#swoosh gang

[unstablefragments2]

Nike Led Sign @ Etsy

[theblehthatbloos]

The Arcana Mob really likes their inconvenient hexes

“there are plenty of fish in the sea” = there are more people out there who you could get with

“sleeping with someone” = having sex with them

“sleeping with the fishes” = got murdered

my proposal: “there are plenty of other fish to sleep with” = next person you fuck will kill you

[thetxtdevil]

Something in the Dark

Vampire!Yeonjun x Reader

summary: Handcuffed to the vampire mafia leader’s bed was not on your bingo card this year :/

content: smut, mafia au, vampire/mafia leader dom.yeonjun, fem.reader, kinda ot5 x reader?, one death, blood, bloodsucking, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome?, restraints, fingering, oral (f.rec), edging, (small bit of) nipple play, penetration no condom use, aftercare

word count: 1.2k

Handcuffed to the vampire mafia leader’s bed was not on your bingo card this year :/

It was your fault you got in this mess, what was a sweet innocent girl doing in the wrong parts of town? Looking down a dark hazy alleyway hidden from the bustle of society. It was because your nose couldn't help to seek the cause of a cry. Finding a group of men beating and sucking? The living shit of someone who “wronged them.”

You thought you were going to pass out with the amount of blood shed from one guy. Colors of crimson everywhere on the man and the gang, their mouths, hands, and clothes.

Frozen on the spot not knowing what to do in the middle of a group of vampires. You could not run, they’ll out run you. Can't say anything, they already know what you’re thinking. And overall, they already could smell you, especially the oldest, the leader of the clan, Yeonjun, who already had his eyes on you the moment you took a step into the alleyway’s view.

"What's a pretty girl doing here?" Yeonjun struts towards you. His presence made you gasp as you hit your back on the brick wall. The vampire's scarlet hair was bright and matched his red irises. His nose runs along your neck and you could feel his lips turn to a smirk. "How about this, instead of us killing you, we'll take you hmm?"

They also couldn’t let you run away spilling info about the mafia's last whereabouts and that they were bloodsucking vampires. So the choice was clear get kidnapped or else you'd end up being that guy on the ground.

Forced to be their walking blood bank and maid. Counting cash they "earned," cleaning their weapons, cleaning their mansion and making dinner for the 5 men which meant you had to keep a healthy diet and stay hydrated. You didn't know how much longer you can live like this.

Today seemed like a good to escape. Early in the morning, sun coming up but the vampires haven't returned from their nightly routine. Locked in Yeonjun's room, like you always were when they were gone, you look out of the the window deciding if the bushes outside would be a good cushion to jump in. Little did you know Yeonjun was behind you this whole time in the shadows. Grabbing you by the waist when you got close the edge of the window, and throwing you onto his bed. He hisses at the sting of sun rays hitting him resulting in a fast swoosh of the curtains leaving you in the dark. You scramble on the silk sheets of the bed trying to crawl away but another grip on your body pins you down.

That’s how you ended up being handcuffed to the bed. In the dark, helpless under the gaze of the vampire. Candles automatically light revealing a menacing grin from Yeonjun. You whine with tears streaking down your cheeks. "Aw precious, don't cry even though you were bad," he hovers over you once again trailing his nose along your neck "why would you want to leave? You've been doing well for us."

Squirming under the vampire's soft touches you try to answer him thinking why you were escaping. Instinct? yeah thats a given. Freedom? well then you'd always be hunted down. The more you thought of it the more you realized that although these men are very dangerous, they haven't done anything truly bad to you. They do suck your blood but never drain you to death, they calmly correct you if you did something wrong, they're not so bad right?

"Right, see there you go princess." Your eyes widen, Yeonjun was reading your thoughts this whole time. His plush lips start to peck the soft skin of your collarbones, "and don't forget how much pleasure you feel when we suck your blood, we can sense it." A pathetic moan slips from your lips in response to his soft bites to your shoulder. He was right you did get frenzied when you had their bodies so near and how the lightheadedness made your panties feel uncomfortable. I just want to be loved, you thought. "I'll show you how much I love you then" Yeonjun answers.

His lips connect to yours passionately making your heart flutter. The organ pumping blood was so loud and tempting to the vampire. Yeonjun smiles against your lips kissing your jaw down back to your neck. Tilting your head to the side accustomed to their bloodsucking tendencies. Yeonjun takes his time offering light pecks having you fight your restraints wanting to touch him. The vampire's fangs sharpen while a wondering hand moves down your nightgown and in between your legs.

His long fingers tease lightly brushing your cunt. Rolling your hips to his hand he recoils pushing your hips down hard. A quick bite down puncturing your neck as blood feeds the man stopped your squirming, body laying there for all of you to give. Yeonjun's fingers get back to your wet folds pushing your panties aside instantly pushing a digit in your hole. Your back arches hitting his chest as a long drawn out moan so sweet to the man's ears.

It wasn't long until you're lightheaded, loosing vision from the blood loss and the feeling of Yeonjun's fingers pleasing you. The vampire unlatches from your neck "damn you taste so good." He kisses your lips once more before removing your ruined panties, going down lapping up your slick cunt with his red lips. Your body felt like it was glitching every time Yeonjun's sharp tongue fucked you with his digit, every time his plush lips kissed and sucks your clit. Body shaking, thighs giving out only to have the vampire tease and remove himself from you.

You whine, sore red wrists fighting the cuffs again. "Jun please." Your begging tugs at the man's undead heartstrings. He loved you like this, arms up helplessly, your naked legs squeezing shut, nightgown bunched up so close to showing your breasts. Yeonjun leans down uncovering your tits to lick and play with your nipples. His red hair covering his eyes that were watching your slacked jaw. He lines his lengthy cock to your weeping hole holding your hips down in a bruising grip.

Slamming hard into you, your whole body bounces against the silk sheets. Nothing but moans and his name coming from from your mouth. Yeonjun forcefully stretches your legs around his shoulders. Pressing down to an angle that has you seeing stars. After another fang puncture to your tit you come on his cock. Yeonjun's inhumane thrusts has you crying at the overstimulation just to have him abuse your pussy more. Opening your eyes to see the man shudder his last thrust before cumming inside.

He lets go, removing himself to look at you entirely. You looked spent, blood streaking down your neck and breasts, bruises scattered in many places of your body. He walks away leaving your still locked up, tears about to spill as you watch the curtains move with the wind of the open window. Tired, your eyes about to drift to slumber until you felt a cold cloth on your sensitive parts.

The scary vampire mafia leader cleans you up. Licking off your blood before it dries, fixing your nightgown, and then releases you from the handcuffs. Your hand fly to his face caressing the pale skin. Although naturally dangerous, the smile he gives you was full of love. Maybe its not bad to live here after all...

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[incorrectbatfam]

Batfam doing a group project? What kind of people are they?

Bruce: I'll be back around 5:30. I want the mission strategy done by then.

Bruce: *leaves*

Harper: Alrighty. Since we're gonna be here a while, I'm gonna grab us some food.

Barbara: But it's only an hour.

Harper: Text me what you want.

Tim: I made the shared drive. Did everyone get it?

Cass: Not me.

Tim: What's your email?

Cass: Don't have one.

Tim: How do you still not have an email?

Cass: I did. Then I deleted it.

Tim: Why?

Cass: Kept getting emails.

Barbara: Tim, just share your computer with her. Cullen, how's the outline coming?

Cullen: Already done.

Barbara: *reads it over*

Barbara: I know you used BatGPT.

Cullen: No one said I couldn't.

Helena: I'll do the citations.

Barbara: But we don't need any sources.

Helena, ominously: I'll find them. I always find them...

Jason: Who the fuck is writing in yellow text?!?

Duke: I don't judge you for your life choices, do I?

Barbara: Duke, if I let you use Comic Sans, will you change the color?

Duke: Comic Sans AND a word cloud.

Barbara: Fine, whatever.

Damian: Where is Father's credit card? I need to purchase some stock images.

Barbara: Top drawer, under the Robin handbook.

Luke: Hey, I'm trying to attach a video but it says the file's too big.

Tim: Oh yeah, we don't have the premium version.

Luke: You're literally billionaires.

Tim: How do you think we stay that way?

Carrie: *animating all the transitions*

Bette: For the sound effects, should I go with a relaxing seaside or dramatic swoosh?

Dick: Definitely the swoosh. As for the presentation, I think we should open with a choreographed musical number.

Steph: *makes the title slide*

Steph:

Barbara: *sighs and does all the work*

Barbara, muttering: You can bet your asses I'm adding end credits.

Tim: What?

Barbara: Nothing! Keep going gang, you're doing great!

[gingernut1314]

Just A Bedtime Story ch. 4

Summary: You are out for a swim during your work break, only to stumble upon a fight on the docks. A fight starring a very familiar face.

Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, introduction to Sevika and Nadia (my oc...though technically she's low-key canon lol), Canon typical violence (description of a fight), young Silco, young Sevika, young reader, reader using water manipulation, confirming friendship, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 3.7K

A/N: This is a bit of a long one sorry. I caught a little too much in their interactions. Next chapter we will finally get them all aged up!! I hope you all enjoy!

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The waters of the Undercity had always been a comfort to you--a second home. No matter how freezing--no matter how polluted they got, you always found yourself swimming within them. 

People who knew you often said if you didn’t need to breathe, you would stay down in the inky depth. And they would be very much corrected. 

It was truly too bad you hadn’t developed gills and webbed fingers. 

You had just resurfaced to take a much-needed breath when a sound other than lapping water and the creaking of wooden ships caught your ear. It was faint. So faint you found yourself swimming out from under your boss’ dock and toward the sound. 

Not only were you an avid swimmer, but you were nosy as hell. A nosiness that got you in trouble more times than not. 

The closer and closer you swam, the clearer the sound grew. 

Sounds. 

Stomping and shuffling feet, grunts and shouts, bone hitting flesh, the sharp zing of a blade flying through the air and cutting through the skin. 

It was a fight you were hearing. 

You swam toward the ladder on the wall and climbed slowly upward, water dripping off your body and making too much noise. You doubted whoever was fighting could tell the difference between the water swooshing against the wood and your body leaving it, but you could never be too careful. 

Peeking your head up over the wooden dock, you found a cluster of boys all around your age or older. You recognized them all instantly as the gang that thought they owned the docks. As the gang that tormented you to no end. Who you had stolen from only two months prior. 

They had stayed under the radar since then. You could take a pretty good guess as to why, that being they were embarrassed about their defeat. They were bloodied, bruised, and some dead, and word of their loss had spread like wildfire.

Partially because you had fanned the flames. 

But even when you knew they knew you had spread the word, they hadn’t come out of hiding. Not until now. 

You pulled yourself a little further upward, trying to catch a glimpse of who they were beating on this time. Slowly and carefully you scanned over the scene and…

There. 

You found them. Him. And fucking hell--

It was Silco. 

You wondered what the hell he was doing all the way over here? Especially since The Last Drop, his territory, was located in the heart of the Undercity while the docks lay closer to Piltover’s borders. Too close to your liking but you really couldn’t do anything about that.

You wondered why the hell he would draw their attention when he knew they would be out for blood--his blood specifically. While Vander had beat them into a bloody pulp, Silco had killed a good handful of their members.

You had greatly enjoyed this fact, but it still didn’t make it a good idea for him to be wondering about over here where they knew the area best. 

It was a ten-on-one fight. Seemingly unfair odds but somehow Silco was still standing. Somehow he was making it nine then eight then seven against one the longer the fight went on. 

His movements, while not the most graceful, were ruthless. Movements you knew spoke volumes to the amount of fights he had waged. To the number of fights he had won. 

You were awestruck by it. So hypnotized by his fighting that you failed to spy one of the fallen members get back up. To see him grab a loose plank of wood and rush at Silco, who was busy fending off two nasty-looking members. 

You and Silco both didn’t see the plank until it was crashing over the back of Silco’s head. He went crumbling to the ground, his knives clattering beside him as he went. 

The gang seemed to hesitate. Like maybe they believe he was faking it. Hesitated as if he were some beast who would snap up and crush them between his jaws, but Silco stayed down and your throat tightened. 

You rushed up the rest of the ladder, pulling the attention of most of the remaining members just as they went to beat Silco further into the ground. 

“Little fishy,” You were disappointed to see Rotting Teeth was still standing, blood running from a deep cut on the ridge of his nose. “I’d say you were here to save your little boyfriend, but your weak as all shit.”

“Good to see your mush-filled skull can still come up with shitty insults.” He grits his rotting teeth at you. 

“You still haven’t learned your place, have you?” You blinked at him slowly. 

“My…place?” You spoke, mocking confusion. “I don’t know what you mean?” He growled, too easily annoyed. 

“You bitch--”

“Oh, gods.” You groaned. “Where is the originality? Little fishy’s good, but bitch? Really? Everyone uses that.” 

“Here’s what's gonna happen, bitch.” You shook your head in mock disappointment. “I’m gonna kill your boy toy and then I'm gonna kill you. Understand?” He pulled a very dull-looking knife from his pocket, brandishing it your way like it might scare you. 

“No. I don’t think I do, because you won’t be killing anyone.” Rotting Teeth and his gang gave howling rounds of laughter at your words. Laugher you used as a slight distraction as you felt for the water below your feet. Water your magic sung the same melody with.

“Get--” But before Rotten Teeth could give his commands, you yanked the water upward, it hissing sharply as it shot between the planks. 

Startled shouts sounded from the gang. Shouts that turned painful as you moved your hands around, guiding the water to shoot into their eyes and nose. 

The breath in your lungs grew heavier the longer you used your magic. Magic you knew you could only control for so long before growing too exhausted. 

So, with great effort, you willed the waters to wrap around the throats of the remaining eight gang members. They gave strangled and fearful yelps before you were yanking them towards the waters below with a great grunt. 

As soon as you heard them splash into the cold waters below, you released your magic quickly. The strain of using such power had you stumbling forward, your vision blurring and every breath pulling in with a slight, whistling wheeze.

Janna had told you to start out small. Exploding the flask being a perfect example. It was at your skill level and you could do it without much thought anymore. 

Fully manipulating water like it was a second limb? While very cool, it definitely was still something you were working on…even when you wished to prove the wind spirit wrong.

“You have magic.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement and it was coming from Silco who had at some point regained consciousness. 

“Magic’s just a bedtime story.” You huffed and puffed out. Swallowing down air, you wobbled over to him only to nearly trip over his long legs, which were still sprawled out over the dock. 

“Bedtime--I just saw you control water.” You gave another swallowed-down bit of air, your vision starting to focus and breathing finally beginning to even. 

“I think that asshole hit you harder than I thought.” You knelt down in front of him, grabbing a hold of his head to shove it down and get a better view of the back of it. 

“Get your hands off of me.” He hissed, slapping your hand away. You gave a little fake ow at the hit.

“Wow…not even a thank you for saving your life?” You gave a mockingly hurt shake of your head. “That hurts.” 

“Oh please.” He all but rolled his eyes, pulling his legs under himself as he prepared himself to get up. “I had it under control.” 

“Okay. Yeah. ‘Under control’. We can call it that.” Silco ran one of his hands over his face, showing off his newly split knuckles. 

“Where did you even come from?” You held out your hand for him to take. He eyed it for a moment, as if to deny your further help, but reluctantly took hold of it. You helped pull him upward, savoring the feel of his chill skin against yours before it ended a few seconds later. 

“Went for a swim. Heard you getting your ass beat--”

“I was not--”

“Swam over here and saved it.” Silco gave you an exasperated sigh through his nose. “This makes us even, ya know. You saved my life, I saved yours.” 

“Fine.” He gruffly said. It pulled an all too cheerful smile to your lips that only seemed to annoy him further. “Just don’t tell Vander, yes?” The words quickly fell from him as he passed you. So quick that you almost didn’t catch it.  

You had planned on telling Vander the next time you made your way to The Last Drop, but that look in Silco’s eyes…you couldn’t place your finger on it, though your ability to understand emotions was growing much better thanks to hanging around actual humans. 

It was a look that was--near animals. Like the thought of Vander finding out you had saved him was turning him into a cornered animal. One that would snap its jaw at anyone that came too close.

Whatever it was, you didn’t like it.

You hopped to his side, wanting to follow him wherever he was heading. 

“Okay.” Silco looked at you like he didn’t quite believe you. “If you really don’t want me to, I won’t.” 

“But--why?” You gave a shrug. 

“I cut into a fight you definitely could have won.” You added a bit of a playful tease to your tone. But even when you kept things playful, you willed your eyes to remain serious. To try and tell him silently you wouldn’t. “Why would I want to brag about my own dishonor.”

“Dishonor? I didn’t know there was honor between thieves and murderers to begin with.” Silco ran his thin fingers through his shaggy hair, trying to tame back the frizzled mess it had become in his fight.

Your own fingers itched as you watched him. 

You wanted to do that.

“Oh yes. There’s a code and vow and everything. Very official.” You gave a dead serious nod. “Did you miss that meeting?” An amused smile pulled at the very corners of Silco’s thin lips. Lips you wanted to see sport a full smile. One you wanted wide enough you could look at the V-shaped chip there fully. 

You felt bad about it, but damn it was cute. It just completely complimented him. 

“Damn. Must have.” You gave him a small chuckle as you came upon your boss’ shop. 

“This is where I work.” Silco looked over the gray, stone backing of the shop. Took in the small sign above the door and empty, fish gut-stained crates lining the back door. 

“Are you working now?” You a small nod.

“Breaks about to end.” Silco gave a matching small nod, seafoam eyes landing on you once more. 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah.” Silence filled the space between you two. A silence you didn’t like and was quick to fill. “Why’d you come all the way over here anyway?” Silco ran his fingers through his hair once more, eyes falling away from you as he kicked at an invisible pebble. 

“Vander’s helping open The Last Drop. Went for a walk. Ended up here.” You really couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips then. 

Had he come here to find you? Had he come here to--dare you say--hang out? 

It had a giddy feeling bubbling in your chest you had to shove far down. 

“Do you want to come inside? I can introduce you to Nadia and Sevika.” He glanced back up at you, brows furrowing the slightest bit. 

“And they are…?” 

“My friends. Nadia is super sweet. She can clean and wrap your knuckles and take care of any of your other wounds.” Silco subconsciously looked to his bleeding knuckles. You knew he probably wouldn’t take the offer but it was there if he did.

“And the other?” 

“Sevika?” He nodded. “Well, Sevika’s…Sevika.” You shrugged. “She’s great. I think you’ll like her.” You grabbed hold of the door handle, which was dented here and there. “Come on. I can sneak you some food too.” At the prospect of food, Silco perked up instantly. 

“Fine. But only for a moment.” You beamed at him as he followed after you. 

The clatter of plates and pots filled your ears as you shut the door behind Silco, the kitchen a beehive of cooks and dishwashers and the heavenly smell of food. The chef shouted something to one of the other cooks who shouted right back as you reached to grab hold of Silco jacket sleeve. 

“Okay so…try not to be so tall.” You whispered, beginning to pull him from behind the wall. 

“Wha--am I not supposed to be in here?” You shushed him much to his dislike. 

“Technically no. Boss isn’t a big fan of men so…” You thought of how your boss didn’t even like Nadia’s husband, who was probably the sweetest man on this earth. Boss hated men so much she only hired women to work in her diner and on her ship. Hated them so much she only interacted with male customers if it was absolutely necessary. 

Silco gave a great sigh, so you tossed him a mischievous smile.

“Don’t worry. She stays in her office most of the day.” But just as you spoke, the door leading out into the front of the house swung open, making you startle so bad it showed physically. 

A lithe woman came through carrying a plate of food that looked like it had been picked through by an all too picky customer. Her wild, ruddy red hair had been wrestled into a ponytail that was fighting to escape its confines, and her pale, near pearlescent skin was covered in faint speckling of freckles. 

“Chef, I fear they--” Her burnt gold eyes flickered over you, pinkish lips pulling thin. “What have I told you.” She spoke again, her accent thick yet added another layer to her melodic voice. “If you go for a swim you must dry off. Dragging a mess in with you.” She shook her head, “I left a towel for you--” Again she cut herself off when her eyes looked just past you to Silco. 

“Nadia, this is Silco.” Her eyes lit in recognition of the name. A name that may or may not have been spewed from your lips many, many times since you first met him. She gave a small shake of her head once more, blowing a deep sigh from her lips. 

“Take this,” She all but shoved the plate of food into your hands, before rushing you and Silco into the locker room. “Give me a moment.” She smiled kindly Silco’s way before rushing back out of the door, washing the room in silence. 

“See. Food.” You flopped down on one of the wooden benches, crossing your legs as you placed the plate beside you. When Silco continued to stand in the middle of the locker room looking too out of place, you waved him over. “What? Are you scared?” Silco rolled his eyes, following your gesture and sitting down beside the plate. 

“Of course not.”

“Then stop acting like a chicken.” You teased, grabbing a few french fries and all but shoving them into your mouth. “The fish is fresh. Caught it this morning.” You spoke around the food in your mouth. Silco’s nose wrinkled at you in slight disgust but he wasted no time in ripping a bit of the fried fish. 

“You caught it?” You hummed in yes, grabbing a bit of the fish yourself.

“Boss takes me with her when she goes out to sea. Calls me her good luck charm 'cause we always catch a good haul when I’m around.” Silco nodded, chewing the fish slowly. 

“Because of your magic?” You were quick to shush him again. “Oh, would you stop--” Another long shush. 

“It’s not magic.” Silco rose a brow at you, not believing it for a second. “And if it was…sure. Maybe that’s the reason.” 

“Is it maybe the reason you can swim submerged in the waters and not reap the consequences as well?” You watched him for a long moment, slowing your own chewing. 

“I don’t like this line of questioning.” Silco ripped another bit of the fish off. 

“Well, magic is rare. As you said, just a bedtime story. It is only natural I would be curious.” He popped the fish into his mouth. 

“It is just a bedtime story.” You insisted, messing with a fry between your fingers. “But…probably. But I think it also has to do with how my guardian found me. Just a newborn drowning within them. Someone threw me in.” You held a hand up showing your inky black fingertips, the darkness fading out around your knuckles. Silco’s own eyes scanned them over, then your face. “Use to be worse. Use to have glowing black and red eyes too.” 

“That is…horrid.” You shrugged, popping the fry you had been messing with into your mouth. 

“Eh. Seen worse.” You mused, grabbing up another fry. Silco’s seafoam eyes darkened in understanding. 

They’d all seen worse. Experienced worse. 

It came with the territory. It was the unfair truth they all had to live or it would crush them if them is they tried to deny it.

“Why tell me?” Silco’s voice came out quieter. Soft. Like he didn’t even want to ask but needed the answer. 

“Because you asked.” You shrugged again. 

“That can’t be the reason.” 

“I mean--it’s you.” Silco’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion to your answer. “I--you’re my friend. We’re friends. And…I guess I trust you to know. I want you to know.” You suddenly felt your stomach hollow out and your palms begin to sweat. 

Nervous. 

He made you so nervous. 

You hated it but found you wouldn’t try to change it.

“We’re…friends.” Silco carefully said. Like it was a secret itself. 

“I mean--I guess we don--” Silco shushed you just as you had him. It was an unexpected thing for him to do. One that had you gasping.

“We’re friends.” He confirmed, offering you a small smile. A smile that only made your heart twist and turn in your chest. One you couldn’t help but copy and copy brightly. 

“Yes. Good. I’m glad.” He gave a small nod, turning his all-too-seeing eyes back down onto the plate between you two. 

Oh, you could giggle. Oh, you could jump up and down and giggle. 

“After I get off of work--” But your words were cut off by the door to the locker door banging open. 

Nadia was hushly shouting, grabbing hold of Sevika’s strong arm and yanking as if she could actually move the girl. 

Silco was quick to his feet, readying for a fight he might have to wage against the girl. You watched his calculating eyes take in the muscle-ripped teen as if already searching for weaknesses to exploit.

Sevika went right up to him, bending down to look him straight in the eyes when she truly didn’t need to. It was just her way of telling him she saw him as inferior until he proved otherwise. 

“This is him?” Sevika asked, eyes never once leaving Silco’s own. 

“Sevika, enough of all this.” Nadia tried again, but Sevika was quick to shake her off.

“I’m not doing anything, Dee.” She responded nonchalantly, but her demeanor was anything but. Nadia turned to look at you for help but you just shoved another fry into your mouth. 

Silco’d be okay.

“Awfully close.” Silco calmly said. Though, just like Sevika, his demeanor was anything but. 

“Small room.” She shrugged. “Come to see her?” Sevika shoved a thumb your way. 

“She found me wandering.” 

“Wandering? So far from the heart of the city?” 

“It gets a bit boring staying in one place for too long, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I guess I would.” Sevika leaned in ever closer. So close you were almost jealous, wanting to be that close to him too. “You gonna hurt her?” 

“Hasn’t given a reason to.” Sevika nodded at this, gray eyes having yet to soften into their normal gaze. 

“Play cards?” Silco nodded back.

“Of course.” Sevika's eyes finally softened, her plump lips pulling as she gave a laugh. Silco’s shoulders loosened as she backed away, looking back to you and Nadia. 

“Didn’t tell me he played cards.” 

“Why would I ask that?” Sevika gave a deep, almost irritated sigh that was only teasing. 

“Come on, guppy. That’s the most important question.” You gave an elongated sorry. “Guess you wouldn’t ask, seeing as you suck ass at playing any kinda card game.” You dramatically gasped, throwing a fry her way. The bit of fried potato bounced off her skin like she hadn’t even felt it. 

More shouting sounded from within the kitchen. Shouting that had you, Naida, and Sevika all tensing at the sound, Silco the only one not privy to who it belonged to.

“Boss’ll kill him.” Sevika laughed. “See you ‘round, Silco. If you escape.” And back out the door she went. 

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Nadia was ringing her apron between her hands. “You must go.” She insisted to Silco, “Oh dear--forgive Sevika for us. Oh, and your knuckles.” She gave a look like his wounds were her wounds. “Forgive me. They look painful.” 

“He’ll live.” You waved her off, the shouting growing closer. Shouting now joined in by Sevika trying to keep the boss at bay.  

“Will I?” He asked as you shoved the half-full plate into his hands. 

“Probably.” You gave him a mischievous wiggle of your eyebrows. He opened his mouth as if to say something against whatever you were about to do, but you grabbed his wrist and yanked him back out the locker room before any sound could leave it. 

You’re boss all but bellowed your name, Nadia’s nervous voice trying to calm her down as you threw open the back door and shoved Silco out of it. You watched him stumble out, losing a few fries, before turning back around, looking very much bewildered.  

“I get off work at seven. I’ll bring you dinner, yeah?” You called to him. Silco had just started saying your name as you shut the door in his face.

Previous | Next

[hannie-dul-set]

EXTENSION: AN UNLIKELY FANMEETING.

p — LEE JENO x female! reader. g — gang leader! jeno, actress! reader, humor, tension tension tension, jeno realizes his type in women after getting kidnapped by his celebrity crush. w — swearing, kidnapping, crime in general. 1.4k words.

note — part 2 to an unlikely fanmeeting. to the anon who said that they envisioned eric from tbz as the ex boyfriend, this one's for u. enjoy.

a swoosh on the top. a loop at the bottom. two slopes intersecting before breaking of to scratch a little heart at the tail end. the ink is red. it’s always red.

“is this all?”

you remove the cardstock from the table, and with a sharp movement you snap your arm straight, presenting it to him. jeno looks at your signature— with the pretty loops and all, but he smacks his tongue in disappointment. there’s an impatient twitch on your brow as you eye him, waiting seated on the other side of your desk. jeno snatches the autographed card, “of course not," then tucks it into the chest pocket of his no longer damp shirt.

there’s a clench of your jaw, a tightening of your stare. your eyes stopped quivering even since starting the deal. a shame, because jeno had a lot of fun backing you into a corner.

still, he likes seeing you mad too— sharp gaze, knitted brows, lips on the verge of a sneer— almost foreign to the gentle and sweet expressions natural to your features. there’s no mix of melancholic blue like when you’re acting out a scene. this one’s impersonal, like you’ve got no shits to give. it’s red. all red.

jeno prefers red.

he leans a little closer. your annoyance shifts to suspicion. he rests an arm on your desk, shifting his weight to it. a single tap on the stack of blank cardstock. “i need a couple bit more,” he says, a quirk of the lips. “my boys like you a lot, too.”

a pause. then a sigh. you roll your eyes and shoo him off your personal space with a wave, to which he hums and obediently follows, and while the scratches of pen against paper fill your office space, jeno takes the once in a lifetime opportunity to snoop around a celebrity’s room.

the whole is flushed with dark mahogany, a singular lamp illuminating the area from the ceiling. there’s a case lined with countless trophies and plaques and certificates and awards. there’s a wall with a giant poster of your face on it. he flits his eyes over to you on the desk, blank faced as you sign each layer of cardstock one by one like a machine, then back to the bigger version of your face on the wall, smiley-eyed and innocent.

there’s a laugh trying to claw out of his throat. he spins his heels and returns to your desk.

“wait," he says, interrupting you from finishing the last card on the pile. your hand jerks to a stop. you look up at him, what now? on your expression. jeno is pretty sure he’s done a negative amount of good things to deserve seeing all these different kinds of faces from you. “can you put park jisung on that one?”

“what?”

“nice kid. a little clumsy. good with the bat,” jeno answers and you look like you could care less. “he cried three times watching sunwater. give him a little treat.”

you, once again, let out a exhale and continue writing with a rather aggressive scribble, ending the note with a pressure-pointed dot in the bottom right corner. “happy?” you deride.

he hums, “that’s not the attitude of someone who wants something from me,” and slides the stack of cards to his side of the desk, collecting it between his hands and slides them in between each other with a shuffle. “but anyhow, let’s get to talking.”

“finally.”

three loud taps on the table as he sets down the autographed cards. jeno takes the plush seat in front of your desk and drags it closer.

“you want us to abduct your ex boyfriend.” you affirm. “who is it? the eric sohn guy i keep seeing you on the news with?” a look of judgement overrides your expression. jeno simply shrugs. you can’t blame him for the fact that your face and name is everywhere.

“whatever,” you sigh. “anyway, yes, i want that bitch back here. he ran away to japan after i caught him fucking shin yona two days before our god damned anniversary.”

“damn. his loss.” 

“the fucker knows i can’t run after him because my schedule is packed this week. one of which is an ad shoot with the bitch yona, by the way. if she doesn’t pull out voluntarily, i’ll see to it that she does.”

you sure do swear quite a lot. “i think i’ve seen her before. was it firefly? i don’t know, that movie was crap.”

again, with the look of heavy judgement. makes him want to keep egging you on on purpose.

“i get it that you’re a fan, but this isn’t a god damned fanmeeting, you know.”

jeno looks at you, a ghost of a grin on his lips. “does your company know you act like this?” 

“of course not, how’d you think i stayed in the industry for so long if i don’t know how to act fake,” you roll your eyes. “back to the point. eric sohn. japan. can you bring him back here?”

“consider it done,” he says. his phone is out. you returned his shit earlier after wrapping things up in the basement. he then keys in a couple texts to a few contacts, eyes flickering between you and the screen. “and then what do you want? how badly do you wanna see him ruined? a few broken ribs and bruises? ‘til his face is unrecognizable? or—”

jeno closes his phone and drops it back into his pocket. he leans forward to get a better look at your face. 

his voice is low, quiet, and hushed, yet pulls down the air into the ground with a gravity heavier than that of the earth’s.

“want him dead?” 

silence permeates the room. he can’t read the thoughts running inside your pretty little head— save for the inkling that you don’t find his last suggestion the very least bit appealing.

“are you stupid? don’t you dare fucking touch him.”

your voice is aghast— offended. well, what did he expect. you might’ve acted the entire night like you had little to no regard to violence and the law— sending a bunch of men to kidnap him and all and waking up tied in a shady basement inside your own home, a few suspicious materials here and there, that’s got him thinking you’ve got graver intentions than a simple splash of water and a probably slap in the face.

“i only asked you to bring him to me and nothing more. don’t get ahead of yourself.”

but maybe there’s still a line that you you’re not willing to cross. 

“what’s the point if i don’t get to fuck him up myself?”

jeno feels a rattle in his bones.

he drills his eyes into you— your face, devoid of any jest or hint of hesitation. it’s all red and raw reprehension.

“what? the hell are you staring at?”

the words tumble out of his lips before he knows it.

“think you could let me watch?”

there’s a pause. it’s cold and quiet in your office. you’re looking at him like he just desecrated your parents graves. in jeno’s defense, you put the image in his head and his mouth doesn't have the safety on. when he doesn’t take it back, you sigh, place a set of fingers on your temple, and say, “get the job done first before making any extra requests.” 

well, that’s not a no at the very least.

“i’ve already made my payment so you better see to it that you accomplish your end of the deal.”

eyes flicker to the thin stack of autographed cards. he gets up from the chair with a rattle and takes it off the desk. “you sure about this, doll?” he asks, gaze flitting back to your face. “if word gets out, you’d be pretty much kissing your career goodbye, you know.” and after receiving your payment, he sets his arms down on the surface, leaning forward, grabbing taking out the red pen you’ve been using and scribbling his contact information on a spare sheet of paper.

he drops the pen with a clatter and takes a look at your expression.

“that’s fifteen years down the drain.”

you look like you’re tired of his shit.

“if word gets out that means you’re crap at your job,” you sneer, slapping your hand over the note as he finished writing. you slide it over to you with a screech. “didn’t you say you could handle this better than the incompetent fucks that brought you here?”

you’re looking up at him like you’re looking down, eyes snapped up, expectant and unforgiving.

jeno puts his hands up in a surrender, a sliver of a smile playing on his lips.

“you got it.”

AN UNLIKELY FANMEETING. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[ornii]

You’re Overthinking, Kate

Clint Needs to get Kate a good teacher, Luckily he knows a guy.. You.

Christmas was rousing around, closing in more and more during the winter. While this was a time of celebration for many, for two in particular they weren’t so lucky. Kate Bishop has put herself in a pickle and Clint, being her hero and a stand up guy, threw his arrow into the quiver to help her. The Tracksuit Mafia wasn’t one to let vendetta’s go, and unfortunately, Kate made the list. With her life on the line, Clint made a decision to help her by making a bold decision.

Standing in an Elevator the two silently stood there as it ascended.

“So… this guy..” Kate started, slowly trailing on not really able to form a coherent idea.

“Is he an Avenger?” She said with a gleam to potentially meet another, Clint coldly shook his head. “No, Shield Agent.”

“That’s.. cool too.” She said, a bit disappointed but still somewhat excited. The elevator halts with a swoosh and the door opens after a song ding. They step out to a wood tile floor and exquisite hallways. Clint heads left as Kate looks around at everything. “This is, awesome! They even have those little dove soaps!”

“Hey, focus, please?” Clint says, getting her attention. “Your life literally depends on it..” he mutters. They head to the hall and specifically to door number 195. Clint calmly knocks on the door.

“So, what’s the agent like? Is she like a Spy or a Double agent?”

“No, well something like that..”

“Something?”

“Former Shield Agent, now hired Mercenary.”

“You took me to a hired assassin?!” Kate yells and Clint glares at her to lower her voice. “Mercenary, it’s different.. plus he’s like you.”

“An archer?”

“Annoying.”

The door casually opens to a man in his twenties, dressed in causal wear. His eyes undress Kate up and down and he smiles.

“What can I… do for you?” He asks, his eyes look over and sees Clint, his demeanor changes and he sighs. “Oh, hey Clint.”

“(Y/n), we need your help.”

“Therapists are on the 14th Floor.” (Y/n) replies and prepares to close the door, Clint puts his foot in to keep it from closing.

“I’m serious..”

“So am I.. I doubt Shield wants you talking to me, plus I don’t want to put the girl in any trouble. So will you please take your foot and—“

“We need the Taskmaster.” Clint huffs, (Y/n) halted in his steps and slowly opens the door. He didn’t say much to Clint and simply let them in. Clint follows him and he motions for Kate to follow. They enter a modest studio apartment. One part seemed normal, bedding, Kitchen, small living room, the other half had what seemed to be a training ground, flat surfaces, mats, weights, weapons, all wood. (Y/n) stopped in the middle of the training Ground and turned around to face them.

“So, what do you want?” He said pretty bluntly.

“Tracksuit Mafia. What do you know?” Clint asks first.

“Them? Small town Gang running in New York, went big after the snap. last time I checked Ronin put the sword to them. Why ask?” (Y/n) said.

“They’re the issue.”

“Ah, okay.. but what does she have to do with this?” (Y/n) asked, his eyes turned to Kate, she didn’t really know what to say, until she just blurts something out.

“Is that a Keurig?” She points to his kitchen. Specifically at his Keurig coffee maker. Pristine condition, a Keurig K elite Maker.

“Uh, yeah? has Hazenut, Dark roast, French Vanil—“ (Y/n) trails off and stops talking. “Are you about to ask for some? Absolutely not I’ve known you for 2 minutes.” He said, and Kate puts on a puppy dog eyes bit. “Please?” She asks, Clint watches (Y/n)’s face contort, he was always known to be a stone cold merc. But now his face looks. Conflicted.

Kate sits sipping her coffee, relishing the rich flavor. (Y/n) was staring at her, arms folded.

“Okay so let me get this straight, you’re the one who broke Stane tower shooting an arrow at it?” (Y/n) reiterated the information he’s been told, “Which is why my credit cards are Maxed out.” Kate adds in.

“I didn’t ask— whatever. Point is the Track suits think you’re ronin. Why? You don’t look that threatening.” (Y/n) was confident in his analysis. Kate her coffee down, “I can show you.” She replies, (Y/n) eyes Clint, who waved them off as if to say “Go for it.”

The trio stand on the roof of the Apartment and (Y/n), Kate and Clint were standing in the pure snow, five targets stood across them and he motioned Kate to go first.

“Watch and be amazed.” Kate let five arrows loose and hit bullseyes on each one, Clint gives (Y/n) a look, and he nods in approval. Kate turns to (Y/n).

“Pretty good, not gonna lie. My turn i suppose.” He says and she hands him the arrow and he takes a deep breath.

“So, when did you learn how to shoot?” She asks.

“Just now.” He responds, Kate was obviously confused by the reply. “What did you just—“ (Y/n) with Zero hesitation let loose 5 arrows as well, each one splitting hers as they also hit perfectly dead on. Kate was obviously confused by this.

“How did you just—“

“Photographic Reflexes.” Clint says, “Kid can duplicate any physical move he sees moments later, even copy fighting styles. Basically.” Clint says and (Y/n) finishes for him

“Anything you can do, I can do better~” he says in a sing song voice, mockingly.

“Your archery skills are impressive, I might keep them.” He said. “You’ve got potential though.” He adds in, turning to Clint.

“So, this is why you came to me, to train her.”

“You’re someone I trust…” Clint admits, and (Y/n) turns to Kate.

“Alright, one last test, hand to hand combat.”

Back in the Apartment, Clint stood in the middle of them as (Y/n) didn’t seem particularly worried about fighting her, Kate on the other hand was pretty worried that she’ll get her butt kicked, and she was pretty right.

“Alright.” Clint steps back and (Y/n) looked so aloof and relaxed. Kate moves in with a few martial arts, swift jabs and strong kicks, (Y/n) was playing mostly Defence, dodging or blocking her hits. Simply gathering information until his body calculates hers. He gets all the information he needs, he counters by slamming his foot down, ducking a punch and using her momentum to toss her across the room as she goes sliding across the room, getting up frustrated she moves back in, (Y/n) this time implements the Black Widow style, acrobatic dodges and well placed strikes to the body to weaken her. And with another judo throw she winds up on the ground.

“Fighting someone who keeps changing seems impossible, I know. But you’ll be fine”

(Y/n) says, but Kate was dead silent.

“Uh, you okay?” He asks, she nods.

“You sure? You look, pale.”

“Nah. I’m good.” She replies, he helps her up as Kate tries to play off how much pain she’s in.

“I just need to sit down for a sec that’s all.” Kate tries to walk to the couch like she’s fine but the small limp says a lot. (Y/n) turned to Clint.

“She’s definitely better than most… a little green but who isn’t at her age.”

“You’re only three years older.” Clint flatly points out.

“Hey.. I’m trying to look cool here.” (Y/n) says. “I’ll teach her what I know, after that we’re square, okay?”

“Promise.”

Day 2

Kate this time came on her Own, no Clint around, this time the two can spar without any trouble. (Y/n) kept his eyes locked on her, he didn’t have much trouble doing that. Kate went in with a flurry of stuff kicks, a few land on the body but (Y/n) blocks most and retaliates with a heavy strike to the body, the impact almost sent her flying back. (Y/n) was moreso the aggressor this time, trying to go for an overhead strike, Kate rolls out of the way and back up, each deflecting an attack.

“I know it’s hard! Trying to fight someone who knows your every move!” (Y/n) says mid battle, trying to help her. “Try something else, you gotta have something else.” He said, with a palm strike Kate was stunned, (Y/n) prepares for another judo throw, but as he tosses her, she locks her leg with his, halting his throw, she breaks her arm free and wraps around his waist for a stunningly beautiful German Suplex. (Y/n) hit the ground hard, Kate sits up breathing hard, but proud of her win.

“Did you see that? I—“ Kate turned to (Y/n) who slowly stood up, wobbly.

“Shit are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay?” She grabs his wrist. Keeping him from wobbling, (Y/n) looks at her, his daze and confused expression slowly faded as he looked at the worry in her eyes. Kate sighs with relief.

“I’m good, that just caught me off guard, you’re getting better Bishop.” He said, she smiles, proud of herself. It was silence in the room, until Kate realized they’re holding hands, she pulls them back embarrassed.

“I am so sorry!”

“Nah it’s cool, it’s cool.” (Y/n) says, “So.. uh, good workout.. maybe you wanna.. go get a smoothie?” (Y/n) asked, Kate tilts her head a bit.

“Like.. a date smoothie?” Kate ask, almost sounding hopeful.

“N-no like a, post-workout-after-getting-a-German-suplex smoothie.”

“They make those?” She asks.

“They would if I asked, I mean I’m paying for it, you got your cards taken.”

“You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“Yeah but, I like to.” He replies. And this got an honest laugh out of Kate, seeing her smile did something to (Y/n). He couldn’t put his finger on it but.. he wanted to see it so much more.

(Hey, so like.. I’ve never watched a single episode of Hawkeye, I just did this from general information and memory so i apologize for the lack of consistency to the MCU but let’s say the Black Widow Taskmaster was Task Manager. Besides that I hope I did justice and more Nat and Wanda coming. I promise I’m working on shit.)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Sam Wolfson at The Guardian:

A chill wind swept through Europe this summer. On the continent, far-right parties rose triumphantly in the EU elections, hoisted not just by the grumbles of older xenophobes but on the shoulders of young men. When news crews went out on the streets to train their cameras on these extremists in France, Germany, Finland and the Netherlands, they found no blackshirts, just barbershop trims and Zara chinos worn by young men, enthralled by dreams of ethnonationalism and a return to the values of the 1980s or the 1940s or some other period long before their birth. Then, in Britain this weekend, gangs of mostly young far-right men marauded through northern towns, attacking mosques and accommodation for asylum seekers. The nationalist right is rising once more on the tides of gelled-backed hair and Nike swooshes.

A similar transformation could befall America in November. Until now, twentysomething voters were a thorn in Donald Trump’s side, opposing him robustly in previous elections and making their resistance corporeal as leaders in the Women’s March, Black Lives Matter protests and climate movement. Yet recent election polls suggest that while young women remain committed to the cause, there has been a tremulous withdrawal from young men. In 2016, 51% of young men identified with or leaned toward the Democratic party. By last year, it was down to 39%. Young men now favor Republican control of Congress and their support for Trump has grown since 2020. The Democratic strategist James Carville (he who told Bill Clinton “it’s the economy, stupid”) has been warning Democrats that the party’s eroding numbers among young men and young people of color are “horrifying”: “We’re not shedding them; they’re leaving in droves.”

Of course, many of these fears were emerging when Joe Biden, an octogenarian white man, was still the presumptive Democratic nominee. But while early polling suggests that overall, gen Z is excited by Kamala Harris’s likely nomination, she hasn’t made much impact on gen Z men. Research by the Young Men Research Initiative (YMRI), a group set up in recent months to observe this unexpected drift, shows that men aged 18-29 are split 32% for Harris and 33% for Donald Trump, with Robert F Kennedy Jr taking 15%. This is an almost identical split to when Biden was the frontrunner. Young men used to vote more like young people: left. Now they might start voting like men: right. What changed?

Some pollsters believe we are witnessing a new politics of resentment – that young men feel #MeToo has gone too far, that feminism has left them behind, and that they can only see a home for themselves in a testosterone-fuelled Republican party.

Others – including Richard Reeves, head of the recently founded and influential American Institute for Boys and Men – say this isn’t a cultural issue. While a small, loud minority of men might have become more extreme in their views on feminism, most are responding to other economic and social factors that have meant they have lagged behind women for some time. Young men statistically are more depressed, financially worse off and less educated than young women, and looking for electoral answers. “This is less about young men being pulled towards the right than it is about them being pushed away from the left,” Reeves says. Blue-collar workers, Hispanic voters in Florida, white married women: Democrats have blundered before in assuming they had certain demographics locked up only to find they had taken them for granted. Unless the party can work out why it’s losing young men and how to win them back, Democrats may wake up to a cold new dawn in November, as Europe did in June.

‘A very scary time’: the politics of resentment

In 2018, a gaggle of the White House press corps asked Trump for his opinion on the allegations that Brett Kavanaugh, his nominee for the supreme court, had sexually assaulted Christine Blasey Ford when she was 15 years old. Trump, almost drowned out by the whirring blades of Marine One, could only offer superlatives in response. “High quality”, “top student”, “a great judge”. The reporters sounded desperate: what does it say to boys that someone facing such a serious accusation is still being considered for the supreme court? “Well, I say it’s a very scary time for young men in America,” Trump replied. “You could be somebody that was perfect your entire life and somebody could accuse you of something … and you’re automatically guilty.” Trump had dismissed his own boasts of sexual assault as “locker room talk” during his 2016 campaign, but now he was making his pitch directly to the locker room. Having harnessed the racial resentment of white voters who felt society had become too diverse, could he do the same with young men who felt society had become too feminized?

[...] Armed with this sort of feedback, it seems Trump has been heavily courting the young, resentful male vote. He has attended Ultimate Fighting Championship bouts until the early hours, walking out to Kid Rock’s American Badass. He has lately worked hard to position himself as the crypto candidate and is heavily promoting himself on TikTok. When Kid Rock, Hulk Hogan and Dana White, CEO of UFC, introduced him at the Republican convention, Kid Rock screamed at everyone to put their fists in the air and shout “fight!” as Trump had done after the attempt on his life. Trump even attended a sneaker conference to launch his own golden hi-tops. There are millions of progressive young men who won’t be interested in his proposition. LGBTQ+ men, for example, remain solidly progressive, as do young Asian American voters. But for others, Cox says Trump’s effort could work. “Logan Paul just had Trump on his show. He’s got over 7 million followers. Some young men who are not very political might say, ‘Oh, hey, you know, Trump showing up, he’s talking, he’s engaging. I kind of like this.’”

Why are young men moving rightwards in recent years? This Guardian article highlights the role of male resentment and entitlement over their perceived loss in social standing, especially in the #MeToo era.

The increase of testosterone-oriented culture in the UFC and MMA is also helping fuel these trends.

Read the full story at The Guardian.

[crowandmousewritingco]

Paring: Shane "Dio" Morrissey x Din Djarin

Words: 1.8k

Rating: G

Summary: Dio doesn't lose fights, but what happens when he does.

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: So we have au verse called The Fill House where several Pedro boys live together in a house together in a modern au, and this is one of those drabbles. These are meant to be fun little one-offs for whenever inspiration hits. If you want more information about the au we have a whole list here.

Dio didn’t lose fights. He had an image to keep up and he worked really hard to maintain that facade. Except today. Some punk had gotten lucky and snuck up behind him when he was on a smoke break outside the local record store. Apparently he had looked at his girl “wrong” while pursuing the newest metal selection, and sent him to the ground with a decent punch to his cheek. His lackeys took it from there kicking him while he was down and giving him a minimal chance to fight back. Once they had done the damage they wanted, the gang abandoned him in a pile on the alley leaving him to lick his wounds.

He could feel his hard shell crumpling as he slammed the door to his shared house. Desperately wanting to not draw any attention to him, he kept his head low as he hoped no one would see him in this state. Especially Dieter. The last person he needed right now was that disaster calling him one of his annoying nicknames. 

Though unfortunately for him that wasn’t the case. The “parents”--Din, Joel and Frankie– were gathered around the kitchen island when he stormed past them, thick platform boots thumping against the wooden floor. They looked up when they heard the clatter. “Dio?” Frankie asked, seeing the state of the youngest member. 

Dio held out his palm and only briefly looked up at the trio. “Don’t,” He sneered and hurried his way up the stairway leather jacket swooshing behind him. The trio exchanged glances as the noise slowly dissipated. Clearly something was wrong. Dio was usually just his grumpy self but he would linger for a bit before seeking solace. 

Din swirled his coffee cup staring at the empty staircase. “I’ll give him 20.” 

Joel hummed and finished his mug of coffee. Frankie held out his mug for another cup, and Joel took it, giving the other man a quick kiss on the head. Frankie couldn’t help but look behind him watching where Dio once stood. 

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Din reassured him when he noticed the worry etched on his already worn face. 

Frankie turned back to the others and sighed. “I know but I worry about him sometimes.” 

“I think we all do,” Joel added as he sat back down in his chair and handed the mug back to Frankie. 

The warmth of the mug made him feel a bit better, but he would still be worried until Din went to check on him. In the meantime, he found comfort in leaning against Joel’s side as the other two conversed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dio slammed the door to his bedroom and quickly shucked off his leather duster, not even bothering to hang it up, kicking off his platforms with none of the kindness he usually had with his attire. Ezra looked up from his desk where he was working on his current craft of choice. “Well don’t you look like something the cat dragged in.” 

“Fuck off,”  Dio sneered and fell onto his bed. He pressed himself into the corner of his bed bringing his knees to his chest making himself as small as possible. The world didn’t need to see him nor did he want anyone to notice him. His thoughts sending him spiraling were familiar and unwelcomed. 

Ezra sat on the edge of his seat. “Something has caused your neurons to fire in the wrong sequence?”

Dio growled and grabbed the nearest object– one of his many pillows gathered over the years-- and threw it in Ezra’s direction. Ezra being used to this behavior deftly dodged it. “Get out!” 

Ezra sighed and set down this craft with annoyance before getting up from his seat. He grabbed the doorknob and opened it. He turned towards the upset goth as he was leaving. “Fine Oberyn and I had plans that didn’t involve such a violent creature.” 

With another louder growl he threw another pillow which bounced harmlessly off of the closed door. When he was finally alone he let his facade crash around him. Soft quiet tears flowed down his cheeks bringing black streaks of mascara running down his face as he curled up in a ball. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just like Din had promised, 20 minutes went by before he softly knocked on the door. He didn’t hear a reply, but that was normal for Dio. Carefully he pushed the door up a crack enough to see inside. Soft sobs escaped through the opening making his heart pang from the sound, and when he peeked inside the room he saw the puddle of black curled up on the bed. His form was gently shaking from his sobs as he hid his face in the stuffed goat Din won for him at their last arcade date. 

“I told you to get out,” Dio weakly fought back, not bothering to look up from the safety of his stuffed animal. 

“It’s just me,” Din softly replied as he slipped into the shared room. Dio lifted his head with some effort and his guard was dropped when he saw his partner. Tears threatened to fall again and he gently reached out for Din to take his hand. 

Din of course obliged, wrapping the smaller hand in his well worn palm. He could feel Dio shaking against him. Carefully while still holding his hand, Din arranged himself on the bed so Dio could press his face into the safety of his chest which is exactly what the shaking man did. Like a moth to a flame Dio curled himself into the comforting touch of his partner. Now that his safety net was there, Dio didn’t let any of his emotions back. 

Softly he sobbed against the material of Din’s shirt, turning it a darker shade from the tears. Din stayed silent letting his boyfriend roll with the emotions. Dio always kept his emotions so deeply locked up some times like this were important for his mental wellbeing. Din gently ran his fingers up and down the fabric of Dio’s shirt soothing him the best he could. 

It worked and soon Dio’s sobs turned to soft sniffles as Dio finally let all the feelings out. He didn’t stop his soothing even after Dio spoke. “I lost a fight.” 

Din glanced down at the vulnerable goth. “That sounds like it was scary.” 

“It was. I didn’t see ‘em coming. Didn’t even get time to prepare. It was an ambush which was some bullshit.” He cursed out though with less energy he usually gave when he was swearing. 

“Was it someone you knew?” Din asked softly, gently playing with a stay black hair. 

“No some fucking drone thinking I was trying to take their girl.” He snorted sadly. “Wouldn’t he be shocked when he finds outs I don’t fuck like that?” 

Dio was silent again before he continued. “I was just scared. I can hold my own in a fight, but…not when that happens.” He took a deep breath. “I have to keep my image in line or people will think I’m getting soft.” 

“What people?” Din asked

Dio gave a short shrug. “Just people.” 

“And what makes these people so important that you need to have this wall?” 

Dio was silent for a while and Din had to look down to make sure that he was still awake. “It’s always been this way and it always will.” 

“Only if you want it to be like that. You are a different person than when you first moved in. Remember how you were so scared to acknowledge your sexuality.” Din added gently, kissing Dio’s forehead. 

Dio groaned. “Fuck that was embaressing.” 

“But now you are openly out and enjoying your true self.” 

“What does that gotta do with anything?” Dio asked, glancing up at the older man’s face. 

“It’s up to you but maybe you don’t need that shield anymore.” Din offered softly. 

Dio thought about his words for a while. “Dieter is gonna have a fucking field day with this.” 

“I will deal with Dieter. You just be whatever you are most comfortable with.” 

Dio stayed silent mulling over Din’s opinions. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time for him to let down his wall sometimes. 

“If I let this go I’m not changing my style.” 

Din let a short chuckle out of his nose. “And I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

Dio smirked and kissed his cheek as they continued to cuddle for a bit longer. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey no fair! It’s my turn to pick the movie,” Dieter pouted as he tried to reach the remote Ezra was holding above his head. 

“You would be incorrect my gem, remember you selected that we observed the classic movie Grown Ups for last week's perusing,” Ezra countered keeping the remote out of his boyfriend’s reach. Everyone was gathered for the weekly movie night. The little groups had formed–Oberyn watching his two partners tussle for the remote with amusement while lounging on the shared recliner while Joel sat alone for now on the corner couch. 

“Ya but we were making out the whole time!” Dieter complained. 

“Dieter please you’ve had your choice,” Frankie sighs as he came back with a few bowls of popcorn. Dieter pouted and slumped back in the recliner. Ezra smiled and gave his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek as a consolation prize which seemed to pacify Dieter. He settled himself between Oberyn and Dieter. Frankie set the bowls of popcorn on the coffee table before sliding in next to Joel. 

Ezra scrolled through his options, picking “Charlie Countryman.” “Are we prepared? Wait, where's the goth and the silent one?” 

“We’re here,” Din replied as he and Dio wandered down the stairs. 

No one was bothered that the pair were late except for Dieter. He rolled his eyes and was about to complain when one look from Din’s stoic face shut him up (and made him a little horny.)

Dio took a deep breath and walked around the couch to Joel. The older man glanced up at him and Dio blushed as he sat down in Joe’s lap. Joel’s eyes widened only a smidgen, but his shock turned into a soft smile. His thick arms wrapped around the smaller boy's waist and pulled him in so he was flush with his chest. 

Frankie peeked over at Din who had joined him on the other side of the couch, surprised at the goth man’s outward display of affection. All Din gave in response was a wink. Frankie smiled in response, glad for whatever magic Din worked. 

Ezra peered around the room. “May I start the film?” 

“Go for it,” Dio added, taking a handful of popcorn, and Ezra pressed play on the remote.

Everyone took in the movie though once again the plot was lost to the making out. Movie nights were always better like this.

```````

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[disasterbijupiter]

~G Gundam but it's RimWorld~

okay, first off, here's the gang.

I aged them up a bit and made everyone single, bisexual and polyam... for maximum possibilities and ship anarchy xD

(Aged up 1-2 years because I figure this is one year after the gundam fight... because they deserve a break before crashlanding on a rimworld for goodness sake, lmao)

Also, don't ask why the only non-main character I made right off the bat was Nastasha... I wanted to have 8 pawns to make it even and she's hot and I wanted her there okay?? 😂

I forgot to take proper screenshots in super-early game, so this is them after developing and/or forgetting some skills a bit. Also, hence they're already looking dapper in their jackets and flak vests and whatnot:

So um... about Rain's last name �� Rain and Allenby almost immediately started dating and then got married. So did Nastasha and Argo.

... I did nothing to set this up. They did this on their own.

Rain declared she was changing her last name to Beardsley, which... solid choice honestly.

Alright, let's continue:

I was torn on Domon's childhood backstory (they're irrelevant in this playthrough anyway, but I thought I'd pick the ones I liked best lol...).

So anyways, I thought you should know I was going to go back and change it from "Boy scout" to "Jungle kid," which was also hilarious and excellent for Domon. But then I forgot xD

Yes, okay, I decided the most defining feature of George's hair was the front swoosh... so I may have sacrificed the rest of his hair in order to have that be present. Rimworld has a serious lack of George de Sand hair.

Also, I couldn't think of that many Rimworld traits that fit George, sorry xD

Nastasha, on the other hand... I gave her all the traits. xD There were just so many that were good for her.

Also, yes I did give George and Sai Saici female heads in character creator so they can have their eyeliner. What about it

[unstablefragments2]

via hidden.ny

[mayakern]

your skirts make me feel like singing that song from West Side Story where it's all "I feel pretty and witty and ✨gay✨" and then she swooshes around in a pretty dress and starts a gang war

fjhsdfjhdj hell yeah

[twola]

Devil's Backbone : Limpany III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Limpany III: Cleanse the Shallow Root

“You best know better than to quarrel with Leviticus Cornwall.”

CW:  racism, violence, injuries, death. you know, the normal RDR stuff.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

“If that horse snaps at me one more time , it’s off to the glue factory with it. You hear me, Mister Shaw?”

Amos stands outside the enclosure with his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. His hat, covered in mud, lies within the fence, perilously close to a set of hooves that move with a sense of irritation.

“Amos, he’s not an ass to anyone not deservin’. Maybe you should be nicer to him and he won’t bite at you.” Frederick rolled his eyes, leaning on the fence next to the older man. 

The ranch hand huffs. “Now that’s a lie if there ever was one. That horse is a nasty ol’ bastard even to your wife, and she ain’t got a mean bone in her body.” The horse in question plods closer to the two men; a tall, sooty Warmblood. Its dark tail swooshes at the flies around the paddock. 

Frederick grins, raising his hand toward the horse, who edges closer to him. “C’mere,  Aethon. You’re not that bad.”  The horse sidles up to Frederick, allowing him to pat down his nose. Frederick looks over to Amos with a boyish grin as he runs his other hand through the horse’s dark mane, to prove a point, flaunt manhood, or maybe both.

“Namin’ that horse after a god sure as hell gave it a complex.” Amos waves his hand in dismissal, heaving himself over the fence and grabbing his hat while Aethon was distracted. He hurries and climbs over the fence again, wary of the large workhorse. The older man slaps his hat against his thigh a few times to loosen the dirt from it.

“Amos, you aren’t heading out anytime soon, are you?”

“Nah, I figure we’re good on supplies, there’s plenty of work to do around here.”

Frederick nods. “Good. I… I think it’ll be good for Ruth. For people to be here in town for a minute.”

Amos doesn’t meet the younger man’s gaze. He grunts in agreement, staring down at the ground. Frederick pats the horse’s head one last time before sighing and stepping away from the paddock. The ranch hand places his hat back on his head and his hands rest on his belt. “ ‘M sorry, bout what happened, Mister Shaw.”

Frederick grimaces, looking at the ground as well. He kicks at a stone beneath his boot. He reaches toward a brown leather Stetson hat slung over a fencepost. Between his fingers, the worn leather cracks and bends slightly before he places it on his head. 

An awkward silence falls upon the two of them, punctuated by the sound of the Warmblood’s hooves scraping the ground, its heavy breathing through flared nostrils.

“Y’all look like you’re hardly working out here. Running out of things to do?”

The men both look up to find you standing at the back door, hands crossed over your chest. You’re clad in a brown velvet vest over a cream-colored blouse, belted over a mauve skirt. Your blonde hair is gathered at the nape of your neck in a black threaded snood, pinned behind your ears. Quirking an eyebrow, you tap your foot in mock frustration. “I know that horse is difficult, but it doesn’t take an hour to feed him. You two are just gossiping out here.”

“Missus Shaw, by the angels! Did you see the sign? I got it put up out by the road.”

You roll your eyes, strolling over to the fence where the two men were loitering.  “C’mon, the both of you. One of the gents who just stopped in the saloon said he passed a wagon train with several workers heading this way. They may be here by supper. We’re gonna need everyone in the saloon.”

Amos tips his hat, “Yes ma’am,” he looks at Frederick, “You, uh, heard the boss, sir.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. Fumbling with it, he strides off, around the paddock toward the front of the cabin toward the street.

“I meant you too, Mister Shaw.” 

A smirk crosses his features. He didn’t shave this morning, a slight shadow of stubble adorns his jaw. You can’t help but smile back, this husband of yours still makes your heart flip flop in your chest like the day you first saw him, years ago.

“On my way, Missus Shaw.”

He shuffles by you, grabbing your waist and pulling you to him with a laugh. He slots his lips against yours in a searing kiss before pulling back, squeezing your hip as he goes to follow Amos.  For a few moments, you watch him, before shaking your head slightly and smoothing your skirts down. You pull at your brown velvet vest, smoothing a crease that appeared over the flare of your waist. 

The horse in the paddock notices you, moving slowly toward your side of the enclosure.

“Today the day you’re gonna be nice to me, Aethon?” You ask, nervously raising your hand to Aethon’s head to pat it. The huge horse must notice your nervousness and agitation, because he quickly draws his head back, flaring his nostrils before nipping at your hand with his teeth. You gasp and pull your hand back just in time to avoid getting bitten.

“Nope, not today, you damned horse.” You retort at the huge beast, cradling your hand that very closely escaped a grizzly fate. A fading pink scar in the webbing of your hand was a permanent reminder of Aethon’s temper and how hard he could bite.

A shout pierces the air of the late afternoon, and you glance over toward the saloon across the way. More travelers seem to be stopping in Limpany daily, which leaves the saloon and store busier than ever. Soon enough, you’ll be able to hire more than just Ulysses and Amos to help. Hire them some help.

Frederick’s inheritance covered most of the costs of building the saloon and store, and the few small cabins dotting the hillside. Somehow, Stockdale was able to convince the state of New Hanover to fund the building of a Sheriff’s Office and the stone jail built into the sloping cliff.  Having seen how he operates, you're sure that Hilliard Stockdale knows the right people to ask favors of or whose pockets to grease with future investments.

You lean against the fencepost, watching Aethon pace around the enclosure, uninterested in you. Certainly, if someone had told you a year and a half ago you were building a town in the farthest reaches of New Hanover, you would have laughed.  

Sighing, you gather your skirts and walk across the muddy path around your cabin, heading to the lane that divides Limpany, and to the saloon where a couple of travelers have ridden up to. Glancing toward the river, you pause, before moving quickly toward the entrance to the little hamlet, toward the well-worn road on the banks of the Dakota. The afternoon sun glinted on the river’s waters, gently flowing down toward Flat Iron Lake. Covering your eyes from the light, your peer southward, where the black steel of Bard’s Crossing lies in the distance, connecting New Hanover to West Elizabeth.

Turning northward again, you stride through the grass, under the large oak tree. You move around two stakes in the ground, supporting a wooden panel at shoulder height. You can’t help the quirked smile that graces your face, as you take in the view. 

WELCOME TO LIMPANY

Hands on your hips, you breathe in deeply through your nose, sighing contentedly. Behind the sign you painted lies your life, the settlement that you now call home. After several years of roaming, across deserts and mountains and prairies, you finally settled here, at the bend of the Dakota, building a town from the ground up, building the dreams Frederick had breathed life into those years ago.

—

The crash of glass breaking on the wooden floor was really nothing new, not in a saloon, not where ranch hands and oil riggers; cattlemen, and travelers gather. Not where men live rough lives on the unforgiving land. Not here, not in Limpany.

This, however, was a bit much, even for Ulysses. And that was coming from years working in bars and saloons, from Saint Denis to Blackwater.

“Alright, that’s enough. You two best leave. You’re done here.” He angrily glares at the two cattlemen who had taken to laying themselves across the bar, knocking over their heavily used glasses, and smashing them to pieces on the floor. One of them sits up, swaying unsteadily. “Y- y’ don’t tell me how to l-live, ya…”

He falls off the stool to the ground, limbs splaying every which way while his partner howls in laughter from the bar. Ulysses groans, rolling up his sleeves, brushing his hands off on his apron before rounding the bar. He grabs the man from the floor, dragging him by the collar. “Out, now, ya drunk.”

The man pushes away from him, stumbling several steps into a table. He grunts in a drunken huff, turning back to Ulysses. “Get off, don’t touch me, you dirty negro!”

Ulysses scowls, his hands coming to the drunken man’s collar again, pulling him from his reclined position on the table, “I told you twice, get the hell out of here. Don’t make me drag you out to the shit-covered field you came from.”

The compatriot of the man Ulysses was currently dragging off the table stood from his stool, knocking it over while bellowing at the scene drunkenly. He stumbles toward the two, grabbing Ulysses’ shoulder and trying to pull him off of the other man. Ulysses swings back against the second drunk, pushing the first man to the ground. “God damnit, you sons of bitches!” 

“Now that’s enough!” A voice bellows from the doorway, where Sheriff Stockdale strides in, drawn by the commotion and breaking glass that could be heard from outside.  The portly lawman rushes forward, grabbing the man struggling with the barkeep by the collar and yanking him to the floor. Ulysses grunts in appreciation, turning back to the first ranch hand, who was crawling along the floor trying not to be seen. He was doing a poor job of it.

“Ulysses,” Stockdale shouts over his shoulder, “these men are disturbin’ the peace. I’m placin’ them under arrest, will ya help me escort them over to the holdin’ cells?”

The barkeep smirks as he leans over the man on the floor, yanking him up by the collar and pulling him toward the door of the saloon. “Sure, sir, let’s take a walk.”

Stockdale grunts, heaving the drunk to the right out the swinging door, and the man yelps and rolls into the street, groaning in the mud as the sheriff stalks out of the saloon and down the two stairs leading to the lane. Ulysses follows, dragging the second man out with his hands under his shoulders, finally, the man had stopped struggling.

This is the scene you come across as you pace the lane from your cabin toward the front door of McCluskey’s Saloon, “Sheriff?”

Stockdale looks up from the man suspended underneath his boot.  “Missus Shaw, mind you these gentlemen who are gonna spend the night sleepin’ off their rudeness.”

You roll your eyes, giving Stockdale and Ulysses a wide berth as they gathered the two men as best they could to drag them toward the small jail built into the hill. “You boys need help?”

Ulysses grins, looking up from the ground where one of the men lies. “No ma’am, but we just shoulda had you handle them in the first place, they’d run toward the hills before dealin’ with you.”

He stoops down on one knee, grabbing the drunk by the waist and heaving him over his shoulder. The inebriated ranch hand glances up at you, barely making eye contact before laughing, suspended in midair.

“Oh, s-this the town whore? H-How much to warm my bedroll tonight?”

The sheriff backhands the man across the face, knocking him silent. “Ain’t no one talk about Missus Shaw like that, you damned louse,” Stockdale shunts the second man onto his shoulder, and grasps the clinking skeleton keys on his belt, “C’mon, Ulysses, no more disturbin’ the peace from these sorry sons-of-bitches.” He tips his hat to you, “Ma’am,” and manhandles the other drunk behind Ulysses, dragging him in the mud toward the small stone jail at the edge of the hill.

“Startin’ early, I see.” 

You place your hands on your hips, turning your head back toward the saloon. Amos stands at the door, a lit cigarette between his lips. You shake your head, “Let’s hope that wagon train they told us about is a bit less rowdy.”

Amos grunts in agreement, dropping the cigarette to the floor and crunching it under his boot. 

—

“Christ, did’ya buy enough potatoes?” 

Ulysses wipes his hand down his face in exasperation, “That’s the last time you let Amos go on a supply run by hisself, Mister Shaw. The fool don’t know anything bout meal that don’t come out of a can!”

A giggle escapes before you can slap a hand over your mouth. Ulysses and Frederick, on either side of the large table in the back room of the saloon turn to you.

Your husband glares, “I don’t know why you’re laughing, dear, you’re the one who's gonna have to peel all these up.”

“Well then, I best be gettin’ to work, and hope that this wagon train is hungry.” You reply cheekily, reaching for the paring knife on the table and a potato from the heaping pile spilled out between the men.

Ulysses turns and waves his hand backward in dismissal. He grabs a bottle of whiskey from a shelf and moves back to the saloon floor. “Potato soup with a side of potatoes, gonna be a real hit around here.”

Frederick shakes his head, sighing before rubbing at his temple with one hand.

“Oh come on, it’s all in a little fun. I’ll make sure I go with Amos next time he goes to Valentine. I still haven’t been up there.” You laugh, trying to assuage your husband’s stress.

He cracks a smile over thin lips. “Amos could use some guidance …- ”

“Amos could use some babysitting …” you interject, pointing the knife’s edge at him in jest for a second before you return to peeling a potato.

Frederick snorts, bemused. “You are the wisest woman on the face of the earth, Missus Shaw.”

You smirk back at him, one eyebrow raised, “Course I am, someone has to run this town.”

“Hey, Mister Shaw! Wagon train’s here!” Ulysses yells from the front, “Amos, get your ass back there and help Missus Shaw with the cookin!”

“Shit,” Frederick mutters, pulling a pocketwatch from his vest, “sun’ll be down shortly too. Didn’t expect them this quick.”

You toss the peeled potato into a bucket of water, reaching for another one. “It’s fine. Give the boys a drink and we’ll have a pot of soup ready within the hour. It cooks fast. Get Amos back in here peelin’ spuds and I can get it out even quicker.”

Frederick nods, moving toward the door, “Amos, c’mon and help Ruth out!”

You smile to yourself, peeling the brown skin from the potato with the knife in your hand. It falls to the table in neat ribbons. By the time you have peeled your fourth potato and thrown it into the bucket, you turn toward the door, wondering where your help is. You sigh, placing the knife on the table and wiping your hands off on the apron tied at your waist.

Pushing through the door, you’re about to give Amos a piece of your mind until you enter the main room of the saloon. From behind the bar, you see that a large group of men have entered, spreading throughout the room, sitting at various tables, at the bar, and mulling about. 

One in particular stands in front of your husband. Frederick’s arms are crossed over his chest, which usually isn’t good. You catch Ulysses’s eye, who warily glances from you back to the large man in front of your husband.

“You Frederick Shaw?” The leader, a grizzled-looking man with black stains on his work jeans, eyed Frederick up and down.

“Yeah, how can I help you?” Frederick replies with a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Misters Spence and Cornwall urge ya to reconsider their offer there, Mister Shaw.” The man drawls, hands resting on his belt, a holstered revolver barely in view under his leather jacket.

Frederick’s eyes narrow. “Misters Spence and Cornwall know my answer. And they know they can’t do anything legally to change my mind or take my land.”

The man in front of him snorts, running his hand through his scruffy beard. “Now, ya see here, Mister Shaw, that’s the wrong answer .” He nods to another man over his shoulder, a large brute of an oilman, with hard eyes and hands permanently stained black, “Hartley.”

The man named Hartley moved forward, a dark scowl on his face. He slams his palms on a circular table in the center of the room, grasping it, and throwing it over. Glass crashes and breaks on the floor as the tabletop splinters.

“Gents, I think Mister Shaw here needs come convincin’.” The leader laughs, as a few men fan out and start smashing chairs, overturning tables, and throwing glass against the wall and floors.

“That’s enough!” A voice booms from the swinging door.

Hilliard Stockdale stands in the doorway of the saloon, his recently polished badge bright on his chest. “By authority of the State of New Hanover, I order you to stop,” he drawls in a low, cold voice.

The men stop their destruction, eyes on the sheriff. The leader moseys, completely unconcerned, toward the middle-aged lawman.

Stockdale places his hand on his holstered revolver. “Now, you boys best be leavin’.”

“And you best know better than to quarrel with Mister Cornwall.”

The deafening roar of a gunshot pierces the air.  Within the confines of the saloon, it echoes loudly. Your hands move to cover your ears instantly as you scream, unable to silence yourself as the scene unfurls into chaos. The sheriff coughs, his hand slowly moving to his chest. He touched his sternum, pulling his hand back, covered in blood. He coughs again, blood sputtering from between his lips. Hilliard Stockdale’s eyes roll back as he falls to the floor. The world seems to move in slow motion.

You scream again, your hands trailing from your ears to your cheeks, your eyes wide with horror from your vantage point behind the bar.

You’re tackled to the floor, dragged below the bartop, and shoved down, a hand on the back of your head. “Ruth, c’mon, come with me!” A harsh whisper in your ear. You turn your head slightly from the floor, seeing Ulysses hovering over you, his hand moving from the back of your head to between your shoulders, grabbing at the back of your shirt and pulling you toward the door to the back room. He lets go once you raise yourself to your hands and knees. You crawl toward the back room, remaining crouched to the ground until you reach the table you had just been working at. Pulling yourself up, you gasp, your heart racing.

“Y’alright? Miss Ruth?” Ulysses places one hand on your shoulder and the other on the small of your back. 

You nod, placing both of your hands on the table trying to catch your breath. Ulysses nods, grabbing a large butcher’s knife from the table, “You stay back here, Missus Shaw,” he says urgently as he moves back toward the floor of the saloon.

Glass breaking and wood smashing reverberated from the main room as you try to catch your breath, you slowly move around the table to face the door, grabbing at another knife as you hear men shout and raised voices from the other room.

The door bursts open and you hold the knife ahead of you, knowing that you would have to claw your way out of this situation.

“Ruth!” Frederick moves around the table as you lower the knife. His temple trickled blood as he grabbed a long fire iron from along the side of the wall. 

“What’s happening? Who are those men?” You yell, wide-eyed while still grasping the butcher’s knife.

“Ruth, get in the house and lock the door. There’s a rifle behind the wardrobe in the bedroom. Go now. ” Frederick orders, ushering you out the back door of the saloon. 

“But-!”

“ Now , Ruth, I mean it.”

“Frederick-”

 “ Calluna .”

You stop, knowing that this fight is over. Your nose crinkles as your eyes water. “Be careful.”

“I will.” Frederick grabs you, kissing your forehead, before pushing you out the door. 

You gather your skirts and run behind Amos and Ulysses’ cabin, hoping that the men outside the saloon don’t see you dart across the lane. You edge closer to the stone structure of the jail, hiding behind it. Ducking around the corner, you look at the group of men perched outside the saloon. There had to be fifteen of them, surrounding a wagon loaded with what looked like barrels. You just had to make it around the Sheriff’s office before you could sneak into your house.

Breathing heavily, you run towards the wooden building, hiding behind it. You hear a man inside, furniture moving, glass smashing. It's obvious that he’s looting the office. What does he have to fear now? Sheriff Stockdale lies still on the saloon floor, bleeding out into a puddle.

From the back of the sheriff’s office, you steal the last few meters to your cabin, wrenching open the back door and locking it. You rush to the front window, falling to your knees to hide yourself as much as possible and still have a vantage across the lane to the saloon.

There have to be fifteen men, several of them standing on the saloon’s porch, mulling about. You look at their wagons further down the lane, closer to the riverbank. Three wagons were full of what looked like barrels, painted blue. Two men pull a barrel out from the wagon, walking it together back toward the saloon and the men’s cabin.

They set it down against the wall of Amos’ cabin, one man brushing the other one back as he pulls a matchbook from his jacket. He kicks the bottom of the barrel before taking several steps back. Lighting the match, he flicks it toward the barrel, which ignites with a burst of flame, and the cabin’s wooden frame catches alight. You gasp, dread pooling in your stomach as you watch several of the men unloading the blue barrels from the wagons, walking them toward different buildings.

You squint to look clearer at a barrel placed on the saloon’s porch, and can barely make out the name CORNWALL stamped on the wood. This wasn't happening. You had heard that Leviticus Cornwall was pushy, but this? Arson, murder?

Where was Frederick? Amos? Ulysses? Were they all still in the saloon?

Another barrel is lit, and you can see out the edge of the window that the Sheriff’s office next to your cabin is ablaze.

Shouts bring your gaze back to the saloon, where the door bursts open and two men drag Ulysses out, throwing him to the ground. He struggles to get up, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, as one of the men kicks him back into the mud, laughing.

One of the men pulls Ulysses up by the collar with one hand, the other one unholstering the revolver from his belt.

Again, the world seems like it moves in slow motion as the man points his revolver at Ulysses’ head and pulls the trigger.

You barely cover your mouth as you scream. Ulysses’s body hits the ground, lifeless.

There’s little time to mourn, as one of the rough men outside the door hears the noise through the window, making unfortunate eye contact with you before you duck underneath the window frame, your hand covering your mouth as you edge on hyperventilating.

“Why Miss, don’t you want to let me in?” The man yells, pulling hard on the locked door, “Darlin’, please!”

You hear laughter as you rush away from the front door and into the bedroom, throwing the door closed behind you. Rounding around the room, you push hard against the wardrobe in the corner of your room, pulling out a rifle from behind it. Glass breaks in the background.

You jerk back the bolt of the rifle as you raise it toward the door, cursing yourself for all the times Amos offered to show you how to shoot and you brushed him off. Expecting the door to be broken down, you aim the rifle at the door, squinting with one eye, ready to shoot whoever came in. You didn’t expect the glass to break on your side. You scream, nearly dropping the rifle, and throwing yourself to the floor. The bedroom window glass has been broken out by a flying object.

You look along the floor and curse, realizing that the window had been broken out by a bottle of whiskey wrapped with a burning rag, flaming across the floor. The rug along the floor immediately caught fire, and you jump to your feet, grasping the rifle and running toward the bedroom door back to the main area of the cabin. 

The door is hot, which you painfully learn by grabbing the metal handle. You yell, stumbling back, cradling your hand as you drop the rifle to the floor. Black smoke starts to creep under the door, along with the burning rug on the other side of the bed, the room begins to fill with smoke as the fire spreads quickly. You back into the far corner, coughing as you slide to the floor as the flames grow.

The heat, blazing, suffocating, choking  - you’re curled up in that corner of the room, shielding your face from the fire that surrounds you. It is deafening, the sound of the wooden cabin alight. You cough against the thick and hazy smoke, unable to see, unable to breathe, unable to escape. What used to be a post of your bed falls a few feet in front of you, exploding into sparks as you scream, trying to pedal yourself back against the wall.

“Frederick!” You yell again, hoarse, praying that your husband could hear you, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew neither he nor anyone else could. You throw yourself to your stomach, pulling yourself on your elbows against the wall, you had to get out .

A low-pitched groan of breaking wood was the only warning you received as one of the rafter beams collapsed to the floor. You were barely able to cover your head before the piece of the beam crashed down, knocking the wind from your lungs as it pinned your upper body to the ground. You scream, a hoarse, cursed sound, as you try to pull yourself out from underneath it, for not only was it trapping you, but embers chipped away at the wood, so hot against your shoulder.

It was too much. The heat, the smoke, the pain, the violence. This was it, this was where you were going to die, burned to death in the house you built, as the town of your design burned along with you. Your eyesight starts to fade in and out as you cough, trying to dislodge yourself again, in vain. Your shoulder hurts so much, it's so hot, why won’t it stop ? Above the roar of the fire, the groan of wood breaking, the sounds of dreams dying, you swear you could hear your name.

“Ruth!”

It must be a dream, you must be dying. The weight lifting from across your body must be the sweet release from these earthly bounds.

“Ruth! Ruth, come on, say something.”

It was Frederick, pulling, yanking, grasping at you.  Blood cakes the side of his face. You feel, rather than hear, the scream that escapes your lips as your husband grasps your shoulder to pull you from under the charred piece of wood.  His hand pulls away quickly, but you feel his arms wrap around your ribcage under your arm, he throws that arm across his shoulder. He pulls you up, attempting to walk you along the wall. 

You stumble, and Frederick winds his hands around your waist and he heaves you over his shoulder, you moan in pain as he moves quickly through the remains of the house, kicking the back door open and stumbling to the rear yard, coughing as he sinks to one knee to let you down from his shoulder. Another set of hands grabs you, pulling you as you trip and stumble on unsteady feet.

You hear Aethon scream in the background, the horse’s hooves hitting the ground hard in agitation.

“Darlin’, Ruth, come on, up you go.”

“A-Amos?”

You’re heaved up, hands pushing and pulling as you groan in pain, barely able to keep your eyes open. You’re barely able to stay upright, tipping backward.

“Ruth, love, stay with me.” 

Frederick’s voice is soft in your ear, and you are jostled forward again, but you feel his arm wrap around you as he pulls you back, against him. 

You’re atop the damned horse, and with a sudden burst of energy, you jerk back to awareness. Frederick is in the saddle behind you, Amos tries to steady and calm Aethon as the horse stomps angrily. You gaze past the paddock, where smoke and flame reflect as far as you can see. Your cabin, the store, the sheriff’s office. The saloon. All of Limpany burns before you.

“Go, Mister Shaw, I’ll be right behind you,” Amos yells, backing away from Aethon and moving toward his own horse across the paddock.

A gunshot pierces the night and Aethon rears with a scream. You groan as Frederick pulls hard on the reins, his arm clenching you hard to him as he tries to keep you both from tumbling off the large work horse. Frederick curses loudly, digging his spurs into Aethon’s sides and pushing the horse to move, breaking through the gate of the paddock and into a gallop toward the road on the riverbank.

“Amos…” You trail off into a moan, your hands trying to hold onto Aethon’s mane to steady yourself. Fortunately, Frederick’s hold on you is steady and strong.

"Amos is dead, Ruth.” He grits out, digging his spurs into Aethon again, pushing him faster, harder. A pained sound escapes you, and every jolt of the horse’s gait goes right to your shoulder, bursting in pain, pain, pain.

Your eyes roll back- Surely, this must be a nightmare. Surely, this must be a terrible dream. One you’ll wake from and Limpany will be as it was this morning, bright and full of the promise of the future. 

“Ruth-!”

Unconsciousness steals you like a thief in the night.

[weekend-whip]

What phone cases do they have? Backgrounds? Fancy widgets/little digital pets on the black bar at the top of apple phones?

was gonna draw these but i don't have the patience nor time lol

And I dunno nothing bout no widgets or digital pets, but everyone's got a Borg phone, and if anyone had anything wacky it would be Miranda (and her digital pet would be a dog) or Olivia (with a shark)

Kai: His phone case is a super-cheap plastic one that's just solid red, but he decorates it with fire stickers to "spice it up". Never drops his phone cuz he's always paranoid vigilant about where it is. Home screen is a pic of himself; lock screen is a photo of the main gang just hanging out <3

Jay: Black heavy-duty case with glow-in-the-dark blue lightning bolts, custom made. Very often drops his phone—or it gets knocked off of him—hence the extra padding. Has only broken his screen once. Home screen is a pic of Nya; lock screen...is also Nya.

Cole: Fancy black heavy-duty case, with the rubber on the corners for extra cushion. Swaps between the rainbow-rimmed one he originally had and a glow-in-the-dark lava one Jay made for him, depending on their current endeavors. Lock screen is a pic of his mom; home screen is his current crush.

Zane: Plain white case with a single black bird (falcon) design. Has ironically dropped his phone more than anyone else; only cracked the screen twice (in which Pixal was quick to fix it). Doesn't like photos as a background, as he finds them too distracting, but does eventually change the home screen to a solid icy blue and the lock screen to purple.

Nya: Has one of those cases filled with liquid and glitter that swooshes around when you tilt it. The phone itself is gray, the case itself is clear, but the liquid + decorations are various shades of blue. Has a bad habit of throwing her phone when upset (but eventually has Lloyd to fix it). Lock screen is a scenic beach photo with a dolphin; home screen is a silly photo of Jay.

Lloyd: Doesn't want to bother with a case, since he could just fix any dings on the spot, but eventually gets a cheap one like Kai. Has two: one solid green + trimmed in gold, one black and covered in Starfarer stickers. Swaps them out as needed like Cole. Puts some of those phone charms on the Starfarer case. Both screen backgrounds are photos of the main gang—lock screen is casual wear, home screen is ninja wear (with masks on, of course).

Jesse: Very heavy-duty light pink case with extra padding, due to how accident-prone he is, and covered in dense silver glitter. Doesn't even have to drop his phone to wind up with a cracked screen somehow—but they're usually fixed by Jay or Lloyd. Lock screen is of him and Miranda performing; home screen is a marigold flower.

Antonia: Plain orange case with phone charms of various things that seem to change by the day. Her phone has a strange habit of only breaking during a crisis. Lock screen is of all the student council members; home screen is of her, Jesse, and Harumi (until it is replaced to be her, Jesse, Mira, and Nelson).

Harumi: When she does eventually get a phone, her case varies by whichever "phase" she's in—first one is green and white with spider lilies, second one is black and navy trimmed in silver, third one is pink and purple marble. Her backgrounds are the Shark Army symbol and/or Garmadon's symbol off and on; when they're neither, the backgrounds are just pure black. Maybe a pattern if she's feeling daring.

Olivia: Cheap case, deep blue with a mermaid scale design. Waterproof. Screen is cracked to high heaven but somehow still works; too lazy to fix it. Lock screen is a majestic shark; home screen is her and Nya back when they first met (until it isn't). Lock screen may also sometimes be of any individual she's currently got her eye on, however.

Miranda: Her phone case has one of those "Game Boy" designs in bright blue (that you can play games on); her tablet case is black with neon stripes that change color (which she programmed to stay pink and blue). Drops things often, especially when one-handed, but her stuff is so sturdy that you'd never know. For both items, home screen is a wallpaper of the Borg Tech logo; lock screen is the same picture as Jesse's.

Pixal: Doesn't even need a phone, as all her communication is near-exclusively through the communicators, but is given one due to her father's insistance. The case starts just solid purple, but she feels a little plain with it and winds up bedazzling it. Home screen is a huge group pic; lock screen is of her and Zane.

Skylor: Has one of those cases that changes color with heat, and also works like a mood ring. Is not actually all that phone savvy; has to work up to it. Lock screen is a pic from a girls' night out; home screen is a candid of a very flustered and blushing Kai.

[hamilstuck99]

Hello, Me

Characters: Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne - NO SHIPPING, ALL PLATONIC

Word count: 1,170 words

Warnings: Mention of death(it’s jason. of course.), mention of injuries(not described in detail), Jason has a panic attack but isn’t super descriptive, Jason just is so emotionally hurt, I decided to keep the thing where Bruce takes Jason to his death site(it was good angst.), characters may be ooc(im kinda rusty), angst

I can’t think of anything else, lmk if i should tag anything or add it to warnings :)

“Hello safehouse,” he started. “Hello bed,” he walked forward. “Hello pillow,” he plopped down to sit. “... Hello me,” he said, finishing his ritual. Looking up, he could see a ghost version of his 15 year old self. From when he died. Whenever he came back from a mission, he always did this, almost to make sure he was there, that he was real. He let out a sigh and the vision of his beaten, young self disappeared.

He could hear him though, not a full voice, but present enough for him to say, “Maybe we were better off dead.”

Jason gave a grim chuckle in response and said, “Yeah, maybe.” His fifteen year old self was gone for now. He was hunched over, looking down at his helmet in his hands, the white lenses staring back at him. He could see his reflection with a red tint. His white trauma streak, the scars littering his face, his once blue, but now green eyes. He hated it. He looked so different compared to how he looked before. He wasn’t even sure he was who he wanted to be, but Gotham got used to Red Hood. He’d do practically anything for this city. It wasn’t the best, but it was his home, where he was molded into a street kid who stole bread from the nearest bakery to being adopted by the richest man in Gotham and becoming Robin, while still stopping by Ms. Hernandez’s house from time to time for homemade tamales and pollo guisado. He was a good kid. Then he died, came back, and got involved in gang wars, weapon dealing, and trying to kill the Bats. As much as he hated to admit it, his family.

“What a fucking second life,” he said sighing. It was raining, the sound echoing through the safehouse. He could feel a presence on the ceiling. “Cass, I know you’re there. Don’t have to hide.” He heard the swoosh of her cape as she landed and walked towards her.

She looked him up and down. “You’re not well.”

“Cass I’m fine. No injuries, I promise. At least, no new ones,” he said, mumbling the last part.

“Not body,” she responded, poking his forehead, “Mind.” She saw him about to speak and gave him a quick and simple “no.”

He sighed as his sister sat down on a chair. “Listen, I know you guys are trying to watch out for me but I’m fine. I promise.” He sat down in the chair across from her, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I’m taking my meds and eating regularly. You don’t need to worry. It’s just that sometimes my brain happens and I can’t help it.”

They stayed silent for a bit, Jason now fidgeting a little under Cass’s intense stare. Cass finally broke the silence saying, “Idiot. You are never alone. Family is here to help you always.” Then she gave him a small envelope and left his safehouse.

He took in his sister’s words. Never alone. It was easier to be alone, that’s for sure. Not like they would let him, but it was easier. Less pain for others if he could distance himself. He couldn’t though. Was he selfish for that? Maybe. He didn’t notice he was crying until he felt warm tears fall on his folded hands. He quickly wiped them away and got up to make a meal. He put the letter to the side and started to cook.

The Gotham rain continued to pound the roof of his safe house. He washed up after patrol, then laid down on his bed. He had to wear a sweatshirt and pajama pants that night. He couldn’t stand being able to look at his scars. His eyes were glowing green as he stared at the ceiling in the dark, it was another side effect of being put in the Lazarus Pit. In the back of his mind he could hear his 15 year old self again. He was whispering, “We were supposed to stay dead.” Jason shut his eyes.

The voice was louder now, a normal speaking voice. “You aren’t supposed to be here.” Jason covered his ears.

The voice, he wasn’t sure who it was anymore, grew louder. It screamed at him, “I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.” He curled up into himself, shaking. He slowly opened his eyes.

All he could do was name everything he could physically sense. He kept on going until he could ground himself. The voice was gone by the end of it.

There was a knock at the door. He picked up one of his guns and walked towards it.

“Jason,” a deep voice said, “It’s me.”

Bruce. It was Bruce. Jason stood at the other side of the closed door, he didn’t really want to see anyone. Especially not Bruce. Not right now. He opened it anyway. He moved to the side letting Bruce in.

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” Bruce said as he closed his umbrella. Most people would’ve heard it as monotonous, but Jason knew. It was laced with the slightest bit of worry.

“It’s dead.”

“It’s been hours.”

“Oh yeah? I haven’t noticed,” Jason scoffed.

“We’ve been trying to contact you.”

“Cass dropped by a few hours ago. I’m assuming you’ve been trying to ask me about whatever this letter is about?” He asked, picking up the neatly sealed envelope.

“It’s… an invitation,” Bruce responded.

“For what? And it better not be a fucking gala, old man. People still think I’m…” he trailed off. Normally he could say it. Death, dead, died, that whole thing. Not today though, and Bruce recognized it.

“It’s not a gala. A family vacation.” Jason stared at Bruce with his eyebrows knitted. Bruce was a normally stoic man, but he could see how he was bracing himself for whatever negative reaction that could come his way. It came with knowing the man for years, whether he liked it or not.

“Is that code for something? Maybe another fun little field trip like when you took me to the place I fucking died?” Jason asked bitterly, “Which soldier died this time?” Bruce flinched a little, his lips pressing together and shoulders tensing.

“No. It’s an actual trip,” Bruce responded.

“The catch is…?”

“It is an actual trip. For the most part,” he said, pausing. He hesitated before saying, “We also have to gather intel on someone there. There’s an event we have been invited to, and luckily, our target is there.”

Jason just stared at him. Not realizing his face was betraying him. Not realizing the slight snarl forming on his lips. Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but Jason cut him off. “You know what? Fine. I’ll join this goddamn mission. What-fucking-ever, old man,” Jason said walking to the door, “Now, leave.”

Bruce’s face contorted into a look of worry, eyes stuck on Jason; how he hated it. “Jaylad, it’s not—“

“Go.”

Bruce lowered his gaze and walked out into the rain.

A/n: hiiiiiii long time no see :) I havent published anything in a long time and it’ll probably stay that way. I started this in like. 2021 i think. reworked a few things but not a lot, mainly focused on finishing it lol. i hope that if anyone sees this you enjoyed :) i really am very active but i seldom post any of my writing bc like. i barely finish anything lololol aha writing. gotta say im decently proud of this one. please do not follow me for my writing the last time i posted any of my fics was almost two years ago im just under it by a little over a week

[lovedlovingly]

literally ppl saying I'm in the wrong for feeling anxious about being outside my apartment or going to bed when there's constant shootings and we've had three bombs go off in my town just this year killing civilians in their sleep, when I have to walk past two of the sites to get groceries

going home today and being like "woah :-) I didn't even feel like I was gonna be shot in the back today" (not that I think I'd be interesting enough for the gangs to see me as a target lol) only to come home to news where while I was out someone got murdered in centrum and that the police cars I saw swooshing past were most likely on their way for that :-) but nah. I'm the one being diagnosed with 21st century hysteria