#i'm a funny guy with some funny writes

[lightyearssurrogatedaddy]

ErrInk beause I once again got bored

He had a stool and a plan.

If only Error would stop moving.

They were at Blue's house, wandering through the wide downstairs living room and circling up and around the upstairs in a sauntered, very gradual chase. He waddled after him and put the stool down, and Error immediately meandered away in humor. Back down the stairs, then clambering on the top of the couch and walking the rest of the way before hopping down, evading Ink as he tried to get in front of him, snickering, and going back up. Ink having trouble catching the legs on the steps and struggling to reach the top of the railing, then taking a moment to rest and picking up the stool again. Error acted like he was looking at something in the corner of the room when he wasn't moving, and behaved as if the reason he kept moving was because something interesting caught his attention.

Blue was watching this strange parade from the kitchen, leaning on the edge counter and out of the path. In mild amusement and confusion he smiled whenever Error stopped long enough for Ink to stand on the stool, then waltz away again with a disgruntled hiss following him. The little game had a point to begin with, and he'd get there eventually, Error would tire out or sit down, stop to talk to Blue or turn around and ask Ink what his deal was. And he had all the time in the world.

Following back up the stairs, swinging the stool to balance on his head and making careful steps up. One at a time. And reached the top in a shorter amount of time than last time. He put the stool down again, took pride in his accomplishment, and stalked on to the glitch at the end of the railing. Staring off into space. Ink snuck along the wall for comedic effect with a goofy grin, and slowly leaned over to set the stool beside him. He was gunna move in just a second, so he hopped up and got from his knees to his feet.

He waited, Error didn't move and gave a squinting glare. Going according to plan, he attempted to cup Error's face, and in response the glitch jerked away and ducked to speed-walk down to the end of the railing. Another fun failure, Ink picked up his stool and set off again. This time when Ink got to the living room, he found him cowering behind Blue in the kitchen. Inconspicuously, of course, leaning his back into the wannabe and hunched over his phone, probably typing something into the notes app.

Blue had his head resting between his thumb and pointer, exhaling laughter with a pained look on his face.

The doorway to the kitchen was small, and luckily the counter just barely reached the frame. He hammered the stool down, which Blue did not like, and clambered up grinning. Staring equal with Error he cracked his knuckles and shook them out thematically.

Error wore something between grimace and worry, and stood stock still as Ink's itty hands reached for him. He pulled him close, leaned in, and left a little kiss on his forehead. The glitch gave a whine of words and pressed the phone to his nose, heavily squinting at Ink. Then he ran away.

When Ink looked though Error's phone later, the notes app at a recent new addition.

Several exclamation marks, a whole paragraph of the laughing emoji (with the rare appearance of the middle finger emoji), and then an emoticon at the end:

"(:<"

[sualne]

your body isn't your own

[theabigailthorn]

my TV series pitch just got rejected by a production company who said it's too funny and not commercial enough, which, frankly, BEST FEEDBACK EVER??!!!

[abiteofhoney]

honestly, i also feel like i haven't seen as many snippets come across my dash as i used to. please share something with me! today, share something funny, something you wrote that makes you laugh.

[wildechildwrites]

Lucky Charms

Looney Tunes Part Two

Konig/Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

No use of Y/N

Summary: You have some more encounters with König, the mysterious man who lives in your apartment building.

A/N: König being unintentionally terrifying is so funny. He’s shy and he’s a giant murderer for hire, excuse him for constantly throwing off the vibe. Let me know if you want to be tagged in part three!

AO3 Link: Looney Tunes

You've got bags of groceries hanging from your arms, pinching at your skin, precariously balanced, a white knuckle grip on the laundry detergent that's determined to slip through your fingers before you reach your apartment. The man steps on the elevator with you, and you can feel your face heating up as he looks at you.

You haven't seen him since the night he'd kissed you, and you wondered if he thought of you everytime he rode the elevator. You certainly thought of him.

He makes no effort to disguise his staring, looking down at you with a flat expression, taking in your overflowing arms.

"I hate making more than one trip to my car," you say, answering the question he didn’t ask, shrugging as much as you can with your arms full. You swear you see his eyebrow twitch.

Amusement? Irritation? It's impossible to read him. Instead, you drop your gaze, feeling his eyes still on you.

"My name is König." He says abruptly. Your eyes jump back up to his face, and it's his turn to look away as you grin, introducing yourself.

When you go to get off the elevator, he plucks the detergent out of your hand, gesturing silently for some of the bags you carry. He follows you to your apartment soundlessly, placing the bags down outside of your door. You throw your 'thank you' at his retreating form, and he doesn't acknowledge it.

Later, when you're putting away your groceries, you say his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue.

One of the lights in the parking garage is flickering again, and you sigh in annoyance as you look up at it. The apartment complex took months to fix the last broken bulb, so you’re unenthusiastic about the prospects of a quick repair. It puts you on edge, affecting the visibility and giving the garage an eerie feeling.

“It’s just like a horror movie,” you mumble to yourself, attempting to break the tension you feel as you head towards the exit. It’s late, your workday running longer than it should’ve, and you can’t help the itch of anxiety crawling up your spine.

You pass an unfamiliar man, standing still in between some of the cars. His eyes are on you, and you grip your keys tighter in your hand, speeding up. You hazard a glance over your shoulder and find he's disappeared, and your eyes search the parking lot behind you.

Distracted as you are, unfocused on where you're going, you slam straight into a solid wall of a person. You let out a shriek, head whipping back around and nearly fall backwards as you attempt to scramble away. Two solid hands firmly grip your shoulders, preventing you from tripping. König is standing in front of you, and you sag against his hold in relief.

“You scared me!” you exclaim, a hand going up reflexively to your chest.

“You should be more cautious, häschen,” König responds, and you swear there’s the faintest trace of a smile on his face, the subtle quirk of scarred lips. “Most people look where they are walking to, not where they are walking from.”

You let out a sigh and roll your eyes with a smile, the anxiety seeping out of your body. “The stupid flickering light really freaked me out,” you say, gesturing at the ceiling. “And then there was a man staring at me, but he disappeared.” König nods thoughtfully. His hands are still on your shoulders, and there’s a beat as you both stare at each other.

König clears his throat. “I will speak to the complex maintenance about repairing the light. As for your mystery friend–” König pulls back and slides one finger across his throat. You laugh at the joke, even though he’s not smiling.

König insists on walking you back to your apartment despite your objections, and although you know you were just being silly, you’re touched by the gesture.

“Thank you, König,” you say, lingering in the doorway, and something in his eyes seems to sharpen when you say his name.

You're eating cereal on your couch, watching cartoons when you should be sleeping. It's a childish habit, but after a long day, you're feeling sentimental and too burnt out to process anything with substance. Scrolling through your phone, half paying attention, you almost miss the soft knock on your front door.

König is standing outside, his face obscured by something that looks like an executioner's hood. The gear he's wearing makes him seem even more massive, a mountain of a man standing in front of you.

"May I come in?" He asks, his accented voice low, and you're so caught off guard by the request that your jaw drops.

König stares at you and you stare back, contemplating the matter.

You probably shouldn't let him in, this hulking monster in a mask. You don't even know him really, only interacting a couple of times. He's kissed you, and it was a knee buckling, eye rolling kiss, but does that necessarily grant him access to your apartment?

Your logistical side loses when he lets out a sigh, a huff of air that borders on a whine. You step aside, waving him to the couch as you go to the kitchen to grab another bowl of cereal for him. You want to know why he's here unannounced, but you're unwilling to disturb the delicate balance between the two of you, so you say nothing. He pulls off the mask, eyes on the TV.

“Looney Tunes?” he asks, his voice amused. Daffy Duck lets out a shriek in the silence between you two, and you snort.

“Call it a guilty pleasure,” you reply. König’s eyebrow twitches. You offer him the bowl, and his large fingers brush against yours, shockingly warm and rough. His eyes seem to glint at the contact, an almost avian intensity that makes your skin flush.

You sit down a measured distance away from him, and go back to eating your cereal, attempting to display a level of casual that you do not feel. König seems unaffected, sprawled on your couch, crunching away like he does this every night. He's got his boots on still, tacky with a dark liquid you think could be blood.

"Uh… not that I don't appreciate the company…" you begin after a beat of silence, turning to face him. It's the first time you've seen him really smile, and a part of you is unsure if you like it, the almost predatory glint of teeth.

"I just wanted to see if you'd invite me in." He responds to your unspoken question, his voice rumbling deep from his chest, and there's a sharp edge to his words that make the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

There's a beat, and your expression must tip him off to your discomfort because his eyes widen.

"I didn't mean– I am sorry I misspoke– sometimes my translations are–" he's stammering, and you instantly relax, feeling guilty for your involuntary reaction.

"No! No it's okay I was just… surprised. I'm glad for the company" You say in a rush, your voice unnaturally high. "You're always welcome to come over."

He smiles again, softer than before. His eyes haven't quite lost the cutting focus, but you smile back, relaxing a little as he takes another bite of cereal. You fall back into companionable silence.

It's late, and you're starting to fade, eyes drooping, curled up into yourself. König hasn't moved from his post on the end of your couch, his empty bowl still cupped in one hand, and you drowsily wonder if it's a military habit, the way he sits with perfect stillness. You stifle a yawn, and he glances over at you without moving his head.

"It's getting late," he says quietly. You watch as he rises in one fluid motion, large strides leading him with a seemingly practiced familiarity to your kitchen. He places his dish in the sink and reaches for the soap. You sit up.

"It's alright, I'll wash the dishes tomorrow," you call out, wiping your eyes, and he nods. You stand as he heads towards the door, your legs slightly unsteady.

"Thank you for the cereal," he says quietly, a hand on the doorknob. You think there is a light dusting of pink around his ears, but it's too dark to really tell.

You smile at him. "You're welcome."

König pauses, turning towards you.

You idly wonder if he'll kiss you again. He looks down at you with an inscrutable expression, bringing a large hand slowly up to your face, the ghost of his fingertips skimming your jaw. You let out an involuntary gasp at the contact, your skin electrified, and he drops his hand.

He opens the door, and you notice his fingers are still curled, as if he's cupping the sensation of your skin against his, holding it in his palm.

○○○●●●○○○●●●○○○

"Good night little rabbit," König whispers, a silhouette in your doorway. "Catch you later."

Part Three

Taglist:

All for you @whos-fran my beloved (the first person to ever ask to be tagged)

If anyone else would like to be on the taglist for part three reply or reblog this post :)

[shannonsketches]

The way I will simply never recover from this page:

Vegeta's Panic and then IMMEDIATE affection for his new baby

Vegeta being excited to have a daughter

Goku assuming his wife Magic'd their children out of herself

Supreme Kai being embarrassed for Goku

Beerus getting wasted

Bulma saying she will raw dog her husband frequently and expeditiously with her whole chest, in front of god and everybody

Whis being like 'i gotchu babe 💅 but i gotta borrow ur man first or there'll be no more boning for anybody lol'

[sentientcave]

Let's Riot!

When the Reader St arena gets bought out from under them by Morgan’s vengeful ex, Pippa Graves, The Reader St Riots suddenly find themselves without a practice space. Pippa may say she’ll play nice, but Morgan knows that she’ll either have to get back under Pippa’s manicured thumb or the whole team will be out on their ass in no time. Problem is, the only other practice space around that’s not booked up to the tits belongs to Jo Price, captain of the Femme41, and well… Morgan has a bit of ugly history with her too.

Still, Jo’s at least a little more reasonable than Pippa, and Morgan may hate to beg, but she’d hate to see the Riots disbanded more. And well, maybe there’s room for a little cooperation, especially when their teams get along so well.

Contains: Lesbians! Almost everyone is a woman (Alex is NB and there are like. A few men mentioned.) and most of them are gay, OCs: Readers and OCs from a bunch of my projects and also Bambi and Bricks who belong to the esteemed @dragonnarrative-writes , Roller Derby!, complicated dating histories, this is just a fun little palette cleanser because I got sad working on one of my other projects lmao, alcohol consumption, cannabis consumption

~3k - 18+ MDNI

“Frank, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Come on, sweetheart, calm down—��

“I am calm!” Morgan snapped.

Chelsea quickly put an arm in front of Morgan and dragged her back a step. Calling Morgan sweetheart was a great shortcut to her blowing her top. “You are definitely not calm.” She looked back at Frank. He stood between them and the doors to the arena, a short, balding man that looked a bit sweaty and nervous in the low light. “You couldn’t give us any notice?”

“Look, I’ll return your deposits for the month—”

“That’s not the issue!” Morgan's brown eyes flashed with fury, her jaw tight, like she wanted to bite the man, which would be distinctly unhelpful.

Chelsea dragged her back another step. “It is a little the issue. What happened? We’ve never had any trouble, we’ve always paid on time, there’s no reason why you’d drop us like this.”

“New owners,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry, they cancelled everyone. You were just at the bottom of the call list, and you got here before I could.”

“New owners! Since when was it for sale?”

“Hell if I know. They don’t tell me shit either. All I know is that Gerry came in here with some blond bi—" He thought twice about his wording, giving Morgan another nervous glance. "--Woman and she’s the boss now.”

Morgan walked in a tight circle, looking up at the sky, hands on her hips. This wasn’t happening. It didn’t have to be her. Maybe it was some other blond woman with money to burn. “Fuck.”

The doors behind Frank opened. “Oh, hey sugar,” a too-familiar voice rang out, southern accent distinctive. “Fancy meetin' you here.”

Morgan turned around sharply. “Pippa.”

Chelsea groaned. “Oh here we go.”

“Go back to your office, Frank. I think I’ve got this from here.” Phillipa Graves patted Frank on the shoulder and walked past him. “Morgan, I’ve missed you. You never return my calls anymore.”

“Is that what this is about?” Morgan shifted her grip on her bag, glancing toward the parking lot. Bricks and Doll were lingering at the edge, talking to each other and looking back with worried expressions. They knew the history between Morgan and Pippa well enough to be wary of what might happen next. “You’re gonna steal our practice space because I won’t call you back?”

“Aw, honey, don’t be like that. We’re all big girls. I figure we can learn to share. Why don’t you join us tonight? And early next week we can grab dinner and make a new schedule. I’m sure there’s a way to make sure we’re all… satisfied.” Pippa twisted one of Morgan’s curls around her finger, leaning in close. Even ready for practice, she looked perfect as always, more like she was about to model for a roller skate advertisement than actually practice. Sleek blonde hair swept back in a low braid, a tight pink tank top, leggings that clung to her thighs, pads on, skates off, preparation interrupted by all the fuss she was certainly expecting.

“I’m the one that does the scheduling, usually,” Chelsea interjected. “Maybe it’s us that should get dinner.”

“If you like,” Pippa said smoothly, barely sparing Chelsea a glance. “The more the merrier, of course. Though I do have some personal business to talk over with Morgan too. Suppose it can wait.” She tapped Morgan under the chin with her first knuckle. “Come on, sugar, practice with us. We’re not so bad. And you’re all already here, ain’t you?”

“We’ll have to talk it over.”

“Course. Y’all come on in when you’re done talkin’.” Pippa winked at Morgan and sauntered back inside.

Chelsea sighed, elbowing Morgan as they walked over to the others. The rest of the team had gathered around Bricks, her height marked among the group of shorter women. “You’re gonna have to sleep with her.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “I’d really rather not.”

“She’s not going to be reasonable,” Billie pointed out. “She’s pure evil. She’s the head of the PTA at Ellie’s school, and she runs that shit like the navy. She’s gonna bend us over a barrel to get what she wants.”

“Have you ever tried not having antagonistic relationships with your exes?” Bricks asked. “Because that’s what I do, and no one has bought a whole arena just to fuck with me.”

“Yet,” Doll said reassuringly. “It could still happen.”

“The whole team is awful,” Bambi said. “One of them works in my office, and she’s a real— Well, I don’t like her.”

“Harsh words, DB.” Bricks propped her hands on her hips. “We can suck it up for one night, a free practice is a free practice. And if you have to flutter your eyelashes at her the whole time, you’re gonna do it.” She pointed at Morgan accusingly. “This is your fault.”

“It is not!”

“It is,” Chelsea said solemnly, fixing her pink bun from on top of her head to low on the nape of her neck to fit under her helmet. “Pussy game is clearly too strong. Maybe try being a worse fuck.”

“She can’t.” Bricks gently turned Morgan around so that she was facing the doors, and nudged her forward a step. “She doesn’t know how.”

Chelsea turned fully toward the others, walking backward. “Alright, drills only, we’re not going to let them goad us into a scrimmage, they’re gonna play dirty as hell with no refs, and we can’t afford an injury this close to a game. Keep it loose, and if anyone hassles you, come to me, or come to Bricks. Do not tell Morgan or she’s gonna punch someone and we’re gonna lose our space for good.”

“I’m not!”

Bricks laughed and caught Chelsea’s arm, spinning her before she hit the edge of the door. “Yes you are, Morgan. Stay on your best behaviour. Maybe even try being charming.”

Bunny nudged Dancer, grinning. “If you’d joined up last year, like I told you to, you could have been here for the whole explosion. It was great.”

“Great?” Billie asked, raising her eyebrows. “Were we watching the same breakup?”

Bricks glanced over her shoulder warningly. “Save it for drinks, ladies, or Morgan’s gonna make us skate line drills till we drop.”

They dropped their bags along the benches and geared up, watching the Shadows zip around the track. The Shadows were mean, not just on the track, but off too, in that sugar sweet way that left you wondering if you were just reading into it. They were a pretty well-rounded team, and coordinated, thanks to Pippa. She did nothing in half-measures. It seemed impossible that she’d be able to raise children, run school events, coach a junior team as well as an adult one, somehow have a job on top, and still have time to run around keeping two relationships secret from each other for nearly eight months, but Pippa was the kind of woman who really could have it all.

The Riots were… A good team. Pippa had poached two of their players during the breakup drama, and Pepper had moved back home to take care of her grandmother, and they were still trying to get back to where they had been a year ago. Kitten Caboodle and Break Dancer were pretty solid for fresh meat, but with a small team and only four of them with more than a few years experience, it was rough going out there. Hard not to get demoralized when Kortac had beaten them 240 to 60 during their last game. No one’s fault really— Bunny and Sweetpea had been out sick and neither Kitty or Dancer were prepared to jam more than a few rounds with players that rough. They’d gotten shaken, so Morgan and Billie had done most of the jams. Nobody and Freddie Kruger had just torn right through their weakened pack while Morgan and Bill tried to wrestle their way past Queenie.

Once Dancer and Kitty got more confident, they’d be hard to catch. Kitty was tiny, and Dancer was agile, but they both needed more time. Doll and Bambi, who had joined a little over a year ago had turned out to be a highly effective set of blockers— Small, but sturdy and hard to knock down. When they were out on the track with Bricks or Chelsea, they were nigh impossible to get past, which would leave their fourth blocker free to assist the jammer, in an ideal world.

The ideal world simply had five more players in it. Maybe more, since no one but Morgan and Bricks made it to every game.

Later on, worn out and sweaty from practice, crammed into the biggest booth at a diner that was roughly equidistant between everyone’s homes and the arena (and the young man that worked the fryers had a massive crush on Sweetpea, which meant everyone got more fries), they debriefed.

“That’s gonna be tricky for me to stomach long term,” Morgan admitted. “I’m gonna sleep with Pip if I have to be too nice.”

“You don’t actually have to sleep with her, you know,” Bricks said.

“No��� I’m gonna.”

“We can find somewhere else,” Billie suggested. “I don’t want Morgan and Pip to get back together, it was so annoying when they were. All in favour of Morgan not fucking Pippa, say aye.” She raised her hand to note the measure.

“Aye,” they intoned together, all raising their hands as well.

“Simone says the Femme41 practice out of Jo’s warehouse now. Pippa did the same thing to them eight months ago. I bet they’d let us skate there.” Bricks tossed another fry into her mouth. “If someone behaves herself.”

Morgan scoffed. “It’s impossible for me to date another one of her girlfriends, her relationships hardly last the weekends now.”

Bunny mouthed the word Pippa at Kitty and Dancer.

“Then you won’t have a problem asking her,” Chelsea said. “Maybe bake her something nice as an overture. A pie or something. You make good pies.”

Morgan winced. “We have a game against them this weekend. We could ask her all together.”

Billie shook her head. “No, this one’s on you. Captain to captain conversation. You have Chelsea’s schedule key, you can negotiate for a time that works.”

“And if she says no? She hates my guts.”

“Wear something low cut and bake her a pie,” Bricks suggested. “Maybe just go wearing nothing but an apron.”

“I’ve got one that says Born To Be A Lesbian Housewife,” Doll said. “You can borrow it. It’s very frilly.”

Bambi giggled. “I’ve got one that says Vagitarian.”

Doll laughed too, knocking her head against Bambi’s shoulder. “That’s way better, Morgan, borrow that one.”

"I'm not going to-- Did you people hear me when I said she hates my guts?"

"She still has eyes, Morgan," Bricks said. "And you have nice tits."

"If you don't sort this out, we might have to disband to other teams. And I don't want to. I like you guys." Chelsea looped an arm around Kitty. "We started this team because we wanted to get together and have fun and challenge ourselves without it getting so damn competitive or mean. Bill and I are not going back to the Shadows, and there's no way Bricks wants to go back to Kortac. So put on your big girl panties and a cute dress, and charm Jo into sharing the warehouse with us. Got it?"

"Got it." Morgan sank back into her seat with a groan. I'll talk to her after work tomorrow."

"Good," Billie said, a note of finality in her voice. "Now, did anyone else watch Game of Dragons last night? I have opinions."

By the time Morgan got home, walked Laika, showered, ate cold leftovers out of the fridge and stepped out on her balcony with a joint, it was well past dark, and she was bone tired. Jo was out on her own balcony, feet up, smoking a cigar. She was a thick, barrel chested woman, wearing a tank top and jeans, cigar in one hand, glass of whiskey in the other. Her hair was longer than usual, tucked behind her ears, like she'd been growing it out. It had been a while since Morgan saw her without a hat on.

They acknowledged each other with a curt nod, and Morgan settled into her swing chair, tucking her feet up underneath her. Laika went to the railing to give Jo the biggest, saddest eyes she could.

Jo maybe didn't like Morgan much, but it was hard not to like Laika. The big goofy rottweiler loved almost everyone, and knew exactly how to get what she wanted (big sad eyes, a few pathetic whines, a raised paw, if need be). It was only a minute before Jo was up and leaning over the railing to give Laika a pet.

Usually they didn't speak. The smallest things seemed to spark up into fights between them, and Morgan found it was easier just to keep their interactions to a minimum.

So it was a surprise when Jo spoke first. "Rough night?"

"Yeah. You could say that."

"Want to talk about it?"

“Thank you for pretending to care, but not really.” She grimaced. It really was the perfect opportunity to ask, but it was hard to shake the habit of brushing Jo off.

Jo snorted. “You know, I really preferred fightin’ to this cold shoulder treatment.”

“That’s because you’re a disagreeable sort of woman.”

“That’s the spirit, pet. But you can do better than that. C’mere.”

Morgan glared at her. “No. I’m good where I am actually.” She looked the other way, puffing on the joint. She could ask tomorrow. She wasn’t in a mood to deal with anyone else tonight. Having to smile and play nice with Pippa had been bad enough. She needed a good sleep before she could even pretend to be friendly to anyone else.

She startled when Jo’s thick fingers plucked the joint out of her hand. “Hey! I didn’t invite you over here.”

“Your weed’s better than mine.”

“Probably because I grow it myself. What do you want?”

Jo sat down on the solid little coffee table in front of Morgan, holding her cigar and whiskey glass in one hand. She leaned forward, glass resting lightly on her knee, bleeding condensation into the denim. Mixed drink, then, not straight whiskey. Jo drank the better stuff neat. “Pip called me today.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jo hummed, offering the joint back, blue eyes stern. “Don’t be coy, if you’re fuckin’ her again I’d rather know than get blindsided bumpin’ into her in the hallway.”

“Did she tell you we were?”

Jo’s jaw clenched tight. “She said she was lookin’ forward to seein’ you tonight.”

“Well I’m sure it was super nice for her. She bought my team’s arena. I am gonna have to start fucking her if I want to keep our usual practice slots. She made that… Well about as clear as she ever makes anything.” Morgan handed the joint over again. “So not very, but I still got the gist of it.” She scrunched up Laika’s ears, humming. Laika’s tail solidly thumped against Jo’s shin, bridging the space between them.

“Extortionist,” Jo scoffed.

“Yeah. Pretty much. Bricks said you might take pity on us if I asked nicely. I know you practice out of your warehouse.” Morgan lifted her eyes back up to Jo’s face.

“Is this you askin’ nicely?” Jo leaned forward slightly, her soft stomach spilling over her belt a bit, biceps flexing as she leaned more weight on her arms. “You can do better than that. Not so much as a please.”

“It was not me asking nicely. I had no intention of talking to you until tomorrow, and I’m still not asking until I’ve had at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

“Surprised you’d come to me.”

Morgan looked away first, just like she always did. Jo had an intensity to her that was hard to match, blue eyes drilling into her own like she was looking for faults she could use to crack her open entirely. It was much easier to study the freckles on the top of her shoulder, just above the pinup girl sitting on the curve of a crescent moon that looked rather a lot like her ex wife, Sadie. “I wouldn’t if I had literally any other option. But I have to admit that you are slightly more tolerable than Pippa. Even if you do park half in my spot and fuck squealing college girls at all hours of the night.”

“You don’t need the space. You have a bike.”

“So that gives you the right to park your big-dick pickup truck wherever you please?”

“Sure does, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart! We have one conversation that doesn’t make me want to punch you, and you have to ruin it.”

She grinned, shifting back again. “Not being very nice to someone you want to ask a favour from.”

“I’m not asking the favour until tomorrow. I’m too grumpy to be nice tonight. You invited yourself over and plopped yourself down in front of me and started smoking my weed.” This was not helpful. Why did Jo always manage to get her this worked up? She drew in a centring breath. “No, you’re right, I should be nicer.”

"I did bogart your joint," Jo conceded. "That's on me." Rather than hand it back, she took a long drag, the cherry burning bright all the way down to the folded cardboard filter, and dropped the remains in the ashtray. She leaned forward again, cupping the back of Morgan's neck with a strong hand, and blew smoke directly into Morgan's face. She grinned wickedly when Morgan spluttered a bit. "What's wrong, pet? Thought you wanted me to share better."

"Maybe I am better off negotiating with Pippa," Morgan grumbled, swatting Jo's hand away.

"Hm. Maybe. Why don't you think about how you'll ask me about practice space tomorrow, and I'll get out of your hair." Jo stood up, gave Laika another pat, and climbed back over to her side of the balcony without another word.

Morgan ushered Laika inside, fuming again, and furiously got ready for bed.

She was sure of one thing; Jo Price was going to make a truce between them nigh impossible.

Title card made on Canva - Image Credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 (Stickers are Canva assets) Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[danieyells]

How Much Is An SSR Worth?

Summary: Ren gets Taiga's help. SFW.

----

The Sinostra students looked up at the approaching stranger. Their looks were clearly unfriendly, untrustworthy, and some of them even reached in their blazers as if for weapons(were they allowed to walk around campus armed!?) Ren froze and grit his teeth, looking at the little group of gangsters and at the blood red mop of hair of their leader who didn't even turn around to acknowledge him. He was starting to regret thinking this could work--there was no way this was worth it.

Before he could start to back away, the Captain of the Sinsotra house tipped his head further back, directing a pair of bright yellow eyes at him from where they'd been staring emptily into the ceiling. Ren froze. The slow blink he received reminded him of a cat video he'd seen online, albeit significantly less cute and even less likely to be a sign of affection.

". . .who're you?"

Ren briefly felt like he'd been transported into a mafia movie. It was the gravel in his voice, or maybe the cold look in his eyes.

He floundered for a bit, trying to come up with a way to bring up why he came over that didn't sound ludicrous to a normie. Just looking at this guy, he wouldn't know a thing about what he was talking about or needed--but he knew he might be his only hope right now. Maybe Taiga caught on to that hopelessness, or maybe he was amused by the fumbling, because his dull expression became a curious and interested one.

"Oh. Ain't you one of Harry's kids?" Harry? Did Haru know this guy!? Somehow that made it worse. Taiga spun around in his seat to look at Ren properly, his excited expression showing off his shark-like teeth. Those might be cool, if not for that he followed this question up with, "you here to bring me my lunch?"

"Your lunch?"

"Yeah. One of my guys promised me he'd get me something to eat." Taiga gave a sideways nod to the Sinostra students who were sitting with him. "And Harry's place is full of all that fresh meat, ain't it? You ain't here to deliver anything for me?"

"Fresh--" He wanted to eat the anomalies? Was anybody in this place normal? "N-no, I'm not here to bring you anything!"

"Oh." Taiga deflated and pouted. "So, who the fuck are you then? You got a debt to pay? Lulu doesn't like me doing business outside the casino without him around, but I can still handle that."

This was definitely starting to feel like Ren was in over his head.

"I just. I heard some things."

"Oooh." Taiga, once again, thinks he's got it and smiles. "You need a loan? You want some illicit goods? You want somebody to turn up in Tokyo Bay?"

"What!? No!! Are you seriously saying all that shit in broad daylight!?"

"Maybe I'm not serious about it at all!" Taiga laughed, seeming amused by Ren's increasing discomfort.

"I don't need things from Sinostra! I heard some things about you! I need something from you!"

Taiga was quiet for a moment, head tilted and eyes wide like he wasn't expecting personal business. Then he pouted again, looking off to the side. "Is Lulu trying to. . .nah, he wouldn't do that. Not without tellin' me. . .selling someone's organs would be a lot more lucrative than whoring me out anyway." He muttered to himself for a moment, while Ren fished his phone out of his pocket and thrust it towards him.

He immediately jumped back as the Sinostra students drew weapons to point at him. Taiga held up a hand to stop them from gunning someone down in the cafeteria and stared dully into the screen.

". . .the fuck is this?"

"I don't have a lot of resources and I don't have a lot of time--and I heard your luck is incredible, and I just need you to press this button here."

Ren pointed at a confirmation button on the screen, careful not to tap it. Taiga stared at it as if it weren't two sentences worth of text and it was taking a long time to read.

He reached forward and tapped the screen, then snatched Ren's wrist when he tried to pull away and protest being taken out of it. A few colorful characters appeared from behind the darkened screen of the confirmation popup. The link advertising rates immediately caught Taiga's eye, and he tapped at the screen, scrolling through the numbers with increasing interest.

The rates for the most artful of characters were insanely low, and a quick tap of the gems in the top of the screen said they cost a pretty penny. He idly committed the prices and numbers to memory(where they were lost as soon as he moved away from the screen) to calculate the value of.

"What're you doing!? I just--you just have to do the pull! You don't need to look at anything else!"

"This is gambling!" Taiga said cheerfully. "Some real shit odds at that! What, you're going for that one? It looks kinda like you, kid!"

He pointed at a character near the top of the rate screen. "No, I pulled that one already, somehow. . .it's the topmost one I'm after. Everybody says it's completely overpowered and all of the new meta's based on this unit, not to mention the art--"

Taiga nodded along, the gacha having had drawn some of his interest as a gambler. Way less fun than a game with anything of interest on the line, but it still seemed interesting. Not the characters or units or anything of that sort, but the act of pulling for things of value. . .he supposed it was named after gachapon machines. But the virtual nature of it meant less limited potential. . .so the artificial scarcity was formed by limited time features like this.

Quite the business tactic. Romeo might like it.

"So you just need me to press this button here, yeah?" Taiga navigated back to the gacha as though he'd been playing the game since release. He was almost invested now. "And you want me to get you this thing or whatever."

"Yes!! If you can!!" Taiga sneered and popped open the confirmation menu.

"Kid, I don't lose bets--"

Once again guns were pointed at Ren as he grabbed Taiga's finger before he could do the pull. Not appreciating the contact, Taiga smacked his hand away, and he winced at the feeling of his rings colliding with his palm.

"You--" he swallowed, trying to ignore the threats. The look on Taiga's face almost made him want to call it quits again. This was already way more effort than it was worth. . .to a normal person, anyway, but this pull could be the true beginning or the end of his playing this game. "You need to hold down on the screen, after you press the button. It doesn't seem like it does anything, but I swear I've gotten better pulls that way--"

"I don't need your superstitions, brat."

With that, Taiga tapped the button without even looking at the screen, glaring uncomfortably into Ren's face. At first, he was frozen, before the audio cue prompted him to spin the phone screen to face himself. "Wait, you did a single pull!? You were supposed to do a ten, the rate is higher that way!"

"Don't need it."

"But if I don't get it that's a waste of my--!!!"

Ren's jaw dropped as the screen flashed a multitude of colors. The gacha music faded out, and a new track began to play, a popular voice actress' recorded line playing accompanying the subtitled dialogue being spelt out across the screen. His eyes went wide as the SSR's unique animation played, and he watched on as his desperately desired pull came through on a single, effortless shot from a stranger.

"Holy shit you got it." Taiga grinned, looking over Ren's shoulder at the new unit, completely unaware of what it meant. At most, the art was kind of nice. Ren looked like he was holding in tears--or maybe a scream. "You actually. . .in a single pull!?"

"Gyahahaha! Told you I don't lose, kid!" He threw an overly friendly arm around Ren's shoulders. Ren looked at Taiga like he was a hero. Of course he did, until Taiga said, "hey. . .you ever heard the expression 'there's no such thing as a free lunch?'"

For a moment, Ren remembered all of the things Taiga mentioned before. Debts. Deaths. Illicit substances. His face fell, and Taiga gave him a squeeze and a friendly shake and a smile that was more sinister than sincere. For a moment, Ren wondered if he'd gotten himself into something he couldn't get out of. Did this single gacha pull just pull him into a life of crime? Was he about to be some sort of drug runner for the local organized crime house? Did he need to kill somebody? Could he kill somebody?

". . .What do I owe you?" It was just a gacha pull! Why did he go to the guys who look like the mob for a gacha pull!? What a stupid idea, just because he overheard that the captain of Sinostra had some unbelievable luck. The triumphant music playing from his phone and the animated character on the screen offered him no comfort and Taiga bore his sharp teeth in a grin.

"I'm glad you asked! Lulu throws a little bitchfit whenever I do somebody a favor without a price, even if it's a personal favor and not a Sinostra one." He leaned his cheek against Ren, tapping painted nails against his chest. "And I'd guess you'd ordinarily need to do a lot more than just one pull to get what you wanted, yeah? Maybe ten, maybe even a hundred?"

Ren nodded stiffly. The rates for this game were abysmal. But it was addictive.

"So the value. . .it's way more than just one, isn't it." He couldn't remember the numbers he'd seen earlier exactly, but he could do some calculations in his head. If he bothered to. But he knew enough people with gambling addictions to know how Ren's mind worked. This service was nigh invaluable to him. "And I saved you money. That's practically worth interest."

"W-wait a second!" Ren pulled away--or, perhaps Taiga let Ren pull away. "This didn't cost you anything but a few seconds, maybe a couple minutes! The gems you spent on the pull, they weren't even 1,000 yen in total! I could pay you that out of pocket and--"

"Y'know what? You're right. It didn't cost me a thing, what'm I even saying!" He laughed and smiled in a friendly way. Ren didn't trust the sudden change in attitude in the slightest. He'd let his guard down. But it couldn't stay down. "Hell, it was even kinda fun. All the flashy lights and pretty sounds--and you got your little drawing out of it, right? Not to mention, you're one of Harry's kids, aren't'cha!"

"Eugh. I am not his. . . ." Ren stopped himself, then grit his teeth. This could save him. Haru could be of use for once. "Y-yeah, I uh. . .he's a great. . .father. . .? Anyway, if you had fun and I got what I wanted, then we're even, right?"

"Sure, sure!" Taiga clapped Ren on the shoulder. "Hey, you got more of those things you want? It was pretty fun, I wouldn't mind helping you out again if you ever want more!"

This appealed too heavily to Ren's sensitivities for him to stay on guard like he wanted. ". . .really? If you don't get results, I'm not asking you again."

"Yeah, really! I'm waiting on my lunch anyway, what else've you got?"

". . .and I don't have to pay?"

"Nah, no cash. No crazy favors. Don't even worry about it."

That specific wording should have tipped him off that he wasn't entirely off scott free, but the idea of more free SSRs in his account catalogue enticed him too much. Taiga looked at his phone screen and tapped through to the gacha again.

". . .well. . .the unit gets stronger if you manage to pull it a second time--or, up to five times. So we could try pulling for it again. And there's another unit I wanted to get--oh, and in a different game--"

Taiga went along with Ren's increasing excitement, tapping away at the screen. Ten-pulls glimmered with high rarity units and supports even as games were switched. A few times Ren even asked Taiga to perform actions in the game for him, cheering quietly when he got him through difficult story missions that had been keeping him stuck in place for weeks.

All the while, Taiga insisted there was no charge.

But he didn't say anything about no debt.

And he may have said that Ren didn't have to pay, but that didn't mean he wouldn't extract value from him in other ways. In a few weeks Ren would be staring into the pen for some anomalous animal, wondering how he would get it all the way to Sinsotra without arousing suspicion, and trying not to think of the way he saw Taiga eat raw meat and bone that day, complaining to the student who'd brought it for him that it wasn't fresh enough but it'd do.

He refused to blame himself for all of this though. It's not his fault the guy with improbable luck was a mafia boss. It's not his fault the mafia boss was an underhanded carnivore. And it sure as hell wasn't his fault he was assigned to the house full of animals!

And it wasn't his fault that the gacha rates were so low he went this route either. It's capitalism's fault! It's the fault of companies preying on gambling addictions! He's not to blame for this! He refused to be!

[keeps-ache]

pals and other things :D

[buttercup-art]

hey

[lamortwrites]

Hit a nice round scary big number of kudos on ao3 so I'm gonna be sappy for a min. I fucking loved writing as a kid -- I wanted to be an author, bc ofc I did -- and I wrote ceaselessly, hundreds of thousands of words, both fanfic and original stuff. I would cram folded bits of plain paper in my pockets and write in tiny tiny handwriting on each side (bc you can fit so much more on the available space that way!) and I'd type in the shitty notes app of my cheap shitty smartphone once I got one and I went through countless notebooks and refill pads and what have you. Sixth form was very bad for me mental health wise and I burnt out really hard, and for a very very long time after I thought that was it. I couldn't get more than a handful of paragraphs done on something, at best, and I wasn't really happy with anything I was doing.

And then I played through a video game as a murderous demigod overflowing with religious guilt and, well, here we are. According to ao3 I have published 37.2k words in the past eight months -- not a whole lot, esp by other people's standards, but for me that is a staggering amount, esp for someone who has struggled a lot w writing anything at all for the past eight years.

I've never really been active in a fandom before (not that I really am now, I stay in my lil corner and you cannot make me leave) but I have made so many incredible friends over the past few months and I am so, so grateful to know you all.

To everyone who has liked my fics, thank you. To everyone who has commented, thank you. To everyone who has talked to me about my writing, about Labrys, about anything...I really cannot thank you enough. Things are still not great for me, honestly. But knowing that there people out there who enjoy my writing is wild, and I am so, so grateful to all of you. <3

[sealrock]

trying to write abridged backstories for my ocs

49568 dead, 938 injured

[melodyofthevoid]

Bodies are Business and Business is Good

Tw: blood, torture, amputation, etc. (It’s Heather) 

Word Count: 3,326

There were fewer things more satisfying, Heather thought, than the slight hiss of the gas lamp in her work office.

A frankly wonderful modern invention, much more controlled than simple wax candles and less likely to blow out at a moment’s notice when she had her back turned or was in the middle of delicate work. Natural light wasn’t exactly an option, not here. And her clients tended to demand their money’s worth.

Plus, it was so nice to listen to the small intake of breath when her victims realized she was there. And the narrowing of their eyes as she became fully visible.

She turned the key and struck a match, blinking as her own eyes adjusted to the light, bouncing off of the thick carved stone and cast iron tools lining the walls. The vials and jars just waiting to be filled. And, shining off of the few exposed scales of the exhausted mer panting and strapped to her operation table.

As expected, they flinched when she descended the stairs, pulling at the restraints with all of their might. Clearly not enough, but a valiant effort.

“Apologies for the delay, but since you so stubbornly held onto your disguise, it put a damper on my evening plans the other day. I’m sure you must be thirsty.”

The angel fish snarled, flaring their bright yellow tail and thrashing harder, their scales– iridescent– bright blues, yellows and greens that would make for excellent amulets or accessories.

She made a note to get more leather and wire for the necklaces. Accessories sold well. Not as well as her other products, but well enough. A status symbol to those who were in the know.

“Fuck off- you- you-”

“Bitch? Monster? I’m sure I’ve heard it before. Believe me, I have.”

A well in the back, hidden by a few boxes, caught her victim’s eye as she walked over to it, grabbing a nearby bucket and pumping it full. Saltwater smell filled the air, overpowering the metallic tang of Heather’s tools.

The mer eyed the bucket, thrashing less as she approached. Ah, good. Maybe this one would be cooperative. Or somewhat more cooperative.

“Actually… Before we get started, and I let you have this, I have a simple question for you. Do you happen to know the location of any other mermaid colonies? You don’t have to tell me all of them, just one or two.”

Any relief that the mer–oh what was their name again? It didn’t really matter, the mer’s relief vanished, eyes narrowing to slits and their fins flaring out.

“Tell you- no. Fuck you. You and your dog won’t get your hands on any more mer- not if I can help it.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing, he is something of a dog, look at you.”

She ran a hand along their tail, ghosting over the gashes that lined it. Wounds that’d barely scabbed over during transport. Other bruises and scratches marred their skin and fins. Heather scowled. Charles was new, but that didn’t excuse abject incompetence.

This would put something of a dent in what she could sell. Charles would be compensated accordingly.

“I told him minimal damage, and yet here you are. Can’t even follow basic directions right. But I digress. If you won’t offer what I need, there’s no sense in dragging this out.”

Heather mulled over where to start, eyeing her knives and branding rods. Carving took longer, but risked too much thrashing for a clean cut. Fins, for all of their use, tore rather easily if not handled properly.

Morro —ah, right that was their name— looked to be healthy enough that draining them first wouldn’t end in them bleeding out entirely.

The needle it was then.

“Now where did I put it… ah, here it is.”

She hummed under her breath, pulling out three glass jars, and her needle, cleaning off the point of it and eyeing Morro’s exposed forearms. A good thing that they were tense already. That certainly made things easier.

A particularly exposed vein on their right arm made for the perfect target and Heather couldn’t help the shiver that went down her spine as the metal slid into the skin, flesh giving way to the needle’s piercing point. So satisfying.

Immediately crimson blood filled the glass tank of the gun, flowing down to the tube and filling up the first jar. The lifeblood of her operation, so to speak. So many customers, all vying for that most viscous and vital of her products. And who was she to deny them when she was living testimony of its efficacy?

Of course she’d never give away all her trade secrets for her longevity. She wasn’t born yesterday.

Or even within the last half century.

In any case, the blood flowed easily, and already one jar gleamed with it. Full to the brim. Switching one out for the other, Heather placed it off on a table, taking a moment to admire the flicker of the gas lamp light against the glass and crimson. Perhaps one day she’d find some other substance, a gemstone, a resin, something that could capture the beauty of her craft.

She doubted it though.

With a second jar nearly filled, Morro’s skin showed the effects. Ashy, almost clammy in places. Their gaze unfocused and any attempts at thrashing much weaker than before. Reaching the limits of what they could give today.

Heather switched out the jars one last time, watching the stream slowly taper off as their breathing slowed down and body relaxed against their will. For their trouble, she poured some of the sea water in the bucket over them, giving them a pat on the shoulder as she extracted the needle from their vein and bandaged the wound. Some blood sluggishly seeping through the gauze.

“You,” Morro slurred, “you’ll pay for this. Indra will hunt you for the rest of your days.”

“Mmm, is that so? Tell me, how long do you think I’ve done this work?”

Her captive didn’t respond. Only glaring with bared fangs.

“Believe me, if your goddess really gave a damn, I’d think she’d have taken notice by now. I’m not going anywhere, and for the time being? Neither are you.”

“The debt will be paid- MHMPH!”

Heather tied the gag tighter, rolling her eyes.

“That’s enough out of you. I’ll spare myself the usual theatrics. Feel free to still scream though, I don’t mind. You’ll give me what I want either way.”

Finally, Heather could get to the real work.

Choosing the right knife to start with always proved to be the most taxing part of the work. She’d tried typical fish scalers in the past, but those were better suited for the fishmongers and fresh markets. The scales she worked with required more work than that. But on the other hand, using the back of the wrong knife chipped and damaged the scales, and no one wanted to buy half a scale.

Heather’s fingers danced along the different blades, intermittently picking one up, twirling it, feeling the heft and then setting it back down, moving on to the next one. Eventually she settled on her favorite, a long curving blade, sturdy and sharp. Tempered steel reflecting her own dark gaze back at her.

Starting from the base of the tail, as she’d done a thousand times before, she wedged the back end of it underneath the first line of scales, and pushed upwards.

The previously limp mermaid jerked up, a muffled yelp coming from beneath the gag. Of course, Morro barely possessed the strength to so much as twitch. Too tired to fully put up a fight, but Heather tightened the straps on their tail anyway. With that secure, she continued pushing up, the shining iridescent angelfish scales now tinted red at the base as they fell to the floor below. They’d be cleaned and polished later.

Despite the gag, Heather winced as the mer tried to shriek, to throw her off through the only means they had left. Admirable if it weren’t so annoying. She took a step back and stood back up, towering over her prey. Cooing with a voice as sickly sweet as she could make it.

“Oh relax, this isn’t even the worst part. But we can get to that if you want. It might make this seem pleasant in comparison. How does that sound?”

Morro shook their head, but she’d already flipped her blade around and dug it into the membrane of the main tail fin, slicing through with no resistance. The bright yellow would make for a lovely trophy for the right buyer.

It was a little too bright for her tastes though. It clashed with the decor.

Hitching breaths came from above, strained and hissing through clenched teeth. The poor thing was trying to keep themself calm even with the gag. She laughed, cutting through the dorsal and pectoral fins next, setting them aside to dry.

Muffled moans and cries left Morro and Heather checked their cheeks to see if there were tears. A frustratingly rare commodity. Not that they did anything but clients always wanted them. By all means she could just sell some sea water, but she had standards.

She clicked her tongue to see that there were no tears. A shame.

With the last of the fins removed, Heather spun her knife back around and continued peeling away the scales, with far less reaction this time, which was also in and of itself a shame. She liked the fight so long as she could still do her job. Heather’d done Morro a mercy if anything. After an amputation, pulling a few scales probably felt like nothing. Like pulling nails off of a hand freshly devoid of a few fingers.

Sometimes though, the sudden lack of fight signaled an end to that night’s session. Ignoring her subjects too much could be costly.  Brushing the last few whole scales into a second bucket, Heather stood back up, examining her work.

Morro was slumped over, exhausted from the strain and blood loss. Wiping any excess off of her knife on her apron, Heather did her usual checks, pulse, reflex, breathing, etc. They were still alive, which meant that she’d get at least a few more pints out of them by the time they eventually kicked the bucket. It’d be such a waste if she only got one day’s worth.

They’d hold out longer than that, she’d make sure of it.

With a sigh, she got out her needle and thread, stitching up the gashes Charles left and cleaning out the wounds. Bandaging up the stump near the tail. No infections, and no potential loss. The blood was no good from a dead mer.

As much as she liked the final processing steps, she still had other orders to fulfill, and going out of her way to catch another prospect? A waste of her time and resources. Nothing wasted, not if she could help it. 

Her hairnet came off, as did the gloves and apron, all placed in their proper places far enough away that any nearby officers couldn’t smell the fresh blood on her. She needed to replace the shirt though. Again. The price she paid for wearing white.

Ah well, no skin off her back. She disposed of any evidence once or twice a year. Fireplaces served a variety of uses.  

A quick shower and a change of clothes left Heather feeling far more accomplished and relaxed now that the euphoria of her work had passed. There was a certain… thrill to it, to the slice of flesh under her knife. But getting lost in that feeling led to less than precise work. In less vials of blood and damage to the organs she needed to sell later. So, for the sake of her own work, she had to take breaks. Balance was key, and experience taught her well.

Maybe for the evening she could fully unwind with some luxury time. She’d just have to find that bottle of wine and those chocolates she’d been saving.

The glasses were in the cabinet of her office, so here was hoping that there weren’t any last minute visitors. She’d had enough business for the day.

Though as she entered the room from the back, she sighed. No such luck.  

A certain red-haired captain stood in the main lobby, smoking a cigar. Blowing rings of smoke into the air with his usual air of disinterest. Odd, he’d delivered her fresh supply not even a year and a half ago. Confusion outweighed her irritation at the intrusion. For now.

“To what do I owe this visit, Captain?”

Fachnan exhaled, tapping the stray ash onto the floor. Sullying it.

Asshole.

“Ah, Heather. I was hoping you’d stay in that dungeon for a little while longer. I find it’s easier to take in your trophies without you drooling all over them. We were stopping here for a short time and well, I figured I’d drop by.”

“Mhm…sure.”

The twitch in Fachnan’s hand and dart of his eyes didn’t exactly scream “casual chat”.

“Why’re you really here, and make it quick. You’re getting ash all over my perfectly good carpet. I do try to keep an air of respectability here.”

“My apologies, your majesty, I’ll be sure to clean your lair to a shine.”

Heather’s jaw tensed, teeth close to grinding. Unnecessary stress meant unnecessary aging, deep breaths in, deep breaths out. She forced herself to relax, schooling her expression into neutral disdain.

“False deference doesn’t suit you, Captain. I’d get your nose off of the floor before I lose my patience.”

“Fine, fine. Since you’re in a hurry I’ll make it quick.”

Fachnan gestured wide, splaying himself across the couch in her office with all the grace and respect she’d come to expect. Letting out a sigh, Heather grabbed the first open bottle of wine she could find and poured some out. Counting down the minutes until he left.

“The reason for my visit is simple, I want to do you a favor.”

She arched her brow, sipping at her glass.

“You’ve just been a source of income for me, Lady of the Sea. Owe at least some of my success to you. I’ve got a tip you might be interested in, for a small price, of course. Can’t just give this sort of thing to any ametuer.”

Actively sending Charles out on another hunt before she could properly chastise him for damaging this merchandise? She’d pass.

Besides, she paid Fachnan for tangible work. If she threw her fortune any idiot who walked in promising a lead, she’d have exhausted her coiffers long ago. Her decades of experience were worth far more than what one measly captain thought he knew.

“Charming, but I’m not looking to take on another project or search for one at the moment. Frankly, I don't like drawing more attention to myself than necessary. You know how these new officers get, all bright eyed and full of belief in ‘law and order’. The guard’s changed in the past few years, and I’m not exactly looking to make any waves at present. The fewer bodies, the better.”

She sipped at her wine once more, mulling over the best way to politely but firmly tell Fachnan to fuck off. Alone time was calling her name like the sirens she cut to ribbons.

“Well that’s a shame. Here I thought you were interested in a shark mer. Guess not then.”

With an inhale, the wine went down her throat and Heather choked and coughed. It burned all the way up to her sinuses, but nothing compared to the spark of interest. Still catching her breath, she unlatched a compartment in the desk behind her, pulling out a sharpened knife and setting it on the wood beside her.

He could lie or take out his sword if he wanted, but her reputation spoke for itself. There’d be one winner here.

“I see I have your attention then,” he smirked, “I’ll admit, the gold was a bluff. This one’s on the house.”

“Bullshit. What do you want?”

“Fine, this mer in question is something of… a thorn in my side. You taking care of her would be doing me a service, Madame Butcher. She appears to be a hybrid, if that sweetens the deal.”

It did. Quite a bit in fact.

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Dead certain. Last saw her face off the coast of Paign. Goes by the name of Delta. About seven feet tall, blue fins, blue coat, she’s fairly hard to miss. Has a whole crew of mer from what I could tell.”

A whole crew… she let out a breath.

“No shit. Typically I don’t get in the middle of feuds, or do bounty work for that matter, but just this once? I think I can agree with that. In fact…”

Heather stood up, walking over to a mahogany cabinet, carved with intricate flowers and vines. An inherited piece, and not even a forced one. They’d handed it over after the funeral, which was well and good. Natural causes were less messy to deal with generally speaking. She pressed the central-most flower’s petals and the compartment toward the bottom opened up, shining vials revealed within it.

“A gift, to a valuable partner. For your health.”

She held out a crimson vial. Heart blood.

“I’d like to keep my more reliable freelancer at sea for a few more years.”

Seconds ticked by, and Fachnan shook his head, “No, like I said. This one’s free. I just want her gone.”

Pirates and their honor codes. She rolled her eyes and set the vial back into its case.

Although speaking of…

“By the way, how’s that associate of yours doing? Changed his tune yet? I know he’s got quite the reputation for finding what he’s looking for. I’d like to use his expertise.”

Deep lines set into Fachnan’s face as he glanced away. Shoulders lowered. His bravado evaporated leaving behind only bitter salt.

“He and I won’t be seeing each other any time soon, gods willing. My only hope is it was quick.”

Ah. So it was like that then.

“I see, I apologize. I’ve been rather busy as of late, haven’t kept up with the times. My condolences for your loss.”

He grit his teeth, expression darkening further.

“It was his decision. We parted ways some time ago. He knew the risks of going soft, and look where it got him.”

“Well, that is how it is sometimes. Connections come and connections go. Time stops for a lucky few.”

The dots weren’t hard to connect, as hard as Fachnan fought to keep his aloof persona intact. Whatever drama or series of events led to this, frankly she didn’t care. What mattered was her prize. He could mourn his lost flame all he wanted on his own time.

With the last of his cigar fully gone, Fachnan stared at the embers before standing up from the couch, lifting his chin to look down at her. She met his gaze with a smile every bit as sharp as her tools.

“I’ll be heading off then. Send word when you need my services again.”

“Oh I will, don’t you worry. Thank you for stopping by, your help is much appreciated.”

He didn’t respond, only turning for the door and leaving Heather alone with her wine and her thoughts. Her smile stretched wider across her face and she let out a laugh, growing in intensity as euphoria set in.

A shark. A shark hybrid.

Looked like she’d have to clear her schedule to ensure that this… Delta could get all the attention that Heather could offer. Get the care and quality work that she deserved as the future crown jewel of her collection.

Morro could be rest assured that their suffering would be brief. She had preparations to make.

[quatregats]

.

[astrxealis]

if i do "?" in text i'm genuinely tilting my head like a dog if i do "!!" my eyes are sparkling and i am figuratively wagging my tail if i am IN ALL CAPS i'm screaming from the top of a mountain with all the power i can with love and the strength of RAGHHH within me

[ur-fav-alien]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mortal Kombat - All Media Types, Mortal Kombat (Video Games 2023-) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Johnny Cage/Takahashi Kenshi Characters: Johnny Cage, Takahashi Kenshi Additional Tags: Eloping, Vegas Wedding, Johnny's divorces, Fluff, random proposing, Kuai Liang's wedding inspires them, Domestic Fluff, basically why they weren't in Khoas reigns like at all, some canon divergent stuff (very small) Summary:

When Johnny and Kenshi are invited to Kuai Liang and Harumi's wedding, feelings and ideas are brought up at the thought of marriage. Johnny hadn't been married in forever, and the idea of weddings makes Kenshi's palm sweaty. Yet, when they're greeted with the idea... who says no to a las vegas wedding?