#predator pool cue

[woodbilliardcuestore]

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.6k

part 2 here

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment block. Though it feels more accurate to say he’s an occasional visitor. He comes and goes, like a lost spirit, unsure and aimlessly wandering. He slinks silently through the hallways like a wraith in the few instances when he is there. 

The first time you see him is just a glimpse from the corner of your eye, a large hulking shadow standing at the door next to your apartment as you step out from yours. 

Your feet stutter to a stop, the landlord had mentioned a neighbour but in the 3 months you’d lived there you’d never seen him. As if sensing your eyes lingering curiously on his form, deep brown eyes turn to meet yours. You can make out no other details of his face, the black material of his balaclava obscuring most of his features. 

A century could have passed in those few seconds and you doubt you’d have noticed. Despite the weariness in his gaze, you found yourself pulled into the deep pools of those stunning eyes. Like a predator, his gaze never moves from your body, even as you offer him a friendly smile and wave before walking down the hall to continue your day. 

You’d heard the uneasily whispered tales of the Ghost that haunted the apartment next to yours from some of the older tenants, though you’d never put much stock into the idle gossip. His burning gaze bores into your back and follows until the doors of the elevator close and you suppose you should feel intimidated. 

It’s hard to conjure up any such feelings, even with the knowledge of the wariness he elicits in others. It’s hard to fear the hulking figure of the Ghost when he had such sad eyes. 

He hid it well but you recognised the loneliness that lined his shoulders, the bone-deep exhaustion for life that managed to slip through tiny cracks in his self-imposed shield. 

You suppose at that moment that even Ghosts can be haunted. 

Maybe that’s why you found yourself knocking on his door later that evening with the tray of pasta bake. Initially, you’d made a large batch to have a few days left over for yourself. Yet just as you opened your fridge you’d hesitated, mind flashing to the man next door. Did he have any food for himself? There was likely nothing fresh, and he’d seemed too exhausted to pull himself to the grocery store during the brief encounter earlier. 

Donning your Crocs, you’d marched over and knocked on his door before it properly registered that you were in pyjamas. The door swings open and your eyes trail up, the balaclava is gone, replaced with a simple black face mask letting you glimpse blond hair. 

“Sorry if this is a bit intrusive, but I figured you probably didn’t have any food so…” you trailed off, pushing the tray towards him, expectantly waiting for him to grab it. It took a few seconds before he robotically took the tray, probably out of sheer confusion more than anything else. Stepping back before he could return the food you offered one last smile before fleeing to the sanctuary of your apartment. 

Two days later you exit your apartment to an empty and cleaned tray, a small note with a simple ‘thank you’ placed within. 

His name’s Simon, and apart from an introduction and the occasional dish left at his door, you don’t actually interact with him again until nearly a month later. And that had simply been a case of forced proximity a la broken elevator style. 

Simon remained unflappable as ever, and it’s at that moment you decide to try and get a reaction that isn’t stoic silence. 

“A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and …cola” Brown eyes turned to look at you curiously, brow raised to let you know he was listening. “Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.” 

The joke doesn’t land, silence is the only reward for your comedy genius. “Ok, playing hardball. Alright then… Why did Susan fall off the swings?” Again, there is no answer, but a glance at his relaxed posture indicates he’s listening. “Because she had no arms.” 

No laugh but you blaze ahead. 

“Knock knock.” It takes a few seconds but with a playful glare, he responds quietly and with a tinge of amusement. 

“Who’s there?” It’s not the first time you’ve heard his voice, but it still births a serious case of butterflies in your gut that takes more than a few seconds to fight down and regain your composure. 

“Not Susan.” You can’t stop the peal of your giggles at that one, and while you swear you see the corner of his cheek curve upwards a little it’s not enough for you to be satisfied. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this, but I guess it’s time for the big guns. You better prepare yourself Riley 'cause I’m done holding back.” You pause for a few seconds to let the anticipation settle. 

“What is… Whitney Houston’s favourite type of coordination?” You take a deep breath before positively belting out, “HAAAAAAAND-EEEEEYE.” Whether it’s the shock from the sudden musical number or the joke itself you’re finally rewarded with a faint chuckle. 

“Aha!” you shout in triumph, a smug grin splitting your face, “I heard that laugh, you can do more scowl!”

The doors suddenly open with a ding and Simon pushes off the wall, but not before rolling his eyes playfully your way. Silence once again descends during the walk to your respective apartments, yet it’s not uncomfortable. Swiping your key card it’s just as you step through the threshold that you hear it, 

“Why did the chicken go the seance? To get to the other side.” Whipping your head around, you are met with the sight of his door closing behind his large frame, but a win is a win and you celebrate mentally over the exchange. 

The next time you leave a dish at his door it comes with a written joke. Sure enough, a few days later you received one back. The months start to blur, and your Ghost comes and goes, but the jokes remain. 

Month three sees you snagging his number, a daily joke sent his way even when he can’t respond. Because as much as Simon Riley tried to hide his hurts from the world, he couldn’t hide them from you. 

You’ve loved a soldier before in your brother, can see the signs and smell the gunsmoke and blood from miles away. Apart from his team, it becomes obvious the man has nobody left, and believes he doesn’t deserve to be cared for.

You’re not foolish enough to think you can be that for him, but you are understanding enough to give him the choice. So you continue to send him jokes, puns, pictures of your cat Bingbong and anything that you think will get him to at least smile.  

Three months turns to six turns to eight. He’s not physically there most of the time but you take every opportunity he is to coax him from the loneliness of his apartment like a stray kitten.

Once-a-week dinners at least. Freely sharing your life’s story without expecting anything in return. One evening you’d plopped your chunky tuxedo cat down on his lap and watched him freeze, hands hovering with wide eyes as he considered the ball of fur making biscuits on his thigh. 

It was cute. He was cute. Even when he whipped around to glare when you took a photo, the corners of his lips downturned and tugged at the scars on his face. His bare face wasn’t necessarily a new sight but it causes your breath to hitch nonetheless. 

Something you think he notices given the way his lips quirked up suddenly in a smirk. Rolling your eyes you huffed before plonking yourself down next to him on the couch. Bingbong doesn’t scramble onto your lap like you expect, instead deciding to remain on his new favourite human, traitor. 

You pay very little attention to the movie even though you’d chosen it, too acutely focused on the large bulk of Simon next to you. Your shoulder rests against his arm, his body heat emanating from beneath his hoodie and absorbing into your skin. 

You’ve never been one to fall asleep during movies, but there’s something about Simon’s presence that soothes you, lulling you into a restful slumber as you slump against his chest. Bingbong meows his discontent as you accidentally squish him, jumping away with a huff, none of which you notice. 

It’s the sun shining straight onto your face through the open blinds that wakes you the next morning, a groan of confusion leaving your lips as you stretch and look around to orient yourself. 

Sitting up, the blanket that you just now realised covered your form fell down to your waist. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes your phone falls to the floor when you stand, the screen flicking on to display the time. 

It’s not until you sleepily stumble into your bedroom, plugging your nearly dead phone in and face-planting onto your pillow that you realise Simon must have tucked you in. The smile that covers your face is so wide it is painful and you fall asleep once more, dreaming of the phantom sensation of his arms wrapped around you.

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: As you can see, I switched up the posting schedule slightly (check out the series masterlist for new "coming soon" dates). Thank you, guys so much for all the responses on Part 1! I hope you have just as much fun with Part 2. 😉

Word Count: 5.9K

Tags/Warnings: "Lies, lies, lies, yeah." ‘80s references, a new mission (and violence), cattiness, and some more cat and mouse tension.  

🎙️ Series Masterlist || YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 2: Foolish Game

“You know, we really are a family here. The whole Payback team,” Crimson Countess said.

Her voice was filled with earnestness as she held the microphone to her ruby red lips with both gloved hands. She smiled and reached out a hand to you.

“But it’s truly my pleasure to welcome Sirena into the fold. It’s about time we got another badass chick on the team, am I right?”

She knew how to play up the packed crowd in the auditorium. They roused with cheers and clapping, and you stepped closer to her in the spotlight.

It wasn’t entirely an act when you gave them (and several cameras) a somewhat shy smile. You’d been on stages almost all your life, but never one like this. You knew you were being seen by the entire country right now.

On Countess’s other side was Soldier Boy and the TNT Twins, while on your side stood Black Noir, Swatto, and Mindstorm keeping himself in the back. Off at the far left of the stage were Arthur and Madelyn Stillwell, both seemingly patient and professional.

“And you look great, hun. I love the new suit,” Countess said, gesturing at you with a playful air.

You smiled a little more and affected some humility. You tried not to adjust the black mask sitting on the bridge of your nose. It felt like a pair of pool goggles.

“Well, a little leather goes a long way,” you joked into your own mic. It earned some laughs from the sea of flashing lights amidst darkness.

Countess laughed, a sultry sound. “I know that’s right.”

“I’m really just so grateful to be here on this incredible stage with you all,” you said, casting a hand at the rest of the team. “I’m just a girl from a dusty little town in Indiana. Seriously. Imagine Smallville, Kansas, but more tumbleweeds.”

Cue more indulgent laughter. The lie was well-rehearsed on your tongue, along with this next bit, as you looked into the closest camera.

“But if you all see some small greatness in me, then I’m honored and ready to serve,” you finished.

Enthusiastic applause met the end of your little speech. You smiled and lowered the mic. Countess nodded in agreement and offered her mic to Soldier Boy next. He stepped up to the center podium and leaned on it like he was John Wayne.

“Well, it’s a good day when another hero joins our ranks. I have a feeling that Sirena,” he paused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “Is gonna be a good fit.”  

You didn’t like that smile on his face, but instead of letting that show on yours, you gave him a grateful smile. He had the gall to wink at you. Then he handed the mic back to Arthur and stepped back from the podium.

“All right, one more time, you guys. Let’s hear it for Sirena!” Arthur said to the crowd, and they erupted. You accepted the praise with a demure smile and a congenial wave, like you were Princess Diana or something.

The rest of your team gave perfunctory claps as well, but Soldier Boy was the first to head off stage. Countess and the rest of them followed suit, so you did as well. She and Soldier Boy didn’t even share a glance when she stopped off into the women’s restroom. An idea struck you, and you decided to join her.

“Hey, Countess,” you began to say, but she let out a humorless huff.

“What, are you going to follow me into the fucking stall?” she said dryly.

You were momentarily taken aback by her acidity. You blinked, and she turned to give you a bored look.

“I…just wanted to say that I really look up to you,” you said.

“Do you?” she asked, with a slightly mocking smile. Her gaze briefly ran down your form. “Is that why your suit looks like a Dollar Store knockoff of mine?”

Ah…okay, you thought. You saw what this bitch was about. She’d supported you in the public eye, but she didn’t actually want another woman on the team. She’d been a powerhouse for over a decade, and not just her years at Vought.

But for every icon, there’s the threat of becoming an old has-been, you thought. 

“Well, you’ve got a point there. I asked for a cape too, but they thought it was a bit too…retro,” you remarked, hinting at a smile as you gestured at her suit, and the long red cape that draped down her back. “But really, I’m a big fan. I actually grew up watching you when I was a kid. I remember that little documentary you did with Vought Geographic. The one with the baby chimps? So cute.”

Countess’s brow twitched, ever so slightly. Both her fake smile and yours remained the same.

She broke first with a roll of her eyes.

“Just stay out of my way,” she said. Her cape brushed your arm as she breezed past you. Your smile remained until she was out of the room. Then you took a deep breath.

Be careful, you reminded yourself. You had to prove that you wouldn’t easily bend to whatever bullshit might get thrown at you, but you were still the rookie here. You had a feeling that this was just the first test of many.

You kept your guard up, even at the afterparty hosted at a nearby hotel. Tessa followed Countess’s lead and gave you fake smiles when you passed by her. Otherwise, she ignored you. Mindstorm was the only one who seemed truly indifferent towards you. (You barely ever saw him out of his room anyway.)

You couldn’t much tell with Black Noir. He’d never taken his helmet off in the few days since you’d met him, but you sensed nothing but vague interest from him. The other three men were more obvious in the way they looked at you.

In fact, you could’ve predicted the way Soldier Boy found you in a slightly quieter corner of the banquet hall. His gait was relaxed and arrogant as he made his way towards you.

He annoyed you on sight, no matter how damn attractive he was. All broad shouldered and brown hair coiffed, his face mostly clean shaven, save for some stubble. With his military green supe suit, the silver decal of an eagle stretched across his broad chest—he certainly looked the part of America’s first hero. Too bad he was also a chauvinistic ass.

But you also had a plan. It had started to form after that first encounter with him in the break room.

You kept your true thoughts off your face as you turned to greet him. He was holding his fifth tumbler of whiskey, and he smelled like it too. You sipped at a glass of red wine.

“Small town girl, huh?” he said, smiling with old-world charm. “I happen to be a city boy.”

“Born and raised in South Detroit?” you teased. “I didn’t take you for a Journey fan.”

“The mean streets of Philly, actually,” he said, with a tip of his imaginary hat. “I may be a Sinatra kind of guy, but I don’t mind a little rock ‘n roll.”

You inclined your head. “Same here. Not that my parents approved. Growing up, I had to hide my Rolling Stones records under the bed.”

That much was true.

“Ah, a little rebel,” he remarked. His gaze roamed down your form, and back up to your eyes, shaded by smokey makeup. “Who knew they made ‘em like you in Indiana.”

Your lips curved. “It’s not just cows and cornfields.”

“Evidently,” he said, taking a swig of his whiskey. “How do you like the big city so far?”

“To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to see much of it yet. This whole thing has been a whirlwind,” you said.

Lie.

The truth was, you were born and raised in Brooklyn. Maybe you had never lived in Manhattan before, but you were no stranger to the city.

Ben not only ate up the lie; he took the bait.

“Maybe I’ll give you a tour of the city one day,” he said. He thumbed at your chin once again with half-gloved fingers.

You tipped your face up to him, and you smiled.

“I’d like that.”

Your first mission with Payback was not at all what you expected.

To start with, you’d expected to do some patrolling, run down some leads, do some investigating. Instead, they had a Surveillance & Security team to do all of that for the team. Plus, they were patched in via the local police scanner of any new crimes in progress.

Arthur had paged you to come to his office. There he told you that you’d actually be going for your first save today. You were excited, until he told you that you’d be on a “team up” with Crimson Countess.

Great, you thought.

She didn’t look happy about it either, when you met her in the lobby downstairs. She gave you another frigid look before she swiftly exited the double doors.

Stay out of my way. You got the message loud and clear.   

A black SUV took you two to the Lower West Side, where there was a robbery in progress. The front window of the jewelry story had been shattered, and tens of thousands of dollars in merchandise stolen by two masked men according to the store clerk. He’d been shot in the shoulder before the men took off. The police had yet to find them.

The most unnerving part of this was the cameras that followed you and Countess while you canvassed the area—like catching criminals was some kind of reality show.

“I think I can feel them,” you said, with your fingers on your temples. “They’re headed south through the alley.”

“Which alley?” she asked, waving a hand at the several blocks ahead of you. “And what do you mean you can feel them?”

You shot her a look, endeavoring not to be snarky. “I can sense them.”

Let’s just say, your powers were particularly potent when it came to men. That’s what allowed you to feel the robbers’ energies, set high with adrenaline. They were close.

You pointed the way, and Countess begrudgingly went along with it.

“Follow my lead though,” she said.

You agreed in the moment, but you were filled with maybe too much anticipation and excitement yourself when you turned the corner into the alley without waiting for your companion.

You found yourself staring down the barrel of a gun.

You froze, your breath stilling in your lungs. The safety clicked, and the man holding the weapon quirked his head.

“Haven’t seen you before,” he drawled.

“But you know me. Don’t you, handsome?”

Countess’s fist landed squarely across the man’s jaw. He yelped as the weapon clattered out of his hand. You jumped back as the gun fired, ricochetting off the brick wall. Countess rolled her eyes and tossed a fireball at the next man, who jumped out of his hiding place behind the dumpster. He screamed and dove to the side.

She didn’t wait for him to recover. Grabbing him by the collar with a gloved hand, she threw one hard punch that broke the man’s jaw. You winced at the telltale cracking sound. The other man just held his hands up in surrender, wide-eyed and afraid. You felt his fear radiating off of him. With another swift punch, she knocked him out as well.

You could only stand there with your mouth open in surprise. You managed to close it when Countess turned your way.

“I told you to follow my damn lead,” she said coolly.

The police filtered in shortly after, as did the camera crew. The director sighed at Countess.

“This was supposed to be Sirena’s first save,” he said. Countess turned to him with a sharp look.

“Train her fucking better then,” she snapped.

You chewed the inside of your lip, but you fought not to outwardly show your embarrassment. Why’d they have to partner you with her, for fuck’s sake?

The car ride back to the Tower was just as tense and silent. At least there was a black partition between you two in the backseat and the driver.

Finally, you sighed and tried to offer an olive branch.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just got a bit excited,” you said.

“You almost got yourself killed,” she drawled, not even looking at you as she gazed boredly out the window. “Even that would’ve been a challenge for the PR team.”

Your lips pursed in irritation. Oh, my God. Is she that insecure?

“Countess, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

“Except my boyfriend,” she shot back. Finally she turned her head towards you with cool disdain. “You think I didn’t see you flirting with him last night at the afterparty?”   

You rolled your eyes, though you hid a sliver of embarrassment. You should’ve known she’d spot that.

“He approached me, okay?” you said. Maybe you were about to let your pettiness to get the best of you, but you couldn’t help it. You smiled slyly. “And from what I hear, I’m the least of your worries. Looks like Ben has quite the appetite.”

The cracks of Countess’s cool façade finally broke through to anger. She glared at you tightly.

“He may have his little toys, but they never last long,” she said pointedly. “The only reason he’s giving you the time of day is because you’re new, and shiny, and full of silicon.”

“And young,” you added with a wink. “Don’t forget young.”

She seethed, and you were almost concerned that she might toss a fireball your way. Mercifully, the car rolled to a stop in the back entrance to the Tower to make it easier to navigate past any paparazzi. You slid out on your side, and you didn’t bother waiting for Countess when you went back inside the Tower.

All the way back up the elevator to your floor, you thought about the way you’d frozen at the sight of the man’s gun. You did have proper combat training. Your dad had paid for the lessons.

“You’re gonna pay us back one day,” as he’d said. “We’re investing in our future, just as much as yours.”

You shook your head and sighed. You should have grabbed the robber’s arm and reached for any flash of skin you could touch to compel him into submission.

The thought continued to unsettle you as you went into the breakroom first for something to eat. You ended up making yourself a sandwich and sat down at the nearby dining table with an unsweetened tea. Swatto happened to fly in for a coke and an old slice of pizza. When he noticed you, his insect-like wings folded back into his back after he landed on the ground.

Out of everyone, his suit looked the most cumbersome with the big shoulder armor and the condom-like mask over half his face. You understood why he wasn’t wearing it now. He was dressed down in an old Ramones shirt and a pair of jeans. He ran his fingers through his short hair and slid into the chair closest to you.

“Hey. How’s it going, beautiful?” he asked, with what was likely meant to be a charming smile.

You were close enough to sense his salacious thoughts. You restrained a sigh. Ordinarily you’d entertain him a bit more, but frankly, he was making a bad day worse and you weren’t in the mood.

So you smiled. While your hand slid over his on the table, you leaned in close to his ear.

“Shoo, fly,” you said. Your words held power as your eyes glowed violet.

Immediately, you felt the way Swatto’s body sat up straighter. With a blankness falling over his face, he got up from the table and left the way he came, forgetting his snacks on the table.

You shook your head and continued eating your sandwich in peace.

A few minutes later, there came an even rarer sighting—Mindstorm snuck into the breakroom next. He glanced at you with wary eyes, like a deer pausing before it took a drink from the pool. When you just stared at him in slight bewilderment, he quickly rucked through the cupboards for a bag of Bugles labeled:

MINDSTORM’S – DO NOT EAT!

As if anyone would want to steal a bag of Bugles.

Just when you opened your mouth to offer him some kind of greeting, Mindstorm quickly ducked out of the room. You blinked in confusion.

“Odd,” you said to yourself. “So very odd.”

“Right?” came a voice behind you. You screamed and nearly jumped out of your skin, but you realized it was only Black Noir, holding a beer.

“Jesus…” You held a hand over your beating heart. It wasn’t the first time he’d snuck up on you like that. Can this guy wear a bell or something?

“Don’t mind him. He’s got a few dozen screws loose,” said Noir.

Unlike the other two, he was fully suited up. However, he took his helmet off and set it on the table so he could drink. You held in a breath, as you were pleasantly surprised to see the face of a handsome black man. It was the first time you’d ever seen him unmasked.

Wonder what else he’s hiding under there, you thought. Your gaze briefly dipped down his chest and strong-looking thighs.

You both chatted over small things at first. According to Noir, Mindstorm’s apartment was completely soundproof, but it didn’t do much good for the guy, since he had a hard time keeping people’s thoughts out of his head. You thought New York City was probably a terrible place for him to live, in that case.

“And you’re smalltown, right?” Noir asked.

You offered a half-smile. “Guilty.”

“Yeah, same here,” he said, raising his beer. “From a nowhere town in Georgia.”

For the first time, you felt slightly bad for keeping up the lie. Noir seemed like a decent guy so far. You clinked your iced tea with his beer.

“Well, Nowhere, it’s nice to find a kindred spirit,” you said.

You two drank for a bit in a comfortable silence, until he turned to you with curiosity in his dark brown eyes as he took you in. 

“So, what made you want to join Payback? The pay, or the free shit?” he asked.

You quirked a smile. You decided to give him the easiest answer he’d believe.

“Well, the free shit is a big perk. But…as vapid as it sounds, I wanted to get out of the background, make a name for myself,” you said. Noir nodded.

“Believe me, I get it. Around here, it can be hard to stand out,” he said. His brows knitted together while he stared hard at the table. You watched him, wondering what he meant.

After a beat, he perked up and met your gaze. “You know, I’ve been wanting to pitch a movie idea to Arthur.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, just trying to…you know, find the right words.”

Your expression eased, and you crossed your arms and turned towards him.

“Okay, let’s go then,” you said, waving at him in a bring it on gesture.

Noir’s brows popped up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?” you said. “Give me your best elevator pitch.”

Black Noir stood up from the table, nearly knocking over his empty beer bottle as he went. You grabbed it so it wouldn’t tip over. You were amused by his slightly flustered state. He set his hands on his hips and couldn’t quite meet your eyes when he started speaking.

“So, I’m thinking it could be like 48 Hours meets Trading Places. Except instead of a wise-cracking criminal or a guy down on his luck, I’m like, a wise-cracking ninja.”

“But ninjas don’t typically talk, do they?” you said. Clearly this guy had a thing for Eddie Murphy. “Aren’t they supposed to be stealthy?”

Noir raised a finger. “Okay, yes, but it’s a comedy. So that’s the ironic part, in a funny way.”

“So you’ll make witty quips before you kill your targets?” you said, holding in a laugh. You brandished an invisible sword. “‘You’re gonna need a new carpet.’ Fshh.”

You mimed a cutting motion, then blood spraying from your neck as you made some mock death throes. Noir stared at you blandly. You bit your lip.

And you were the first one to break with a laugh. The sound was infectious enough to break him too though. Noir couldn’t help but shake his head and chuckle along with you.

You were almost too distracted to hear a pair of heavy boots, and sense the male presence at the door. You turned at the flash of green in the corner of your eye.

Of course, the cast wouldn’t be complete without Soldier Boy. Or Ben, as he’d insisted you call him.

His gaze roamed the room with feigned disinterest, but you could tell when he looked over at you and Noir that he wasn’t pleased. He clung to stoicism as he approached your table with his usual gait: calm, controlled, and arrogant.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked with a raise of his brow. “Could hear you all the way down the hall.”

“Just working on a pitch for Noir’s new movie,” you said, though the man in question gave you a hard stare. One that warned you to stop talking.

“Noir’s new movie?” Ben said, with a curl of his lip. He turned to the other man. “Trying to compete with Red Thunder before it’s even out in the box office? That’s not very good form.”

“No, no. Of course not,” said Noir. “Just…throwing some ideas around.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard. Some kind of samurai bullshit,” Ben said dryly. His green-eyed gaze was sharp, however. “Why don’t you stop wasting people’s time on tragic fucking ideas, and find something actually fucking useful to do.”

You watched carefully between the two men. Was there some kind of bad blood here?

Noir’s lips pursed, but despite the spark of anger in his eyes, he kept it all inside when he lowered them. He got up from the table and left without another word, putting on his helmet as he went.

Ben shook his head and drew closer to you. You frowned up at him as you stood and crossed your arms below your breasts.

“Well, that wasn’t very kind,” you remarked.

“This is the real world, sweetheart. He still needs to learn his place on this team,” Ben replied. But then, his charm was back. His face eased into a smile. “I’m glad I found you. It’s time I made good on my promise.”

You tilted your head. “What promise?”

“To take you out,” he said. “Give you a little tour of the city.”

After that little display, you had even less interest to spend any more time with this man than absolutely necessary…

Remember the plan, you reluctantly reminded yourself.

“Come on,” he prodded, extending a hand out to you. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Releasing a breath, you uncrossed your arms and slipped your hand into his.

“Okay. I would appreciate you showing me around,” you said, giving him a smile with some feminine charm of your own.

His lips curved into a grin. He raised your hand up to his lips, and despite yourself, his stubble ignited small tingles across your skin.

“Meet me downstairs in half an hour,” he said.

After taking the time to change out of your supe suit and into something dressier, reapplying your makeup and fixing up your hair, you met Ben downstairs out front. He was waiting for you there on a motorcycle, of all things.

“Really?” you asked, giving the vehicle a dubious look. “I thought you’d be a limo kind of guy.”

“Oh, I am. But today we need speed if we’re going to cover the whole city,” he said with a grin. He revved the engine, and it let out a loud, rumbling sound. It looked like a death trap.  

“I don’t know, Ben,” you said, for the first time using his name. You were actually nervous enough to show it.

He chuckled and motioned you over. Reluctantly, you went to him. His hand smoothed down your arm and held your elbow. He peered into your eyes.

“You think I’m going to let you fall on my watch?” he said. 

You held his gaze. Eventually, you bit your lower lip, and you accepted his offer of a helmet (even though he was going without one), then his helping hand to climb onto the motorcycle behind him. You tentatively held onto his waist.

“That ain’t gonna cut it, baby doll,” he said. He grabbed your hands and tugged you closer, until your arms wrapped around his middle. You made a small sound of surprise, feeling the solidness of his frame. You had a feeling he was grinning.

“All right, hold on,” he warned, revving the engine once again.

Your teeth clenched with dread. “Please, go slooow—ahhh!”

Ben peeled out of the curved landing in front of Vought Tower with a screech of tires. You gripped onto his jacket like a lifeline and pressed yourself to his back as closely as you could—something you were sure was his intention.

You sensed his amusement, though he at least had the decency not to laugh at you. He merged onto the street and zipped through the layers traffic, heading towards the center of the city.

Ben didn’t just show you the city. He showed you his world.

He first took you to Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center. Instead of the normal group tour to the observational deck, he had a short chat with management that had them letting you two up to an even higher level, into an exclusive bar. It was apparently so high up that only twenty people could be inside at a time.

You two enjoyed a couple of drinks along with the amazing view of the city, and of Empire State across the way.

“You don’t get views like this in Indiana, do you?” Ben asked.

You nodded indulgently. “You do not.”

Never mind that you had never even been to Indiana. Yet, you had also never seen the city like this either.

“Thank you for taking me out like this,” you said. You reached out and softly touched his hand. You met his eyes with a subtle smile. “I didn’t know what to expect when I got here, but you’ve been really nice to me. Makes me think I can actually belong here.”

He seemed pleased as he sipped his drink, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“What can I say? I’m a nice guy,” he said.

You smiled, affecting demure as you ducked your head. It was an act you’d long ago perfected. Men tended to underestimate you, and you always used that to your advantage.

From there, he took you to clubs you’d never even knew existed, then to a restaurant so old, it still had a dress code. (And it was the best surf and turf you’d ever had in your life.)

When you got to Times Square, however, you were delayed practically an hour by all the fans who wanted Soldier Boy’s autograph. Once the first couple of young women recognized him, even out of his suit, it was all downhill as more and more people got excited by the world’s most famous superhero.

You stood off to the side, watching him be flirtatious to women of all ages, ruffling kids’ hair, and shaking hands with men, and even veterans who thanked him for his service.

You signed a couple of autographs and took some pictures with people yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be recognized as much. You had to be content with waiting for Ben off to the side. Though admittedly, you were getting bored and more than a little annoyed that he was taking so long.

He seemed to realize it when he finally looked your way.

“Hey, Sirena!” he called out to you by your supe name, drawing your attention in front of a few of his fans. He waved you over, and even introduced you to the small crowd still gathered around him. He set a hand on your lower back.

“I’m sure you all know about Sirena, the newest member of our team,” he said. You looked up at him with some measure of gratefulness. Maybe this part of the day was working in your favor even more than you’d thought.

You intentionally leaned closer to him, laying a semi-innocent hand on his arm as you smiled at the others.

“I’m taking some time to show her around,” he continued, glancing down at you. “She’s from a small town, so this city can be pretty daunting. But it’s my home. My favorite place in the world. Especially because I get to see all of you.”

He swept a hand out towards the crowd, and they ate it up with cheers, clapping, and some flirtatious whistling. He shot a wink and a raised finger at that one.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, with one last parting hand at the people. He ushered you back onto the motorcycle, and off you went.

He was trying his damndest.

He wore that fake, debonair charm like a second skin as he got you a private tour of the Met, and treated you to rich food and expensive wine. He was showing off his wealth, his fame, and giving you the “best” of him.

However, you had already seen glimpses of the true man underneath the gaudy show. And it was ugly, with an edge of darkness.

You had that thought in the back of your mind, even while you two sat side by side on a ledge. He’d brought you to a spot near the Hudson River, close to an overpass. It wasn’t an area meant for parking (according to the No Parking sign), but he didn’t seem to care.

Neither did you, really. The view was too beautiful, with the large orange sun halfway sunk below the water. It cast shades of yellow and red and purple across the sky, even over the dark waters.   

Ben was working on his third hotdog. You were licking your way around a scoop of cookies and cream ice cream on a waffle cone, letting the end of it swirl off your tongue. You resisted a smile, feeling the warmth of his gaze on the side of your face.

“So tell me,” he said, after he finished off his snack. He crumpled his napkin and tossed it somewhere behind him. “I heard you were making a name for yourself as a singer. What made you want to join Payback?”

He was giving you a little too much credit. You’d been making your money by being a background singer for various artists, but your last big break going on Whitney Houston’s latest tour was what finally put you on Vought’s map.

You considered his question with a tilt of your head. Black Noir had asked you the same thing, more or less. You’d given him an easy, predictable answer. With Ben, you edged closer to the truth...or part of it, anyway.   

“I don’t just want people to know who I am,” you said. “I want to be remembered for something good. I want to prove it to my family too, that I can do it. …Is that naïve?”

Ben hummed in understanding, though he shot you a certain look.

“Not if you play your cards right,” he said. 

His leading tone didn’t surprise you. You slid him a smile. 

“And how should I do that?” you asked. You turned to him, setting your finished cone aside. Ben took the opportunity to reach out and draw a line down your cheek with his thumb. He wiped a small smear of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. 

He smirked. “By sticking close to me, baby doll.”

You had to admit, his proximity was stirring you more than you liked. He was devastatingly handsome, and he knew it too. With his face inching so close to yours, it was hard for you to remember the things this man had said about you to Arthur, how he clearly didn’t give a fuck about Countess, and even what a dick he'd been to Black Noir.

Not to mention, how he acted all the time, as if the whole world was his.

Just as his lips neared yours, you leaned back. Your eyes met his knowingly.

“You already have someone close to you,” you pointed out. “What about Countess?”

Ben stilled. He sighed, but he didn’t let go of your cheek. He traced your jawline with the sensuous promise of a practiced hand. It made your breath difficult in your lungs, rising into your throat.

“Ah, Donna,” he shook his head. “We’ve been on the rocks for a while now.”

I’m sure, you thought wryly.

“What you and I have, right here, right now,” he said, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your cheek. “It’s special. The moment I saw you, a pure connection.”

Your brows furrowed. Those words triggered some kind of familiarity in you. A pure connection…

Wait, isn’t that a line from one of his movies? you thought. Oh yeah, A Gentleman’s Promise. 1949.

You had to bite your lip to stifle your laughter. This man did not just quote himself.

Ben took your reaction for a different kind of inner conflict, as he continued pressing tantalizing kisses down your neck. You cleared your throat a little, fighting a sigh of pleasure.

Stick to the plan, you thought.

Because he was right. The fastest way for you to get what you wanted was to be close to him, to use his status to your advantage. Timing was everything, however.  

You slipped your hands between you two and pressed gently, but firm against his chest.

“Ben,” you implored.

You were grateful that he actually stopped. His lips stilled against your skin, and he pulled away with a frown.

“What?” he said.

You looked up at him through your lashes, before you leaned in, stopping just shy of his lips.

“Maybe I’ll consider your offer when there’s a real place for me by your side,” you said with a smile. Then you backed off.

You gathered yourself and stood, coyly sauntering back to the motorcycle. You’d wait for him there.

Ben turned to watch you go, unwilling to admit he was both equally aroused and irritated. His jaw clenched, then eased.

After a moment, he joined you and drove you back to the Tower in silence. All the while, he couldn’t stop thinking. About your lips, your eyes, your voice, your soft body, your smile, and worst of all, the way you’d denied him. For fuck’s sake, you’d given him an ultimatum.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had that kind of audacity, let alone a woman. He wouldn’t let show, or even admit to himself, how much it affected him. But the same thought kept turning through his mind as the streets of New York passed by in a blur.

Just who the fuck does she think she is?

AN: 😅 Lol Ben's got his work cut out for him. Think he'll be able to figure out her game?

Next Time:

“What’s in it for me then?” he asked, crossing his arms.

You blinked your eyes wider. Really?

“I doubt whatever you’re thinking, Soldier,” you said, a little more snidely than you meant to.

Ben's cocky smile said it all.

Your lips pursed in exasperation. You hadn’t thought you would have to bargain to get him to be nice to a kid. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. Clearly you’ve had a long day, so I’ll just get out of your way,” you said, raising your hands in surrender. You turned to leave.

“All right, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said.

You paused at the door, tossing him an annoyed look over your shoulder.

His smile deepened. “I’ll do it.”

His steps were measured as he approached you. You turned back to face him, albeit warily. As he seemed to like doing, he gently grasped your chin between his fingers.

“I’ll do it for a kiss,” he said.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

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[vampmallow]

Morning Surprise

Leon Kennedy x Afab!Reader

Cw: NSFW, Oral F receiving, Shower Sex.

The alarm clock's persistent beeping was the only sound in the room, piercing the early morning silence like an unwelcome intrusion. The curtains remained drawn, the ever-slowly rising sun's gentle glow hinting at its impending arrival. You stirred, groaning softly as you reached out to silence the annoying device, your hand fumbling through the sea of pillows and empty space beside you. The bed felt cold, starkly contrasting with the warmth that usually lingered in your partner's presence.

As your eyes slowly adjusted to the early morning, you felt a tender kiss on your neck, followed by the brush of a hand across your thigh. You froze, the realization sinking in that Leon had returned from his night shift and had decided on a more intimate way to wake you up. His breath was warm and lingered on your chest before he ducked back down. A low chuckle vibrated against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You bit your bottom lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to give away your pleasure.

With the grace of a predator, Leon slithered further down the bed, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The anticipation was almost unbearable as his hands traced the contours of your body, his fingers dancing over your waist and hips before reaching the apex of your thighs. He pushed the blanket aside, the cool air kissing your skin as it was exposed to the early morning chill. You felt the soft press of his lips against your inner thigh, his unintentionally grown-out stubble a pleasant abrasion that had you gripping the sheets.

The first touch of his tongue was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. You held your breath, willing yourself not to make a sound. His movements grew more confident, his tongue exploring and teasing with a skill that made it clear he wasn't new to this. He took his time, savoring every inch of you, his teeth grazing your clit just enough to make you squirm. His tongue made quick trips in and out of you, lapping up your liquids every time. The tension grew, tightening like a coil ready to snap.

Leon's hands cupped your ass, holding you in place as he licked and nibbled with increasing fervor. The pressure built, your muscles tensed, and you could feel the heat pooling between your legs. The room was silent except for the sound of your quiet gasps and the wetness of his mouth against your skin. The world outside had ceased to exist, replaced by the sensation of his tongue flicking against your clit, the steady rhythm of his fingers now sliding in and out of you, and the warmth of his breath as he murmured sweet nothings that only served to fan the flames of your desire.

You were so close, the edge of orgasm just within reach, when Leon abruptly stopped. He chuckled again, low and deep, as he pulled away, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. "Good morning," he whispered, his voice a dark rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Time to wake up properly." He kissed you softly on the cheek before getting out of bed, leaving you to watch the play of muscles across his back as he stretched and moved towards the bathroom. The smell of his cologne lingered in the air, a potent reminder of his presence as you lay there, utterly spent and desperate for more.

The sound of the shower starting was your cue. You pushed the blankets aside and followed him, the cool floorboards a shock to your bare feet. The bathroom was filled with steam, the mirrors fogging up from the hot water. Leon was already under the spray, the water sluicing over his body, turning his skin a rosy pink. He turned to face you, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he held out a hand. "Care to join me?"

Without a word, you stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over you, mingling with the chill from the room. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and he kissed you deeply, his tongue mimicking the motions from moments before. You could taste yourself on his lips, a heady mix of desire and need that only made you want him more. His hands roamed over your body, soaping up your skin, his calloused palms leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

As the water rained down on you both, Leon turned you around, pressing you against the tiles. He bent you over slightly, the heat of his body enveloping you from behind. His hands slid down your body to grip your hips, his breath hot against your ear. "Ready for round two?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust. You nodded, unable to form words as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance.

He pushed in slowly, filling you completely, the sensation making you gasp. He didn't stop there, moving in a steady rhythm that had you panting and begging for more. The water pounded against your skin as he claimed you, the steam wrapping around you like a cocoon of passion. Each thrust was punctuated by the slap of skin on skin, the sound echoing in the small space. Your hands grasped at the tiles, your nails digging in as you tried to hold on, your body moving in sync with his.

The water grew warmer as the minutes ticked by, the steam thickening until it was hard to breathe. But you didn't care. All that mattered was the feeling of Leon inside you, the way he made your body come alive with every stroke. The tension grew again, coiling tighter and tighter until you couldn't hold back any longer. You screamed out his name as you came, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. He followed shortly after, his grip on your hips tightening as he found his own release.

When it was over, you leaned against him, your chests heaving with exertion. The water continued to cascade over you, washing away the sweat and the evidence of your passion. Leon kissed the back of your neck, his breathing ragged. "Best way to start the day," he murmured. And as you looked into the mirror, flushed and satisfied, you couldn't help but agree. The sun was rising outside, and you had a feeling that today would be anything but ordinary.

Authors note- Hiii!!! This is my first post on here, so I hope you enjoyed it!! If this gets decent attraction, or people reach out to me, I’ll post a master list and open requests! Aside from that, I have some pretty cool stuff I’ve written for some other fandoms I’d like to share too, some cool series and stuff! Anyways, hope you have a great day and if you’re reading to the end love you MWAH 💋

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 1

I looked away from my other WIPs for only a second and vomited this up. Thanks.

Simon Riley/John MacTavish/female reader 1.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, M/M/F, angst, explicit sex, DP, everyone is bad at feelings (or are they), men are gross and touch you without consent, protectiveness, bar fights, mentions of injury and violence, polyamory, probably could be considered toxic. You should have gotten out.

It was always them, and then you. You, on the outside looking in. Them, on the inside looking at each other. It felt like you lived somewhere different, a place that you weren’t even sure existed. You were a body in the middle of a big bed, empty for weeks and months at a time during assignments, phone silent, dinner table set for one.

It had been your mistake, of course. Because how could it not? They existed, before you, and they would still exist after you, this you were sure of. And of course, you should have known that it would be a problem. That this snarling, festering, rot of feelings would take shape into something that was bad for all three of you. Still, you tried to scratch and claw it away because you didn’t want to accept the truth.

You should have gotten out, long before it had changed from middle of the night entanglements to phone calls and text messages, dinner plans and grocery shopping, mild pillow talk about the future.

You should have gotten out the morning you made pancakes for breakfast, when you and Johnny sat in the window and tried to keep your voices from waking Simon. You had been on your third cup of coffee by the time you noticed his shadow, standing in the dark of the hall, the small smile tugging at his lips just barely illuminated by the kitchen light.

“Did we wake you?” They only just got in yesterday, their sleep schedules still askew and their eyes still heavy. Your fingers tapped anxiously against the mug as he sat between the two of you, large hand pulling the hot liquid from your grip. 

“No, love.” He sipped your coffee, face twisting into regret before setting it aside and pulling you by your ankle towards him. “But no more coffee. Makes you all jittery, yeah?” Johnny chuckled, folding Simon into his arms easily, and rested his face across the dirty blonde mop of hair under his chin. His eyes said something to you that you couldn’t understand.

You should have gotten out the first time they called you Darling. When Johnny had his face in between your legs, lazily lapping at your cunt and Simon fucked him open.

“Darling.” He hissed, the vowels long on his tongue, fingers intertwined with yours. The cramp of muscles in your lower belly tensing with each stroke of his tongue, your body moving in time with his, his moving in time with Simon’s. The dip of his spine arching like a bridge between the three of you, connecting you, pulling you into the water with them, deeper and deeper until you couldn’t swim anymore, until you had no choice but to rely on them to keep you afloat. 

 You should have gotten out the night you and Johnny went to the bar. The night you wore that dress, dark but dotted with little flowers, small ties looped in a knot across your chest. It swung at your hips, easy in the breeze, the hot summer wind snaking across the skin of your legs, cooling the sweat that collected on the back of your neck. Johnny liked it, he had told you once, and you never forgot. It was nice, and felt good, and hid the raw edges of your open nerves. You had felt like a predator. You looked like prey.

The pool stick was slick in your hand, the buzz of the vodka in your system cocooning you in fuzzy softness, your body lax against Johnny’s so he could position you correctly. 

“Now, hit it here…” 

“Like this?” 

“Aye, that’s it.” You struck the ball with the cue, knocking another into a pocket, Johnny’s thrilled whoop lighting you up with heat and butterflies. “Well done love.” He pressed the palm of his hand against your back, teasing his lips across your cheek. 

“Give me a real one.” You whispered next to his ear, and he obliged you easily, the two of you pliant and undemanding against one another. 

“Go for another round?” he shook his empty beer bottle with the question. 

“Sure.” You placed yourself on a stool while you waited, but the line at the bar was too long, and it wasn’t a minute before there were two others, standing at your side, asking you questions and tracing their foul fingers across your exposed knee. 

“I’m with someone.” 

“Who, don’t see nobody.” Johnny’s back was to you, head bobbing as he spoke with the bartender. 

“He’s over there.” You pointed, but it didn’t matter. The finger moved higher. Your own curled into a fist and slammed into skin and bone. A jaw, maybe. Or a nose. You weren’t sure. But your shout was loud enough, and you could see the turn of Johnny’s body, felt the relief of knowing he saw you. Your victim yelled, and in a second later and a flurry of appendages, Johnny smashed a bottle over his head.

When the two of you got home, Simon was irate. But it wasn’t the kind of red vision rage that you had heard whispers of, but something darker, something more distraught. His eyes were tight when he pressed an ice pack to your knuckles, visible discomfort shifting into sympathy when you hissed in pain. 

“Poor darling.” He murmured, lips on your forehead. He was silent for the rest of the night, fingers constantly feeling for you, for Johnny, until the three of you fell into bed together, your back pressed to his chest, Johnny’s arms around you both.

You should have gotten out the first time Simon said the words our girl, the first time you took them both, with your chest pressed to his, his cock sunk to the hilt in your cunt and his fingers spreading your ass open, the cool kiss of lube making you shudder.

You drew a breath, and the bed sunk beneath the weight of Johnny’s knees when he positioned himself behind you. 

“Take it easy.” Simon murmured, hand reaching somewhere you couldn't see, little grunts falling from Johnny's lips until you felt him pressing the head of his cock to your ass, and pushing inside.  It was so much, the pressure making your head spin, the feeling of taking them both forcing gasps of air from your lungs, your face cradled between two giant palms, thumbs stroking your cheeks. 

“Jus’ relax. That’s our girl.” Simon soothed, eyes flicking up to Johnny’s face, heavy conversation transpiring without words, just over your head. 

“F-fuck.” You hissed, the burn and stretch and sting crushing together until you were babbling nonsense, while Johnny fucked you deep and Simon lazily jerked his hips up into you, over and over. When you fell into your orgasm, you dragged them down with you, and your bodies were limp against one another for hours afterwards.

You should have gotten out, the day you fell asleep on the couch with Simon, curled against his body like you fit there, hand stroking patterns into his forearm. You slept for hours, and when you woke up, the sun had set, apartment dark and quiet.

“What time is it?” you blinked blearily and sat up, groping into the dim light for your phone.

“Just past seven.” He’s still in the same position from three hours ago. 

“Oh my god. Why didn’t you wake me? We’re going to miss the-“ he pulled you back into his chest without a word, thumb pressing to your bottom lip to silence you. 

“Didn’t want to. Rather just lay here with you.” Something broke after that, some part of the protection you had built inside yourself crumbled, and you rolled into him, content to be there until Johnny got home and forced the two of you up for pad thai, his lips ghosting along yours and then Simon’s until you were both fully awake.

You should have got out, but you didn’t. You held onto the hot pan too long, let it sear your skin, let it mark you deep and leave a nasty scar. You let yourself sleep in the big empty bed, worry gnawing you alive on the inside, phone silent as you waited for the ‘touched down’ texts or calls, too eager, too invested. You let yourself think, believe, want, something that wasn’t real. It was always them, and then you, after all.

So, this is how you found yourself with two bags by the front door, key sitting alone on the kitchen island, a four-sentence email sitting in your drafts. Waiting to be sent.

Hey,

I’m sorry. I left. The key is on the island. I locked the front door.

-Darling.

[sevvynth]

too late...?

something's off.

cw: death, violence, murder, gore-ish elements, mildly graphic descriptions of a corpse, mc dies, glitch!xavier being evil because idk why i wrote this, slight spoilers. mc is referred to as they/them. read at your own discretion.

something's off.

they knew xavier had a week long mission in the n109 zone and there was 2 days left before he comes back, but there he was, standing in their front door when they opened it.

this xavier.. was strange.

he looks like him, but he was different.

his hair was messier than usual, and his hunter uniform was black. xavier almost never worse black. his posture was a little straighter than usual, and the look in his eyes was dark. cold. indifferent. the xavier they knew— while he rarely smiled widely— always looked at them with this soft look in his eyes as if they were the most precious thing in the world (he does think they are the most precious thing in the world, even if he doesn't say it outright sometimes.)

this was so, so wrong.

as if on cue, they sprinted to the corner where their sword was, grabbing it as 'xavier' (they weren't even sure at this point, but even if he is xavier, he isn't their xavier) lunged at them, barely blocking his attack on time. their swords continue to clash against each other, sparks flying around the room. they kept blocking 'xavier's' attacks, but they knew they were at a disadvantage. they couldn't pinpoint his weak point at all, not even once. a sudden graze against their cheek caught them off guard and they leapt away from him, bringing a hand to their cheek to wipe the blood.

"not bad. you're strong and feisty, just how i remembered you to be." 'xavier' circled around them, like a predator calculating its attack. he laughs, "i admit you're quite powerful, but-" and lunges towards them.

"it's still-" a kick to the leg.

"not-" a punch in the gut.

"-enough." they let out a pained grunt and as they fall to their knees, 'xavier' grabs them by their hair, as if emphasizing how stronger he is compared to them.

they don't understand. why was xavier doing this?

he spoke up as if they had the question written in their face, "i need that thing in your heart."

by that thing in your heart, did he mean..?

he lets out a laugh, gripping their hair tighter, "guessing by the look on your face, i think you already know."

xavier leans in from behind and they could feel his hot breath against their skin as he traced circles on the left side of their chest. they tried to move away but he keeps a firm grip on their chin and hair, not letting them go. they shiver as they hear his voice, not louder than a whisper.

"your aether core. i need it," he says, before plunging his hand deep into their chest.

they let out a gasp of pain as they feel 'xavier's' hand piercing through their flesh, tears welling in their eyes. it felt like it was burning. they could feel his grip on their beating heart, their heartbeat going faster as he kept pulling, pulling, pulling—

..and everything turns black.

something's off.

today was the day xavier's mission ends, and he finds it strange that hasn't recieved a single message from them today. he did recieve messages from them while he was away, but the last ones were from two days ago. he couldn't shake off the growing dread in his chest, so he stood at their doorstep first thing after returning.

he knocked on the door once. no response.

twice. still no response.

he decided to open the door instead, reaching out to the doorknob. it was getting worse as he felt the coldness of the metal in his hand. he inhaled sharply, turning the knob and opened the door.

it was unlocked.

the first thing he notices was the faint smell of blood. he would've missed it if not for the trail of blood on the floor. he wasted no time and opened every room in their apartment, finally reaching their bedroom.

...

no..

no!

not again!

the first thing he saw was their corpse hanging from the ceiling.

there was a dried pool of blood on their sheets, dripped off their feet. there was a bruise on their leg— it already turned black. he couldn't miss the gaping hole on their left chest where their heart was supposed to be. their face was deathly pale, along with the sunken look in their lifeless eyes.

he slowly stepped forward, seeing a small note on their bed. it was written using blood (he couldn't even deny the fact that it was theirs), as if mocking him.

he fell on his knees.

'you failed again, prince xavier.'

a/n: oh gosh, i haven't been active for some time and just decided to drop this and dip lol. i don't have a lot of free time these days so i've decided to not post continuously. i'll finish my drafts soon and will probably post something again sooner. (around may-june maybe but i'll hope i can post earlier than that.)

© seventh. do not copy, rewrite, or repost any of my works in other platforms.

[lugarn]

On Jason Lee and Realism

I have seen some saying that Jason Lee's portrayal as an abuser in Playboyy isn't realistic, and I have to politely disagree.

(Spoilers for Playboyy through the finale. Trigger warning for abuse + discussing the mindset of this type of predator/abuser.)

Jason Lee is very realistic. All it takes is one look at real-life examples like Harvey Weinstein or Larry Nassar to see it: predators like this typically hurt a wide pool of people, not one or two specific victims.

This is just the way they work, because many predators are opportunistic. They can't let an opportunity (like one of their adopted son/sugar baby's school friends befriending him) pass without taking advantage of it. They can't let the opportunity to have the system protect them while they're perpetrating abuse pass without taking advantage. 

The way that Jason Lee exists in the world, and by extension the sex that he has, is entirely about power, conquest, and control. 

He didn't make Aob blow him in front of a bunch of guards because he thought the sex would be better. He made Aob blow him in front of a bunch of guards because it was a power play. It was remember who you are + remember the power I have over you.

People like Jason Lee have an ability to tell when someone is less under their control, because the control is what they're in it for. Not sex. The sex is incidental! They crave the power/control, and so when they don't get it, they are hyper aware.

Just like any predator, Jason could tell that Aob's loyalty to him was flagging, so he upped the amount of power he exerted over Aob. Instead of just giving him orders, he sexually humiliates him and gives him orders at the same time. He doesn't let the opportunity pass to remind Aob who he is and that he is powerless. Aob received the message loud and clear, too, you can see from him getting the fuck out shortly after.

It's very realistic for someone like Jason Lee to hunt for victims in people who already lack power. Jason Lee targets people who socially lack power (sex workers), young adults whose idealism isn't tempered by real world experience (queer students at private school), and young adults who need something and are willing to bargain (anyone needing a scholarship). We know for a fact that his victim pool includes not just sex workers but also students at one particular school that he is a major donor for. He provides scholarships, and as mentioned, a predator like him can't let opportunities pass unexplored.

How did Puen ended up at Playboyy and not working independently? Not that it matters at this point, but I do wonder sometimes when Jason Lee clearly has no qualms about hunting for victims among his son's school friends--one of whom stayed with Porsche at Porsche's house for a time. That's right, remember that offhand comment that Nant and Porsche lived together for a while in first year? 

For me it would be shocking at this point if Nant hadn't also had a similar experience as Zouey and that was part of his desire to expose Jason Lee. I have a feeling that based on Teena's reaction to Zouey's painting that the 'I had sadistic sex' from Teena in episode 6 at the party was Jason Lee too. 

A connecting thread that I haven't seen people mention is the letter necklaces. Teena, Nant, and Phop all have them. We know where Phop got his, but we don't know where Nant or Teena got theirs. In a show with this much visual language it seems like an interesting thread which hasn't really been considered by fandom yet, so I urge all of us to think about the above facts and other visual cues to better understand what is going on.

Jason Lee's main victim pools are Playboyy and the International School. It would be very surprising to anyone familiar with this type of abuser if he didn't hurt an extensive number of people in both of these pools. We know of three victims for sure, but there are a lot of cues that point to the idea that his victim pool is much larger. 

The size of the pool is not unrealistic at all. It's incredibly realistic, to a point where it's uncomfortable to watch and think about deeply sometimes. But that's for me part of why I love the show: we just don't typically get this level of realism about sexual coercion and abuse from BL. Playboyy makes me feel seen in this regard because it's somebody finally showing the systems of abuse and power that I'm most familiar with from my life experiences. 

Media representation isn't just about the good parts. Seeing the worst parts of my life onscreen and watching characters navigate it with the safety/distance of fiction has been super healing in a lot of ways for me. 

Jason Lee is realistic. That's why Playboyy makes me feel like someone understands me and some of my traumatic experiences.

[inaconstantstateofchange]

sweet, once.

A/N: This is a project I've worked on over the last few months, which is not reflected in the length so much as the content. Warning for canon-compliant Dark Urge backstory events, dark themes, and violence (referenced).

AO3 link

Was I sweet, once? 

Kelis turns the question over and over in their mind, comparing it to the bits and pieces they have gleaned of their previous self throughout the past weeks. Crouching down, back against the wooden panels of the pavilion on the roof of the Elfsong, they look up at the sky, searching for the few stars visible through the lights of the city around them. 

Flashes of the memory returned to them earlier in the day trickle back in past the attempts to shut them away, first in drips, and then a flood. 

A modestly outfitted room, furniture scuffed but well cared-for, charming signs of a loving family scattered around, visible from every angle. And covering it all — blood, and viscera, and other, less pleasant fluids. They don’t want to turn, to see what they know lies behind them, but it’s a memory, not a vision, so they are a helpless passenger — just as they felt on the day itself. 

The empty sockets of their foster mother’s eyes meet their searching gaze first, face a rictus of some emotion more complex than horror and closer to despair. One hand is clenched around a worn pendant, held as steadfastly in the grim strength of death as it so often was in life. They try to remember which of the gods she’d held to with such devotion. Would she speak to Kelis, were they to seek her out in that domain? 

The Kelis-of-now notes with despair to match the woman’s the way she has no weapon, no shreds of blood and scale under her nails. She would not raise her hand against them, even as they killed her for her weakness. For her love. 

The Kelis-of-then turns further, moving with robotic evenness through the nearest doorway. The pools of blood underfoot squelch unpleasantly beneath their bare feet, and yet simultaneously send a shiver of perverse delight through them. 

The sight before them stops them in their tracks — or it would, were they free to do so. Their childhood form steps unrelentingly closer to the bed, and they cannot turn away. For a moment, the small tiefling body in the bed is Mol’s, glaring furiously up at them with a single eye glazed over in death. 

A blink, a heartbeat, and it’s not, of course it could not be. They don’t even know so much as this one’s name, and the only real similarity is in the horns, stunted and small. 

Well… horn. 

One of them has been broken off, jaggedly, at the root. Slowly, through a fog, a tough, ridged texture that matches the striation of the single remaining horn on the child filters into their consciousness. They can’t look down – of course they can’t – but they know what is held in their fierce grasp all the same. 

The lack of blood around the broken horn stub is the only small mercy they can find. Of all the things that happened to this child – their sibling, in this house of peace turned blood offering – this at least did not take place while they were alive. In truth… They look with clearer eyes now, whilst their staring memory-self seems disinclined to move them. The tiefling child is covered with blood, their heart torn from their chest and placed tenderly within their own hands, but — despite all the wounds, all the blood, it is clear that only one was the cause of their death, and that one, a single clean gash to their throat, predates the others by at least an hour.

The Kelis-of-then stays for long moments more, watching the unmoving body of their one-time-sibling, as if observing some reality even shared memory cannot return to the Kelis-of-now. At last, at some unknown cue, their body turns, leaving the still form in the bed without a backward glance, trailing sticky blood behind them as they step into the open doorway of the room across the hall. This room is surprisingly unsullied by the carnage of the rest of the dwelling, but Kelis is not able to catch a glimpse of more than a neatly made bed and a green-covered book resting atop a pillow, before their body is moving forward with purpose, directing their attention neither to the right nor left. 

There is another door on the other side of the room, barely ajar and rocking back and forth slightly in the wind. Here the evidence of violence is visible: smears of blood in clumsy patterns at a strangely low height. 

The Kelis-of-then presses the door open further, mechanical and composed, emerging onto a terrace resplendent with greenery, a vibrant – albeit clashing – assortment of cushions piled invitingly across one entire corner. There are other houses visible through gaps in the greenery, but no lamps are lit in windows, no calls come from distant streets. Their crime is as-yet-undiscovered. 

Their childhood form moves to the cushions, and sits — more like a collapsing string-puppet than anything living. Their hand moves to the side, slow and scrupulous, until it meets a cool, furred form, previously disguised by the darkest of the cushions and the blanket of night. They look, then and now, out into the darkness, the claws at the tips of their scaled fingers passing delicately over unfeeling fur in a visceral mockery of loving sense-memory. 

Kelis-of-now comes back to themself, shaking off the lingering trappings of the memory. Their hand flexes, the ghost of fur beneath it still, and they restrain the urge to claw and bite at their own flesh to remove it. A bitter taste of bile floods the back of their throat, and their eyes prickle in a way they are unfamiliar with. A thought bubbles up ponderously from the depths: is this a cruel vengeance on the part of one of the many gods they’ve wronged, that they would regain no memories of anything but blood, and darkness, and more blood?

In the next moment, they hiss out a rasping laugh that dissipates sluggishly into the muggy night air. Just as likely to be a simple game of numbers. How to fish one gem out of a sea laden with corpses? More likely for the hook to emerge choked with maggots. They were a fool indeed to expect otherwise. 

Kelis settles themself for a doomed attempt at meditation. They consider, for a moment, seeking solace from their lovers, but… They’ve burdened both Astarion and Halsin enough already. They should be able to handle these, the consequences of their own actions, themself. Kelis knows better, now, than to think there is anything of value within them worth the excavation. 

Their first indrawn breath is ragged, breaking a fraction on the inhale, then forcefully smoothed out on the exhale. All will be well. They just need to hold to that.

All will be well. 

[aziraphales-library]

Any Good Omens and The Sandman crossover fics??

We have some here. Here are a few more...

Easy Action by Liquid_Lyrium (M)

Time seems to freeze as Crowley enters the shitty little dive bar in Soho.

There must be over a hundred humans cramped within this tiny space. (Well above the fire warden’s recommendation). Crowley locks eyes with a good-looking bloke hovering next to one of the pool tables, cue in hand.

Both of them are wearing sunglasses.

One predator can always spot another.

Rule 1 by the_bug_geek (G)

Crowley has extremely vivid dreams of certain people and events, which influences his behavior around Aziraphale. The Angel’s curiosity is piqued, and he tries to figure out the puzzle of What is Up with Crowley.

Twilight Procession by musicdefinesusall (T)

If you were to tell Crowley and Aziraphale how their day was going to end, they would have thought you were telling a joke. There was no way it would have come into existence. Though you would have thought they would have had an ounce of respect for the near impossible happening after the experiences they have gone through.

AKA Crowley and Aziraphale rescue Dream from the glass sphere with a little help from a friend.

Until you wake, My dear. by DarkAngel2891 (T)

When Dream is imprisoned and new sickness spreads across the world. Thousands fall into a sleep they cannot wake from. When Crowley is struck by this illness, Aziraphale sets off the find the Dream King and right the world. For the sake of both humanity and his dearest friend.

That Bonny Road by CopperBeech (T)

When you've fought Heaven and Hell to a standstill, it's easy to forget there are other realms just as powerful, and places where the boundaries are thin. It helps to have a witch in your corner.

“I’m out of ideas, Ana. I can’t exactly file a missing-angel report. But back at the airbase, back when it all happened, it took all of us but you were the one with the prophecies, you knew what was going to stop the missiles, you were the coolest head there – “

“I don’t know things like that any more. The book’s burned, I live here with Newt and my garden, and I give the good people of Tadfield a thrill because they can gossip about the American woman who tramps through all the hedgerows trying to figure out a mapping app and dances naked under the full moon. I don’t, by the way. The dancing part.”

- Mod D

[bigcatcues]

The Best Pool Cue Under 200: A Guide for Budget-Conscious Players

Finding the right pool cue can significantly impact your game, but quality doesn’t always mean high prices. If you’re on the hunt for the best pool cue under 200, you’re in luck! There are numerous options that offer exceptional performance, durability, and style without straining your wallet. In this guide, we’ll explore what to look for in a cue and recommend some top choices.

What to Look For in a Pool Cue

Before diving into our recommendations for the best pool cue under 200, it’s essential to know what features to consider:

1. Material

The material of the cue plays a crucial role in its performance. Most quality cues are made from hardwoods like maple or ash, which provide a solid feel and excellent control. Avoid cues made from low-grade materials that may warp or break easily.

2. Weight

Cues typically weigh between 18 to 21 ounces. The weight you choose depends on your playing style. Heavier cues offer more power, while lighter ones allow for better finesse and control. Experiment to find what feels best for you.

3. Tip Quality

The tip of the cue affects your ability to make accurate shots. Look for cues with quality leather tips, as they provide better grip and control. A tip diameter of 12-13mm is generally ideal for most players.

4. Construction and Design

A well-constructed cue not only enhances performance but also ensures longevity. Look for features like a solid joint, proper finish, and attractive design that suits your style.

Top Picks for the Best Pool Cue Under 200

Here are some highly recommended cues that won’t break the bank:

1. McDermott G-Series

The McDermott G-Series offers a perfect blend of craftsmanship and performance. Made from high-quality Canadian maple, it features a layered leather tip and a solid wood shaft for excellent feel and control. With stunning designs and a variety of weights, it’s a favorite among serious players.

2. Predator Sport 2

The Predator Sport 2 is known for its advanced technology and design. This cue features a high-performance shaft that helps with ball control and accuracy. Weighing in at 19 ounces, it’s well-balanced, making it an ideal choice for both beginners and advanced players.

3. Viking Cues VIK10

The Viking Cues VIK10 is a great choice for players looking for a stylish yet functional cue. With a beautiful stained finish and a robust construction, it delivers excellent performance. Its 13mm tip allows for precise shots, making it a top contender for the best pool cue under 200.

4. Iszy Billiards 2-Piece Cue

For budget-conscious players, the Iszy Billiards 2-Piece Cue offers great value. Despite its lower price point, it features a solid maple construction and a smooth finish. This cue is perfect for casual players who want a reliable stick without spending too much.

Conclusion

Investing in the best pool cue under 200 is a smart choice for both aspiring and seasoned players. With numerous options available, you don’t have to sacrifice quality for price. By considering factors like material, weight, tip quality, and design, you can find a cue that fits your style and enhances your game. So, whether you’re practicing at home or competing with friends, choosing the right cue can make all the difference. Happy playing!

@bigcatcues

[lizardywizard]

Self-examination of kintype’s senses.

A really fun question to ask yourself, especially if you're otherkin/theriomythic: what senses did you use the most? I asked myself this question last night while trying to fall asleep, and learned some really neat things out of it.

If you're an Earthly animal, science can probably tell you if your kintype has colour vision, or a good sense of smell. But it could still be interesting to explore memories or feelings/intuition with this stuff in mind!

As my kintype is some kind of wingless water dragon, I don’t have much to go on biologically. Modern reptiles vary widely in their sensory abilities, and my body was probably more akin to that of a mesothermic dinosaur, about which we still know very little. So I looked into my memories and intuitions and tried to focus on what senses they would require.

Sight: I don’t remember anything with a lot of colour detail, though that could be because I was living in snowy tundra, where things were mostly shades of white and grey. I think my sight focused more on contrast and movement, with large eyes to take in a lot of light; a useful trait for a creature that spends a lot of time underwater.

I subconsciously find myself focusing a lot on how reptiles’ faces look, and in particular the snout shape. So I think the snout shape was an important cue for me to differentiate between similar species, similar to how Red recognises her own kin versus a rival species in Raptor Red. Red’s response was to the colours of other Utahraptors; I think mine must have been mostly to shape.

Smell/Taste: I’m unsure about this one. I know that generally, water-dwelling predators like sharks and crocodiles have keen senses of smell. I’m not sure if this was the case for me or not, since I don’t really have any scent memories, but it doesn’t feel unlikely?

Hearing: Probably decent. To the extent that we communicated as a species, we did so via booms and chuffs, much like crocodiles. My dewlap was almost certainly a sound amplifier for these rumbling calls. I was probably capable of picking up low-frequency sounds and vibrations over a fairly long distance. This would also give me advanced warning of larger predators and vicious territorial species.

Touch: Here’s where it gets interesting, because I think after all these years, I think I’ve figured out what my spines are for. They’re sensors, like whiskers or barbels!

When you move underwater, other senses are muted. The usefulness of vision is reduced, because you can’t see very far or very clearly. Hearing is distorted by the sound of your own movements. Having a good sense of smell is useful for tracking injured prey, but a piscivore of my size would have gulped their prey whole. (Even to this day I have a tendency to “wolf” down food. I find it enjoyable to swallow a big hunk of something.)

But what is always around you, guiding you, creating a 3D map of your surroundings, is water pressure. Currents would pull my spines this way and that, and by the tugging on my body I would have a detailed understanding of my environment, fed to me not by one isolated body part but by the biggest organ, the skin. For both finding food and escaping predators, that’s vital.

As soon as I realised that, I understood something. As a child, I always wanted to run and tumble and play rough, but I was always scared to do it because I didn’t feel like I had a good sense of where my body was in space. Being bipedal and not having that pressure, I constantly feel like I’m going to fall. The one place I was pretty fearless was the water. I can’t swim quickly or competitively, but I’d go to the pool and swim and dive for hours, then go and eat a massive sandwich and some fries. Best feeling in the world. Don’t fuck with the ocean, never have, but a lake, a pool? That’s just such a soothing place for me to be. I feel held, finally, by the world. I feel sensorily in place.

[bestfrogbracket]

Spring Peeper: Like several other species of Northern frog, (and specifically, a few other species of Pseudacris,) spring peepers have the ability to freeze in the winter and thaw out in the spring. These frogs can survive internal temperatures as low as -8°C (17°F). As their common name suggests, they’re one of the first species to emerge after the thaw, with their calls resembling a chick’s peep. Females will select a male based on the strength and frequency of the call, typically preferring lower frequencies. Sometimes, a male will elect not to call altogether and instead wait on the outskirts of the chorus, ambushing females drawn in by the others.

Common Toad: This toad, found mostly throughout Europe, is a member of a species complex along with B. japonicus and B spinosus; they are unable to be clearly taxonomically separated, but are still considered to be different species at the moment. After emerging from overwintering holes in the spring, they tend to migrate back to their spawning pool to breed, using olfactory, magnetic, and visual cues to find their way. As a defence mechanism, they produce a foul-tasting toxin to deter predators, although neither crows, (who have been spotted plucking out their livers,) nor grass snakes tend to be deterred. Once, in Scotland, one was found 99 m (324 ft) deep underwater!

[aquariuminfobureau]

Homalopsis buccata, the masked or puff faced water snake, is an aquatic colubroid species, belonging to an important subclade, called the homalopsids. H. buccata grows to about 100 centimeters or 36 inches in length, and inhabits the low elevation wetlands of Southeast Asia. There is some taxonomic confusion about the genus Homalopsis, but the type species, H. buccata, is native to the Malayan peninsula and western Indonesia. Other species of Homalopsis are known from other regions of Asia, and they all seem to have much the same habitats, behaviors, and care requirements

Snakes have been associated with aquatic environments, ever since the Cretaceous period, from which time a number of marine species are known. Indeed there exists a probable kinship between the snakes and the extinct mosasaurs of that period. Today most of the amphibious to fully aquatic snakes belong to the derived subclade, the colubroids.

Homalopsids are an important clade of aquatic tetrapods in the Old World tropics, extending naturally even into Australasia. Members of this clade vary as to the extent of their salt tolerance. Some homalopsids are physiologically adapted to life in salt water, making them true sea snakes, but others emphatically are not. Homalopsis buccata is a freshwater species.

Homalopsid diets vary according to the species, but their diets are always fish, anurans, or large crustaceans. As a whole, the homalopsids tend not to take prey that is more than 10% of their own size, though at least some species of homalopsid can, and do, take larger items. H. buccata may consume fish that are up to 25% of their own mass, and their diet id primarily fish and frogs. They also consume large crustaceans, although this is scarcely their primary prey preference.

The prey available to snakes is limited by the size of their gape, which is rather extendable in most snakes species. Long items are easier for them to ingest whole, than are bulky items, and those with complex shapes, such as birds, crabs and crayfish, and some fish. Fishes eaten by H. buccata may have complex shapes, such as gouramies, but in these instances they must be small relative to the size of the snake. Whereas attenuated prey can be ingested whole, even if they are large.

Feeding H. buccata is straightforward with defrosted items. They will not in nature consume birds or rodents, so a 'captive snake diet' is scarcely appropriate. Similarly there is no need for live feedings. Homalopsids are opportunistic scavengers, a trait shared with other water snakes, such as natricines, Acrochordus, and water moccasins.

Dead prey is attractive to aquatic snakes, because chemosensory cues travel well in water, and the availability of dead fish in drying pools, provides them with an easy source of food. It has been noted that homalopsids, opon encountering distressed or dead fish, stranded in pools as described, may strike at individuals that are too large for them to eat. They are not good judges of what is suitable prey or not.

Because H. buccata has a high metabolism, it should be fed more often than most captive snakes, for example, three times a week. This species is benign towards animals that are not prey, and people have housed them uneventfully with freshwater turtles, and land animals utilizing different space in the aquaterrarium. They also will cohabit with very large and deep bodied fish, if they are much too big for H. buccata to swallow, or to strike in a misguided predation attempt. One might also caution that many fish, such as snakeheads, are also able to kill snakes.

It is not unknown for H. buccata to bask and the opportunity ought to be made available for them. However they will not use it very much, as they are firmly at the aquatic end of amphibious lifestyles. They are not an estuarine species, any tolerate no more than very lightly brackish salinities, as one of the freshwater faunal elements that predominates at salinities such as 3 5 ppt. No salt ought to be added to their aquarium water, because they are a freshwater species.

The decoration for H. buccata ought to reflect their natural habits of living among root tangles in klongs and ditches. Care should be taken that they will not get trapped in the aquascape, lest they drown. In their natural environments the air temperature is typically 23 to 31 degrees by night, and up to 37 degrees in the day. However what matters for them is that the water temperature is 27 to 33 degrees by day and night. In some environments the water temperature drops by as much as 5 degrees at night, and in others, it does not drop at night by more than a degree.

[motion-blur-crowley]

There must be over a hundred humans cramped within this tiny space. (Well above the fire warden’s recommendation). Crowley locks eyes with a good-looking bloke hovering next to one of the pool tables, cue in hand. Both of them are wearing sunglasses. One predator can always spot another.

Easy Action, by Liquid_Lyrium

This excellent, creepy Good Omens/Sandman crossover - SO GOOD

CW: implied rape, homophobia, body horror/eyes

[brabe]

The Anatomy of the Bar Scene

the more i think about it, the more i’m leaning towards them being ex-something rather than them only ever having been on the cusp of it.

and the way hangman sets the scene has me in a fit. how it screams SCORNED LOVER from the top of the mountains.

the way he sees that rooster is here now at last, because of course he is—no one has ever believed in rooster more than hangman, that’s kind of the problem—and sneaks to the jukebox to select just the right soundtrack for his grand entrance. the song choice. the fact that he is so dramatic about it that he feels the need to announce his presence via song in the first place. an honest to god sex song. 'slow ride, take it easy. slow down, go down, got to get your lovin' one more time. hold me, roll me, slow ridin' woman you're so fine. i'm in the mood, the rhythm is right, move to the music, we can roll all night'. how he selects nr. 86 without a second of hesitation, muscle memory, like this song speaks of history between them, an echo of a long-standing inside joke recalling once-upon-a-time familiarity and intimacy.

rooster looks up before hangman even calls his name. he hears the opening riff, and already knows what’s about to go down, could do this song and dance with his eyes closed and his shoestrings tied up together.

now god help him, hangman is going to play this cool as a cucumber. you know when you have a chance encounter with your ex whom you are absolutely, 100%, no questions asked over (shut up, you are), and you are going to make it extremely loud and spectacularly clear how you are doing swimmingly, thanks for asking, and how they are sorely missing out.

thing is, rooster still looks like a fucking million bucks, all golden and glowing. heads turning like on a string as he struts in like he owns the place by birthright, like everything until now was just the supporting act to his one-man show, hawaiian print and aviators like limelights on a background of khaki. impossible to miss, impossible to look away from. like maybe he too carefully curated his stage entrance, fashionably late and effortlessly cool as can be.  

gain the home turf. the best defense is a good offense. one-up. one-up. one-up. 

thing is, hangman is just a man, after all, and a few beers deep to boot, and god help him, but he still looks at rooster like he wants to eat him alive, because he does, can’t imagine ever not wanting. lip bite.

like an apex predator establishing eye contact with its prey (who is who, though?), he prowls in, swipes bob’s cue stick, bends himself over the pool table, takes the shot blind looking up at rooster from underneath his eyelashes. the kicker is that he wasn’t even in the game. earlier when hangman left to order more beers phoenix said, ‘rack ‘em’ to bob as they started a new game. he just dive-bombs in, putting on his own little one-man show for his one-man audience.  

‘bradshaw, as i live and breathe.’ bradshaw, not rooster and definitely not bradley. distance. so here we are after all, after everything. ball in your court.

‘hangman, you look...good.’ rooster blatantly checks him out right back, always looking back, hasn’t even the decency to be subtle about it. tone lock, missile shot and landed. and hangman takes a split second to absorb the hit and recalibrate because rooster was supposed to take the bait for what it was, wasn’t supposed to be nice, how dare he? he has no right to say that, not anymore, by his own doing.  

‘well, i am good, rooster. i’m very good [bats his eyelashes]. in fact, i’m too good to be true.’ nailed it. or something. i like to think that hangman internally cringed at that final line, god that was cheesy, talk about acting so chill it circles right back to supremely unchill, transparent, chink in the armour.

rooster shakes his head, holds back a half grin, and looks over to phoenix like, ‘can you believe him?’ but it’s half exasperated and half, dare i say, fond. like, there he is, as insufferably and maddeningly wonderful as always. and phoenix knows enough, not everything, but about there being something to know in the first place. it’s been two minutes tops and now the whole detachment does as well. cue payback, ‘sooo...’

and let’s talk coyote and phoenix for a moment. their entire earlier interaction, but especially that little pointed, ‘hey, coyote.’ / ‘hey.’ how it screams of ‘we used to hang out because our best friends were dating, but the breakup was messy, and we loyally took to each side of the divorce. for the public record my best friend is totally in the right and yours a total asshole.’

thing is, the back and fort still flows between hangman and rooster too much like foreplay, like it doesn’t know how to be anything else. too close to slipping into jake and bradley’s territory for comfort. they were always so good at this.  

so hangman doubles down, and keeps figuratively shooting spitballs at the back of rooster’s head from the back of the classroom until he’s going to take the damn bait. drop the niceties and let the temper aflame. hangman got it down to an art after all. more peacocking, more bending over the pool table, more holding eye contact while slighting his leadership prowess and smiling condescendingly as he does so. BINGO.

and rooster does try, looks to the side like, ‘i know you. i know what you’re doing.’

but oh well, here goes nothing.  

rooster looks down, charges up. ‘hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.’ rooster looks back up and half the destructive force of this hit comes from his eyes, from his closed-off stare locked onto hangman, devoid of any lingering warmth now.  

trying and keeping up with you and all of your crazy, in the air, or otherwise, will drive a man insane. he would know.

coyote obviously hears it too. the look on his face is a whole picture. he looks seconds away from leaping over the pool table and making rooster regret all of his life’s choices that led him to this very moment. he’s saved by the bell by fanboy’s whooping that redirects coyote’s death glare momentarily. the camera pans to phoenix, who for all intents and purposes is on rooster’s side of the feud, and whose expression clearly reads, ‘well, fuck’. she doesn’t know the whole story, not like coyote does, rooster not one to kiss and tell. payback in the background obviously asking himself, again, whichever soap opera did he just walk into.

direct hit. hangman is frozen in place for a moment too long, his shark-like smirk brittle. it’s just his luck that his whole life has been one decades-long exercise in breaking down and building himself back up in the blink of an eye, blink-and-you'll-miss-it, like you’re supposed to. but bradley never looked away (until he did, at least), and it’s a daunting process he’s witnessed too many times. it never fails to be heartbreaking, seeing hangman emerge on the other side with a new shiny layer to his glamour.

there it is, hotheaded bradshaw, making it too damn easy to firmly put the gilded armour back into place. they were even better at this; shooting to kill, almost like their lives depended on it.

hangman short of barrels into phoenix on his way to deliver his own fatal blow, almost daring her to intervene in defense of her wingman.

hangman completes his prowl, the cutting edge of his smirk more lethal close range, closer than he’s been in years, ‘anyone who follows you is just gonna...run out of fuel,’ hangman looks down, charges up, locks him in his chilling stare, ‘but that’s just you, ain’t it, rooster? you’re snug on that perch. waiting for the right moment...that never comes.’

trying and waiting for you to catch up, to take the next step, to take that leap of faith, in the air, or otherwise, will be a man’s downfall. he would know. 

‘i love this song.’ a final acknowledgement of everything that was, a parting dare.

coyote looks as smug as he looked outraged before. he was there picking up the pieces in the destruction of the aftermath. his best friend surviving once more, albeit coming too close for comfort.

direct hit. and rooster just sits back and takes it. his whole demeanor changes and subdues. he knows that hangman got him there, and he walked right into that one, has nothing to say for himself. he has this strained fixed little smile, he is nodding along minutely like, 'so are you really going there...fair enough.’ he looks down at hangman's lips when he gets too close, closer than he’s been in years, because he’s just a man, and he still hasn’t ever wanted anyone more. he’s effectively stunned into silence. the fortifying little sigh he takes after hangman makes his exit and leaves him planted there like, 'shit. he went there alright. it's been years, why does it still hit bullseye?' (he knows why). that deflated, resigned, 'nope, sure hasn't' and then the 10-hour long stare watching him walk away.

how the turntables.