#little old ladies are fucking ruthless

[astrobi]

I just saw someone dog ear a page from the book they were reading (which ew but fair enough) but she straight up folded the ENTIRE WIDTH OF A PAGE AT A DIAGONAL

[fairysluna]

"look what you do to me" with ye olde cregan I BEG

worthy of you.

Cregan thinks his little brother is not worthy of a woman like you, which is why he takes the opportunity to show you that he is the one for you.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader / (Side) Masc!OC x Fem!Reader.

TAGS — smut (f!oral sex, p in v, praise kink, loss of virginity), mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol consumption, cursing, OC is a terrible man, older!cregan, widower!cregan, age gap (early 20s and early 30s). If something is missing let me know!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — first of all, a big thank you to my gorgeous @bucknastysbabe for being my beta reader and helping me edit this, ily!! i got a bit inspired by this plot and it's longer than i expected💀

Thank you Bel for sending this request because i loved writing this!! I hope you enjoy it!!🤍

WORD COUNT — 4.3k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

How cruel were the gods when they put you in his brother's arms instead of the ones you craved the most.

The first time that Lord Stark laid his eyes upon you, he felt the air leaving his lungs, and his voice being caged inside his throat. His eyes immediately widened at the beautiful sight of you, bewitched by the way you so politely greeted him, and mesmerized by the way you uttered his name. Cregan was in awe, trying to ignore the feeling in his gut and the quickened pace of his heart as he smelled the sweet scent of vanilla coming from your hair. He wondered if you were some kind of nymph, effortlessly enchanting him with a single glance. 

After the loss of his wife, few were the women who managed to catch his eye. A couple of balls were made, and they all resulted in the same thing; a group of ladies following him around, showering him with shallow compliments and words that he did not wish to hear. 

How lucky he felt when he saw you walking in with your father, Lord Reed, into the ballroom, and how miserable he left that night after learning you were betrothed to his young brother; Edrik, a careless young man who —according to Lord Stark— is not worthy of you. At all. He's ruthless, the opposite of a chivalrous man. Cregan knows that while you were waiting for him for dinner, he's fucking some whores in brothels and paying with gold that he would steal from Cregan's chambers. He despised him. He was ashamed of him, and his behaviour towards you. You were a lady, a delicate and sweet girl who could have found someone better. 

Someone like himself, he would think. 

At that moment, while you were nervously chewing your nails sitting at the small table of your chambers as you drank tea, Cregan was out there searching for his younger brother, and trying to force him back to the Winterfell castle. That very same day was supposed to be your wedding, and the groom was nowhere to be seen. You knew better than to cry, you didn't want to suffer for him anymore; so you just sat there, slowly tapping your fingertips against the delicate porcelain of the cup, staring at the crackling fireplace and thinking about something else. 

At that point, you were just begging for him to be alive and well. Nothing more. 

A few minutes passed when you saw Cregan entering your chambers with his grey eyes staring intensely at you as he walked inside. His heavy boots stumped against the wooden floor, prompting you to stand up a bit too quickly. You noticed the pitiful look in his eyes when he noticed you were still wearing that white wedding dress; his heart shattered for you. 

“Did you find him?” you dared to speak first. Somehow, your voice came out colder than both of you expected.

“We did,” he nodded. “He was in a brothel… drunk and enjoying his last hours of freedom, as he said.” The annoyed tone of his voice was quite clear to hear as he spat every single word with rage and even shame. 

Gods forgive him for this insurmountable wrath towards his kin. 

“Where is he now?” The question slipped out of your lips merely out of habit. 

“In his chambers, being bathed by one of the maids,” Cregan explained, unable to bear the vision of your tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. He sought to look at a place over your shoulder, just to ease the ache in his chest.

It wasn't sadness, not at all. It was ire; he knew it. It was supposed to be your special day, and your betrothed decided to ruin it, though you were not surprised.

“Is it the maid that sucks his cock every morning? Or is it the one that let him fuck her in the arse?” you mockingly mentioned, lifting the cup of tea and sipping it slowly. The knot in your throat was becoming unbearable, too tight and barely letting you utter a word. 

Cregan's eyes softened with sorrow. “My lady,” he started, daring to take a step closer to you. The small rounded table was the only thing keeping you two apart. “Allow me to apologize for the misbehaviour of my brother, you deserve the utmost respect from whoever is lucky enough to marry you. Edrik is childish, and his actions often bring shame to our family name.”

“You shall not apologize for your brother's mistakes,” you softly said, sighing tiredly at this situation repeating over and over again. “You're an honourable man, Lord Stark, it's a pity your brother is not even half of the man you are.” 

Cregan felt his heart tapping against his chest, even under those thick layers of fur, he was still able to hear how fast it was beating. His eyes briefly looked away from you out of shyness, feeling so flustered by your mere presence. Oh, gods, this was excruciating; seeing you there with your beautiful eyes staring up at him, looking so fragile and bewitching. The white dress fit you perfectly, you were radiant that night, and he cursed at his brother for looking down on you. 

Edrik was a dumb boy. Luckily, Cregan was a wise man. 

“It pains me to know he doesn't appreciate you,” he muttered as he took unhurried steps closer to you. “You deserve so much more.” 

“It's the best I can get, I suppose,” you shrugged. “At least my betrothed is indulging his uncontrollable lust with whores instead of forcing himself on me. It could be worse.” 

“But it's not supposed to be bad at all,” Cregan discussed. “A husband has to provide for his wife, and treat her with respect.”

His hand approached your left cheek and he placed it there, cupping your face. Your soft skin felt his calloused fingers and suddenly all the air of your lungs vanished. Your lips parted, and that simple gesture blurred Cregan's mind with the urge to devour them. As he looked down at you, you could see in his eyes that there was a rare sparkle in them. It was so mesmerizing. 

“I guess you're asking too much from your brother, my Lord.”

He scoffed.

“If only the gods had been more merciful of us, you would be my wife instead,” he mentioned with a wistful tone. He took another step, and now you were able to smell the pine scent from his clothes. “We probably would be in our private celebration by now.” 

You sighed delightedly as his thumb went to your lower lip, lightly touching it as he glanced at it. Falling in love with him had been so easy; he was so kind, so courteous and gentle. Whenever his brother was cruel and mean to you, he was always there to make you feel good. Many were the times you imagined this wedding being with him instead of Edrik. 

“I would be looking at your beautiful body as you remove this gown. Only for me to see,” he whispered, his touch going downwards until he grabbed the pearls around your neck. “I would take my time to appreciate every single inch of your skin, touching you… kissing you, making sure you know you're the most beautiful maiden in Westeros.” 

His face leaned towards you, and you felt his nose rubbing against your cheek as you closed your eyes. His deep, low voice sent shivers down your spine while your mind was imagining every single word that came out of his plump lips. His touch reached down your sides until you felt his strong grip on your waist. 

Cregan took a deep breath as he smelled your sweet perfume; he couldn't help but sigh. 

“I would pleasure you in so many ways,” he continued, his voice so raspy it made your knees weak. “With my mouth, my hands… until all that comes from your lips is my name.” 

“Cregan…” you breathed out, and he hummed in delight. 

“Yes, just like that.” 

You dared to open your eyes, meeting his and seeing how they were dilated and glazed with lust; yours were probably in the same state. You were able to feel the heat between your legs, almost causing you to squirm to make you feel something. Something to sate the intense desire crawling around your body.

“I would do so many things to you, my darling,” he murmured. “Would you like me to do them?” 

You nodded.

“Yes?” 

“Yes,” you replied, embarrassingly fast. 

His hands went to your back, calloused fingers finding their way to untie your gown. Your chest was against his, and the closeness did nothing but increase your desperation to have him. 

“My brother doesn't deserve you, does he? He is just a stupid boy, and you deserve a man.” You felt the dress loosening around your body and you swallowed hard at the expectation. “Please, let me be that man for you…” 

You were unable to bear it any longer, the temptation being too much. You closed the distance between you two at the same time he started to slip the dress down your body — until it pooled around your feet. His lips fit perfectly against yours, they were slightly chapped due to the cold, yet they felt heavenly. He moaned against your mouth when you boldly deepened the kiss by grabbing Cregan’s nape and pulling him closer to you, all while his hands pressed your lower back. 

It was slow and passionate, taking your breath away as he claimed your mouth with his tongue, swirling against yours and stealing soft whimpers from you. Soon, he grabbed your thighs to lift you and sat you on the table; the cup of tea spilling to stain your white undergown, you couldn't care less. His lips on yours were all you could think of as his hands gripped your body, pressing you against him.

The thin skirt of your undergown lifted as you wrapped your legs around Cregan’s waist, and his hands began to sneak under it to touch the soft skin of your thighs. He left a heat on your body with his fingertips, one that made you desperate to feel him. All while his mouth was reluctant to leave yours, obsessed with the sweet taste of you. He would unconsciously groan, and as he pressed his hips against yours you could easily notice the effect you had on him. 

He pulled away to take a look at you, he found your swollen lips glistening with remains of your and his drool. Your eyes were sparkling as stars and your breathing growing agitated. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that Cregan Stark had fallen in love with you once again at that moment. 

“You should belong to me instead,” he huskily said. “I should be the one who takes your body-”

“Do it,” you interrupted without doublethinking it. Your tone was decided and demanding, it shocked him a little. 

“Oh, my little one…” he murmured with a strained voice as if the thought had left him breathless. 

“I don't want your brother… I never did.” Your confession drew a small smile on his lips. “Since day one all I've wanted is you.” 

He took a deep breath before cupping your face with both of his hands, forcing you to look him in the eye. 

“Look what you do to me,” he murmured as you stared at his face, noticing a rare glow in him. “Believe me when I say your feelings are mutual… you've been on my mind ever since you arrived. It was torturous to see you being disregarded by Edrik while I was sitting there wishing I could just hold your hand. My heart, my body, my soul, it all aches for you. I'm desperate to feel you, and I cannot bear it any longer.” 

The despair in his voice, so clear and vivid. 

“Allow me to do it,” he pleaded, “I'm begging you to let me have a taste of you, at least for a night… so I can finally end this torment.” 

“I will accept,” you managed to say in small gasps. “Only if you promise me this won't be the last time.” 

He nodded. “I promise.”

The time was not wasted, you quickly leaned forward to kiss him again with the same intensity and need as before. Both of you moaned against each other while your hands were swiftly untying his snow-covered coat at the same time his were pulling down your undergown until it fell down your arms. Your breasts were freed and you couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed; no man had seen you in such a vulnerable state before. However, all insecurities vanished from your overthinking mind once he laid his eyes on your chest and sighed, enamoured by the view. 

He gave you a single glance at you to ask for your permission and, once you nodded, his fingers travelled down your body until they trapped your nipples. He gently squeezed them between his digits, soft enough to not cause you any discomfort but hard enough to make them peak. Your mouth was slightly parted, allowing silent gasps to fall down your lips as he admired your pure flesh. He leaned forward then, and you instinctively leaned back; before you noticed his tongue was lapping at one of your sensitive buds, swirling around it and nibbling on it from time to time. You held your body up with your forearms, closing your eyes once he sucked on it. A moan escaped you as he pulled apart from it and went to the other one, giving it the same attention. 

His hand was grabbing the small of your back as you touched his hair, tangling your fingers in his brown locks and pulling them whenever his tongue made you feel butterflies in your belly. It was so good, and you were blissful thinking that you were doing it with him. Your ever-kind and loving Lord of Winterfell.

Suddenly, his mouth traced a path down your body, licking and kissing your belly until he reached your pelvis. You lifted your hips once his hands started to pull down your last vestiges of coverage, and in mere seconds you were completely exposed to him as your cheeks got warm once again. 

Your legs were spread by his hands on your inner thighs, and Cregan was able to see the mess in your core; you were soaking, and his mouth watered with the urge to taste you. For a few seconds, he was just there admiring you, and then he started to kiss your legs from your ankles, all the way to your hips, shamelessly marking you and leaving red bruises behind; you loved it. 

Cregan gave you a quick look, noticing how you were almost shaking with expectation; your eyes reluctant to leave his frame as his thumb spread your swollen lower lips and exposed that little, throbbing button begging for his attention. He stuck out his tongue, slowly brushing it against your clit. You almost died there. Your hand immediately went back to his hair, pulling it a bit too harshly for his liking. 

“Sh…” he cooed, kissing your inner thighs in the meantime. “Come on, little one, let me make you feel good, I know you want it.” 

Gods, you did. You need it.

“Keep your legs open for me, and let me have my feast,” he murmured before his tongue lapped on your pearl again. 

The way he teased your flesh so sensually made your limbs shake. You were gasping as he licked and kissed every single part of you, lurking around and trying to discover your most sensitive spot. Once he found it, you saw stars. 

Your betrothed was far from your mind when Cregan dared to push one of his long, thick fingers inside your weeping hole. You cried out his name as your legs shook around his head and, as he curled up his fingers to rub your walls, you felt a knot in your belly starting to form and begging to be released. Goosebumps erupted over your stimulated body.

“Gods… Cregan!” you found yourself whining. He hummed delighted with the way his name sounded from your lips. 

His tongue fervently began to flick your clit as he added another finger, pumping them slowly but deeply. The sound of your juices coating his digits was becoming addictive; so sinful, yet heavenly. He was desperate to feel you all. 

As he moaned and whimpered against your soaked flesh, you couldn't help but feel an unknown sensation in your gut; as if you were about to explode. Your heart was beating incredibly fast as you leaned your head back and let your mouth spill thousands of obscene sounds; Cregan's cock twitched in his pants the moment he looked up at you. 

Gods, you were so fucking beautiful. It was not fair that you belonged to someone else. 

Suddenly, with a shout of shock, you felt yourself peak. You gasped loudly and you clenched your eyes shut. Cregan felt your walls squeezing his fingers so deliciously as he drank from you and licked you clean. By the end of it, you were sweating, breathing fast and your hips twitching. You turned into a quivering mess.

Cregan lifted his face, giving one wolfish look before quickly grabbing your cheeks. He desperately kissed you as he groaned in ecstasy. You tasted yourself on his lips as he picked you up and took you towards the bed… the very same bed you were supposed to be sharing with your betrothed that night. 

The guilt hit you, briefly making you feel dirty and sullied. But then, as you saw Cregan slowly removing his attires, you remembered who was your betrothed, and what he was doing earlier that day. If he could fuck a whore, why couldn't you fuck another man? You doubted the lesser brother would even notice. 

Besides, it wasn't just a man, it was Cregan. Your Cregan. 

So, now, as the handsome man in front of you removed his last piece of clothing, you felt your walls clench around nothing as you glanced at his cock. His head furiously red, already leaking and twitching as he started to crawl from the bottom of the bed until he was between your legs. He kissed you again, this time slower… more tenderly. You sighed against his lips.

“You're still a maiden,” he said as a statement rather than a question. You nodded, either way, confirming his words. “Then I'll go slow… though I must warn you, it might hurt for a bit, but I promise you, little one, it'll all be worth it in the end.” 

“I trust you,” you whispered as your hand reached his cheek, gently caressing his stubble. 

“Open your legs for me, my darling,” he commanded, and you did as he said. He looked down at your entrance, “seven hells…” he groaned at the sight, before spitting down to his cock and stroking it a few times. Cregan swiped the ruddy tip of his prick against your folds, teasing them to hear you moan one more time before carefully pressing the blunt head against your entrance. 

You cried out once he started to stretch you out, feeling the slight burn that left you breathless as he made his way inside the tight hole between your trembling legs. You closed your eyes and opened your mouth; Cregan noticed your discomfort, so he brought his thumb to your clit, tracing slow circles on it and trying to make you relax. You let out a shaky breath, chest heaving through the pinch.

Your tightness would try to push him away as tried to go deeper, yet he found a way to keep going until he was fully buried inside of you, whimpering your name. Your soft walls felt so fucking good around him, almost making the man drool against your shoulder. His sweaty forehead was pressed against your cheek and you could hear his ragged breathing in your ear, causing chills down your spine. He gave you a moment to forget about the pain, all while he peppered your neck with soft kisses and gentle bites. 

“I think I have just reached heaven,” he murmured, his voice sounding so deep and seductive. “So tight, so small around my cock…” he continued words that left his mouth before he could even think about them. 

“I- I feel so full…” you muttered, feeling his length pulsing inside of you. 

“Shh… I know, my darling, just take deep breaths for me,” he commanded you, and you obeyed. His thumb pushed slightly harder against your clit and you hummed. “Mhm, does that feel nice? My beautiful girl, you're doing such a good job for me,” he praised you, “taking me so well.” 

“Feels good…” you nodded. 

“It does, doesn't it?” he softly chuckled. “Gods, the way your sweet little pussy takes my cock makes me fucking crazy. Can- can I move? Fuck– Is it okay if I start moving?” 

His gentleness and softness did little to make you forget about the way he spoke to you. His dirty words made you clench around his girth, feeling butterflies in your lower belly. You needed Cregan to move and bring back the effervescent heat. 

“Please, do,” you begged, and he wasted no time in obeying. 

His mouth dropped open as he dragged his cock out of your tightness, noticing how it was covered by your slickness. He pushed in again, filling you and causing you to moan in simultaneous discomfort and pleasure. His left hand went to your hip, grabbing your skin and going deeper inside of you. Slowly at first, he started to fasten his pace until the sound of your bodies colliding against each other was mixed with your moans. 

Your hands wrapped around his shoulders as he hid his face on your neck, his harsh breathing causing chills on your skin as he moved slowly but forcefully; such a perfect pace to make you see stars. Your legs were bent at each side of his body, while he took you and claimed your shaky frame. Soon you realized that he had not lied, it felt magnificent once the pain started to fade away. 

His name would escape your lips as if it was an endless chant, incentivizing him to keep going, to continue his movements until you couldn't bear it anymore. A layer of sweat would cover your body as Cregan's weight was on top of you, it felt as if you were burning yet you didn't want to push him away. You craved to feel his skin on you, loving the way his pelvis would brush against your throbbing clit each time he thrusts into you. 

“Fuck, my darling,” he groaned in your ear, “your pussy was made for me to fuck,” he whimpered, biting your earlobe. You replied with a whine. “So fucking delicious, feeling so tight around my cock.” 

Cregan lifted his face to look at your messy state. The eye contact that followed almost made you reach your peak once again, it was all so intense it made your head spin. Your nails dug into his flesh and he whispered your name; you hummed in response. 

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured.

He further quickened the pace, his cock now touching that sweet spot of yours. Your walls would clench around him as you felt the much-needed orgasm approaching. A ring of your juices appeared on his cock, and he changed positions so now he was on his knees, grabbing your hips and fucking you faster, rougher. 

He saw your breasts bouncing on your chest as he thrusted into you, the sight so arousing that he felt his cock twitch inside of you. His stones were full, ready to burst at any moment now. However, no matter how much he desired it, he knew he just couldn't release inside you. No risks must be taken if he wanted to do this again. 

With your legs spreaded, his thumb effortlessly reached your exposed clits, flicking it and smearing your wetness around it. Your limbs shook as your mind went numb, and soon your orgasms washed over you. You cried out his name, tightening your grip around his cock. 

That's when he pulled out and poured himself on your soaked flesh, staining your folds with his pearly seed. 

Once he took a quick look at you, he felt a coil of raw pleasure snake around his body. A whine left his lips as he wrapped his hand around his length, stroking it a few times to make sure he would cover you with every single drop. He was overstimulated already; sweaty, breathless and flushed. He looked so beautiful like that.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, caressing your thighs. 

You frown, slightly confused. “What- what for?” 

Instead of answering you right away, he leaned and joined his lips with yours, gently and tenderly kissing you. His hands cupped your face and yours laid on his thick arms. A few minutes later, he pulled away only to leave soft kisses all over your face making you giggle. 

“For giving me the honour of making you mine,” he replied. “Though I must confess that I don't think I will be able to live without having you in my bed every night.” 

You felt a smile appearing on your lips and a familiar warmth on your cheeks. 

“Well,” you sighed, “perhaps, you should do something about it.” That flirtatious tone was a bit odd coming from you, but Cregan loved it. 

“Yes,” he nodded, softly chuckling as he leaned to kiss you once more. “I will definitely do something about it.”

@arcielee

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[hqbaby]

four — just a little

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.8k content. profanity, alcohol consumption, a lil bit of tension???

booger: r u up?

It’s 4 AM and you should not, in fact, be up. But you are. And apparently so is Sukuna.

You contemplate ignoring him. You can get back to him in the morning and act all high and mighty like, “I’m a proper human being with a life, so no, I don’t stay up until 4 AM like you, loser.” It’s not like anything good has ever come from you replying to his late-night/early-morning texts. You recall another time you replied to him at this hour; the two of you ended up almost getting arrested after sneaking into a reservoir.

Alas, you’re still up and you’ve been rotting your brain on your phone for hours, so your better judgment has gone the way of your last few brain cells.

you: what do u want

You watch as he types something. “Damn, so hostile,” probably. He deletes it. Then, he types again. “Why are you up?” maybe. Deletes it. Then, “Wanna fuck?” before he remembers who you are. He types again and actually sends the message this time.

booger: be there in 5

Part of you wants to prank him. Go to sleep and let the poor guy pound on your door until one of your neighbors—probably the grumpy old lady who lives beside you—scolds him and threatens to call security. It’s a good prank. You go as far as thinking about it.

When gets there, he’s got his hood pulled over his head. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants, black sunglasses, and a serious expression on his face.

“Damn, you look so cool,” you say. He cracks a grin and you crack up. “What the fuck are you doing? You look ridiculous.”

His face falls into a frown as he steps into your apartment, closing the door behind him. You’ve already left him behind, crashing onto your couch as he changes his shoes into one of the slippers you keep for him by your door.

“You’re a real bitch, you know,” he says. He sheds the sunglasses and pulls his hood away. You’ve ruined the whole vibe he was going for. “Aren’t you gonna offer me a drink or something?”

You lift your head and point at the console table by the door. “There’s a bottle of Cuervo there,” you tell him. “Get it for me.”

He huffs but does as you say anyway. He picks the bottle up and walks over to you, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. “You’re a shitty host,” he says as he opens the bottle.

“You’re an intruder,” you say, snatching the bottle away from him before he takes a sip. You raise it to your lips to take a swig. “Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to see my girlfriend?”

You choke on the tequila. “What?” You cough as he laughs and pats your back. “Don’t say shit like that.”

He grabs the bottle from you and chugs a good amount. “I love teasing you,” he says, pinching your cheek. “It’s so easy.”

You slap his hand away and sit up. “I hate you.”

He just grins and passes you the bottle. “You love me,” he chirps. “Wouldn’t put up with me otherwise.”

“Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s saying I’m incapable of love.”

You don’t know why you say that. It’s not part of the script, the usual back and forth between the two of you. For a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong.

“Who says that?” He looks serious now. Like he’s about to beat someone up. You know, the usual. What were you even worried about? “You got a gun for me to use on them?”

You laugh at his dour expression. It’s true, of course, that people have been spreading this new rumor that you’re a cold, ruthless bitch who doesn’t have room in her heart for someone, let alone a boyfriend. It’s why you broke up with Satoru apparently. You know it’s stupid and people don’t really know what they’re talking about, that they’re bored and just making shit up, but for some reason, you can’t shake the thought.

What if they’re right?

You put the Cuervo on the floor beside Sukuna and hug a throw pillow to your chest. “I had a dream.”

“Is this where you break into song?”

You roll your eyes at him. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

He doesn’t take the challenge lightly, immediately hopping onto the couch beside you and dropping his head onto your lap to stare up at you. He bats his lashes at you and says, “What did you dream about?”

You place your hand on his face. Then, you feel something wet on your palm. 

His fucking tongue.

“You’re so gross,” you whine, wiping your hand on his hoodie. “What do girls even see in you?”

He smirks. You’ve just given him an opportunity and you wholly regret it now. “It’s not so much what they see, but how big it is,” he says, amused by the disgusted face you make. He pokes your cheek with his finger now. “Tell me about your dream.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

He pouts, his lower lip jutting out as he looks at you with big eyes, practically getting teary-eyed now. He’s a great actor, you’ll give him that. He’d probably get better grades if he was a theater major.

“I wanna know,” he says softly. “Tell me.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you that feels unnervingly familiar. You’re used to his antics, you’ve had to deal with them since the two of you were in high school, but it’s moments like this that you remember just how much you know each other. It’s a constant thing, always lurking beneath your banter and jokes—it just surprises you when it’s in your face.

You place your hand on his shoulder and sigh. “It’s stupid,” you say. “I just keep having these dreams where I’m running from something. Different things every time. Zombies, ghosts, clowns—”

“You run away from clowns?”

“Clowns with murderous intentions.”

“Okay. Valid.”

You shake your head, smiling now as the teasing reminds you of who you’re talking to. It’s just Sukuna.

 “Anyway,” you say as you stare off into your empty living room. “I just… run. And I get to a point where I feel safe until I realize that I’ve actually been cornered. I wake up before anything happens.”

When you look at him again, his brows are furrowed, already in deep thought. He considers your dream carefully. You wonder if he’ll crack another joke, change the tone of the conversation, but of course he doesn’t.

“What do you think it means?”

You squeeze the throw pillow beside you. “I don’t know,” you say. “I should probably ask Nobara. Psych majors know all about that shit, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, they got that Freud dude.”

“I’m not sure that Freud dude is necessarily accurate about dreams.”

“You never know until you try.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment. You can hear the air conditioner buzz, the fridge rumble. You’ve gotten used to these sounds of silence, what with you being more alone than you’ve been in a while. This time though, you can hear Sukuna’s breathing. Quiet, but steady, a reminder that you’re not completely alone this time.

“Is that why you’re still up?” he asks eventually. “You can’t sleep?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not.” Earnest. Sincere. “I just wanted to know.”

You look at him skeptically, but he just stares up at you from his place on your lap, blinking in the light of your living room.

“I mean, it’s not just the dreams,” you tell him. “I’ve been feeling a little lonely, you know. Since… Satoru.”

He cringes at the name but schools his expression before it turns into a full on snarl. “Still don’t know what you saw in that guy.”

“He was good to me,” you say. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He must’ve if you broke up with him.”

You hesitate, but you find it in yourself to insist, “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sukuna stands up. “If you say so,” he says. He reaches his hand out in front of you. “Come on. You gotta sleep.”

You stare at his hand. “You don’t think you’re taking me to bed, do you?”

“I am taking you to bed.”

He stays there for a moment, watching you watch his hand, unmoving. “I’m not getting in bed with you. Chill, bro.”

A beat.

“It’s not that,” you say, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. “It’s just…”

He raises a brow. “What?”

Yeah. What?

“Nothing,” you whisper. This is stupid. “You can sleep beside me. It’s fine.”

It’s his turn to be taken aback. Suddenly, he thinks that your hand being in his feels terribly comfortable. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling your hand away. You pad over to your bedroom, walking straight ahead without looking back. Pretending like you don’t care if he follows. “We’ve slept in the same bed before. It’s no big deal.”

But it is. Somehow, you feel like it is.

You’re already under your blanket when he follows you into the room. He stands at the foot of the bed a little awkwardly. Like a lost puppy.

“When was the last time you slept in the same bed as a girl you didn’t fuck?”

He’s sheepish now, stripped of all his usual brazen demeanor. “A long time.”

His hand reaches for the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eyes wide. “This isn’t—”

“Relax,” he says, pulling the hoodie off his head. He’s wearing a t-shirt underneath. Plain red, one you’ve probably seen more times than you can count. “I just run warm is all.”

You feel your face heat up. What did you think he was doing?

Your best friend slides into bed beside you. This isn’t anything strange for the two of you. You used to sleep over at each other’s houses back when you were in high school and one of you wanted to avoid the chaos of your home. You’ve slept beside each other before. It was never a thing.

But it’s been a while since then. You’re no longer the kids you were, all playful and shameless.

It feels different this time. Somehow.

He’s keeping his distance and you can feel it. Your body is turned away from him, but you can feel his eyes on you. He wants to be closer to you.

You want to be closer to him too.

“You can—”

His chest hits your back as he rolls over to lie directly behind you. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly. You can feel his breath on your neck.

You swallow. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

You feel his hand carefully move around your waist. He doesn’t touch you, his arm hovering just above the thin fabric of your top. “Is this—”

“Yeah.”

He rests his arm on your waist and you feel yourself relax into his touch. He wasn’t lying when he said he runs hot, it feels like you’re melting against a furnace. Still, somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to mind.

If anything, you might just admit that you like it. Maybe. Just a little.

notes. soooo the besties are doing a thing 👀 how do we feel about reader and sukuna so far 👀 we also haven't seen much of gojo yet but next chapter is gonna be interesting ;)

[dadsbongos]

last tin on the left

3.9 k words / warnings - not proofread, rape, pinv sex, fem reader, 1 homophobic sentiment from jimmy, JIMMY

summary - trailer park princess asks her scruffy neighbor, jimmy, to give her and her friend a ride to their concert. jimmy wants payment in flesh.

jimmy for @xyfanficarchive and daisuke for @toxycodone

“Hey, Mr. Zare!”

Must be eight, then. He loses track of time while sitting out on the elevated metal stoop to his trailer. Scratchy strapped jammy pants and a loose beater prevents none of the chilled morning air from sighing over him, blowing the steam from his cheap instant coffee into his face. One knee bent off the handrail with a cigarette dangling between two fingers. And both eyes locked on you as you bounce down the steps to your parents’ trailer,

“Early morning, huh?” you offer, positively beaming. Thighs glittering in the sunlight beneath that frilly little skirt. A bubblegum scrunchie folds neatly around your wrist.

“No school today?” he wonders, sizing up the pearly white polo tucked into your waistband. The neat sectioning of your hair in its style. Lips glossed and lashes combed darkly. He raises the light to his lips and fills his lungs with tar.

A soft, “I graduated!” peels out between bursts of laughter.

“Oh…” Jimmy flicks ash beneath the silver rail and watches it cascade onto the dirt lot below, “Guess I missed that.”

“I told my mom to invite you… She probably forgot.”

“Probably,” Jimmy snorts, “Or she doesn’t like me.”

You frown, “Why wouldn’t she like you?”

Lots of reasons could be given to land Jimmy on any shitlist belonging to any particular person in this park. Sometimes he ashes his cigarettes in old lady Lottie’s teeny plot of daisies. Riles up the burnout kid next over’s dog at night. Screams until he’s red in the face when he’s drunk.

“You and my buddy Curly might be the only people that do like me.”

Rather than acknowledge what he’s said, you merely beam brighter, “Ohhh, Curly! That’s the big blondie, right?”

Jimmy’s eyes slither along the bone of your shin, skimping right up your abdomen and lingering just at your cupid’s bow before finally meeting your eyes. He raises a brow at you, “You been eyeing the lug?”

“Not really! God, no, that’d be…” you laugh a little too hard, smile a skosh too wide and your lashes crinkle just a bit tighter than they have to, “That’d be so weird… he’s your friend! And isn’t he, like, way older than me?”

“Probably, he’s turning forty-two this year.”

Humming quietly, gnawing a cherry bottom lip, you nod as if any of this information is relevant, “Probably, yeah… uhm. Anyway!”

Jimmy slurps down more scalding liquid, flicking out more ash. This time at the toe of your squeaky sneakers. A greyed fleck smears over the rounded edge. When half his mug is empty, all air and brown ringlet stains, he rears straight into his smoke.

“Anyway… I was- well- I had… a question?”

“Did you?” he glances over your shoulder.

Your parents’ trailer is sleepy. Not even that stray your mother is fond of is curling around the corner, nosing for food. Every light behind the slatted windows out.

“Can’t ask your dad?” is grumbled between puffs.

“He already said no…” you lock your hands shyly behind your back, battling your eyes down at your neighbor and kicking a rock out from where it’d been buried in dirt, “I need a ride tonight…”

Jimmy’s brow ticks with annoyance. Hand tightening around the plain mug in his hand. Chest bristling with all the indignation singing to him to say something befitting of that abrupt request: fuck off no go die.

Sensing the ruthless rejecting ruminating on his tongue, you bring your hands up. Knotting them under your chin and jutting that fat bottom lip out like it’s got gold inside, “Please?! I’ll pay you back, promise!”

“With what money?”

“My friend’s got money!”

“Money you don’t have.”

“He already said he’d pay my dad, so I’m sure he’ll pay you too!”

“‘He’,” Jimmy scoffs, slotting his cigarette in his mouth and standing. Sucking out the last hits of tobacco before he crawls inside and slams the door in your face, “I’m not taking you and your boyfriend out to fuck.”

“Ewww, he’s not my boyfriend! And we’re definitely not- ugh, having sex. He’s my friend, we’re going to a concert together.”

“Why’d you waste money on tickets without planning a ride?”

“His mom said she’d take us.”

“He doesn’t drive?”

“No.”

Jimmy spits out the wasted stick and stomps it dead, guzzling the last mouthfuls of coffee before searing judgmentally, “Why not?”

“I dunno… just never learned.”

“Why doesn’t his mom still take you?”

Rolling your eyes, you groan out with folded arms, clenching with frustration, “Ugh! He pissed her off! He wasn’t doing his chores while she and his dad worked, so she called him a slacker and said forget it. We’re lucky he can even go out tonight still…”

“Where is it?”

You cringe, digging the toe of your shoe deeper into the earth, worming your lips around in a lock before seething. Teething glaring at him. Canines beared with utmost sympathy before you clip, “Flagstaff…”

“Bullshit. Two hours out?”

“Yeah…”

Jimmy glares at you without respite. Not refusing, and he lets it linger on purpose. He wants more than money. Doesn’t quite know what yet -or maybe that boil in his gut tells him he does, he just can’t choke it out as a word.

You’re a graduate though, apparently, so you’re smart, apparently, and you catch on. You must, because you’re chirping like a wounded bird, “Please, please, Mr. Zare, I’ll do anything!”

“‘Anything’?”

“Anything!”

Instantly, your payment is sealed in his mind. Whether you realize it or not -which, again, if you graduated you’ve gotta be smart enough to piece two and one and make three- you’re not owing him monetarily. That little polo from your mom’s closet is going to be on the bed of his truck. Or trailer. Or fisted into his hand. Or somewhere on the cold dirt far back into the treeline.

“Alright,” he dumps the gritty final skim of coffee over the side of his stoop, “When?”

“Well the show’s at eight, so like…” you twiddle your thumbs, suddenly skittish, “Five?”

“Your little friend has to be here by then, I’m not picking up some boy for you.”

“Okay!” you entirely ignore the sentiment of that statement, clapping excitedly with the teeniest squeal, “No problem, thank you! You’re the best, Mr. Zare!”

Fluttering down the dusty trail toward your family trailer, you wave him goodbye. Real kindly. Sugary sweet voice lulling across the short lot. Raised right- you don’t belong here, and you don’t belong in the passenger seat of his beaten muddy truck.

But you wind up there at 4:45 PM all the same, with some scrawny bleach-brained boy in a pink shirt on the other side of your arm.

The kid is babbling, rubbing his stomach. Jimmy is ignoring him, intentionally.

But you’re just sweet as fucking pie, always have to be, and you’re gently poking Jimmy’s bicep with those big batting eyelashes. Cutely murmuring, “Daisuke’s hungry… can we stop somewhere?”

Jimmy throws a glare through his peripherals, lips pursing, “Is he paying?”

Daisuke jumps, flushing, stunned before jerking his head in two chunky nods, “Yeah, man! I got it!”

‘man’ as if Jimmy is one of his fucking bros. He hopes this kid gets trampled tonight.

“Closest thing by is fine,” Daisuke adds, scrambling a hand through his grown out dyed hair. Nails raking through black roots as his head swivels for the nearest junk spot, “There’s a drive thru right there!”

Jimmy sighs through his nose, loud and overly apparent. The way anyone does when they want you to know they’re extremely irritated without having to say it, and fortunately for him everyone in the car is too young and nice to call him out. Instead, you and your friend just blink over at him wide-eyed as he swerves beneath the golden arches drive thru.

He waits exactly two seconds behind a blue BMW before veering leftward for the lot in front of the door. Grunting out complaints, something something too long, something shut-ins taking all day.

“Just get the hell out and order something,” Jimmy cracks the window and breaches his pocket, shaking loose a ricketing pack of Pall Malls.

Daisuke glances at you, shrugging. You shrug back. Whispers grate the back of his neck as he lights the end, watching it bleed out before plumes of smoke rise. Watching him watch the cigarette, is you -- through your lashes with both hands buried in the fabric of your skirt. Longer than the one from earlier, a little darker too. Purplish black. Maybe velvet material, he can’t be sure but what he does know is it stank like old lady perfume when you climbed into his truck.

“Do you want anything, Mr. Zare?” the kid asks, drawling it out a little too long. Spacey and full of holes.

Jimmy simply shakes his head. Doesn’t even thank him for asking.

Again, you merely shrug. Too young and too polite and too grateful for the two hour drive ahead.

Daisuke slinks out, promising to be quick. Waves at you through the window screen all cute like and cuts into the building. Leaving you and Jimmy and the stench of his smoking and a bird cawing outside.

“Uhm, did you think of the favor yet?” your leg starts bouncing, rocking the parked car in place.

“Stop shaking,” is all you get.

“Sorry…”

Jimmy kicks ash over the ridge of his window, glaring out through nicked glass. He fills his lungs just to have an excuse to not answer you. Not necessarily to put you on edge, but maybe to give you the idea of what he’s going to request. The longer the stilted silence goes on, the more awkward it gets; read between the lines, you fucking graduate, don’t you watch movies?

“Mr. Zare…?” you cross your legs, sinking down in the seat like some frail doll. Nails loudly clicking as you scrape them off one another. When he neither grunts or turns, you clear your throat: drier than sand. You try to swallow but only an eyedropper of saliva comes up. Teeth chittering, chest tight, you prod, “Uh… Mr. Zare?”

Your only acknowledgement is the brief dart of his eyes toward you. Lips still glued around the cylinder’s filter.

“You’re not, like, gonna ask for sex, right?”

Jimmy pauses. Plucks the smoke from his mouth to hang it out the window in one hand with the other braced on his knee. Head slowly swinging your way, brows furrowed and jaw clamped shut. Scanning you over with all the hurry of an old, fat dog.

“You, uh,” he croaks, very obviously observing the way your strapped top dips low into your cleavage. And your legs are bound in that dark skirt, with fishnets beneath. Your mom’s heels on your feet -a touch too big but you make them work, “You think I’m asking?”

When he says nothing more -not even a laugh escaping- you try tossing the line away. A quiet giggle choking through your teeth.

He just stares at you. Hawk-like. Or snake-ish. Shark-ey. Whatever he is, he looks like he eats meat.

Daisuke rips the door open with a greasy brown bag hugged to his chest. Without hesitation you spin in your seat and practically puke out,

“I have to pee!”

“Huh?” Daisuke steps back to let you out, “Why didn’t you go earlier?”

You plant two hands on the sides of the seat to shuffle out until Jimmy’s coughing, “Sit down. We’re gonna be late.”

Daisuke hisses through his teeth, “Sorry, I didn’t think I took that long…”

He slides in, caging you against Jimmy.

“No, really, I have to go,” you shiver into your boy’s side. Practically moulding into the gap under his arm.

“Hold it, you can go when we get there,” Jimmy reverses, completely skipping you over. Not glaring or ogling.

It makes you feel a little crazy. Paranoia clawing down your spine, interrogating your own memory of what he actually just said. If he’s genuinely that type? You didn’t think so, you don’t think so.

“Sorry,” Daisuke assumes your clinginess, your incessant shaking, is from that tightening coil in your bladder. Smiling at you full of apology before digging into the paper bag, peeling the edges back to show off his dinner, “Want some fries? Maybe the potato will soak up your pee.”

Grimacing, you can only sniffle at his innocence, “That’s not how that works, Daisuke…”

“It is with liquor.”

“Piss isn’t stored in the stomach.”

“It should be.”

“If you’re gonna keep whining, I can pull off in the woods,” suggests Jimmy, scratching through his scuff with hazy eyes. Said as an afterthought.

Similarly, without much thought, you nod eagerly and rake your nails into Daisuke’s arm, nodding, “Yes, please?! Yes, yes.”

Leaves and loose branches crunch beneath his crusty tires as Jimmy veers sideways, between two thick trees facing into the lush. Before he can even spare you a glance, you’re hurriedly sliding along the seat -- slamming into Daisuke’s side, knotting both hands in his shirt and fucking shoving him out of the truck.

You hiss up at him after slipping free, “Do you have to pee, Daisuke?”

“Not really…” he shrugs you off his arm, slanting back against Jimmy’s beaten truck.

“But you’ll have to, probably? Right?” you weasel a hand back into his. Clammy and shaking, you think he has to notice something is simply OFF. Your hand for one, and you’re pushing too hard, and you’re looking up at him like he’s going to bite you, “So why not just try now?”

“Ehhhh,” Daisuke squeezes your hand, cheeks flushing, and releases you with an airy giggle, “I don’t have to go, but I’ll stick right here for you.”

“Daisuke…” you whimper, lips warbling. At this point, you two might be able to run out faster than Jimmy could crawl from his truck if you just told him to speed for it.

“Hey,” jumping at the sudden grunt, your head ticks toward the man stretched over the wheel. Long arms around the bend and scowling at you through the window, his door popped with a leg poking free, “You gonna go or what? We’ll be late.”

He’s anticipating it, your loose lips.

“Uh, sorry…” you slither back, shooting Daisuke a glance he cluelessly blinks at before turning and dragging yourself beyond the treeline.

Beneath the hanging bush no rays of orange light kiss your face, you can barely make out the impression of your own quivering hand on a tree. Darkness warping the swollen vines of each trunk, overgrown grass braiding over itself as it tickles your knee. A buzz fwips beneath your ear, something bead-sized careening straight into your pulse before it loudly flutters back and zips away. Bark scrapes off into the creases of your palm as you brace to circle back.

Surely, you pray, surely Daisuke would understand when you’re hidden behind a tree and waving him into the woods. No way did he graduate with honors but he’s of sound mind, you assume. Or at least not so dense as to not read the upset crank in your face.

Rounding a few extra trees for safe distance, you slowly peek around an empty gap -- a clearing just wide enough to observe the crusted truck. Daisuke’s head is rolled against the passenger side window, eyes low and long fingers drawing patterns into the dashboard. You slide a few inches aside, neck craning in search of Jimmy only to find the driver’s seat vacant. Crouching does not unveil him beneath the truck. Sliding the opposite way does not reveal him laid in the bed. Not even his tattered boots can be seen scuffling between tires.

Darting with low knees, you snake over uncut grass and slick against the side of the truck. Rapidly tapping your knuckles on the side, spitting wind through clenched teeth,

“Psst! Psst!”

Jumping in his seat, Daisuke only smiles at you, “You’re back. That Jimmy dude left to go find you.”

“Good, c’mon, c’mon!” you rip open the side door, clawing into his shirt and lugging him toward you. Until he’s stumbling out over you, tripping on your feet and smacking his jaw into your shoulder.

Rubbing the sore joint, Daisuke frowns at you, “Sorry, Jesus- what’s your deal-?!”

“Shut up,” you hiss, whipping the pair of you around to run down the road until some unsuspecting trucker rolls up and saves you both.

Jimmy’s dead eyes stop you. Lidded and dark, jaw straight sans the unsymmetrical scar stretching over his cupid’s bow. Shoulders squared with a knife in his right hand. Blade glinting even as the sun fades.

“Uh, Mr. Zare?” Daisuke steps back.

Two steps. Two steps you should’ve curved towards nice old Lottie’s trailer instead. Two steps past the door to where your dad was passed out on the couch, where you should’ve groveled instead. Two steps is all it takes Jimmy to grab you by the arm, bruising his prints into your bicep while Daisuke watches with both hands raised.

“Does he touch you?” Jimmy doesn’t wait for a response, “Does he kiss you?” he nudges a chin towards Daisuke, “Show me, kid, show me how a man kisses his girl.”

Daisuke balls fists on either side and scrunches his eyes. Taking two fucking steps toward you and cupping your cheeks. Thumbs curving along bone as his soft lips press against yours. Absurdly chaste while there’s a knife in your back, he tastes like strawberry chapstick.

“Touch her, big man,” Jimmy’s jab dies as a snicker right by your ear, “Go on, she was gonna fuckin’ let you tonight anyway, right?”

Daisuke’s cheeks enflame, he pulls away just to hide his face from you again. Cheek to your forehead as he swallows hard. Palms oozing sweat against your face.

“I- I- I can’t……”

“I- I- I- I wasn’t asking,” Jimmy mocks, kicking Daisuke onto his back. The younger man ‘oofs’ and groans in agony while Jimmy wrings you into his side with one arm and the other swoops down to drag Daisuke over rocks and dirt until he’s propped against Jimmy’s truck tire.

His thumb sweeps along the curve of your waist almost affectionately and you feel bile burn the back of your throat. He spreads Daisuke’s legs with his boot and pricks the fold of Daisuke’s jeans with his knife, spitting for him to peel them off.

“Not hard yet,” Jimmy’s hand on your waist comes up to squeeze a tit, rough hands searing through your shirt, “With a pretty thing like this grabbing onto you? You gay?”

Daisuke keeps his eyes low, frantic fingers fumbling his fly.

“Help his ass out, baby,” he grunts in your ear. Cigarette stink wafting into your face.

Jimmy shoves you onto your knees, dirt flying up staining the material of your mom’s skirt. Jagged rocks skinning the palms of your hands. When you don’t immediately claw at Daisuke’s pants, the heel of his boot finds your ass to kick you forward. Scratching your nose against the teeth of Daisuke’s zipper.

Without any thought behind it at all, Daisuke’s hips jump against your mouth. The quietest ‘sorry’ slips out seconds later. When you try to pick your head up, Jimmy stomps it back down and encourages Daisuke to hump.

Lean thighs twitch around your head. Daisuke hesitates, then firmly plants both feet in the ground and mewls when his groin smushes into the fat of your cheek. You reach around his hip to at least shuck open the offensive material binding his cock rather than let denim serrate your face.

Half-hard and still pudgy, Daisuke flops out. He can’t look you in the eye whatsoever, preferring instead to let his gaze linger at your lips. That avoidant stare remains strong, even as he fists his pitching chub to feed into your parted mouth.

Tongue poking out to softly lave up from his balls to his reddening tip, already leaking over the bridge of your nose.

“Sorry,” Daisuke whispers, eyes clenched but he’s trying to coax you to take him into your warm mouth, “Sorry… sorry…”

A hard tug at the bottom of your skirt is the only warning you get before a second pressure at the hem drives upward. Sharp sounds of threads snapping race through the air as Jimmy cuts open the back and ribs the fabric aside to rip open your underwear. One thumb massaging down the seam of your cunt before finding your clit and circling absentmindedly.

His hand drifts away one moment and his cock prods your hole the next.

A warbled gn-hn-nyooooo bubbles out around Daisuke’s dick in your mouth, throat bobbing and squeezing his veins. Despite himself and you, Daisuke moans. Fisting a hand at the back of your head, yanking not to pull you off nor to push you deeper. Just because it’s about all he can do without pissing off Jimmy.

“‘Nooo,’” he mimics, throwing a faux sniffle and whimper out as he sinks inside you, “Fuckin’ wet for it, though,” his palm claps roughly on your ass, groping the scorching flesh and pulling you open to watch you suck him in, “Knew you were a skank, hah, coming up to the worst guy in the lot for attention. You wanted this shit, baby, didn’t you?” he knocks Daisuke’s hand on your head aside, replacing it with his own and pressing your nose into wiry black pubes, “Didn’t you?”

You just wanted to go to a fucking concert.

Daisuke gasps at the squelching sound of your pussy swallowing Jimmy inch by fat inch. Your throat constricts around him. He feels around the front of your neck, pushing on the protrusion of his weepy head like a button and the sensation makes globs of drool dribble down his chin.

Jimmy leans his weight on you from behind, calloused hands cutting up your sides and along the ridges of your ribs to fondle your tits. Laying his chest to your back, having the nerve to kiss along your shoulder and bite. Still forcing you down, as if you aren’t practically molten against Daisuke’s groin, until you’re snorting for air through your nose and Daisuke’s twitching in your jaw.

Cum splatters down your gullet and fucked deeper by Daisuke’s shaking hips before Jimmy wrangles you upright. Sinking tobacco-yellowed canines into the junction of your shoulder pending his own shivering, shuddering orgasm. All but snarling and barking like a dog, emptying inside you. Shallow cuts left in the wake of his blunt nails.

To really, really bind part of himself to -or inside- you forever; Secure this as the worst night of your life.

Jimmy stumbles back, pulling up his pants and rebuckling his belt before sliding back into the truck. A lighter clicks and a cigarette sizzles and Jimmy lets out the most ailed sigh you’ve ever heard.

Daisuke cries. Shrinking into himself miserably.

You climb into the truck, stapling tattered shirt and torn skirt to wherever they’ll remain and hide the rest of your dignity. Peeling seat scratching your bare ass as you softly ask,

“Mr. Zare… Can I borrow a jacket?”

Jimmy nods, throwing an arm around the back of the seat in search while exhaling smoke into your face. Eventually he finds and pulls out a dark green piece with silver buttons.

“Boy, get your ass in here and stop whining!”

Jimmy doesn’t wait until Daisuke has even shut the door after himself before whipping off the side of the road. And he doesn’t even ask if you still want to go to the show before taking you home.

Kissing your cheek.

Murmuring, “Nobody’ll fucking believe you, slut.”

You talk to the worst guy in the lot for attention, after all.

[no1teleneoshipper]

Okay I'll say it. People ship Telemachus and Pyrrhus, but where are the fanfics? It makes me wonder how many shippers there actually is.

I know there's a lot of people who love the ship! I swear, I know! I read all of the literal 10 fucking fanfics from ao3 about them. (And mind you, 2 of them are with ships I don't even like, but I still read because I love them so much. Even if they were only background characters and so was the ship.)

But tell me where are all the fanfics, huh? Where are the modern aus? The high school aus where they're an bestfriends to lovers slow burn or an academic rivals to lovers kind of vibe? Because I swear, every single fandom has one of those. What about a fanfic of Ody like running across Pyrrhus in the palace halls, freshly killed all of the suitors a few days ago and being all like :

"Neo? Why are you here, Aren't you supposed to be at scyros or with Thetis training for a new war?"

And Pyrrhus and Telemachus have to explain and all that. Where's the fanfics of that?

Or what about the same thing with the trope of meeting the parents but it's with deidameia meeting tel?

Or a nice coffee shop au where they're both oblivious and idiots in love with no social life and it's super cliche and they could be in the same college for an extra cliche middle schooler worthy story of a 13 year old girl who just recently transitioned between wattpad to ao3, because fuck it. Those types of fics are my guilty pleasure.

Or what about a cute little 5 + 1 fics or something? Where's those fics? Because no matter the ship, they have that. FIGURE 5, A FANDOM THAT IS DEAD AS FUCK (hi, if you're a figurine it's me @no.1kymieshipper on tiktok I think I'm kind of at least a veteran in the community) HAS ONE OF THOSE. BUT TELEMACHUS AND PYRRHUS? NONE.

I want a cringe fic. I want a beautifully written novel worthy amazingly pitched fic by a girl who's first language isn't English. I want a cross over fic with Lady bug or some shit. I want a fic where it's all angst, with no happy ending what so ever. I want a fic from someone who only knows them for Madeline Millers horribly done books with an great writting style but horrible characterization that is just inaccurate and horrible so they make Dei a bitch, Achilles an innocent little bean, Patroclus a WARRIOR who CANNOT FIGHT, AND PYRRHUS THE MOST RUTHLESS EIGHT YEAR OLD WHO WAS AT FAULT FOR THE ASHES THING EVEN THO IT. DID. NOT. HAPPEN. THAT WAS MADELINES THING.

heck, I'll even stroll through the dark sides of fanfictions and look through watpad for them if I have to. I am THAT desperate.

And I can write, I can. I am in fact writing a fic for them as we speak. I am trying, and trying, and rereading everything. Every little scene. Analyzing every detail. I love them so much they are my cuties.

[docholligay]

I do think there are a handful of missteps in the show, admittedly, and one of them is that Claudia loses a lot of her resonance. I know, if I get murdered by the fandom over one thing, it will be this. I know she's a huge fan favorite. I don't even dislike her!

But aging her up compromised the tragedy of her situation, and honestly, made it a bit ridiculous. I know all of the extra-universe reasons she had to be aged up, but that doesn't change the question of what Claudia is doing in the story as she is presented.

We're asked to swallow this idea of being their daughter, of them using her to repair a marriage. The story of Interview With the Vampire is, in many ways, the story of both losing a child, and the tragedy of hanging onto a child. Claudia's tragedy is that she is frozen in amber. She can never grow up. She can never change. She is locked in that childish moment, seen as a child by her parents forever, and this is her great tragedy.

All of this becomes much harder to swallow about a fourteen year old, specifically given the time period in which she's turned. It's not that fourteen year olds were regularly running around by themselves, but in an edge neighborhood, in New Orleans, in the early 1900s, it's hardly out of the question. People would not have thought of her as a 'little girl'. So as soon as we enter into this, it's already become unserious. Her ruthless killing is not belied by a cupid-like look, because she is too old to look cupid-like. The way Louis and Lestat think of her is entirely out of their position and time.

I will admit to a piece of bias: I think Claudia is as close as Anne Rice ever comes to actually doing something really compelling with the narrative. In any of the Vampire Chronicles books. I think this tragedy of a child who did survive, a child who, unlike her own, will live forever, and the way she works through that as its own tragedy worse than death, and how CLAUDIA. HAS. TO DIE. Because that's what happened, and that's how it must happen, is probably the greatest literary stroke in any of the novels. So it pains me to see it essentially wiped away by child labor laws (The children yearn for the mines).

We have to deal with it, then, in these half measures. She's a child who can do nothing, she runs around on college campuses by herself, she will never be taken seriously and everyone sees her as a child, Madeline being attracted to her is no way unsettling or odd, etc. They try to make a big deal of her being a teenager forever, and always prone to irrational emotions, but she's written as one of the most reasonable people of season two. We are shackled to the Claudia of the books who cannot live with the Claudia of the show. Her character doesn't stand up to much scrutiny, we lose both its tragedy and its monstrousness and we are left with a pretty cool lady vampire in her own right, but someone who fails to deliver on the promise of Claudia's tragedy.

This isn't really her fault, but it becomes even more ridiculous with the actress switch in season two, who looks even OLDER than the original actress. I know that even Kirsten Dunst was too old, and where the fuck are you going to find a twelve year old like Kirsten Dunst again, who looked younger than she was and could act like a forty year old woman? But I do mourn the loss of a Claudia who was a tragic child, for a Claudia who is...inconvenienced. I would have preferred the ol Olsen Twins trick, having twins play a singular role so she could be actually a child, but we can't have everything.

(I will say a change with Claudia I HATED initially, that I came around to really liking, was having Lestat turn her after Louis' begging, and not having had Louis drain her in a moment of weakness. I love that moment in the books, and was SO disappointed that he just...saved her. Saint fucking Louis. But I came around to it, and I am so glad I waited for season two. I think they did a great job in the sketching of it.)

THIS IS THE ONE I'LL GET HATEMAIL ABOUT

[lilmissnatcat24]

Turn Left Ch 30- Meow

Shepard puts two and two together.

Relationship: Femshep/Garrus Vakarian

Archive Warnings in author's note

Additional tags: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, slow build, alternate universe- canon divergence, detective noir, sex club, anonymous sex, canon temporary character death, murder mystery, drug use, dom garrus vakarian, whump, smut, heavy angst, alien sex, dual pov, an overly sexual elcor named candy, earthborn, ruthless, fake/pretend relationship, dead dove: do not eat, identity porn, minor character death

Detective AU mixed with identity porn mixed with so much whump my fingers are bleeding

(or, start from the beginning here)

lil text blurb:

“I-- well-- this wasn’t my choice necessarily. I never thought-- I mean-- I’ve done a very good job at keeping this part of my life secret from all of my coworkers-- which believe me, has not been easy at times, but I guess we do what we can--” 

“Garrus, what is it?” Shepard asked, her curiosity now peaked. And frankly, it brought her a small amount of joy to see Garrus squirm like that after all of the shit he’d been hiding from her lately. 

“I… um…” Garrus said, for some reason looking at the crack at the bottom of his door intently, as if it were about to get up and walk away. “I have a roommate.” 

“Oh,” Shepard said. That wasn’t so bad, was it? “Okay, well I guess it’s time to meet him--” 

“Her.” 

“Ah.” Now it was starting to make sense. “So, like a girlfriend or something?” 

“ No, she is not a girlfriend ,” Garrus said so quickly it sounded like one garbled, jumbled up mess. A sound came from the other side of Garrus’s door. It wasn’t speech or anything, it sounded almost like a whimper. 

“What, is she a vorcha or something? Why does she sound like that?” 

“Shep…” Garrus said, rubbing his eyes. With a resigned sigh, he pressed his omnitool to his door, unlocking it. 

At first, it seemed like just an empty apartment. A tiny little kitchen on the back wall, a couch on one side, a bed with perfectly made sheets on the other. A few spare rifle parts littering the table in the middle, one window the size of a basketball onto the street below. Shepard almost didn’t see anyone. That was, until she looked down, gasping loudly much to Garrus’s dismay. 

“Oh my God. You have a kitty !” Shepard squealed, bending down to pet the cat. It was a very pretty gray color with white markings on its face and belly, giving a very satisfied chirp to Shepard’s reaction to it. 

“That is not a kitty ,” Garrus said through gritted teeth. “That is a cat .” 

“ What a sweet little thing !” Shepard cooed, scratching its ears as its tail stuck up straight into the air.

“She’s not, trust me.” 

 “What’s her name?” Garrus mumbled something under his breath. Shepard glanced up at him, so blue in the face it almost covered up his colony tattoos. “What was that?” 

“Hmph,” Garrus muttered, crossing his arms in an incredibly bratty and snooty fashion. 

“I’m sorry, one more time?” 

“ Whiskers von Trapp .” Shepard stared up at Garrus incredibly blankly, blinking rapidly. He refused to look down at her, or his cat. Just as she was about to open her mouth to say something, he gave her a little kick. “Will you just get inside already?” 

Garrus locked his apartment door behind him, Whiskers von Trapp weaving in and out between his feet merrily. “Did-- did you name her--?” 

“ No, I did not name the fucking cat Whiskers von Trapp ,” Garrus all but yelled. “Look, it was my first week as a beat cop on the Presidium. I was called to do a wellness check on this old lady, she ended up dying earlier in the day. And this creature was inside. I was just going to leave her be, because it is explicitly not my job to care after cretins like this, but then she gave me these big eyes and this manipulative little mew, so I thought I would scoop her up and take her to a shelter. But as soon as I put her in my car, she slinked onto my lap and started making this Siren sound that was like subvocals, and now she’s wormed her way here .” 

“What a devastating tale that is,” Shepard said, a scandalized hand on her heart. “The Day Garrus Vakarian Found His Soul.” 

“I tried to just call her Cat. Because she is a cat,” Garrus continued. “But she wouldn’t respond to that. Or Whiskers. Or even Von. The only time she responds is when I call her Whiskers von Trapp. Like she lives to patronize me into calling her such a ridiculous name.” 

“Cats do tend to do that.” 

“Do not be fooled by her soft fur or her adorable little face. She is a vixen, an evil creature of the night. Did you know I need to steam my uniform every night? Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of cat out of everything? Did you know that no matter how many times I demand that she sleep on the little bed I bought that cost me five hundred creds , she just ends up sleeping under my carapace? Ignorant little beast she is, not to be trusted.” 

“Oh, what a horrid life you lead,” Shepard said patronizingly, finally stretching back up from her squat. “Should I get you a trophy? A shot? Drones of whores?” 

“All three, thank you very much.”

[madebypointlesswords]

just for funsies: books im currently reading

I cannot, for the life of me, read just one book at the time. I've tried multiple times and I just can't. It's most likely my untreated ADHD but oh welllll, have fun with my silly little books and go right ahead and judge my taste in the tags <3

The Iliad, Homer

Honestly such a fun book. I'm reading it very slowly though, because I want to savour each sentence. It's a thrifted version that someone else annotated and I got it for like, 7 euros? The annotations are very cute and fun to read while reading the actual book and it made me consider doing the same (annotating a book and then donating it to thrift so some random stranger can delight in my silly thoughts). Achilles is a bit of a dick but I like him that way. Diomedes is my absolute favourite (together with Patroclus).

This is the edition I have

1984, George Orwell

This book was an impulse buy from my favourite bookstore. I'm enjoying it thorougly, and I mainly bought it because I was going to see a play inspired by it that week and planned to read it first. I got through 50 pages. Orwell's style is a delight though, I have no notes. I'm currently like, one quarter into the book.

My edition (I'm looking for Animal Farm in the same style. I know it exists I just keep finding other ones and it irks me.)

Good Omens, Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman

Tumblr (and my best friend @mairrion) convinced me this year to watch Good Omens right when season 2 came out. I curse you all for the brainrot you have given me. Literally why did you have to do this to me. I bought the book very recently (this monday) and I'm 1/5 into the book. The writing is honestly so fun and I've laughed several times out loud on the bus while reading. Definitely recommend this to new (or old) fans of the series.

I got the edition with Crowley on the cover (they didn't have Aziraphales version but I still would have gotten Crowley's anyway). Mine's a tad different: the letters are golden, Terry is mentioned before Neil is, and Crowley's wine isn't red. Oh and there's a sticker advertising the series.

Little Thieves, Margaret Owen

Oh my god this book is fun. Delicious characterisation. Wonderful dialogue. Stunning worldbuilding. Honestly I am so angry at myself for not being able to read this cover to cover. Why am I LIKE this. The cover is also so extremely pretty what the fuck.

Just look at this

Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky

This book is a banger. It annoys me that I can't read it in one sitting. Because I genuinely LOVE it but I just fucking can't. I love it when Dostoevsky takes a break from the plot to remind us as readers that Raskolnikov is, in fact, very much a pretty boy. Peak comedy right there.

I got the Wordsworth classics edition because it was only 4 euros at my favourite bookstore again (i apologise this is the best picture I have)

The Ruthless Lady's Guide to Wizardry, C.M. Waggoner

I got this book today from one of my best friends and I've read only one chapter but holy hell I am hooked. This is amazing. This is fun. This is exactly what I want. Chaotic, sapphic and unhinged slightly evil women are my drug of choice and this is a heroin shot. Live laugh love Dellaria Wells.

also look at the pretty cover mmmm

The Darkening Age (The Christian Destruction of the Classical World), Catherine Nixey

My first non fiction book I think. Nixey's writing is exquisite and I am loving this book with all my heart. It's educative, interesting and just overall, a wonderful experience to read. I do encourage everyone to take it with a grain of salt, but the author has many, many cited works, so I'm not saying that you have to be overly critical of every sentence, just that the author is (just like any other human being) a bit biased.

btw the cover is pretty too :) but I just can't find a picture of it.

[izartn]

So about the Katherine and Will thing.

Anyways I for one, liked much more his whole thing with Katherine when it came to light she was his pseudo-sis/full sister and he manipulated her for revenge. Like also for his mother who made him promise to protect her and Elizabeth but he didn't have to seduce Kate. That was him being attracted to her and also getting to give the middle finger to Simon. Also ruthless in going for the fastest way to get Katherine and Elizabeth to his side. I totally wasn't expecting Will going for that angle but wow.

I also loved it didn't fuck him or anything, her probably being his sister, bc he has so much bigger problems going on. The fact that Katherine essentially killed herself trying to kill him in vain being one of those, alongside the whole being Sarcean Reborn thing.

lts just soo funny, bc all those traditional YA who are like, Sebastián from Shadowhunters you know? The villain who is obssesed with the female protag is also like her brother or something, and its proof that the chara is terrible, but they had a chance once, but ugh incest and they need to die, etc etc.

Only here is our protag, Will, who has so much going on, the brief detour for heterosexuality town bc Lady and him were a thing in a past life and "mother lookalike also tried to murder me" trauma is more interesting in what it says of him than the fact Katherine was kinda his sister.

Poor Katherine had to die bc this isn't a classic YA story with her as the heroine in distress with the dashing villain who tempts her. This is Will story and we only need her little sister, who is a more interesting adversary as a 10 year old seeing through his bullshit that Kate could be.

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Okay, today I finally got Black Flag and Rogue, and I’ve been playing Rogue mostly. I know that the gameplay for Rogue and Black Flag are similar because they’re made only months apart from each other but I still love them. I just decided to play Rogue because, ahem, Haytham, but also Shay being his handsome self.

The stupid thing is, I haven’t seen Haytham yet, but, I do have the recording memory of Otso Berg talking about which Templars influenced him to be who he is and the second person I got was Haytham. Before that happened, i was doing the little hacking on the computer. Ya know and blah blah blah, then the screen just jumped at me before going immediately into Otso’s dialogue. Just hearing him, hearing this man saying all this shit about Haytham made me wanna throw him off the Abstergo building. Even seeing his old man self, made me just have a mental comparison between the two and I’d still chose Haytham. Why? I got to know Haytham’s story better. I mean, I know he and Haytham aren’t perfect people but don’t talk shit about someone that you know basically had the same situation you did. Makes him an asshole to me. Always.

Also, I think Haytham, if he met Otso, he would say his line before meeting someone he knows is a problem, “Oh this is rich” before they fucking have an argument over who’s the better Templar Grand Master. To me, Haytham will always be more of a man than he is. I mean yes, he became ruthless and sort of an ass too after killing his grand master mentor figure, but he only did that over betrayal, over feeling used just to become this… big headed noblemen who can actually fence well and dress classy.

And you all know how Haytham gets me so damn riled up, with his smug ass and Smexy British noble voice, and just… me going crazy.

Anyways, theme is, Haytham is a classy son of a pirate and a lady who deserves better and wishing he could’ve made a pact with Connor and hunted and been a father to him; while Otso, can fall off the building then, if he doesn’t die, ship him off with his daughter somewhere where he doesn’t have control. Piece of… shiitake mushrooms.

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

I have this Shavik brewing in my mind, and I don't know how to feel about the body horror I have implemented. I sayvthis because the idea is that after gaining the Cipher, it did a little more than just give old Shep some knowledge. It straight up rewrote the DNA. Causing the Lazarus Project to work not as intended and create a hybrid of prothean and human DNA causing shep to have fused fingers, fangs, and a flanged voice. Oh and wings if it's femshep I'm using.

I enjoy the headcanon that female protheans were both capable of flight and highly vicious. I mean I could also go for shep wakes up as a prothean period. But the hybrid makes more sense. I might play with both ideas.

Also a full prothean shep would confuse the fuck out of Javik, and a prothean femshep would probably be more renagade, just straight up because Prothean ladies are somehow even worse than the males when it comes to ruthlessness and viciousness. Actually either femshep would be that way if prothean dna is added, I mean the gal is kind of vicious as fuck anyway.

[rxscss]

spotted !! johnny kennedy boarding a commercial flight out of lax this evening and rumor has it, it’s a one way ticket.

tw: depression, suicidal ideation, drug & alcohol abuse

he had been dragging his feet, feeling like a walking corpse for weeks, a complete shadow and shell of the man he once was - the man that oozed confidence and had not a care in the world. but now? now everything seemed meaningless. the drugs weren’t getting him high enough, the alcohol wasn’t getting him drunk enough and even the sex wasn’t doing it for him. he simply felt empty - he felt nothing at all and everything at once simultaneously and he didn’t know how to deal with it, felt as though he was going absolutely insane. and when his usual tricks seemed to not be working anymore, he found himself at the door of someone he never thought he’d turn to in a time like ths - his mother.

the kennedy headquarters was a huge building in downtown los angeles - a giant glass building that housed hundreds of employees for all of his mother’s and his sister’s many business ventures - but none that were his own, a realization that was hitting him more and more with every step he took down the long, eerily minimalistic hallway towards the gigantic white doors that led to his mother’s office. he hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that this is his only hope. his mother may have been ruthless, but she loved, him right? she had gotten him out of so many of his own messes before, surely she’d be able to get him out of this one.

with a deep breath, hand reaches out to pull the door open, stepping into the room as he closes it behind him, eyes falling on the blonde behind her desk, frantically typing away at her computer. “mom?” johnny says quietly, causing kathy to lift her head and avert her attention towards him. “darling, it’s kathy, you know mom makes me feel like an old lady. come in, i was just reading up the contracts for your spinoff, we certainly can’t fit in all of your antics in one episode anymore, why not give you your own?” she beamed at him. “i told you i didn’t want to  do that.” johnny answered back, slowly making his way into the room as he sat down in one of the plush chairs in front of her desk as she laughed at him. “honey, you don’t even know what you want, trust me.” she said, pointing to the elaborate script sign that hung up above her desk that read ‘kathy knows best.’ and turned back to her computer.

he stayed quiet for what felt like hours, staring down at his shoes as all of his thoughts swirled in his mind, so many things, but nothing all at once, until he finally blurted out. “i’m depressed.” which caused kathy to jerk her head upwards once more, staring at him blankly. “i wake up every day wishing that i hadn’t, and i’ve tried drinking, i’ve tried drugs, i’ve tried fucking everything to make it stop and go away, but it’s not. and i don’t know what to do and i...i’m scared. i don’t want to be found in some fucking alleyway like some junkie and i don’t want to be a fucking loser but i don’t know how to stop. i look in the mirror and i hate myself because i’m not someone that matters and i just...i need help mom.” he admitted for the first time outloud. 

a cold, stoic, emotionless stare is what kathy serves him, slowly moving her glasses from her face as she leans slightly forward in her seat. “jonathan, rich people can’t be depressed. if you’re an addict, we can check you into a nice little rehabilitation center like your pretty friend, austen. you can stay there for a while, come out, have a little redemption arc episode, i can get you sponsorships with all of those silly little mental health apps and you’ll be good to go.” she said with a raise of her brow. “but don’t sit here and tell me you’re depressed. you have nothing to be depressed about, i’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted and more.” she said, taking a breath before she went to continue, but johnny wouldn’t let her.

“you haven’t given me shit.” he spat back. “you’ve given me nothing, you’ve used me as your little fucking pawn since the day i was born because i was the only one who wouldn’t fight you on it, you rewarded me for acting like an asshole and a shitty person and now i’m almost fucking thirty years old and what do i got to show for it? a criminal record? a slew of women who hate my guts? a shitty reputation? the only person who ever gained anything from any of that is you and you know it.” he spat back at her, causing kathy to stand from her seat and reach over the desk and smack him across the face, holding his chin in her hands. “listen up, jonathan. i never held a gun to your head, nor did i to your sisters. they all ventured off, did their own things, became their own people and when you never did i worked relentlessly to give you something that was yours, i allowed you to do whatever you goddamn want because you have no talents, you have no passion, you wouldn’t know drive if it kicked you in the ass. you’re lazy. and entitled and selfish, so i used that to make you matter. and you want to blame me? sit here and claim that you’re depressed? please jonathan, you have no one to blame for that but yourself. get your shit together, we start filming for season twenty one next week.”

he’s frozen in place as his mother slaps him, barely feeling the sting from it, but more so feeling her words, his cold gaze stuck on her as she grabs his chin and forces his gaze. and it’s her words that light a fire under him, that make him realize that it was his life, that he was going to show her, and the rest of the god damn world, he wouldn’t go down like this, even if he fell on his face a million times while trying. the sad, defeated expression leaves his face, jaw clenches as he grabs her wrist, pushing her hand off of him. “effective immediately, i’m off the show. for good. i will break any camera you try to put in my face.” he said through gritted teeth, only causing loud laughter from kathy. “oh you’re ‘off the show’?” she said, making air quotes. “i’m off the show. and i dont’ care about what fucking contracts you made me sign, go ahead and sue your own son, see what kind of publicity that gets you. you want to sue me for all that i’m worth? then keep my god damn money. i don’t need it and i don’t fucking want it. and i don’t want any part of this. i’m done with it and i’m done with you.” 

before he loses his nerve, he stands from the chair, feeling tears brimming in his eyes as he begins to storm out of her office, only hearing the heckling and laughter of kathy behind him. “sure, honey, i’ll see you in a week when you come to your senses.” she taunted, causing johnny to freeze in the doorframe for a moment before looking at her over his shoulder. “actually, i just came to my senses, for the first time in twenty eight fucking years.” he said, sticking up the middle finger at her as he stormed out of kennedy headquarters. 

after his meeting with his mother, he found himself in the mahogany office of his father’s golfclub. he and his father had never been close, but as soon as he made his way into the room, johnny had the breakdown that he had been holding back for far too long and like he was a little child, his father consoled him and held him in his arms. and for the first time, they had a moment. they sat and talked for hours, his father validating everything he was feeling, helping him come up with a course of action. after making a few phonecalls, he got johnny enrolled in a program at  the cours florent, the most prominent acting school in all of paris. he helped him pack up his things, drove him to the airport where he got him a one way ticket on a commercial flight out of hollywood and straight to paris and as he hugged his son goodbye, he left him with five words that johnny never thought he’d hear from his father.

“i’m proud of you, son.”

[ratasum]

Antagonist asks for Lady Makko! Sticking to the backstory ones.

5. Do you have a mentor, or someone you’ve modeled yourself after? Who is it, and why are they so compelling?

11. What’s one thing you can never forgive? (Could be an event in the past, or a character trait like lying.)

12. When did you feel the most accomplished or successful?

50 Questions to Ask Your Antagonist

5. Do you have a mentor, or someone you’ve modeled yourself after? Who is it, and why are they so compelling?

"When I was with the rest of the rabble back in Rata Sum, I had my mentor in college, but they were useless. Far more important to me was the crew of the Red Howl. I joined up with them when I left Rata Sum, and they were instrumental in my becoming who I am today.

The captain, Yazzna, was a ruthless, cutthroat woman. She taught me early on that to get ahead in this world, you can't hold anyone so closely that they can get a knife in your back...

Or that you would be unwilling to put a knife in theirs."

11. What’s one thing you can never forgive? (Could be an event in the past, or a character trait like lying.)

"I don't suffer anyone who double-crosses me.

I can tolerate a lot. Stupidity, foolheartedness, even backtalk so long as the person's got an idea that doesn't piss me off.

But if someone's trying to undermine me, go behind my back, frame me... when I got out from under my old employer, who wanted far more from me than I'd ever want to give his filthy ass, I made sure he knew that I was stabbing him from the front.

He tried to backstab me, and he died for it. Same for that bitch Lionguard Vigdis, trying to frame me because she was pissed she wasn't able to get me on anything.

If I'm going to fuck someone over, they'll know it. Try to pull one on me and I'll make sure you regret it."

12. When did you feel the most accomplished or successful?

She bares her fangs for a moment before taking in a deep breath and letting it out, bringing the long cigarette holder up to her lips to take a draw. Blowing smoke out in a circle, her ears twitch.

"The moment I knew my rise to power was complete.

My old boss, Scrimm, had been... unhappy about me striking out on my own. Shot me in the stomach and set the whole place alight with an explosive. Lost both my legs. My right hand, Jonn, dragged me half dead out of that building and took care of me while I recovered. Kept it quiet that I'd survived, and I planned.

Through Jonn, I got in contact with a sculptor back in Rata Sum who did ornate golem parts for fun. I commissioned him for a pair of legs from the knee down, made of basalt - only the finest - from Mount Maelstrom. I instructed him on every inch of their construction, down to the placement of power stones. See, I’m not just pretty. I was pursuing a career in golemancy while I was still with the College of Dynamics, and I was still pretty damn good at it.

Best part is, that sculptor preferred to remain anonymous. Artsy golems aren’t exactly in high demand, and I’d imagine his krewe gave him hell for it.

At any rate, once I had the legs, I had Jonn arrange a meeting with Scrimm under the pretense of handing over my old contracts and my holdings. A final admission that he’d won. But I was waiting for him there… didn’t even give him the chance to act surprised. I shot the bastard, once in the stomach and once in the head.

May have lit up the place too. A little petty spite on my part.

I'd say I regretted it, but I don't. Not really. He wasn't a good man, and while I learned a lot from him, he was a son of a bitch who earned what he got in the end."

[sophiamcdougall]

The Teams call had been just as gruelling as Julia had expected. At least it was over, and she was working from home today. Deciding she’d earned a snack and some ibuprofen, she rose from her desk, rubbing her forehead and willing away the oncoming migraine. Before she made it to the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

"Julia, we want to talk to you. And first of all we want you to know that we're here for you and we love you."

Julia stared at her two neighbours, her shoulders tensing. What on earth had she done? She'd come home a little the worse for wear after the office Christmas party, but God, it had been months now. Wasn't she ever going to be allowed to live it down?

"Um… OK? What is this?"

"It's … it's your boyfriend,” said Emma. “Greg."

Her stomach dropped. Fuck, had he done something? Hit on one of them? It had been so hard, getting back into dating after the divorce. But being around Greg felt natural. And they shared so many hobbies, like hiking and sourdough baking and bickering about bands from the nineties. It was still too early to introduce him to her daughter, but she'd been starting to think in terms of when rather than if. She thought Cassie would like him. Damn it, she wasn’t ready to be let down again!

“What about him?” she asked, her voice strangled.

Heather said, "We just found out he’s … he's forty-six."

"Yes," said Julia, bracing herself for more.

"Forty-six," repeated Heather.

"I don't understand."

"He's groomed you, Julia! And you’re too young to see it! You're only forty-one years old! A babe! A suckling! Innocent and trusting! Easy prey to a ruthless cradle-snatcher five long and harrowing years your senior!"

Julia blinked.

"I just fired the Head of Internal Communications for creating a hostile work environment in his department," she said. "And Greg is a part-time graphic designer who runs a podcast about microbreweries."

"A forty-six year old graphic designer," said Heather.

"The worst kind," said Emma knowledgeably.

"Ladies. Come on. Are you seriously saying that Greg is too old for me?" Julia asked. "Adam was my exact age and look how that turned out!"

She should never have trusted a man who still thought Oasis had been a better band than Blur.

"Forty-six really isn't that old," she went on. "Do you know who else is forty-six? Tom Hardy. Jensen Ackles. Liv Tyler. You're not going to tell me you wouldn't with any of them."

"I would never lay a finger on Tom Hardy," insisted Heather virtuously. "I am forty-nine-and-three-quarters and he would be incapable of consent."

"But this makes no sense!" protested Julia. "I am the same age as the Supreme Leader of North Korea. Also, back in 1999, Greg took 'Everyone's Free to Wear Sunscreen' particularly seriously, so honestly he could pass for younger than me."

"Oh God," quavered Heather. "In 1999, Greg would have been twenty-one, and you were only sixteen."

Emma looked as if she might be sick.

"But we didn't know each other then. And it's not 1999 any more," Julia pointed out, feeling slightly insane. "It hasn't been for a while. God, if only. "

"It doesn't matter! You can't date someone five years older or younger than you! If someone’s ever too young for you they’re always too young for you! Forever!"

"According to who?" Julia demanded.

"Kids on the internet!"

Julia began to wonder if she was, despite her tender years, having a stroke.

"What's happened to you?" she asked. "Since when do we answer to anyone about who we date? We were latchkey kids. We didn't listen to the opinions of forty-year-olds when we were teenagers. Why would we listen to the opinions of teenagers now that we're forty-year-olds?"

"You're not forty-year-olds!" cried Emma. "That's the whole point! You're a forty-one-year-old and a forty-six-year-old, respectively! Exact precision in ages is incredibly important!"

Julia sighed.

"You know, I actually pretended to be thirty-nine on my OKCupid profile," she admitted.

She wasn't proud of it, but she'd felt really down that day and she hadn't been able to stop her mind straying to that old line about a woman being more likely to be struck by lightning than married after forty. Stupid, misogynist nonsense. She'd first heard it … what, on Sex and the City? Twenty years ago? Insane how this stuff stuck with you.

"He clicked on your profile thinking you were seven years younger than him?" Heather screeched.

"I guess.”

Emma fainted.

Note from Anon:

“Please say your opinion in the tags! I’m asking cuz I have two oc ships and I’m afraid that the age differences might be a problem, the first is a 28 year old x a 31 year old the other is a 41 year old x a 46 year old.”

-submit your poll!-

[silvers-not-home]

tw for racism

i hate white people. so fucking much.

i'm just trying to mind my business and then this old white lady walks up to the (city) bus stop (my family can't afford the school bus at my district)

and so me trying to be polite i get up and offer her my seat, to which she declines and begins talking to me. which like. okay that's fine i like listening to people

until she starts going on about race and i'm like ???? okayyy??? and she talks about how her kids were adopted from her by a black man and she like "thank god it was a black man, black people are rich and prosperous i want my kids to succeed" i think to myself "oh okay maybe she's not racist just overly specific, that fine"

UNTIL SHES LIKE "thank god it wasn't a mexican man!"

and she goes on and on and on about how mexicans stole her land and shit and i'm sitting here, trying my hardest to not start yelling at her because i'm in public and there's like five other people around us

and so i tell her "hey can i tell you something really funny? i'm mexican" (which, yeah mistake on my part but she could kind of already tell) and then i walk away because she's drunk, and idk if she has a weapon on her or not

and then for the next fifteen-twenty minutes she is just absolutely ruthless.

i'm talking slurs, telling me to go back to my country, the whole shebang

and i'm not writing all this down just to get this off my chest and vent or whatever

i'm writing all this down because out of the five or six people there not a single person stepped in.

nobody stood in and told her to stop, nobody asked me if i was okay after i tried getting away from her multiple times

not a single person.

and that's the type of shit that baffles me even more then the actual racism itself

and most of them were poc and i would understand if they didn't wanna get attacked either but she vocalized her specific and distinct hatred to me and my race

it was such a frustrating and traumatic experience that i'm still trying to process the only thing i can think about right now is how the other people there that i know have gone through discrimination before stood and didn't even bat an eye

not to say that they're obligated too or supposed too, no they can do whatever they want it's not my life i can't control them

but it would've been nice if someone just gave me a little look or something

idk just needed to let that all out because i'm really loosing hope for humanity atp and i'm just tired and trying to cope

[shaingles]

Meanwhile, on the Vultures' Estate

Characters involved: 🍀 (Isa), 👑 (Boss)

The sun dawns on the Black Vulture compound, beaming down on the treasure hoarders training vigorously in the courtyard. They're persistent with their exercises, exhibiting their resilience and strength. Isa sits in her office, a few men lounging along her couches. She drinks her black coffee while reading the local newspaper. The headlines read: "Turmoil Arises in Liyue," "Vandalism Tarnishes Local Wearhouses, Millelith Suspects Treasure Hoarder Involvement," "Treasure Hoarders Activity Spikes, Many Left Fearful."

She sighs, shaking her head before placing her cup down. She's disappointed by the state of the treasure hoarder atmosphere, but she's not surprised. All she can do is sit idly until the right moment arrives.

Soon after she sits up in her seat, Boss busts into her office, one of her hoarders following behind him.

"L-Lady Isa—" the timid hoarder utters, trying to keep up with him.

"ISA," Boss roars, slamming his hands onto her desk. The reverb causes her mug to almost tip over. The men around her perk up from the commotion, the tension in their muscles visible as if they were ready to attack.

"MacQuoid." Isa's voice is calm and collected as her silver eyes lock into Boss's.

"Where the fuck is Midas. I know you have something to do with this." His nails claw into the wooden furniture as he glares at her, his face red as a jueyun chili.

Her playful gasp is followed by a chuckle as she leans back. "Now, now. Why would I have something to do with the baby's disappearance—"

"Because you're always at the forefront of shit like this. You're always there stirring the pot, taking things that don't belong to you. Now, where is he?! What did you plant in his dumb brain this time?!" His voice grows louder as he speaks, and he bears his teeth like an agitated dog.

The reaction makes her burst out laughing, making Boss's face redder. "This isn't a fucking joke, you bitch!! Where is he?!" He barks, making Isa laugh more.

"You're so cute when you're angry," She chuckles, coming down from her laughter.

Boss huffs loudly, ready to tear into Isa until she adds, "I promise you, I don't know where young Midas is. The last time I saw him was when he apologized to me and my men."

"And why should I believe you?" His eyes narrow, his voice low and gravelly.

"Use your brain, MacQuiod," She starts, crossing her legs. "What would I gain from taking Midas from you? Besides a comedic display of your immaturity."

"You—"

"I'm not done," She interrupts, raising her hand sternly. "Midas, though a strong soldier and crafty collector, wouldn't last a day on Vulture territory or with my men. They're ruthless and harsh. Young Midas would crack easily under the pressure."

"... Are you saying my boy is soft," Boss growls, his knuckles turning white as he clutches his fists tight.

"Don't be so prickly. I never said that," She sighs, rolling her eyes. "My point is, if he came here, he would've crawled back to you days ago."

Boss lets the information sit, trying to rationalize it in his head. He knows Isa is right but doesn't want to admit it verbally. A chuckle leaves her as she stands from her desk.

"Speaking of softness, have you considered your version of "tough love," may have pushed him to run away?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Boss scoffs, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. "You think I ran away anytime my old man taught me a lesson? No. I took it like a man and lived with it."

"Well, Midas isn't like you. To be frank, he only acts hard to please you, anyway. In actuality, he's much more gentler and considerate..." She pauses, peering at the storm clouds rolling in, slowly blanketing the sun. "Maybe he wouldn't have disappeared if you were a little more tender with him."

Boss scoffs again, but he doesn't have a rebuttal. His eyes glaze over at the men occupying the couches, noticing their tense expressions as if they're ready to pounce at the slightest move. He acts unfazed, but the sight alone terrifies him. Lightning flashes before a rumble of distant thunder fills the silence. Where Isa stands she can see her hoarders end their training and return indoors.

"... How do you suggest I be softer with Midas?" He sighs defeatedly.

"For starters, try sitting down with him and talking. If he's your son, you shouldn't have a problem having a man-to-man conversation, right?"

"... I'll see what I can do," Boss murmurs, turning to leave. He feels eyes follow him as he walks out the door. The moment the door closed the men murmured to themselves about the ordeal.

The timid hoarder, who stood idly watching the altercation, approaches Isa. "Is everything alright, Lady Isa? Are you okay?"

"Don't worry, honey," she reassures, returning to her seat. "Everything is going to be alright." She looks at the door, smiling softly before returning her attention to the newspaper.