre: Mafia AU, Romeo x Romeo ♢ Chapter Warnings: Graphic descriptions of Violence, foul language throughout, alcohol use, non-con(mxf) ♧ MINORS DNI

♤ ♡ TASTE Synopsis & Chapter List ♢ ♧

<< Chapter 1 - Parley ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ Chapter 3 - Broken Compass >>

Chapter 2: The DLC

♢ ♧January - 2024♤ ♡

Minho leans against the bar, sips his water, and studies his surroundings.

The club he’s in, The DLC, has recently come up for auction, and Minho is here to assess it for potential investment. Unlike other buyers, he didn’t come here when the place was empty. It’s a nightclub, in his opinion, nightclubs are best viewed at night when it’s filled with customers. 

Assessing property is usually Seungmin's niche. Seungmin can look at things, know in his mind what it will cost to put things right, and whether it could become a viable, profitable enterprise. Seungmin would’ve visited when it was empty, a tape measure and calculator in hand and asked smart questions about turnover, footfall and margins. But Seungmin is very much a thinker, a planner, a to-do list maker. Minho is a move first, ask for forgiveness later kind of guy and doesn’t have anything except an instinctual gut feeling.

Instinctively, he feels it has potential. So far, Minho likes the location. It’s in a good area of Seoul, just south of the river and the place is heaving. The security is a little lacking, he is currently sitting at the bar with a knuckle duster in one pocket and his knife in a shoulder holster. Security would definitely need improving, but Hyunjin could easily see to that. The DJ is good, adapting his noisy music to suit the crowd. Minho would keep him on if their bid is successful, perhaps see if he’d split his time between venues. There are male and female dancers on podiums high above the dance floor, wearing little more than glitter and body paint, their gyrations keeping the crowds entertained and invigorated. He wants to keep them too. His Father will hate it. Which is another reason Minho wants it.

“Sammy! Scotch on the rocks,” a panting voice to his right says to the barman.

Minho glances at him, only a second, but within that he captures the honey colour of the young mans skin, adorned with silver jewellery, the beads of sweat on his forehead. Black hair pasted to the nape of his neck and a black silk shirt. He sees all that in one brief glance.

“Oh, hello new face,” the young man says now. A hand with several silver rings, fingers Minho’s tie. “Not the usual dress code for a night on the town.”

Minho slews his gaze over to him. The young man is facing him now, his face is sort of round, his eyes large and dark, in part because he’s wearing heavy eyeliner. Minho quite likes his smile. It’s wide and bright. 

“I’m working,” Minho says coolly. 

“Oh,” the young man lets go of his tie. “So this is very much a business not pleasure visitation? Or are you mixing the two?”

Minho sips his water, averts his gaze, “Very much business.”

The young man hums, “Well that’s a little disappointing.” He leans back against the bar, his elbow only a hair width from Minho’s own. “Now, what line of business could you possibly be in, wearing a suit to a nightclub? Don’t tell me—” he theatrically purses his lips. “Maybe you’re a talent scout for one of those big companies, out here looking for the next big thing in k-pop?” he steps in front of Minho’s eye line, and now Minho can see him in his entirety. He’s wearing a black silk shirt, tucked into black torn jeans which are in turn tucked into black almost knee high combat boots. His legs are slightly bowed and his waist is grabbable. “I could be him!”

Minho snorts.

“Judgemental,” the young man says, but he’s still smiling that smile. “I’d be an ace, just so you know.”

“Your drink, sir,” says the barman from behind Minho.

“Thanks Sammy,” the young man steps forward, steps between Minho’s legs, his hand flat against Minho’s chest and Minho is fighting to keep his breath even, but knows that his heart rate is betraying him. The young man smells of whisky and sweat and something else, not aftershave, but something that is very warm and pleasant, almost earthy.

“I’m not buying what you’re trying to sell,” Minho says into his ear and he sees the young man’s lip quirk. Probably because he knows Minho is lying. Perhaps he can sense that Minho wants him to.

“Oh, sweetheart, you couldn’t afford me if I were selling,” he pushes himself away, Minho’s tie slipping through his fingers as he drinks from his whisky glass, his throat bobbing. “And I don’t give it away either,” and he winks as he turns away, disappearing down the stairs back to the dance floor.

Minho swallows, takes a breath. Clears his throat. He feels like he’s done five rounds in the ring with Nikko. Part of him is annoyed that the young man had the audacity to touch him. The other, slightly larger part, is annoyed that he had enjoyed it. He raises his bottle to his lips, but the bottle is empty. 

“Another, sir?” The barman is good. Minho decides he’ll keep him on too.

“No thanks,” Minho stands, pulls out his wallet. “Sammy, is it?”

“Sam, sir,” the barman is close to Minho’s age. He has intricate tattoos on his forearms, a warm smile and soft brown eyes. He’s well built, muscles pulling at the seams of his shirt and a whole head taller than Minho.

“You know the gentleman that just ordered the scotch on the rocks?”

“Jisung? Yes, he’s a regular, sir. He comes here every Friday.”

“Why Friday?”

 Sam shrugs, “Probably the DJ, sir. His set is Friday. Friday’s are our most popular night.”

Minho absorbs this little tit-bit. “Would your manager be available to speak with?”

“Uh, we don’t currently have a manager, sir. Is there a problem? Perhaps I can assist?”

“No, no problem,” Minho hands Sam his business card, “I’m thinking of buying this place. I’m just wondering if there’s a reason I shouldn’t.”

Sam considers his business card for a moment. Eyes him warily.

“All confidential,” Minho assures him.

“You seem like a decent fella, so I’ll tell you why you probably want to look elsewhere,” Sam tucks the card into his pocket, leans forward on the bar. “We’ve had some trouble with the Park family. Have you heard of them?”

“I’m familiar.” There’s always a fucking catch. “What kind of trouble?”

“Drugs, mostly. They’ve been in here pushing, claiming whatever pill they have is something it’s not. We had a few OD’s last year. The owner put things in place to help prevent harm to the punters. The dancers are linked to security through ear pieces, they have a good vantage point of the surroundings, see. We have staff in the toilets now. We’re doing what we can, but I think the owner received some threats, and that’s why he’s dipping out. I don’t really know more than that.”

“Where is the current owner?”

“Last I heard, he ran off to Jeju with his family. Then this place went on the market the very next day. Wasn’t a nice way to hear you’re about to lose your job.”

“But you all stayed?”

“A few cut and run, including the managers, but I’ve been here six years. Many of the dancers too. I care about this place, and the staff. It seems unreasonable just to leave because there’s some asshats trying to ruin things. And…” he hesitates. “We’re LGBTQ+ friendly, sir.” Minho keeps his expression neutral. “There aren’t many places like this in Seoul. I don’t think many new buyers will be okay with that. The people that stayed, stayed because there isn’t anywhere safe for them to go. There isn’t anywhere else where they can be themselves.”

Minho decides he really likes Sam. It’s a gut feeling. “Thank you, Sam,” he drops some money on the bar. “Get yourself a drink.”

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t–”

“Give it to charity, if you’d feel more comfortable.”

Sam nods.

“And,” Minho drops more money on the counter. “Get a drink for Jisung.”

“Of course, sir. Shall I say it came from you?”

Discreet too. If Minho’s bid is unsuccessful, he’s finding somewhere for Sam. He’d find somewhere for all of them. “Tell him it’s from the talent scout.”

“’Talent scout’, yes, sir.”

“And Sam, if the Parks start trouble, don’t waste your time calling the police, you reach me on the number on that card.”

Sam smiles, reaches behind the bar and pulls out a baseball bat studded with nails, holds it on the counter. “I think I can handle a few thugs, but sure, if something crops up that I think we can’t handle, I’ll give you a call.”

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

“You bought this place?” Seungmin is massaging his temple with his fingers. 

It's been a month since his first visit. A week since the paperwork was signed and sealed and now The DLC is officially Clowder owned. There was no auction. Minho just made an offer too good to refuse. After that, everything happened swiftly. He’s feeling really rather proud of himself. “Yes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Seungmin sighs and it’s quite amazing that his sigh is audible above the bass of the electronic music.

Minho chuckles, “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s not viable,” Seungmin says. “Cosmetics alone will put this place in the red.”

“We’ll make it back,” Minho says. “Look at it! It’s popular.”

“It’s south of the river.”

“So? We’re expanding.”

“Father will hate it,” Seungmin pointedly nods at a tall male dancer with chocolate coloured skin, on a podium wearing metallic silver short shorts and angel wings. Nothing more. His female counterpart is wearing devil horns, a red thong and platform heels. Seungmin has gone a pretty shade of pink.

“He doesn’t like any of our places. And the fact this is south of the river means he’s unlikely to stop by for a visit. And there’s ten flats above this that I now own as well.”

“Well,” Seungmin considers this. “That’s good. The rent from them will keep this place afloat. What’s the return on each?”

“Nothing, the tenants all work here. Their last landlord stiffed them, so I’ve said they only have to pay their electric, water  and rates. In exchange they keep this place clean and going. It’s a win-win.”

Seungmin’s side eye is next level. “I am running out of fucks. You literally have no business sense.” Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, I suppose you’ve gone and done it now, so I have to come in and sort out the mess you’ve made.”

“That’s our dynamic isn’t it?” Minho signals at Sam who is hovering at the far end of the bar. “Seungmin, this is the manager, Sam. Sam, this is my brother Seungmin.”

Sam bows courteously, “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Hello,” Seungmin says soullessly.

“Sam, will you show Seungmin the books? He’ll want to see everything you have, so I’d prepare some coffee. And be candid with him. There’s no secrets when it comes to my brother. He’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to getting to the truth of things.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“Of course, sir. If it’s okay with you, I will arrange some cover for the bar and we can go to the office?”

Seungmin nods and Sam walks to the far end of the bar.

“Why’s the manager working the bar?”

“He doesn’t like being idle and he was the barman when I took over. I’m not about to argue with him.”

“You kept the original staff?”

“Yes and made Sam manager. The staff like him, and they trust him and so do I. He seems like a good man. And I’ve bought the exclusivity of the DJ. He’ll only perform at our clubs going forward. Hyunjin's coming in over the weekend to work on tightening the security.”

“This is getting worse,” Seungmin sighs and stands. “I should have brought two red pens.”

“You love it,” Minho winks at him. “I bet your nerdy little soul is getting hard just thinking about all those receipts out of order and dusty account books and—”

“I can not emphasise this enough: fuck you,” but he’s smiling. 

“—spreadsheets,” Minho groans, then laughs when Seungmin thwacks him on the shoulder.

Sam returns, he’s found a female member to cover the bar for him. “Shall we, sir?”

“Sam, every time you call me ‘sir’, I get heartburn and turn around looking for my old man. You can call me Seungmin.”

Sam smiles, “Of course. If you’d like to follow me?”

“I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” Seungmin says with the air of someone threatening one’s life. As he passes, he very deliberately hits Minho’s knee with his briefcase. Smirks.

Minho flips him off.

“That’s not very demure,” a familiar voice says now. 

Minho is smiling before he turns to look at him. Tonight Jisung is wearing a silk leopard print shirt over a tight black top. His waist pinched in black trousers. He’s wearing his usual combat boots. “Have you been lurking?”

“Me? No, I’ve been on the dance floor.” He looks Minho up and down, “Oh, dear, you’re still working. Do you ever get a night off?”

“I literally just clocked off for the night.”

“Hmm,” Jisung reaches over and loosens Minho’s tie. Undoes the top button of his shirt, his fingers feel warm as they brush Minho’s skin. “That’s a bit better. Now you look like someone who’s just clocked off.” He leans against the bar on one elbow. It accentuates the curve of his waist, his hip jutting out just so. He knows exactly what he’s doing and it takes an incredible amount of effort for Minho not to look. “Who was the cutey you were with?”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Maybe,” Jisung smiles, nods to the lady behind the bar, who immediately starts preparing his drink. “Are you going to drink tonight?”

“I’m driving.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know how to have fun. And you haven’t answered my question about your handsome male friend.”

“He’s my brother,” Minho says simply. “And you sound like someone who doesn’t know how to have fun without alcohol.”

“Sometimes, alcohol just makes things feel better.” Jisung looks at the glass of whisky that the bar staff has just placed in front of him. His smile has cooled, his eyes taking on a far off look. He looks kind of… sad, which doesn’t suit him. “Can I tell you a secret?” His fingers are touching Minho’s now, feather soft, ticklish touches. His finger tips are calloused, but still softer than Minho’s

Minho watches Jisung's thumb trace his scarred knuckles. Waits.

“I’m actually a very shy person in the real world.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” Minho says, allowing his fingers to trace the creases on Jisung’s palm. 

Jisung smiles at him, let’s go, starts to walk backwards, “Maybe I’ll see you on the dance floor?” and too soon he’s gone, lost in the throng of the revellers. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” the girl behind the bar says. “He didn’t take his drink.”

Minho unknots his tie, wraps it around his hand and drops it into his coat pocket. He’s warm, and he knows it has very little, if anything, to do with the temperature of the club. He walks over to the railings overlooking the dance floor. It doesn’t take him long to find Jisung in the centre, dancing with two female companions. A girl wearing a scarlet mini dress is at his front, a girl in a royal blue bodysuit is behind him, both grinding up on him. Jisung’s hands are on the girl-in-red’s thighs, the girl-in-blue is kissing his neck and he is biting his lip. As Minho watches, the girls alternate between kissing each other and kissing Jisung’s neck, their pretty little hands smoothing over Jisung's chest, his waist, his thighs. Minho feels heat rising in his chest. His knuckles whiten against the railings. And now Jisung opens his eyes and he looks directly at Minho. No, not at him, into him. Even from here, he must be able to sense Minho’s desire. Minho’s jealousy. 

Feeling hot and going dumb, Minho pushes away from the railing, walks to the exit onto the rain slicked street. Grateful for the coolness of the late night air. He turns right into the alley running alongside the club, to cut through to his car, parked a block away. It’s a habit he hasn’t broken out of since one of his brother's cars was firebombed a few years back.

“Didn’t you enjoy the show?”

Minho pauses, glances over his shoulder at Jisung who is walking towards him, looking fine despite the lip gloss staining his throat. Minho pushes his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Not really my thing.”

“The girls, or me, or the combination?” Jisung asks teasingly. 

Minho knows he already knows the answer to that, but still makes sure to smirk at him, “All of the above.”

Jisung is very close now, he smells of warm whisky, sweat, perfume and that other smell that underlies all that. That intoxicating one. A heady, earthy smell. “Hmm, he lies too,” Jisung says, his fingers and thumb rubbing the fabric of Minho’s coat collar. “So why don’t you tell me what it is you do like?”

“I think you’re drunk,” Minho tells him.

“I assure you I’m not as drunk as I should be,” Jisung's fingers brush Minho’s belt and Minho seizes hold of his wrist, wrenches it away, which takes a lot of effort and willpower on his part. Jisung pouts and something about the look suggests to Minho that he’s someone who is used to getting what he wants. It’s wrong of him to show that. In part, because Minho finds the look a bit of a turn on, “What are you scared of?”

“I think you have that the wrong way round,” Minho leans forward, his breath warm against Jisung’s ear. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle me even on your best day.”

“You quite sure about that?” Jisung says and his lips brush the spot below Minho’s ear which is somehow directly connected to a spot behind Minho’s belly button. He’s grateful Jisung can’t see his face at this moment.

He releases Jisung, steps back, reaches into his pocket for a business card and pen. Scribbles his personal number on the back. Holds it out.

Jisung snatches the card from him, looks at it. “Lee Minho.”

“Call me when you’re not pissed, Jisung.”

He takes a moment to marvel at the look of confusion on Jisung’s face that he already knows his name, turns on his heel and walks up the alley. 

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

At his car, he pulls off his coat, lays it in the back seat. Slides in, starts the engine and sits there. Hands tight on the steering wheel as he tries not to think about his dick, which is very much still contemplating Jisung.

His head is filled with Jisung’s scent. His skin still tingles where Jisung had touched him. Jisung had been willing, and Minho had wanted so badly to do unspeakable things to him in that alley. Why the fuck didn’t you do anything about it? 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he taps the touch screen on the centre console to read the message.

Unknown Number: I am pissed, as in angry. Hence the text. J.

“Who the fuck says hence anymore?” Minho wonders aloud as he saves the number into his personal contacts under the pseudonym, Ace. He taps a quick reply.

LM: Yeah? Why’s that?

His phone rings, he answers on the car's bluetooth handsfree. “Hey Seungmin. Are you done already?”

“Hardly. I’m taking some books and a hard drive home with me.”

“You dirty boy.”

“Fuck you,” Seungmin says, but Minho can hear the amusement in his voice. Through the line he can hear the bass of the music. Can imagine he’s still sitting in the back office of the club, arms deep in a bag of receipts.

“How’d you get on?”

“We might have a bit of a problem.”

“With Sam?”

“No, you’re right about him, decent bloke. I met a few of the staff and they all respect him. Sam already had the books and all that organised after you made him manager. Took him a week to sort through. Apparently the other managers were a bit nonchalant about bookkeeping. But Sam seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Oh, lord, did I find your ideal? Can I be the best man at your wedding?”

“If I ever get married, you won’t be invited.”

“But I already have the perfect calculator picked out.”

“Min, can you stop pissing about and listen to me for a second? The problem is the Parks.”

“Yeah, Sam mentioned the drug problem last year, but it seems like that’s died off since they put new measures in place.”

“Yeah, well, there might be a reason for that. It looks like the previous owner was syphoning off some of the profits and paying them off.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Minho slaps the steering wheel. “You are kidding me?”

His phone buzzes and a new message flashes on the console. 

Ace: you got me all horny and left me.

“No. It’s the only thing Sam and I can come up with. Every week, until the place went up for auction, there’s been a cash payment. No name, no reference, just a circle. It’s not a small number either. Sam reckons it’s started at about fifteen percent of the weekly intake, but it’s been steadily increasing. I haven’t looked at the numbers too closely, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think Sam’s wrong. The most recent payments sit at about forty percent. The only time it differentiates is if there’s a missed payment. The following payment almost triples.”

“Late payment fee,” Minho is staring at the ceiling of his car, cursing the Parks, the higher powers and himself. 

“Looks like it. And that’s before rates and wages and stock— ”

“— fuck.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin sighs. Minho realises that Seungmin sighs a lot when Minho’s involved. “It’s not good.”

“Protection money?” no wonder why the previous owner practically bit his hand off on the first offer. Minho considers ways he can find him, maybe make him see the errors of his ways…

Ace: I’m adding tease to the list of your qualities.

“That’s what we think. Sam reckons the start of the payments tally about the time the problems with the violence and the drugs seemed to have faded out. Which he’d always thought was a bit odd, but he didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes and whenever he asked about it, he was fobbed off. It’s one of the first things he spotted when he was trying to get the books in order for you. Apparently he tried to talk to you about it, but you said something along the lines of ‘I’m not interested in the accounting side of things’.”

“He told you that, huh?”

“No. He didn’t say a thing. I filled in his discreet silence with words I can hear you saying.”

Seungmin; forever the smartest. What a pain in the arse. 

“I think that’s a form of entrapment.”

“I think you need to look before you leap next time,” Seungmin says. “So far there are five weeks unpaid, so there’s trouble round the corner. At least you bought it under the family name, it might make them hesitate to do anything stupid.”

“Ah, well… the thing about that is—”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“It was quicker doing it directly, through my own solicitor. I figured I’d transfer it to the family once things were up and running—”

“So the club isn’t even under the protection of the family banner? You do know you’ve fucked up, don’t you? That you’ve made a big fucking mistake?”

“Yeah, Seungmo, you don’t need to tell me—” 

“—huge, colossal, major–”

“– I said you don’t need to tell me,” Minho sighs. When the fuck did he start making mistakes like this? He’d always trusted his gut, and now… “Well this is fucking great. Make sure Hyunjin gets there first thing tomorrow. I really want the security on that place reviewed.”

“I already messaged him and gave his number to Sam. He’ll be there before ten tomorrow. I’ll see if we can speed up the transfer to the family. Which means Father will have to get involved.”

“Great. I’ll look forward to that bollocking.”

“Sucks to be you. And somewhere in between all that I’ll dig into the rest of the accounts over the weekend, see if there's an indication of where the payments went.”

“Yeah, well, use protection.”

“Fuck you,” Seungmin says and ends the call.

Minho stares at the hood of his car for several moments. Lifts his phone from his pocket, rereads the messages from Jisung, taps out his own.

LM: You’re making a list? What you got so far?

The response swoops back almost instantly.

Ace: It’s a work in progress. So far, you’re Trouble. Capitalised.

Great, even a stranger knows what a fucking liability I am. 

Ace: I want to do terribly explicit things to you. LM: I told you, not even on your best day…

“I’d make you beg,” Jisung says as soon as Minho answers. There is the sound of traffic and voices on the other end of the line. 

“Well, ‘hello’ to you too,” Minho says in response.

Jisung hums down the phone, “I’m really not that drunk, you know.”

“Ah, but you’ve been drinking and I’d prefer you to be fully aware of what I’m doing to you in the moment.”

“I'm totally compos mentis, if that’s what you’re worried about. You could do anything you want to me without any guilt.” The traffic noise has quietened significantly, replaced by the sound of footsteps echoing off walls. The sound of raised voices in the distance. “I’d let you do anything.”

Minho leans his head back, adjusts his trousers. 

“You still there?” 

“Hmm. Keep talking.”

Even through the phone, Minho can hear the smile in his voice. Can picture it. His pretty lips. “Is it the sound of my voice you want to hear, or certain words and phrases?”

“I like the sound of your voice, but I like the things you’re saying.”

Jisung chuckles and the sound travels straight down between Minho’s thighs. “What are you doing now?”

“Sitting in my car.” Trying not to think about my dick.

“Just sitting? Don’t you have anywhere to go?” the shouts on the other end of the line are growing louder.

“I’m debating whether to come and get you.”

“Why the debate? Come and get me,” Jisung says. 

Fuck. “I’ll ruin you.”

“Is that a promise?”

��Fuck. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m east of— hang on— OI!” Jisung's sudden shout is jarring. “What the fuck? Get the fuck away—”

There’s a male voice, “Fuck off!”

A different male voice, “Mind your business!”

A female scream, which sends a cold chill down Minho’s spine. “Jisung? What the fuck’s going on? Where the fuck are you?”

“I said get the fuck away from her!” there are more shouts, the sound of scuffling, a hard crack and the line goes dead.

Minho jams the car into drive, tyres screeching as he speeds eastwards in the direction of the club, scanning alleyways and side streets as he passes, looking for any sign of Jisung and no clue about where he was or where he was headed. He stabs at the console, trying to call Jisung back, but a feminine robotic voice says: I’m sorry, but the person you are trying to call is unavailable right now. Please try again later.

“FUCK!” Minho slaps the steering wheel, and catches sight of a young woman wearing a black dress sprinting into the road in bare feet. His tyres screech and smoke as he comes to a stop, the girl’s hands flat on the bonnet of his car. Her face stained with mascara, her lip bleeding, her left eye swelling. Minho reaches over to the passenger door, pushes it open. “Get in the car!” he yells at her.

She hesitates for only a second or two, looking over her shoulder before scrambling into the passenger seat. As soon as she is in, the door barely closed, Minho is jerking the car in the direction she appeared from, his lights illuminating a long alley too narrow for his car, and towards the back, he can see the silhouettes of five figures. 

Minho drops his phone in the woman's lap, “Call the police!” he tells her as he leaps out of the car, his left hand in his pocket finds the birthday present Felix had gifted him last year; his brass knuckle duster.

He knocks the first guy out with a teeth shattering, blood splattering left hook, before the others realise he’s even there. He disarms the second one by dislocating his shoulder, then his knee for good measure. And now he sees Jisung, wide eyed and fucking furious, his lip is split and his teeth red. He’s standing on the neck of a third man, whilst punching the shit out of the fourth. Minho grabs the fourth into a headlock, digs his knee into his spine and Jisung punches him so hard Minho feels the impact in his chest as the man slumps and falls unconscious to the ground. 

Minho bends forward, hands on his knees, the adrenaline firing through his blood. Jisung walks over to the right wall, where the fifth man is cowering, face bruised and bloodied. Judging by the unnatural angle of his hand, he has a broken arm. Bracing a hand on the wall, Jisung draws his foot back like an American football player and kicks the man full in the groin. It makes Minho wince. The cowering man slides sideways and curls in on himself and Jisung lines up another kick, but Minho steps forward, drops a hand on his shoulder.

Jisung, fist clenched, whirls on him, but Minho expects it, his forearm blocking Jisung’s. “That’s enough,” Minho says. 

Jisung doesn’t look convinced, but his shoulders relax. He backs off from the man and starts scanning the floor of the alley, nudging arms and legs with the toe of his boot.

Minho looks at the carnage, “You tried to fight—” he counts quickly, “—six men? On your own?”

“I wasn’t trying, I was doing a bloody brilliant job. Ah-ha, found it,” he crouches down, lifts an object from the floor. It’s a mobile phone, he shows it to Minho, the screen is cracked. “Cunts.”

And Minho can’t help it, he laughs. 

“We should find the girl, make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s in my car, calling the police.”

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, his lips pouting, as he gestures to the bruised, bloodied and broken men at his feet. “The police? Seriously?”

Minho sees his point.

Jisung rolls his eyes, starts walking towards the car at the top of the alley, the headlights shining through his silk shirt, so from here Minho can see the silhouette of his tiny waist. Jisung raises his hands level with his shoulders, approaches the car like you would approach an injured animal. He stoops down near the passenger door, “Hi my dear, are you okay? You’re safe now.”

Her wailing is too high pitched for Minho to understand her.

Minho pulls off his knuckle duster, drops it into his trouser pocket, and starts to walk back towards the car when he almost trips over a silver shoe. He figures it belongs to the woman in the car, looks for the other one, finds it a few feet away and a small black purse with a chain link handle. When he reaches the car, the passenger door is open and the girl is leaning against Jisung sobbing against his shoulder as Jisung strokes her long black hair and makes soft soothing noises against the top of her head. Minho passes Jisung the shoes and the bag, reaches into his back seat and pulls out his coat, “Here,” he says, as he drapes it over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” her tiny voice says, as she sniffles. The entirety of the left side of her face is purpling and swollen. Her tiny legs are cut and bruised and there are notable bruises on her arms that look like hand marks. Minho feels sick and angry and he really hopes that he and Jisung have succeeded in killing one or two of those cunts. His urge to go back down into the alley to ensure they had been successful is cut off by the sound of sirens in the distance.

“My dear,” Jisung says gently. Cupping the girls head and looking her in the eye that hasn’t swollen shut. “I am so so sorry, but we can’t be here when the police come. You understand that, don’t you?”

The girl sniffs, takes a shaky breath and nods. She steps out of the car and Jisung supports her and helps her sit on the pavement. She tries to take the coat off her shoulders, “No,” Minho says as gently as he can. “You keep hold of that.”

Her smile is wan as she nods and pulls his coat tighter around her shoulders. 

Minho scans the area, the sirens drawing closer. “See that broken lamppost over there?” he points at a side street across the road. “We’ll be right there. We won’t go anywhere until we know you’re safe.”

The girl nods again and Jisung smiles warmly up at Minho.

Minho gets into the car, reverses it a few feet with the passenger door still open, lifts his phone off the passenger seat and waits for Jisung who is still speaking to the girl. Stroking her hair gently. The sirens are uncomfortably close now, Minho can make out the lights reflecting off buildings in the distance.

Finally, Jisung jogs over to the car, slips in and pulls the door closed. His eyes never leave the girl as Minho pulls alongside the side street, reverses into it to stop under the broken streetlight, just as he promised her. He kills the engine, blanketing them in darkness. 

A police car arrives first, a female officer sits on the pavement with the girl and holds her as she sobs and her colleague, flashlight and gun drawn, enters the alley. He returns a minute later, speaking into his radio and they are clearly asking the girl what happened and she is pointing the opposite direction to where Minho’s car is sitting. 

“Good girl,” Jisung says quietly.

Another police car arrives and the male colleague of the female officer points in the direction the girl had. Sirens wailing, the second car tears off in that direction. Now, an ambulance arrives, and the female officer, with support from a paramedic, help her into the back of it, and now the girl looks at them, smiles feebly and waves and Minho can breathe again, knowing that she is now safe.

“Did they…” he can’t bring himself to finish the question.

“No, I came across them before they…” Jisung can’t bring himself to finish the answer.

They remain in the car, watching from a comfortable distance as more police cars and ambulances arrive. They can hear the groans and moans of the men as they are loaded onto stretchers. It appears to Minho that the paramedics, especially the female ones, aren’t too worried about giving them pain meds or being gentle with them. Each ambulance departs carrying one patient and one police officer.

Jisung looks down at his hands. Blood is crusted on his skin, his knuckles torn to shreds. He looks at his shirt, blood spatter joining the leopard print spots. “I really liked this shirt,” he sighs.

Smiling, Minho starts the engine, pulls out of the side street slowly, wary that there may be officers still in the vicinity. 

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“I’m really not in the mood.”

“Neither am I. But you look like you could do with something to eat. Maybe a shower?”

“Hmm,” Jisung leans his head against the passenger window. “I am hungry.”

“Put your seatbelt on.”

♢ ♧ If you made it this far, thank you for your support! ♤ ♡ please consider leaving a comment, like or reblog ♤ ♡ ©2024Intrikatie ♢ Ao3 ♧ Quotev ♤ Wattpad ♡

TASTE M.List & Sypnosis

Chapter 1 - Parley

Chapter 3 - Broken Compass

[eemcintyre]

People Will Say We're in Love

TW- none

Summary- The first news story about Valerie and Terry is released, and Valerie must cope with heightened scrutiny from her family, friends, and strangers. She also learns that Terry will be hosting a cocktail party to welcome the investment group and that she needs to be there.

This part introduces one of the details in this story that I was most excited to write about 👀 (see picture below for reference)

Sunday morning. Valerie rolled out of bed, donned a quick, casual dress and sunglasses, and ventured out for a newspaper.

Before she could even make the short walk back to her apartment, she couldn’t resist flipping through and skimming the pages. She didn’t have to look too closely- as expected, the day’s Society and Entertainment section of First Look’s newspaper was a splashy collage of color photographs from the café and blocks of accompanying copy. A shot of Valerie and Terry’s kiss took the main spot but were supplemented by photos of him pressing his lips to her hand and her swiping him across the nose with tea foam.

The headline: “Silver gets steamy over coffee with mystery woman.” The article: filled with questions and theories as to Silver’s unusual display of softness and the mystery woman’s identity.

In any other circumstances, it would be amusing to see herself in the newspaper. Valerie was pleased that, at the very least, she and Terry did photograph as a lovely couple, but she couldn’t help the prickle of dread that overshadowed this satisfaction, wondering what it might mean for her if Amanda Shotwell were to turn her keen journalistic attentions toward investigating her.

But this concern quickly became remote when Valerie arrived to work on Monday. She felt eyes boring into her everywhere she turned, accompanied by whispers.

“She’s not the type he usually goes for.”

“So that’s how she made it to the top floor so fast...”

Many coworkers, some she barely even knew, took it upon themselves to come up to her desk and pepper her with questions about the length and depth of her and Mr. Silver’s relationship and their unsolicited opinions about dipping one's pen into the company ink. A number of women that Valerie had hardly or never spoken to before gave her dirty looks and/or made snide comments to her in passing down the hallways. Blonde and model-built ex-paramours of Terry Silver who found it unbearable that they proved insignificant in comparison to the plain, comparatively classless creature before them.

Her friends tried their best to be supportive, but even those who thought the news was great were slightly confused due to how clear Valerie had made it in the past that she wasn’t fond of him. A couple of them just wanted to know how he was in bed, which was arguably worse than the insults of his exes. A deep red swept across Valerie’s cheeks and she recoiled at the mental image, as well as the idea that the people around her were picturing it.

“No- oh God, no!” she exclaimed instinctually, before realizing that her reaction didn’t fit the narrative. “I mean…” She tried to roll it back. “You know I don’t kiss and tell. I like to keep it classy. You’ll just have to use your imagination.” Her friend smirked. “Or don’t!”

Valerie nearly ran away, clutching the pile of binders and folders she was carrying to her chest and adjusting her glasses sliding down the sweaty bridge of her nose.

Proceedings at Dynatox had taken on a frenetic pace, as the top members of Kimura Investment Group were less than two weeks away from arrival. Final touches needed to be put on the business plan and the proposal, and hundreds of other pages of miscellaneous paperwork had to be put in order. Plus, Valerie and her fellow PR members had been working overtime trying to manage and tamp down negative news stories about the company.

And aside from the workload aspect of the upcoming arrival, the activity of the bustling employees nearly quivered with the anxious anticipation of it all, knowing how beneficial for the company it would be if they were successful- as well as how serious the consequences would be if it all fell through. Not only would Mr. Silver likely become frightful to be around for the foreseeable future, but he would certainly take out his anger on any and every one of the people he perceived as contributing to the failure. Any small mistake wouldn’t do. Basically, Valerie had much higher priorities that needed to be dealt with and she wished she could focus on, rather than having to spend time worrying about people questioning her judgment and imagining her sex life.

Then, the next morning, before Valerie could even get used to the atmosphere at work, these worries were compounded when she was awoken by a barrage of messages and phone calls that beat her alarm to the punch in terms of how early they came. Calls from various family members and friends back home that ran the gamut of emotions but could ultimately be boiled down to “what the hell is going on?”

Her sister was thrilled and unashamedly jealous; praising what she believed to be Valerie’s dedication to getting ahead: “Well, look at you living my dream. We all wish we could snag a sugar daddy like that- good for you!” Valerie’s jaw dropped. Her cousin was just morbidly curious, wanting every little detail so that he could brag to and joke with his friends. Her mother, as Valerie feared, was nearly turning herself inside out with concern- “Just how long have you been going out with him, dear? Why didn’t you tell any of us about it? What are his intentions? Your father wants to know.”

Valerie bit back a harsh laugh at her parents speaking about Silver as if he were one of the local high school athletes who was known for getting all the girls in the back of his car; like he wasn’t the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and she hadn’t also proven herself highly capable over her time in California and they were both children.

And of course, his true intentions were far more complex and rather concerning than anyone knew or needed to know.

“How did you even hear about this so fast?” Valerie inquired, ignoring her mother’s million questions for her own, realizing how suspiciously quickly the news had traveled from one end of the country to the other.

“This reporter called us asking about you and what we knew about the relationship,” her mother replied before quickly devolving into hysteria once more. “Which, of course, was nothing. Were you ever planning on telling us?”

“A reporter called you? Mom, what reporter?” Valerie’s heart began to pound, pumping blood that had gone cold with dread as she white-knuckled the phone.

“She was a very nice lady. She works for one of the big publications over there…”

“What was her name? Do you remember?”

“I think it was Miranda, maybe, or Amanda.”

Valerie dropped into the living area armchair, feeling dizzy. “Mom, what did you tell her?”

“She just wanted some basic information about us and how we felt about you two going out- oh, and to send some old pictures of you. Of course, since we had no idea any of this was going on, there wasn’t much to say. We probably sounded like idiots not knowing anything that’s going on with our own daughter…”

Valerie sought a way to end the call after that, slamming the receiver down after her mother hanged up and collapsing fully into the armchair with her head in her hands, letting out a piercing groan. Amanda already seemed disconcertingly close to uncovering some sort of unaccounted-for detail that would reveal her and Terry’s ruse, nullifying their deal and wasting all the time and energy Valerie had put into it, as well as publicly embarrassing her. Let alone what the unpredictable Silver might do to her.

Well, at her mother’s own insistence, her family didn’t really know anything of importance to give Amanda as ammunition. Valerie worked to slow her breathing once she realized she’d started to hyper-ventilate. Everything was probably fine. Sighing into her hands, she had to cut her doomed thought spiral short if she was to be on time for another gloriously invasive day of work.

~

Within a couple of hours at Dynatox, when Valerie was knee-deep in media release drafts and phone calls trying to tame the continuing, tense situation with the Midwest protesters, she received a call from Terry summoning her to his office.

“Ter- Mr. Silver,” she corrected herself in the interest of maintaining some façade of professionalism, glancing nervously at her coworkers, who thankfully seemed to either not notice or not care. “Can’t it wait? Now’s not a good time…”

Managing the predicament and keeping it from escalating was all the more important with Kimura’s impending arrival. And it served as a decent distraction from her host of other rapidly developing problems.

“I wasn’t asking,” he replied flatly. “I know you have a lot on your plate; I wouldn’t interrupt you if it wasn’t important.” His tone softened as he tried to pacify her.

Valerie glared in the direction of his door and rolled her eyes before sighing “I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” he replied, in a manner that implied she was the one being difficult.

After taking a few moments to note where she was at in each of her tasks for when she returned, Valerie made her way to his office, feeling eyes on her every step of the way. The second she shut the door behind her, she began her mentally rehearsed statement:

“Terry, if we don’t want those environmentalists in the Midwest to become a PR disaster, I really need to get back to-”

“Don’t worry about that. I just-” Terry attempted to interject and was swiftly steamrolled. Suddenly, everything that was going wrong began flooding out and Valerie couldn’t stop it.

“-Oh, and apparently over the weekend Amanda has been calling all of my relatives trying to get dirt on me! My family has been asking me a million questions and they told the press God knows what and tomorrow First Look is probably going to have a section about my high school photos from when I had braces-”

“-Valerie!” Terry strode around his desk to grab her by the shoulders. “Get ahold of yourself. It’s all being taken care of. I gave that assignment and almost everything else to Peter and his team; now all you have to worry about is Kimura and us.”

Of course, while Terry wanted to ensure that Valerie had enough time and energy to give a good girlfriend performance and focus on what had become the organization’s most important task- wooing the investors- this scheduling adjustment would also play perfectly into his larger covert op. If Valerie’s schedule was freed up to allow her more time with him, he would be able to draw her all the closer and get her more attached, more quickly.

Valerie’s face turned faintly pink, and she was obviously about to protest before the feeling of that weight being lifted off of her fully registered.

“Um... T-thank you,” she stammered, eyebrows furrowed as she was caught off-guard by his seeming generosity. “But won’t people think you’re playing favorites if you push a bunch of my work onto other people?”

“Who gives a fuck? They work for me. And after all, as far as they’re concerned, you are my favorite.” He shrugged, and Valerie wished for even an atom of his unruffled confidence. “And I wouldn’t worry about your family because they can’t tell what they don’t know, right?”

When Valerie didn’t immediately respond, his eyes narrowed. “Right?”

“I haven’t said anything to them. I wouldn’t even know what to say or where to begin,” she shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Terry was content with her answer, reminding himself that he also was keeping tabs of his own on her family and everything they were saying to the press in case he needed to step in. His entire plan wasn’t going to fall apart just because some senile or fame-seeking relative couldn’t keep their big mouth shut. He had the situation covered from all angles.

“As for Ms. Shotwell, try to take it as the sick sort of compliment it is. She knows you’ll get people reading. People are buying what we’re selling. Just keep playing it cool and remember that, at the end of the day, her livelihood relies on us. We’re the ones in control here. Now, will you please sit down?”

Valerie descended gingerly into the chair across from him at his desk, temporarily placated. 

“I did say that I had something important to discuss with you. As you know, Kimura’s people arrive in less than two weeks, and we want to show ‘em that we’re the people to be in business with, but also nothing too crazy. Upscale, but minimalist. Remind them of home; really schmooze them. Show them a good time but that we’ll use their money wisely."

Valerie nodded and he continued. “I imagine you’ve heard that we’re planning a little cocktail party and dinner for the weekend they get here?”

“Yes,” she replied, thinking to herself that the gathering would be anything but ‘little,’ or ‘nothing too crazy,’ as it was to be about 40 people plus service aboard a yacht with a grand view of the coast.

“You’ll be there to help charm them as the CEO’s gorgeous and refined beloved.”

Gorgeous. Valerie shifted her jaw thoughtfully.

“Of course, we’ll need to downplay the fact that you’re with the company, let alone on the top floor- gotta appeal to their values. And we don’t want to show too much affection, but I don’t imagine you’ll mind that,” he joked. “Devoted but stable; practical. And don’t wear anything too sexy or over-the-top.” This last rule was as much for Terry as it was for the sake of appealing to Kimura. The idea of anyone but him looking at or thinking of Valerie in a desirous way made his blood pressure spike.

“Should I be writing this down?” Valerie asked sarcastically, crossing her arms and legs.

“I can write a checklist if you don’t think you can handle it…” She scowled at him. “You just make it so easy to tease you,” he explained, feigning innocence. “But that’s all for now. I’d like us to meet for lunch next Wednesday to nail down any final details.”

“Works for me.”

“See you around the office,” he said playfully as she got up to leave, and she bade him farewell with a wince and a faux-enthusiastic wave of her fingers. He responded with a wave and a smile in full force that she would have loved to smack off. 

~

The rest of the week quickly came and went, and before Valerie knew it, she was standing in front of her mirror again, pondering another high-end outfit while she waited for Milos to buzz the apartment door.

The tea-length, strappy black dress, accompanied by a matching headband and the confidence she’d started to build after the successful café outing, helped Valerie to feel sophisticated and assured for what otherwise was the “couple’s” first truly high-stakes event.

A lot hinged on the Kimura businessmen’s impressions of Dynatox, particularly their impressions of its CEO. And even though she didn’t love feeling like a mere accessory to Terry and his carefully crafted image, as police sirens blared nearby, her eventual reward and the possibility of being able to move out of her tiny, slightly sketchy apartment helped. Plus, a free drink or two was never a turn-off.

The now-familiar sound of the door buzzer brought Valerie back to attention. “I’ll be right down,” she called over the speaker, surprised when Terry’s voice sounded on the line instead of Milos’.

“Hold on, I’m coming up.”

Valerie glanced at the wall clock, wondering what possibly couldn’t be discussed in the car, but shrugged it off, unchaining the door. It was his party, if he wanted to be fashionably late to meet a clientele that typically valued being on time. Nothing in she and Terry’s agreement said the deal with Kimura had to be successful.

The echo of Terry’s heavy footsteps could be heard coming down the hall and she turned to face the doorway. He had already begun speaking as soon as he crossed the threshold, before even looking to see if she was there.

“This won’t take long…” Once his gaze locked in on her outfit, he froze, seeming momentarily lost for words, which was a first in Valerie’s experience. Of course, it didn’t last longer than about a second. All the same, her confidence faltered under his ever-critical eye.

“Well, don’t you look…”

“-Save it, Terry! I don’t need this right now…” Valerie snapped, bracing for another thinly veiled insult or backhanded compliment. He shot her a wilting look.

“…I was going to say that you look nice.”

“Oh.” Valerie glanced down at the floor and shuffled her feet, guilt twinging in her stomach. The range of emotions that this man could exhibit himself and elicit in her within a matter of minutes could make her head spin.

“I’m going to have to send Joan a very extravagant Christmas gift.”

“You look nice too,” she chirped, taking note of his double-breasted blazer, loafers, and crisp dress shirt. Although she immediately regretted her awkward response, not quite sure how to respond to a sincere compliment from him, he visibly preened at her praise, smoothing a hand over his slicked-back hair.

“So, what do you need before we go?” She clasped her hands together expectantly. 

“Ah, yes. Well, every outfit needs a finishing touch, right?” Terry rummaged inside his blazer pockets, removing a pair of small, flat red boxes.

Valerie gasped upon reading the word “Cartier” that was embossed on the center of each lid in elegantly rounded gold lettering. He opened one of the boxes and held it up at her eye level.

“Matching Cartier love bracelets. People will eat it up,” he grinned, studying her reaction. “Well, go on, take it. This one’s yours.” She wordlessly, slowly reached into the box to handle the bracelet with delicate fingers, observing the way the gold band glinted in the setting sun that sliced into the room.

“How does it go on?” she spoke finally, puzzled when she could find no clasp or latch. Terry removed a small velvet pouch from the box, revealing a tiny gold screwdriver within. “It screws on and off. It’s meant to be worn all the time.”

Valerie wrinkled her nose, her wonder quickly turning to disgust. “Why don’t you just handcuff us together?” she said dryly.

“Tempting. I like the way you think.”

“I just don’t like feeling like an object; like you’re marking your territory or something.”

“I was thinking more ‘touching gesture of commitment and devotion,’ but I can work with that, too,” he shrugged, biting back a laugh when she was clearly unamused by him returning the sarcasm.

They sat next to each other at the kitchen counter, starting the putting-on process with Valerie’s already unboxed bracelet.

“Alright, give me your hand,” Terry requested gently, pulling Valerie’s arm toward him and to the counter’s surface. He noted that her wrist was so thin his grip could more than reach around it, and once he got her bracelet unscrewed and slipped it on, how accurately he’d guessed the size.

“It’s a perfect fit,” he breathed, chuckling faintly as she watched him. He swore he almost saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, like she’d discovered his obsessive game and true, cruel intentions, but it swiftly vanished as she tried to get used to the feeling of the cool metal bobbing against her skin.

“My turn,” he sighed, shifting in his chair as he extended his wrist and the tool to Valerie. Always wary of other people touching him, his attention was completely honed in on her work. Her hands shook as she attempted to twist the tiny screws in the band around his thick, surprisingly soft and warm wrist.

Valerie interrupted her handiwork with a glare up at him, snapping “Stop staring at me! You’re making me nervous!” But it only made him laugh. And to her annoyance, she was unable to stop herself from laughing too. Eventually, though not without some impatient remarks from Terry, she was able to secure the bracelet around his wrist.

“Now we’re ready to go,” he said, toying with her hand in his, allowing the both of them to studying the sight of their matching accessories before he abruptly rose from his chair, pocketing the screwdriver and heading for the door, leaving Valerie scrambling for her purse.

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🗡️ Feixiao x Moze 🗡️ Unspoken Words

Feixiao was completely unfazed by the quiet shadow lurking in the darkness on her tail. Under any other circumstances, she would’ve struck down this visitor without a second thought, but this assassin was far from being unwelcomed company. He was a close ally of hers, a friend even, one she would have no reason to shoo away. Feixiao’s ears rotated to pick up the sound of his footsteps skittering along the top of the buildings and through the side streets, though despite the full attention of her hearing being given to tracking his footsteps, they were still barely audible.

It was admittedly quite impressive; should Feixiao find herself distracted even for a split second, he may just have a shot at taking her by surprise. His skills, loyalty, and vigilance made him quite the reliable asset, acting as her right-hand man tackling the filth in the Xianzhou depths she dared not touch on the norm. But that wasn’t the reason she kept him around, per say.

She allowed her shadow to trail her further until she made her way to a more inconspicuous location: somewhere that the general public would not think to bat an eye at. The sudden appearance of an assassin directly by her side may falsely alarm those around her that she was under attack. Stirring up chaos on the surface is the last thing she needed after recent events anyways.

"Moze," she said, perking her ears up, "you don’t have to creep around if you want to talk to me about something."

In what seemed to be faster than a fraction of a second, Moze manifested directly beside her, his arms crossed and leaning up against the wall.

"Was the last bit of cleanup I asked of you successful?" she asked.

He nodded his head. His cloak was splattered with blood, and his silver claws were painted a crimson red. It was an unusual appearance for Moze, given the amount of care he invests in keeping both himself and the scene of the deceased tidy. Feixiao figured that perhaps, he had gotten himself into a bit of a scuffle in the process of taking out the remaining stray borisin.

"Got yourself caught in a bit of a situation, didn’t you?"

Moze sighed and looked down, as if he were saying "Yes, but I don’t want to admit it." Feixiao’s ears picked up on each of his breaths being a bit heavier than normal, even despite his best efforts to remain calm. If things were truly that bad down in the prison, even by Moze’s standards, then Feixiao felt bad about him taking such a heavy hit on something that was supposed to be routine.

Blood dripped from his face and splattered onto the stone at his feet. Feixiao grabbed his chin and nudged his face towards her to assess his injuries, but he quickly jerked away.

"You’ll stain yourself with my blood," he said.

"I’m one of the Arbiter-Generals, what’s a little blood gonna do to me?" Feixiao said. "Let me see your injuries."

He couldn’t exactly deny a general’s request, so he beguilingly allowed for her to nudge his face to the side towards her. A deep gash was below his eye, barely missing by a few centimeters. If he was cut any further up, he would have stricken with both blindness and a bloody wound.

"You didn’t head straight to a healer to get yourself patched up?"

Moze shook his head.

"Why not? I can’t have you bleeding out on me, now can I?"

"It is merely a scratch. Other things take priority at the moment."

"A scratch that is still bleeding out. Moze, you should still take care of yourself," Feixiao said, slipping her hand under his hood and ruffling his hair. "I’d rather my assassin come back in one piece rather than tattered up and bleeding."

Moze glanced at Feixiao with the slightest smile, then sighed and looked ahead into the distance once more.

"A cut is nothing. Your illness is cause for greater concern."

Feixiao looked at him with concerned eyes, but didn’t say anything.

"Which, reminds me. Has Jiaoqiu made any progress towards a cure?"

"No, unfortunately," she said, "He’s stumped. Bailu’s stumped. They’ve tried pretty much everything related that they could find in modern medical texts, all to no avail.

Moze sighed, with a regretful look in his eyes that said, "I wish I could do more for you."

"Don’t feel down," Feixiao said, patting him on the shoulder, "you’ll probably be dead long before me anyways, so it really doesn’t matter in the long run."

Feixiao’s words had the opposite effect, as Moze only looked more down and depressed than before. He had the look as if he were saying,"I have failed you,” despite her attempt at reassurance. He looked down as the blood continued dripping from his wound, like tears of blood running down his face.

" Foxians outlive humans regardless, Moze. There’s truly not much you can do yourself."

"...For as long as I am alive, I still wish to see you well.”

"Why are you so worried about my health anyways? This amount of concern certainly a bit odd for you," Feixiao said, ears perking up out of curiosity.

"Favoring a solo path does not mean I am negligent of my general," he said.

"I never said that you had such extensive obligations," Feixiao said, “those matters are usually left to the other knights anyways.”

She tilted her ears towards Moze, picking up on the sound of his blood pressure increasing.

"...Unless you are doing all of this because you want to?"

Moze said absolutely nothing and looked away from Feixiao. Come to think of it, he has been lingering around her considerably more compared to his other affiliates. But he never says anything, so it’s rather difficult for her to discern his motive.

She did wish that he stepped out of the shadows a little more frequently, though.

"Is something the matter?" Feixiao asked, gently pulling aside his hood with her finger.

Moze looked at Feixiao and kept his lips sealed tightly. He looked at his general as if he wanted to say something, but for some reason, couldn’t find the willpower to do so. Feixiao didn’t exactly have the easiest time reading his stoic expressions, either.

"Use your words, Moze," Feixiao said, lifting up his chin with her finger, a bit of his blood trickling onto her hand.

"I...want to be by your side for as long as I live, serving you as you see fit."

"Serving me?" Feixiao asked, leaning in closer to his face.

Moze leaned back in response, unable to keep his face from turning red. He attempted to hide his embarrassment by partially pulling his hood around the side of his face.

"Just...being with you, I suppose."

"You could’ve just told me so," Feixiao said, with an almost gentle smile.

“I mean more like…” Moze said, his words trailing off.

Feixiao knew she would never be able to pry the words out of his mouth, so her second best approach was to take a wild guess instead.

“You mean, you like me?”

He nodded his head slightly, refusing eye contact.

“You could’ve said something,” Feixiao said, “though I realize that’s asking a lot out of someone like you.”

He smiled a little as she pushed back his hood, revealing his silver-white hair under the sunlight.

The number of cuts on him were more than she initially thought. Some of his hair was stained red from blood, whether it was his own or another’s. Feixiao leaned in and licked the blood off of the cut under his eye and the side of his face, catching him off guard. Moze, whose face was already red with embarrassment, was wondering just what in Xianzhou she was thinking.

"Foxians lick their wounds to accelerate the healing process” she clarified, "it’ll help to keep you from getting infected."

Moze wanted to express his thanks, but he once again found himself at a loss for words. Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of wanting to remain silent, but having no choice simply due to not knowing what to say.

"You should still see a proper healer, though. Can’t let my favorite assassin fall over on me, now can I?" Feixiao said, brushing the hair to the side as her ears happily twitched.

"A-as you wish, General," he said, clearing his throat.

"Just Feixiao," she said with a wink.

[lilac-cat-draws]

youe flower shop au is so so so so cute pls tell me the little details youve figured out for it- like litterally info dump anything you want am just so curious thank you wow- also i have too many drawins to do rn but at some point could i make fanarts for your au? so so cuteeee

Oh I didn't expect to have an ask about this AU again, but thank you!

Even though I haven't been back in the fandom for a while, I'll gladly share what I could from what I can remember. I don't know when I'll get back into this, you can say that this AU is on a very long hiatus for the time being.

The Flower Shop and Tattoo Parlour AU was of course something I've made on a whim just to write my ships in but the more I got into it I got invested into writing little headcanons while at the same time having some parts of this AUs story be somewhat similar to the original.

Also I thought I'd say it here but if anyone else is invested in this AU as well, I wouldn't mind seeing anyone else have a go at this AU concept too, so I'm giving full permission to use as some inspiration. I'd love to see what others could do with this story.

This is long so I added a cut

The things I haven't brought up in this AU are mostly the other PM and ADA member's roles in the AU these where the other ideas I had in mind that I never though of posting, not including Soukoku and shin soukoku (unfortunately I didn't have any illustrations of them so it's just text for now) :

ADA (Tattoo Parlour)

Yosano - I had posted about her once before and I think the information about her is still the same. Works at the Tattoo shop part time and as a doctor for her main job, she's one of the workers who are skilled in applying piercings

Ranpo - He was the trickiest one to come up with because of who he is as a character, but the closest I could think of is that He could also be a tattoo artist and a really skilled one in fact, but he prefers to just sit back and do his own thing so he doesn't work with a lot of client unless he wants to himself

Kunikida - He would be the manager of the shop and would of course still be a former math teacher turned manager to a Tattoo Parlour, but for the reason on why he chose this, I never got into why or I probably forgot

Junichiro - One of the shops other piercers he's taking this job also part time in order to earn money to support him and his sister. Speaking of, Naomi is also very well known at the shop from how often she visits him at work and is often asked to leave by Kunikida when she stays for too long

Kyoka - She's a regular junior high student as well as Atsushi's neighbour. Her parents were the ones to have introduced her to him after a friendly encounter and would ask him to tutor their daughter when they're away for work on occasion. Kyoka personally sees him as an older brother figure to her and would keep her company as she would be often by herself

Kenji - a close school friend of Kyoka and he personally know Atsushi as well after being introduced by his friend. The two would also visit the shop sometimes whenever they walk back from school

Fukuzawa - the owner of the shop but also let's his workers operate freely as long as they're not causing any serious trouble, he has a past that he prefers not to bring up and the interaction between him and Ranpo is the same like in the original

PM (Flower Shop)

Kouyou - On of the best and oldest workers at the shop and is Chuuya's superior, she's the first to rely on as she provides the best bouquet arrangements for any special occasion whether it be events or weddings

Higuchi - A new worker at the shop and looks up to Akutagawa, she's well antiquated with both him and his sister Gin. Over time she had slowly developed feelings for Ryunosuke but is unfortunately unaware that he has eyes for someone else, a certain silver haired tattoo artist

Tachihara - He is also a new comer he worked at the shop before Higuchi, he's very laid back and would regularly hang out with Gin and Hirotsu during breaks

Hirotsu - Another experienced worker at the flower shop, for his age he's still capable of carrying large portions of supplies with no issue and would regularly smoke at the back of the shop whenever he's on break

Kajii - Tasked on looking over the quality of the flowers and maintains their quality but at the same time is very curious of the capabilities of the plants and would often be stopped by the other workers from wasting any more of their stock

Mori - The mysterious owner of the flower shop, it's unknown on why he chose to run one but apparently there are some rumours about the shop's owner having possible crime connections as well as former workers disappearing but they all lack information to confirm it's validity

[davidson-eric]

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[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Crew for Stan series Scrublands: Silver reflect on ideal coastal destination for TV production

written by Warren Hately | Augusta Margaret River Times

Producer Martha Coleman with actors Luke Arnold and Bella Heathcote alongside director Ben Young. Credit: David Dare Parker/Photograph by David Dare Parker

The cast and crew of Stan crime drama Scrublands have reported mixed feelings about their pending wrap on their season two shoot in Augusta.

Production has taken over the seaside town and brought a welcome boost to the economy at the outset of winter, before filming concludes on July 12.

Rhetoric aside, co-producer Martha Coleman from Third Act Stories and the Australian show’s leading stars expressed a deep fondness for the coastal hamlet.

Coleman told the Times the visiting film crew quickly felt at home in Augusta after residents embraced the production and opened their doors and businesses to the cast, which included lead actors Bella Heathcote and Luke Arnold.

But Coleman said many genuinely felt there was something “incredibly special” about Augusta and its surrounds and she urged local authorities to protect its existing character against future over-development.

“It’s like a coastal town from my childhood in that it hasn’t been ruined,” Coleman said.

“It’s not become something it’s not.

“It’s like the gift that keeps giving. We’ve got all of our locations there.”

Operating under the code name Silver, the Stan series sees Arnold’s journalist character return to his WA home town with his girlfriend, played by Heathcote.

As is typical of crime dramas, things soon turn pear-shaped.

Arnold said he appreciated the warm welcome from the Augusta community.

“It didn’t take long for people to start talking about wanting to move here,” he said.

“We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful location both on-screen and off.

“Everybody is filling their weekends with incredible food, wine, and adventure.”

Coleman and Heathcote also talked up the region’s scenic beauty.

“Augusta is so stunningly beautiful and the people here have been nothing but warm and welcoming,” Heathcote said.

“The best thing about shooting in pre-existing locations is that it feels like I’ve been taken on this weeks-long tour of the town: from the lighthouse to Ellis Street Jetty and everything around and between.

“I’ll be sad to say goodbye.”

Coleman said scoping for the series was undertaken during a magical summer, but when wintry conditions set in on day one of shooting at the Ellis Street Jetty, the directors chose to lean into the powerful natural feel of the region.

That included long days shooting at Flinders and Hamelin Bay, which had transformed since summer from a pristine white-sand beach to a wild and seaweed-wracked locale.

“We shifted our focus on the location not being pristine, but powerful,” the co-producer said.

“We wanted a coastal town that hasn’t yet been gone over by the developers.”

Coleman herself had moved her company back to Perth during the pandemic and the partnership with east coast company Easy Tiger — rumoured to be shooting some additional scenes in Augusta for their separate production The Twelve — mean idyllic places like the town and other parts of the Margaret River region are likely to appear in future shows.

Coleman said despite the stiff drive from Perth, the region was relatively well set-up to support a burgeoning film industry and local and State authorities had “bent over backwards” to smooth out any problems.

The biggest challenge faced was with telecommunications.

The region’s woeful broadband and phone system have raised the ire of South West creatives for years, and while the Stan production had its own unit van to help when in dead zones like Hamelin Bay, greater investment was needed on that front if authorities wanted to get serious about supporting local creative industries, she said.

Source: The West Australia

[0ut0fgrace]

Topher Rhee : The Mastermind

Topher Rhee is a highly respected CEO in the entertainment world. In 2005 he founded RHEE SOUND STUDIOS with his twin sister, Porsha Rhee. The studio was not an overnight success. They spent many years begging local banks for loans. They would lose trainees more often than not from mediocre teachers who turned children away from stardom. He would only visit home once a year from 2005 - 2009. In 2010 the company struck gold with PINKNESS, a ten-member girl group with a sugary pink concept. PINKNESS took over South Korea by storm. Since then, every group from RHEE SOUND STUDIOS has been a hit. Topher is so confident in his ability to succeed that he made sure to involve all of his children with the company. Ronan is in his best selling boy group, Oona is in a girl group that dips their toes into rock and has award-winning actresses, and Ciara is in a trio where they have more modeling contracts than albums. He wanted to involve Nuala, but she didn't fit anywhere in the company. Topher was reluctant to let her go, for she was arguably his best songwriter, but now he wants her back. He sees the money she is making for PARADISO Studios and he wants wants her back. He doesn't want to beg her to come back, but he's not above pressuring and using money to return her to the family business.

Hong Boyeon : The Wreck

Hong Boyeon was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She comes from a family of lawyers, doctors, and investment brokers. When she met Topher he was a nobody. With help from her family she turned him into a somebody. They were the ones giving him just enough money to skirt around the business foreclosing and were just distant enough that he begged for their approval. She is an obsessive person. When Topher is around, he is her only thought. When he left, her obsession transferred over to her only son, Ronan. She is a horrible mother. Her girls never had the female role model they needed, so they would seek out a mother figure in anyone older than them. Boyeon does not see herself as a poor excuse for a mother. Rather, she likes to throw in their face how bad they make her feel when the children express valid complaints. She can never be wrong. How can a mother ever be wrong? As she ages her mental state has gotten worse. Her mother passed away with dementia, the kids suspect Boyeon will suffer the same fate.

Ronan Rhee : The Doting Older Brother

When he was supposed to be a boy he was forced to be a father. As his mother's life was crumbling he was forced to wash children, feed them, and help them with their homework. He was never truly allowed to be a child. He prides himself on being responsible and mature for his age. Never once has he acted out in his childhood or his adult life. His siblings pity him. They wish he could be carefree for once in his life. Topher puts a lot of pressure on him to be the best singer, the best leader, the best idol ever. He doesn't know how to let others shoulder the weight of his sorrows. Those close to him fear that he'll reach his breaking point one day, and they won't know how to help him.

Oona Rhee : The Mean One

For most of her life, Oona was known as the ugly duckling of the family. She didn't really look like her father or mother, she looked like a monster to them. She had big round cheeks, a buttery soft jaw, and paper thin lips. Boyeon never called her daughter pretty until she had surgery to perfect her flaws. Oona was always the angry child. Her anger was born from a place of loneliness and jealousy. She just wanted to be loved by her parents. This anger festered and grew until she hated everyone. Her words are often short and clipped. She will attack if one's tone is even the slightest bit off. She has the bite of a bad dog and doesn't know how to change. Oona doesn't even know if she wants to change. It's easier to keep people out than let them in.

Ciara Rhee : The Spoiled Brat

It is still unknown to the older children why Ciara is the favorite. She doesn't excel in singing, dancing, or acting. She isn't the most polite and she never works for what she wants. She gets the love her siblings have to fight for. Ciara wants to be friends with her siblings, but until she can recognize her spoiled ways that will not happen.

Jin Kiyoung : The Washed Up Boyfriend

Kiyoung doesn't really love Nuala. He never loved her at all, even when he started pursuing her. At first she was just someone to fuck when his other girls were out of town, but once he found out she was amazing at creating music Kiyoung knew he had to stick around. Nuala is the sole reason he still has a career. He's waiting for enough Nuala created songs to pile up before dipping, so he can have a few years left in the industry before retiring to something else. Poor Nuala doesn't know she's being used.

Mali Finch-Noy : The Partner In Crime

Mali is a producer that worked at RHEE SOUND STUDIOS. She was a prolific member of the producing group before getting poached by PARADISO STUDIOS. She was working on songs for their up coming co-ed group before the CEO removed her from the project and stuck her with Nuala. Neither of them were happy with the decision. Nuala wanted to do her own thing and Mali is known for having a more sugary sweet, bubble-gummy style with both her lyrics and production as a whole. Nuala didn't want to be brought down by a style that was not her own. The first three projects they worked on together are ones they both equally hate, but after spending time together they grew to respect one another.

[kolbisneat]

MONTHLY MEDIA: November 2023

Ooooooh it's getting cold and snowy out here in Ontario! Perfect weather to stay in, curl up, and read/watch/play something.

……….FILM……….

Bottoms (2023) The heightened reality could've been made apparent a little sooner but other than that, no notes. Weird and fun in a way I haven't seen in a while. Big fan.

How The West Was Fun (1994) It took me about 1 hour and 10 minutes to get into this but it finishes strong. And so many great jackets! Ugh I love a good belt buckle.

……….TELEVISION……….

The Crown (Episode 6.01 to 6.02) Okay this is my first dip into the series but having lived (just barely) through a lot of this, I feel like I got caught up fairly quickly. Really feels like the focus is on Diana instead of the Queen, yeah?

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off (Episode 1.01 to 1.06) Not what I was expecting and really refreshing for it! The animation varies wildly from episode to episode and I assume it's intentional buuuut sometimes it doesn't quite work for me. If I finish it and enjoy it enough to warrant a rewatch, I'll definitely try it with the Japanese dub.

……….YOUTUBE……….

Mosa Lina by Caleb Gamman This looks like a fun game and, more importantly, the video is a thoughtful divergence into the topic of "genre". Gonna be thinking about the ideas in here for a while. VIDEO

This Woman Deconstructs 100-Year-Old Books To Restore Them | Obsessed | WIRED by WIRED I could watch book restoration all day and I hope this becomes an ongoing series or she starts her own channel. VIDEO

7 Deadly Art Sins by CJ the X Vital watching for any creative type. Don't compare yourself to others (different from learning from others), don't hesitate starting that project you have in mind, and don't be afraid to create stuff you don't like cause it's an opportunity to reflect and grow and move towards making something you do like. Also promise me you won't call it content. VIDEO

Chicago Doesn’t Own Its Own Streets | Climate Town by Climate Town If you ever hear a city councilor mention selling public infrastructure to a private company, send them this link or vote them out. VIDEO

……….READING……….

A Few Fiends To Tea by Virginia Coffman (Complete) Picked this up secondhand for the cover (obviously) and the promise of a dying man using his remaining time to enact some vigilante justice on serial killers. Pulpy fun, right? Well it mostly reads like a mid century romance with a few interesting exchanges peppered throughout. Oh well.

Silver Surfer by Slott & Allred Omnibus by Dan Slott and Michael Allred (Complete) This is what comics can be. Funny, sad, silly, and sincere, all while telling superhero stories that don't exclusively rely on punching to solve conflict. This reads like the best of Doctor Who and I love it all the more.

Delicious in Dungeon Volume 1 by Ryoko Kui (Complete) It seeeeeeeeems like the series is wrapping up so while I wait for the final volume's release I figured I'd start a reread. Knowing where it's going it's fun to see how established the setting and characters are right out of the gate. Just so great and I can't recommend it enough.

……….AUDIO……….

Wag the Doug (Podcast) This is for a very specific audience (folks living in Ontario, Canada that are invested in provincial politics) but if you're a part of that demographic then it's a great way to loosely keep up with what's going on.

……….GAMING……….

Oz: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) The Mof1 Crew is infiltrating a funeral where they know Princess Ozma will be attending. I think their plan is still stuff from the coat check but maybe they'll change course along the way. Never know what I'm going to get with this crew.

Wonderland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) Got to run this quite a bit this month and testing is going well! Similar tone but very different sort of play from Oz and Neverland and I feel like that's a good thing.

And that’s it. See you in December!

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 5

A Niche Narratives Fanficiton

last | first | next

[Trigger warnings: Period typical antisemitism; anti-semitic slur use; graphic depictions of violence and gun violence; minor character death; mentions of gore]

5. Slanderous Details

Time moves slowly, but Mordecai is patient. Intent on ruining Jimbo from the ground up, he makes ample time not only to gather intel, but to flourish from a frightened young Jewish boy into the man his bar mitzvah celebrated. Jimbo's antics aside - which get slowly less severe - Mordecai focuses his attention on his standing with Mr Fiores and the company, biding his time and carefully altering his appearance to appeal to the underboss specifically.

Doing so is easy; he mimics tailored suits, monogrammed cufflinks and pointed Italian loafers, invests in a silver plated tie pin, even curating his posture and accent (he ditched the New York rustic for clear enunciation) to sound professional and look confident. He even invests in a fedora, though he rarely wears it, finding the ear restriction annoying.

Eight months down the line, after finally deciding it's time to enact his revenge, Mordecai skips work to spend time with his family instead. He draws (awfully) with Rose, engages Esther in a brief game of chequers (he won) and helps his mother with preparations for dinner (brisket and tzimmes, a family favourite), all the while watching the clock, knowing his future is inevitable.

His familial bliss is frequently interrupted by a whisper in the recesses of conscious thought that's convinced it's going to backfire. Perhaps that's why he makes time for each of the women in his life, to ensure they carry fond memories of him should the worst occur, but he won't let a mere possibility dictate his choices. His family are counting on him to succeed.

With everyone tucked safely into bed by ten, Mordecai sets to work becoming Elijah Katz; he slicks back wayward hair, clips a collar around his neck and dons his best three piece over a crisp, white shirt. Going through his collection of ties, the tom pauses on red silk thumbing the soft material in thought before extracting it from the drawer.

Despite being new to the temple, Nataliya's family brought the tie as their bar mitzvah gift for the young tom, presenting it privately as they left the event after realising the rest of the congregation gathered their finances for a commemorative gift. It's still the finest in his expanding collection, a striking colour as vivid as fresh blood as he fixes it over his shirt. It feels fitting for the occasion.

The routine of dressing for the part quells the negative voice questioning his methodology. Now isn't the time for second guesses or insecurity. Meeting his reflection's gaze while he tightens his tie to his throat, Mordecai is hit with a sense of peace. Everything collated, analysed and recorded since his assault have led to this evening, he's on the precipice of the future, whatever it may bring.

His pulse remains steady, his mind clear of doubt; he's never been more prepared.

Finally, he retrieves his most treasured possession; a silver plated pocket watch, the dust cover delicately etched with a series of interlocking cogs of all sizes. Presented by mother, the entire congregation pooled their funds and purchased it, to commemorate his first steps into manhood. He thumbs its etched cover affectionately, then clicks it open.

Almost eleven. Mordecai frowns and snapping it shut, slips the watch into his waistcoat pocket, making sure to secure it to a safety chain. Evisceration beacons.

His arrival at the launderette is uneventful. The enforcers in the lobby let him pass with only the briefest of looks, having become accustomed to his nightly visits. None of them are seemingly aware he's early, but that doesn't bother him; his business and theirs are very different focal points. They wait for direction, then savagely hunt their prey, while the tuxedo finds his own deserving targets. Like Jimbo.

Mordecai pauses at the door, makes final adjustments to his tie pin to disguise a steadying breath, then knocks. Almost immediately, it's wrenched open by a bodyguard, taking the adolescent slightly off guard. Before he can even request an audience with Mr Fiores, he's roughly dragged into the back room by a bicep and thrown into another lackey, who swiftly relieves him of his satchel and letter opener before forcing him to sit in a vacant chair.

Mordecai masks raised hackles and anxious tail flickers with a sour glare before pointedly brushing the creases out of his jacket sleeve. A chuckle flows around the room, all enjoying his irritation, except for the bodyguard going through his bag. Mr Fiores regards the events with indifference while a cigar belches smoke between fat fingers, the underboss seemingly almost bored, but intensely focused He knows I wasn't at the tracks.

He knows Jimbo likely snitched on his absence, sending a runner to incriminate him as soon as the clock ticked past nine. It's an inconvenience, but one Mordecai anticipated and prepared for. Knowing there's no point acting ignorant, he glances at Fiores for permission to speak. A silent wave of a palm, an expectant glare, and Mordecai has the floor.

"To begin, I assume you are aware of James' vendetta," he states. Anyone who's spoken to Jimbo in the last nine months knows of the Yid he's forced to manage and how much he despises the boy. "I wish to preface this discussion with assurance that the information I'm about to provide is not related to our disagreement, nor motivated by monetary gain."

Both statements are lies yet convincingly shared, not an iota of deception in his tone. He pauses there, awaiting leave to continue as Fiores seems to consider these claims with an extended draw on his cigar. After what seems like a lifetime, he's once again given the floor. Mordecai is only just getting started. "While my concerns are based on numerous inconsistencies, first and foremost, I must admit to being privy to sensitive information I fear I should not have been. At least, I assume a 'bookie' shouldn't have access to intake or purchase ledgers."

There's a subtle change in Fiores' expression, a narrowing of the eyes. He's paying attention. Mordecai pointedly looks at the man still holding his satchel and holds out a hand for its return. A second of subtle eye contact with Mr Fiores and it's handed over without difficulty. The tuxedo places the bag on the table and extracts numerous ledgers, passing each of them to the lackey to present to their boss.

With Jimbo shirking his work for months even before he'd settled on torturing Mordecai, it was easy to gather evidence of his laziness. The man willingly supplied almost everything in the notebook by foisting the majority of his duties onto the adolescent bookkeeper. Access to ledgers he shouldn't see made it easy to make duplicates with very subtle changes to final figures. The final part of his plan.

Mordecai meticulously fabricated a minor difference in every ledger in the last eight months; fifty cents or a dollar at most per day. It could be a forgotten bet or an annulled payout, a write-off most companies would swallow. The organisation is certainly capable of doing so, but Mordecai is relying on two factors; that a lowly bookie has had access to records, then those record were seemingly edited by a bet or two in between Mordecai and Jimbo.

He needs only to highlight the 'problem.'

"As a prudent man, I track my monthly income carefully," he continues once Mr Fiores has the ledgers, even if he doesn't open them. He's aware the man hates to read without true cause. "Based on the percentage we agreed not correlating with my salary, I created duplicates of ledgers placed on my workload to assess potential miscommunications, yet found nothing, which leads me to conclude my numbers and those submitted as final reports are inconsistent."

"I hope you realise what you're doing, Katz." Mr Fiores sits forward, leaning over the table to get into Mordecai's face. Dark ears fold back as the scent of cigar smoke permeates the air. "Tell me plain. I want to be sure you know how serious it is, before I look in these books."

When he first started working for Mr. Fiores, Mordecai would have folded then and there, stuttering - possibly begging - to have his books back and make a hasty exit. He'd been just a kid back then, a desperate and stupid kid getting way over his head in a dangerous profession. But that stupid kid has changed, and Mordecai holds his gaze without an issue, his tone flat and level. "I believe James Heartfell is embezzling funds from the organisation, with the intent of framing me."

Fiores stares back at him for a heartbeat, then two. Neither yields, the young lad tightening his jaw, until the underboss smiles and takes a toke of his cigar inches from Mordecai's muzzle. "You've grown into those suits, boy." The smoke burns his sinuses, but the tuxedo cat dare not flinch. "Let's hope you've not gotten too big for your boots on the way."

The next few hours are spent in relative silence. Mr Fiores has the official ledgers brought out to compare to the duplicates recently supplied, but it's obvious within the first ten minutes he's picked up on the differences. He has a lackey keeping track of each inconsistency, totalling up their phantom funds through all eight months of books, leading up to just three weeks after the assault and beginning of the disagreements.

As architect of the whole scheme, Mordecai sits quietly at the opposite end of the table, speaking when addressed or not at all. To his pleasant surprise, he's offered refreshments an hour into the arrangement and gladly accepts some tea. It's the first time he's tasted Earl Gray, a blend far too expensive for his monthly budget, and he honestly can't tell if it's superior blend or circumstances, but it tastes sublime.

Another hour or so - and another perfect cup of tea - Fiores has finished assessing the duplicate ledgers and informed Mordecai they won't be returned. He's completely fine with it; they've served their purpose. The underboss will probably burn them to disguise his own apparent failures once Jimbo makes his appearance at the launderette and by extension, remove any evidence of Mordecai's deception. A win-win.

When the man of the hour arrives, his welcome is similar to the one Mordecai endured; he's dragged into the back room by his tie and thrown into another bodyguard, who roughly removes his side arm, switchblade and ledgers. The young tom just sips his tea nonchalantly as an attempt to complain is met with a swift crack of fist to bone and a grunt of pain, a combination that gives Mordecai a moment's pause before he resumes enjoying his Earl Gray.

In his peripheral vision, Jimbo is manhandled to face Fiores as the day's ledgers are handed over. A trickle of red below a nostril soaking dull brown pelt and pooling above Jimbo's lip indicates he took the punch directly on the snout. A small smile touches Mordecai's lips for a half a second before his nonchalant mask is firmly back in place.

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. As soon as Jimbo clocks the monochromatic feline lounging within a chair, he murrs angrily and pulls against the hands holding him securely in place. "What th'fuck you said 'bout me, boy? Huh?! I'll wring your scrawny ne-!" 

A swift kick to the back of a knee silences Jimbo's rants. His legs collapse and he sags with a gasp in their' grasp, until one of them grabs his hair and yanks his head up, forcing the pathetic man to meet Mr Fiores' gaze. The underboss is staring, smoking yet another cigar, and Jimbo goes pale in his scathing crosshairs. It's a look no one ever wants to get from a mob boss. "M-Mr Fiores, sir! Whatever he said, you know it ain't right. He's a lazy, lyin' heeb trying to-"

"On the contrary," Fiores interrupts briskly, not once looking away from the tawny feline. His voice seems to bring an end to his struggling and Jimbo hangs like a ragdoll, supported only by the two goons at his sides. "It would seem Katz worked exceptionally hard for the last few months, at the very least. What I'd like to know, before we get into details, is why he's been doing your duties on top of his own."

Before he can explain, the grifter is thrown to the floor and a boot pressed to his back to keep him there. The underboss leans closer around the table, thick smoke seeping out from between stained teeth as he speaks. "Denying it won't work either, Heart. He brought evidence - hundreds of duplicates, all of ledgers he shouldn't even have seen." 

The last word is delivered with a kick. Jimbo cries out as a steel toe capped boot cracks against his jaw. There's another crack, a whimper, and despite his resolve, Mordecai flinches; he's not privy to much violence in his role as a bookkeeper. While Jimbo deserves every ounce of pain he's receiving, it doesn't make it any easier for the adolescent to witness. He sets down his tea and closes his eyes, focusing on keeping his expression level, not wishing to seem affected.

"Haven't we been good enough to you?" Fiores asks next, leaning down to the bleeding, whimpering mess at his feet, fake disbelief in his tone. Hot ash falls to the man's back as the underboss looms over his prone form. "I gave you a job, a purpose, and this is how you repay me? Stealing, without the self respect to accept responsibility for your choice? I thought we had an agreement, Jimbo. An understanding."

A slight hand motion, and the boot comes off Jimbo's back. The man scrambles to his knees, sobbing and pleading, all pretenses of bravery abandoned as he begs. "I-I'm sorry for passin' on jobs! I didn't th-think it was a big deal! I won't do it again, I won't! But I swear on m-me Mam I ain't been takin' no money! I promise! That kike-"

When he cuts off with a gasp so swiftly after using another slur, the young feline dares can't help but open his eyes to see what transpired. He finds Jimbo frozen on all fours at the underboss' feet, eyes wide and pupils constricted as he stares down the barrel of his own side arm, Fiores leveling it to the man's forehead with an almost detached tiredness.

"I don't like liars," the man states. It takes all of Mordecai's self control to not shudder at that simple statement, knowing what's unfolding is his own doing, based on lies. Fiores casually pulls back the firing pin, the low click echoing in the silent room as the monochrome tom feels his heart beat harder in his chest. "I don't like people who steal from me either, because people who steal from me are idiots. There's no time for idiots in my business, Heart. Even ones I trusted."

Sharp yellow eyes shift to Mordecai. The feline freezes as with a single finger, Fiores beckons the adolescent over, an invitation he knows he's expected to accept. His legs leaden and heavy, it's an immense effort to stand and make his way around the table, his own gaze fixing on Jimbo's frightened gaze as he does, both their fates uncertain in Fiores' hand.

It's only when the pistol, the serial number scratched off and buffed away, is pressed into his palm that Mordecai knows how this is going to end. 

"It won't bite," Fiores mutters, his breath so close the heat of it raises the hairs on his arm. A titter of laughter lilts around the room as tentatively, Mordecai closes a hand around the handle. The smooth metal is cold to the touch, lighter than anticipated, but a little too large for his adolescent hand to manage. "There you go, son. Wasn't that easy?"

A meaty hand still wrapped firmly around the tom's, Fiores levels the barrel with Jimbo's head once more. Jimbo looks terrified, his whole body shaking, the stench of fear wafting off his pelt almost suffocating. Mordecai attempts to lower it but Fiores resists, adjusting the barrel to the center of the cowering man's forehead even as the adolescent's arm also begins to shake with uncontainable fear.

Stabilizing his aim, Fiores teases the boy's index finger off the handle and places it over the trigger, pressing down with his own to make sure it can't slip off. The trigger resists their pressure, the mechanisms within primed for purpose, the power of life or death resting in his palm. Just a few pounds of pressure separate him from an irreversible action.

"One shot between the eyes is all it takes, Little Bookie." Fiores whispers, flexing his index finger. "One well-aimed bullet will fell any man, even one built like a brick shithouse. All you have to do is-"

Fiores compresses the lad's finger on the trigger, pushing past the minimum force limit. The single shot sounds like an explosion in the small launderette back room, ricocheting off walls and compounding inside Mordecai's ringing ears. He flinches, black dots dancing in front of his eyes as anxiety and fear conspire to erase any complex thoughts, heartbeat so harsh in his throat the splatter if brain matter on his face is felt in excessive and revolting definition.

Not prepared for what just transpired - the sounds, the smell of gunpowder, the iron taste in the air or the blowback on his face - he drops the gun almost as soon as it's discharged, which clatters to the tiled floor. Laughter envelopes the room as dry heaving, Mordecai collapses against the table and frantically searches every pocket for a handkerchief.

Whether it's guilt or morbid curiosity, he can't help but look back when Jimbo's lifeless body tumbles to the floor, hole in his head openly smoking, with the acrid smells of burnt flesh and singed hair joining the onslaught of new scents. Finding his handkerchief, Mordecai immediately wipes his face and neck free of blood and tissue even as blood leaks out of the lifeless man at his feet.

A heavy hand on his shoulder almost knocks Mordecai over, but Fiores' smile is genuine when he turns around. He looks almost proud, creating a sick sensation in the adolescent's gut as he's patted on the back. He's offered another cup of tea - politely declined, to no one's surprise - then lead to the front of the launderette with promises of a raise if he'll accept Jimbo's old job, Fiores' men clearing up the 'mess' they left behind without a word.

When he gets home, he washes his face seven times before bed. Uncomfortably stiff in his sheets, Mordecai stares at the ceiling as he reflects on the evening. In essence, his scheme worked perfectly; Jimbo was removed from the company, is no longer a threat, and Mordecai inherited his better paid job. He'll be able to afford to rent a room, finally separate his family from the sordid affairs in which he engages wntirely, while earning enough to keep them housed and saving to move.

Despite his success, Mordecai doesn't sleep that night. With fresh memories of Jimbo's lifeless corpse haunting his mind when he closes his eyes, he's not sure he ever will again.