#underground design services

[kilduffunderground]

Unleashing The Potential Of Underground Design Services

As urban environments expand and grow denser, architects, city planners, and engineers are increasingly looking downward for innovative solutions. Underground Design Services are at the forefront of this transformative shift, harnessing the potential of the subsurface to tackle a myriad of challenges. This emerging sector provides immense value, from maximizing spatial efficiency to minimizing environmental impact.

Uncovering the Value of Subsurface Real Estate

The prospect of expanding beneath the surface is becoming more feasible and attractive, thanks to advancements in technology and design. Underground design services are enabling societies to utilize subsurface real estate in creative, functional, and sustainable ways.

These services extend beyond traditional tunneling or mining, incorporating advanced architectural design, structural engineering, geotechnical assessment, and urban planning. This multidisciplinary approach ensures that underground spaces are not just viable, but also safe, comfortable, and aesthetically pleasing.

The Role of Innovation and Technology

The emergence of sophisticated software tools and engineering methods is pivotal in the evolution of underground design services. Cutting-edge technologies such as BIM (Building Information Modeling), 3D scanning, and virtual reality are used to simulate and analyze complex underground structures, ensuring optimal space utilization and safety.

Digital mapping and geotechnical data provide invaluable insights into the subsurface conditions, helping designers to avoid potential risks and understand the environmental implications of their projects. Moreover, innovative construction methods, such as robotic tunneling, are reducing costs and accelerating the project timeline.

Sustainable Solutions with Underground Design Services

Environmental sustainability is another crucial aspect that underground design services tackle. The subsurface environment naturally provides insulation, reducing the energy demands of heating and cooling systems.

By preserving the above-ground landscape and ecosystems, underground structures can significantly reduce the environmental footprint of urban development. Additionally, underground spaces are inherently resilient to extreme weather conditions, making them an excellent choice for sustainable urban development in the face of climate change.

The Future of Underground Design Services

With the potential to revolutionize urban planning, underground design services will play a vital role in shaping our future cities. They hold the promise of creating additional spaces for living, working, transport, and storage, while minimizing the disruption to natural landscapes and urban areas.

As we move towards a future where sustainable development and efficient use of resources become increasingly important, it is expected that the demand for these services will grow. Underground spaces, once seen as dark, damp, and undesirable, are being reimagined as attractive, functional, and sustainable alternatives to above-ground development.

Conclusion

The underground design services sector, with its innovative solutions and eco-friendly approach, is set to revolutionize urban landscapes. Whether it's creating additional urban spaces, reducing environmental impacts, or providing resilience against climate change, the possibilities are profound and exciting. By harnessing the potential of the subsurface, we are laying the foundation for a more sustainable, efficient, and resilient future.

[bixels]

Portal 2 is still the perfect game to me. I hyperfixated on it like crazy in middle school. Would sing Want You Gone out loud cuz I had ADHD and no social awareness. Would make fan animations and pixel art. Would explain the ending spoilers and fan theories to anyone who'd listen. Would keep up with DeviantArt posts of the cores as humans. Would find and play community-made maps (Gelocity is insanely fun).

I still can't believe this game came out 12 years ago and it looks like THIS.

Like Mirror's Edge, the timeless art style and economic yet atmospheric lighting means this game will never age. The decision not to include any visible humans (ideas of Doug Rattmann showing up or a human co-op partner were cut) is doing so much legroom too. And the idea to use geometric tileset-like level designs is so smart! I sincerely believe that, by design, no game with a "realistic art style" has looked better than Portal 2.

Do you guys remember when Nvidia released Portal with RTX at it looked like dogshit? Just the most airbrushed crap I've ever seen; completely erased the cold, dry, clinical feel of Aperture.

So many breathtakingly pit-in-your-stomach moments I still think about too. And it's such a unique feeling; I'd describe at as... architectural existentialism? Experiencing the sublime under the shadow of manmade structures (Look up Giovanni Battista Piranesi's art if you're curious)? That scene where you're running from GLaDOS with Wheatley on a catwalk over a bottomless pit and––out of rage and desperation––GLaDOS silently begins tearing her facility apart and Wheatley cries 'She's bringing the whole place down!' and ENORMOUS apartment building-sized blocks begin groaning towards you on suspended rails and cement pillars crumble and sparks fly and the metal catwalk strains and bends and snaps under your feet. And when you finally make it to the safety of a work lift, you look back and watch the facility close its jaws behind you as it screams.

Or the horror of knowing you're already miles underground, and then Wheatley smashes you down an elevator shaft and you realize it goes deeper. That there's a hell under hell, and it's much, much older.

Or how about the moment when you finally claw your way out of Old Aperture, reaching the peak of this underground mountain, only to look up and discover an endless stone ceiling built above you. There's a service door connected to some stairs ahead, but surrounding you is this array of giant, building-sized springs that hold the entire facility up. They stretch on into the fog. You keep climbing.

I love that the facility itself is treated like an android zooid too, a colony of nano-machines and service cores and sentient panel arms and security cameras and more. And now, after thousands of years of neglect, the facility is festering with decomposition and microbes; deer, raccoons, birds. There are ghosts too. You're never alone, even when it's quiet. I wonder what you'd hear if you put your ear up against a test chamber's walls and listened. (I say that all contemplatively, but that's literally an easter egg in the game. You hear a voice.)

Also, a reminder that GLaDOS and Chell are not related and their relationship is meant to be psychosexual. There was a cut bit where GLaDOS would role-play as Chell's jealous housewife and accuse her of seeing other cores in between chambers. And their shared struggle for freedom and control? GLaDOS realizing, after remembering her past life, that she's become the abuser and deciding that she has the power to stop? That even if she can't be free, she can let Chell go because she hates her. And she loves her. Most people interpret GLaDOS "deleting Caroline in her brain" as an ominous sign, that she's forgetting her human roots and becoming "fully robot." But to me, it's a sign of hope for GLaDOS. She's relieving herself of the baggage that has defined her very existence, she's letting Caroline finally rest, and she's allowing herself to grow beyond what Cave and Aperture and the scientists defined her to be. The fact that GLaDOS still lets you go after deleting Caroline proves this. She doesn't double-back or change her mind like Wheatley did, she sticks to her word because she knows who she is. No one and nothing can influence her because she's in control. GLaDOS proves she's capable of empathy and mercy and change, human or not.

That's my retrospective, I love this game to bits. I wish I could experience it for the first time again.

[darkdemeter]

BY THEIR LEASH

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it? ✎ 4.3k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

  An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

  Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

  That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

  At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

  Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

  Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

  The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

  Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

  You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

  Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

  “Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto. 

  “People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

  “He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

  You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

  Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

  In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

  You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

  In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

  The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

  For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

  When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. 

  “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

  “Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

  You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

  “Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

  “Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

  “Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

  She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

  Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

  Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

  But she never committed to joining forces. 

  You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

  Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

  For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

  Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

  She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

  “I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

  Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

  “Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

  “You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

  “Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

  “We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

  “No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

  She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

  “I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

  Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

  “And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

  “Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

  You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

  “Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

  At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

  “I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

  Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

  “I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

  This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

  Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy. 

  “Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat. 

  “You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos. 

  “No, I want something more.”

  “And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

  “And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

  She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha. 

  “E atât de bună?”

  The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods. 

  “Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

  Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed. 

  With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. ���I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you. 

  “And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

  Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you. 

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

  “Animal magnetism, boys.”

  Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles. 

  “As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.” 

  You huff in reply, “And you?”

  Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

  Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

  She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest. 

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more. 

 She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

  She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail.  Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat. 

  Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

  “Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

  “Make us both cum.”

  You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

  “You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths. 

  Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow. 

  After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?” 

  “I think she’s been a good girl.”

  Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below. 

  Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl. 

  “‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing. 

  They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for. 

  “Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you. 

  Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

  You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips. 

  She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

  You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it. 

  You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down. 

  Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt hitches in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip. 

  “The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

  “Oh, she just needed some reassurance,” Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

  “Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect. 

  Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin. 

  “Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment. 

  “W-what thing?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out. 

  Thankfully and mostly dressed when Tony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98

[invisibleicewands]

If you missed Tom Holland’s starring turn in “Romeo & Juliet” on the West End earlier this fall, now is your chance to get a taste of British theater — this time, for free and without leaving your home.

Enter London’s iconic Olivier stage with a viewing of Michael Sheen-led Welsh fantasia play “Nye” via National Theatre at Home (NT at Home), a streaming service designed to offer theatrical plays to viewers globally. “Nye” will stream for free on the National Theatre YouTube channel from 7 p.m. GMT on Thursday, Nov. 7 until Monday, Nov. 11.

Per the show’s description, in “Nye,” “Michael Sheen plays Nye Bevan in a surreal and spectacular journey through the life and legacy of the man who transformed Britain’s welfare state and created the NHS. Confronted with death, Aneurin ‘Nye’ Bevan’s deepest memories lead him on a mind-bending journey back through his life; from childhood to mining underground, Parliament and fights with Churchill.”

The stage play, which is written by Tim Price and directed by Rufus Norris, will be the second annual title offered as a free stream from the National Theatre.

“I can’t wait for audiences worldwide to watch this incredibly important show,” Sheen told Variety. “It feels particularly appropriate for this play to be available for free as it follows the founder of the National Health Service, Aneurin ‘Nye’ Bevan through his life and fight to make healthcare free at the point of access. The free stream is a brilliant opportunity for theatre lovers and skeptics alike to tune in, be inspired and learn something, too.”

After its free-streaming window, “Nye” is set to join more than 80 titles in the National Theatre at Home library. In a promo tied to “Nye,” NT at Home is offering new subscribers access to their streaming selection for half off of their first two months with the code “NYE50.” The service is currently priced at £9.99 per month (around $13) or £99.99 per year (around $130).

“I’m thrilled that audiences around the world will have the chance to watch ‘Nye’, not just for free, but from the comfort of their homes,” Norris, “Nye” director and co-chief executive of the National Theatre, said. “NT at Home was born out of the restrictions Covid created, when the National Theatre hosted weekly free broadcasts of productions, garnering 15 million viewers. The platform now has subscribers in 184 out of 195 countries. We’re thrilled to be able to continue to make theatre accessible worldwide with the annual ‘Take Your Seats’ free stream initiative, breathing new life into and building new audiences for productions we’re incredibly proud of.”

Callum Stewart, head of National Theatre at Home, explains NT at Home was born out of a desire to make theater available to locked-down viewers during the pandemic. “It comes down to accessibility and it comes down to affordability,” Stewart says. “Theater is for everyone.”

Stewart credits Sheen’s performance in the titular role and Norris’ directorial capabilities with making “Nye” resonate with audiences to the level that NT at Home decided to give it a free window at launch.

“It is almost like you’re in the hospital with [Nye] and you’re looking into his soul,” Stewart says. “The real human emotion when people don’t have long left…It’s touched a lot of personal points.”

For the 60th anniversary of the National Theatre in 2023, the streamer released its first “Take Your Seats” initiative, which was viewed by over 180,000 people, per the organization. “Nye” will mark the latest edition of “Take Your Seats.”

The show will be available with both audio description and British Sign Language on NT at Home. Stewart says that 85% of current titles offered on NT at Home come with audio descriptions and that the streamer is on track to bolster British Sign Language offerings in addition to starting trial runs for Spanish subtitling.

According to Stewart, telling these stories to global audiences is particularly important and filming this production on the National Theatre’s Olivier stage adds extra magic.

“When people go to the theater, it’s a moment in time. You’ve got to be in the play, almost with the actors. You’ve got to be in that story, in that moment,” Stewart says. “It’s so powerful you don’t have anything else like it. It beats absolutely everything.”

[fowlblue]

Okay, so I did say I’d go over Diana’s lore a bit (and then completely forgot, forgive me, Artfight got in the way)- so here’s some history (and a few visual notes) for my evil little Arty clone!

Before I explain Diana, I first have to give a brief reminder of another other AF OC: Sine Sylvester, Council member of Haven.

This guy (wonderfully draw by the delightful @sinigangrobot , thank you so much my friend!)

Sine is a cervitaur, and generally well-liked by most in Haven. He’s made a big name for himself among circles of less “conventional” fairy folk (like other centaurs) in pioneering design/lawmaking in Haven that suits them as well. However, behind the scenes he’s also involved in illegal kidnapping of humans for aboveground for any purposes below, such as experimentation, weapons testing, labor, etc. You could say he runs “Human Resources” for Haven’s criminal underground… and occasionally, the Council.

Enter Artemis Fowl.

Sine exists in a hypothetical future AU in which Artemis is offered a position as the first human consultant for the Council- supposedly for services rendered, though mostly to keep an eye on him. Bureaucracy doesn’t suit Artemis at all, but he does what he can.

Eventually, two things happen- Sine digs up Foaly’s notes on cloning Artemis: a bit patchy, perhaps, but legible. Also, certain members of the Council become concerned about Artemis’s meddling. Eager for the opportunity to use the newfound research, Sine offers to make them a “backup” Artemis- one more suited to fairykind’s needs.

Sine has his own motivations- he’s in an interspecies marriage with a pixie doctor (in the “mad scientist” way, mind- she handles a lot of the human experimentation) named Mags. They love each other dearly, but understandably, a biological kid isn’t happening. So Diana, as they call the clone of Artemis they develop, becomes a son to them, and they love him fiercely… to the point of threatening the same Council members that commissioned him, if needed.

Diana is designed after how the People view Artemis- cunning, and cruel, and cold. He’s a vicious little guy, only tempered by his love for his parents, and the same burning curiosity as Artemis himself. Diana has a deep desire to learn and be recognized for his intellect- unfortunately for him, he spends most of his time cooped up in Sine’s HR facility for his own protection. See, Foaly’s notes had gaps- Sine and Mags filled these gaps with cybernetics. Because of them, Diana is hooked to the mainframe of Sine’s facility and all sorts of LEP systems to use as his playground (his parents’ attempts to make up for him being confined to the grounds)- laser turrets, survellience, his mother’s experiments… all of it is partially under his control, as Diana mans a lot of the facility’s defenses himself as a means of chasing off boredom. However, his cybernetics are also incredibly delicate, and cause him a lot of pain at times- whenever this happens, Sine takes the day off to look after him.

He, just like his father, considers humans to be lesser creatures. He’s not too pleased with his aboveground counterpart, refusing to acknowledge him as anything but “The Mud Boy”. Diana eagerly awaits the day they can meet in-person, so he can show him who the better Fowl is.

Other notes:

- Being raised in Haven and born of magic, he does have limited fairy abilities.

- Occasionally, he gets to follow Sine along and learn about Council business.

- Diana lacks Artemis’s focus, as he’s never had to cultivate it the way the Fowl heir has, so one of his weaknesses is that he’s easily distracted, and easily tricked.

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Do u believe in or have any ideas about the whole Overlord Niffty theory?

Actually yeah! For my Niffty I’m going for that route!🐛

HUGE Spoiler alert!!!! Hazbin Hotel @the-burd-lord made these concept designs for me as a gift, I treasure them greatly💖 Their designs inspired from Centichoro from One Punch Man. The other character in the drawings is my take on Alastor!🦌📻

With the reveal of Husk being once an Overlord I like to believe the same with Niffty but rather than gained her power from souls(talked about this with @a-sterling-rose, she was an immensely powerful sinner like Alastor, but alas her form was far too big and scary for people to want to get close to and she was all alone…until Alastor came along and offered her a deal he’d provide a more approachable form in return for her eternal service).

One idea. I imagine she was once a regular sinner like everyone else but was still a centipede like demon so it wasn’t easy to gain peoples trust due to her scary appearance. But one day some overlord or jsut really strong demon or hellborn tried to attack her and in defense or just acting on first instinct…ate into them and ended up becoming stronger and scarier looking in the process, driving even more people to see her as a threat and try to attack only to well…think the Hungry Catepillar but more gruesome and scary.

I can imagine she used to live in the outskirts of the pentagram or underground somewhere as Centipedes can burrow. Occasionally some try to get close to gain power or try to kill her but failed. She was very lonely💔💔💔 Warning scary images.

A lot of her looks meant to be hiding what she is. Disguising her extra limbs as hair, her body’s color scheme based on a centipedes, poofy dress that could cover extra, even the bug design could be Interpreted as a long centipede. I was also going for a subtle sharp, mini legs for her apron ruffles, giving off her trying to look sweet and soft but could also be interpreted in another way…

I read and learned from a @lovesart23 redesign vid for her that, she was meant to be based on B-Alien Movies. LOVE that and I tried it myself(hardest part was figuring out what bug to make her and what themes to go with) but I ended up going for another Sci-Fi route. Kaiju/Giant Bug monsters. Creatures like Godzilla or those giant bugs creatures like “the Tingler” 1959(which was a centipede monster I read). I figure it’d connect well to both her struggles of fitting in but also her Japanese Roots.

Monsters are tragic beings. They are born too tall, too strong, too heavy. They are not evil by choice. That is their tragedy. They do not attack people because they want to, but because of their size and strength, mankind has no other choice but to defend himself. After several stories such as this, people end up having a kind of affection for the monsters. They end up caring about them."

— Ishir⁠ō Honda The Director of Godzilla

Plus some certain Kaijus could qualify as Aliens!.

There’s even a Yokai/demon based on the centipede known as the Ōkumade! I imagine Niffty’s true form is basically a giant monstrous looking centipede.

What do u think? Any ideas you have for overlord Niffty? I’d love to know💖

[milflaszlo]

the ground vs the sky in hadestown

(in which i go very long on hadestown's lighting design to strengthen my eurydice = hades, orpheus = persephone agenda)

TL;DR: eurydice and hades are ground, orpheus and persephone are sky. the "ground" characters need the "sky" characters to be free, to dream, to remember that there can be a better world than this.

all screenshots used in this post are from a video by @medium-observation, thank you for your service as always

there's a ton of evidence in the show for this dichotomy, with the most obvious and literal one being the lighting associated with each character. during how long, hades and persephone take turns to sing, and as it switches between them the lighting changes too -- orange for him, blue for her.

orange for hades feels fairly obvious considering hadestown as a setting is bathed entirely in warm colors. per lighting designer bradley king:

Hadestown is very furnace-like: amber, orange, and rust.

persephone gets blue, which she brings with her at the beginning of livin' it up on top.

so that's what i mean when i say ground vs sky. for hades it's pretty literal - the ground is his domain, but it also reflects how he "keeps his head low, he keeps his back bending". persephone gets the blue of the sky because it symbolizes freedom - not just being free but feeling free. from the NYTW version of livin' it up on top:

Give me a sky that you can't buy Or sell at any price

the sky is a big thing for hades and persephone, because it's the one thing he can never give her. he expresses how he feels about that in chant:

Lover, I was lonesome So I laid a power grid In the ground on which you stood And wasn't it electrifying When I made the neon shine? Silver screen, cathode ray Brighter than the light of day

to him, that's the closest thing he can give her to a sky, which he hopes will outshine the real daylight (though of course that's not what she really wants from him).

in our lady of the underground, everything persephone offers up is also sky-related (moon, wind, stars)

I got a sight for the sorest eye When was the last time you saw the sky?

ok so we've established the hades and persephone part of this. what does this have to do with orpheus and eurydice? because the exact same lighting design is present with them, too - and it's especially clear in wedding song:

when eurydice sings during this song she's bathed in yellow and amber. then orpheus sings and the blue light starts creeping in to show how slowly, and despite herself, she's beginning to believe in him.

this all culminates in the dance they do in all i've ever known, where the entire stage is bathed in persephone's dark blue. the literal meaning in the scene is that it's nighttime, but the color - and choreography - is eurydice finally letting herself be free and untethered from the ground.

But when I saw you all alone against the sky It's like I’d known you all along

from 'working on a song':

It was a brief choreographic / staging moment, after the lovemaking, when the lovers lay on their backs side by side, holding hands and looking up at the sky. At the stars. It reminded me of how the stars had played such an important role in the early Vermont version of the show, with the Fates naming the constellations, and the idea of our destinies being “written in the stars.” And it moved me, I think, because of the knowledge of where our lovers were headed: a world without stars.

i actually find this dichotomy especially interesting because of the associations with the characters and the colors. temperament-wise, you'd probably say hades is "cold" and persephone is "warm", which is true. but hades gets the warm colors and persephone gets the cold ones.

why? because hades' orange is the suffocating kind of man-made heat, whereas persephone's blue is the endless possibility of the sky. and yet, artificial warmth is still warmth, while the open air can be bitterly cold... something that eurydice knows very well, and is the reason why she makes the choice she does.

during epic iii, when orpheus begins to sing, the scene is still orange. then as his song begins, the light on the walls becomes blue, like he's actually finding that "crack in the wall" to let the sky shine through. from a cut song that orpheus would sing called cloud machine (per 'working on a song'):

There’s a crack in the wall It’s a little bit wider It’s a little bit wider, that’s all

then, after the climax of the song, when the scene re-settles, the light goes back to being orange. but as soon as hades remembers the melody and he and persephone begin to dance, the light turns blue again, like the exact same thing is happening to hades that happened to eurydice in all i've ever known -- he's remembering how it feels to let himself be free.

ok i think that's about it. thanks for reading this super long post starring my brainworms

[fatphobiabusters]

Scientific articles and official health websites talk about lactose intolerance the same way they talk about fatness.

This is how the National Institutes of Health describes it: "Lactose intolerance is a clinical syndrome that manifests with characteristic signs and symptoms upon consuming food substances containing lactose, a disaccharide." "Lactose intolerance is a common disease; however, it is rare in children younger than 5. It is most often seen in adolescents and young adults."

It's a syndrome. A disease. A medical problem with symptoms and signs.

And then...

"On average, 65% of the world's population is lactose intolerant. The prevalence of lactose intolerance is variable among different ethnicities. It is most common in African Americans, Hispanics/Latinos, and Asians and least prevalent in people of European descent."

Wait wait wait, hold up. It's in 65% of the world population??? 65% of all humans are lactose intolerant??? 65% of the world is diseased and has such a serious health condition?

Then you start learning more about it outside of these medical articles and organizations. You learn that other animals can't digest lactose past infancy either. Not even cats, even though we all believe they love milk. Animals, including humans, have a special enzyme as infants that allows babies to drink breastmilk. And after a child stops drinking that milk, the enzyme goes away, leaving the child unable to digest milk anymore.

In the 300,000 years that humans have existed, drinking milk past infancy did not start happening until about 10,000 years ago. It wasn't until ancient populations in Europe who were pastoralists, and thus raised cows as livestock, forced their bodies to drink milk and caused it to slowly became a genetic mutation that spread throughout different human populations over thousands of years.

You realize that the ability to drink lactose is not the norm. It's not the default body at all. The ability to digest lactose is a human adaptation that only some humans have, like missing wisdom teeth, blue eyes, and red hair. Lactose intolerance isn't abnormal. It's what human bodies were designed to do in the first place! No wonder it's "rare in children younger than 5." That's when babies still have the ability to drink breastmilk!

And what does such a serious disease as lactose intolerance require?

Not consuming dairy.

That's it.

This "disease" requires avoiding lactose and taking a pill to help you digest it if you need to in a given situation. And if you don't? The awful consequence of this disease is DEATH—oh, wait, that was a typo. I meant diarrhea. Dairy products like butter and some cheese have very low levels of lactose compared to straight up milk and can sometimes even be eaten without any pills for lactose intolerance at all.

So then why do health organizations and scientific articles consider this a "disease" when it's just genetic diversity? Well, you were already given the answer.

The people most able to digest lactose? White people. Europe. America. Canada. Australia. Groups so often considered the default. The quotes I gave are from the American government itself, as described by the organization's website: "Founded in 1887, the National Institutes of Health today is one of the world's foremost medical research centers, and the Federal focal point for medical research in the United States. The NIH, comprising 27 separate Institutes and Centers, is one of eight health agencies of the Public Health Service which, in turn, is part of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services."

It's also important to recognize that the US government extremely subsidizes dairy. There are underground caves of billions of pounds of cheese surplus that the government has stockpiled. Billions upon billions of dollars have been spent on keeping the dairy industry afloat, no pun intended, to the point that everything from those "Got milk?" advertisements to milk in school-provided lunches to Taco Bell's double steak quesadillas were funded by federal tax dollars put into some cheesy goodness propaganda. Federal tax dollars were even used after the 2010 recession to bail out Domino's and keep the cheese uh-flowing.

So in a country where most people can digest lactose, most of the people who can't do so have bodies that are not viewed as the default already, and the government is extremely invested in getting people to eat dairy products, it becomes clear why that country—that government—believes lactose intolerance to be a disease.

Then when you consider:

how fat people are not viewed as the default body either and face immense oppression

how the facts of fatness being incredibly genetic and intentional weight loss not being sustainable in the slightest are kept under the radar from the public

how weight is not actually equal to health when you take all context into account beyond stereotypes and studies with horrendous methodology

how the BMI was created by a statistician (who was never a doctor in the first place and whose work was later used to support eugenics) during the 1800s in order to figure out which body was the average, not the healthiest, in select populations of white European men in the 19th century (and thus which body was the "default," the "norm," superior)

how the population measuring tool that is the BMI, never meant or designed to be used on an individual scale, was not commonly used as a measurement of "health" until insurance companies wanted a way to fabricate reasons for charging people more money

how the weight loss industry makes hundreds of billions of dollars every year off of pretending fatness is inherently bad and selling a "cure" that doesn't work while blaming consumer error to keep people buying said "cure"

and how creating a weight-based social hierarchy benefits the people on top who have power over the rest

...you start to understand why fatness is medicalized.

It's even a common talking point of people and companies obsessed with dieting that humans have evolved to hold onto fat and refuse to lose it in case of potential starvation. In fact, facing starvation even changes your body to want to hold onto body fat even more than it did previously, which includes when you diet since dieting is just self-inflicted starvation. When you face starvation, your descendants are more likely to have genetics that prefer fatness too. And there's evidence of fatness in human populations going back tens of thousands of years despite diet culture wanting people to believe fatness is a new trend due to people's "lifestyle choices." The Venus of Willendorf, an ancient figurine of a fat woman, is estimated to have been created around 30,000 years ago, and there are numerous other Venus figurines of fat women from that era too.

It's human diversity, but people who aren't fat and who pedal diet culture can make so much money and obtain such powerful positions by pretending fatness is abnormal, inhuman, and wrong. Why give up an easy money-making punching bag or admit that your body is not the only "correct" human body when you have no reason not to and so many incentives for keeping the status quo?

As a side note, one of the best examples of diet culture is how you can find countless news articles about whether milk is "good" or "bad" for you despite humans having consumed milk for the past 10,000 years. I think by year one thousand we would have learned if milk was "bad" for us, but the headline "Milk still okay" doesn't get a news website any clicks.

-Mod Worthy

[weird-fishes-i-reckon]

Is your power out? Here’s what you need to know about the restoration process:

Yes, your power being out is horrible, it’s dangerous especially if you are chronically ill, or live on well and septic and therefore don’t have access to water. Believe me, the scouting and linemen crews working on restoring your electricity know that. Most of us get into this field because we’ve been in a similar situation.

This is the daily process for your linemen and scouting crews: they wake up well before the sun even thinks of rising, they go to their designated operations center, they get debriefed on safety, and are then assigned tickets. Tickets are reports for power outages along the power grid. They are required to start with the ticket that has the most customers out, and then work their way down. Scouts finish at sundown, linemen keep working through the night if they can safely do so. They meet back up with their team, debrief, and then sleep and repeat.

This is the construction of your power grid system: you have transmission lines (those big pylons) that go to a substation. Each substation steps down the voltage and splits the electricity into circuits.

Each circuit leaves the substation as a backbone that covers a certain location. If the substation is the brain, then the backbone is exactly that. Each backbone has taps - which are like ribs - and they spread out, sometimes with taps of their own. The secondary wire will run from a transformer on the pole to your house. Each house is serviced by one secondary, whether it’s overhead or underground.

Yesterday I had a ticket with 1,107 customers affected. It was a problem with the backbone and because of that, everyone downstream didn’t have power. It’s almost like being paralyzed at a certain vertebrae. We fixed the backbone, but there were still people who had their power out because a tree fell on a tap or secondary. That adds time to the getting your power on. If we started with the tickets that only have one customer out, we could fix your pole or your wire, but the power might not come back on.

The people who are scouting are not allowed to and not able to tell you when your power will return. They figure out what caused the outage and then create a list of what the line crew needs to fix it. They can put in the notes if it’s urgent, like if your elderly mother is on a breathing apparatus or something, but that’s not a guarantee that you will be seen quickly.

Please keep your dogs leashed or behind a fence that will hold them back. If someone needs to be in your backyard, bring your dog inside. One of our guys got bit hard on the leg yesterday. That’s one less person able to work, the power will now take longer to come back on.

Yelling at the crews will not make them work faster.

In extra heavily affected areas, sometimes entire swaths of power infrastructure are completely obliterated. They will need to be entirely rebuilt from the ground up. This will take Even More time than usual to get power restored.

Electricity is dangerous. Your standard American outlet has 120 volts of electricity. Your standard neighborhood power line has 15 kilovolts (15000 volts) of electricity, backbones can have 25 kilovolts. Don’t. Touch. The. Wire. Always assume the wire is live (has electricity running through it). I have seen a squirrel instantly grilled because it was grounded while touching a live wire. Just don’t fucking do it.

If you’re walking in an area with power line damage and your feet feel hot or tingly all of a sudden, you’re not tripping, you’re feeling electrical currents. Back away.

Transmission lines run anywhere above 39 kilovolts. It can go up to 765 kilovolts. If transmission goes down, it will affect the whole substation and the people served by that substation. If you see dangling transmission wire or you see it on the ground or in the water (god forbid) stay FAR AWAY. DONT GET CLOSE. Report it IMMEDIATELY.

The crew has two jobs: restore the power, and come home at the end of the day. The second one is the most important. Our job alone is extremely dangerous, if we assess a situation or environment to be too dangerous to do our work, we will have to wait until the situation has improved. Active flooding is one of those situations.

If you are in an area that has experienced a lot of rain or flooding, your power might go out a lot during the next few months, even after it’s restored. Trees with shallow root systems like pines and water oaks will loose a lot of grip with the ground because of how disturbed the soil gets. You should stay aware of falling trees if you’re in an area with an abundance of trees that have shallow roots.

Please stay safe, please stay aware.

[sapphiel]

How about fun facts about the Manibians? Oh, and The Clothed as well?

I'll start with the Clothed first, as their lore is a lot smaller compared to the Manibians.

The Clothed are constructs created by fae magic. Despite both types of fae being capable of making Clothed, the majority of them tend to be under Seelie service than Unseelie.

They are not spirits stored in clothing, but rather they are clothing literally given life. As such, they do not have a spirit body inside the clothing, nor are they even wearing it; They ARE the clothing. As such, destroying the clothing itself, in essence, damages the Clothed themself, but they do not feel any semblance of pain.

Clothed can come in various designs depending on their body, but they have general two basic types of service: Courtier Clothed act as servants for the fae, with little to no combat experience, but know everything there is to know about social conduct and the like. Clothed Cavaliers, on the other hand, tend to wear armor and are used as expendable soldiers to fight with.

Clothed are extremely loyal to the fae they serve, and have absolutely no wish to be separated or defect from them. They would rather face destruction than betray their master/mistress.

Manibians are a race of insectoid demons born to serve other demons. They literally live to serve, as subservience and being ordered around gives them meaning and sustenance. A manibian that does not do anything for their master (or lacks a master) is doomed to become malnourished, gaunt, and eventually fall to insanity and turn feral. Because of this, any sort of service is enough to sate a manibian, no matter how big or small, as long as it means pleasing their master (and as long as it is a possible act).

Having a manibian servant binds you to three simple rules: One must always sustain their manibian through meaningful and appropriate work, One must always respect any manibian secrets and traditions, and One must not kill a manibian, unless it is through self defense or a permitted duel/fight in the arenas of Ludis. Doing so will find oneself instantly shunned and avoided by the entire race, even being refused third-party service by them. If the crime was severe enough as well, one might even find themselves hunted down by manibian kill squads. Mistreatment gives a similar punishment, but only locks oneself from hiring a manibian as a direct servant; others would still provide third-party service, and negotiation is possible.

The Seven Circles of Hell can influence how a manibian looks like, depending on how long they stay in a specific Circle. Each form mutates them to better serve their Circle's role, like how Amoenis manibians, acting as entertainers, communicate through pheromones and tend to have alluring appearances and motions for pleasing their clients; Villam manibians, being farmers, have massive top pair of arms that aid them in digging and tilling soil for the farmlands; Speculo manibians, acting as muses for the artistic demons of Speculo, having the most limbs to aid their masters in either the arts or to aid in the frequent Speculo sabotages between artists; Ludis manibians, acting as gladiators, being the most physically powerful and possess grappling claws to keep their opponents in place; Fodere manibians, being mining directors, having specialized antennae to sense minerals deep underground and keen eyesight to direct Fodere demons to the next potential quarry; Auctoritas manibians, acting as either police officers or lawyers, have either paralyzing stingers or strong pincers for subduing targets, or have videographic memory that can last millennia; or the Clericus manibians, which are actually the least specialized, as all they are are office workers. (Ironically enough, Clericus manibians that serve higher ranking demons tend to be gaunt and malnourished due to them passing down work to lesser demons). Manibians can be a blend of any of these forms if they move through Circles frequently enough, only prolonged stay in a Circle turns a manibian fully into the respective form.

Manibians seemingly have access to a pocket dimension that only they can go, or even peer, into. No one else knows what it looks like on the inside, or what they even do there, but it is strongly speculated that it is how manibians communicate to each and every single member of their race, and even procreate in (manibian babies have never been observed, as seemingly only fully grown manibians appear out of nowhere).

All manibians appear and sound effeminate (by our standards), but are still bigender, having both male and female manibians.

Example of a mixed-form manibian

[s0nia246]

My Re- imagine/Redesign of Angel Dust

He came out so pretty 😍

Some things about his lore is died in the 70s instead of 40s. I'm making Husk in my AU die in the 40s instead cause I'm also making giving Husk a mafia background.

Not everyone has to wear a suit and bow tie Viv. Angel's design process was literally booty shorts. I wanted he to look like he chooses clothes that he thinks Valentino might like.

He headcanon that Angel doesn't really find sexy clothes all that comfortably. He loves comfy sweater and sweats.

The jewelry is from Val and so is the hair pin that looks like Valentino's wings.

Backstory: Angel Dust, originally known as Anthony "Angel" DeLuca, was born in 1948 in Little Italy, New York City. His father, a high-ranking member of a powerful mafia family, ensured that Tony was raised in the heart of the criminal underworld. From a young age, Tony was exposed to the family's illicit activities, including smuggling, gambling, and protection rackets. Despite his father's attempts to groom him for a role within the mafia, Tony had a rebellious streak and a flair for the dramatic.

As a teenager in the 1960s, Anthony discovered his talent for dancing and performing. He was captivated by the glitz and glamour of Hollywood and Broadway, which stood in stark contrast to the brutal world he knew. Against his father's wishes, Anthony pursued a career in entertainment, taking on the stage name "Angel Dust" for its edgy and provocative connotation. His striking looks and undeniable talent quickly gained him a following in the underground club scene.

However, his burgeoning success came at a steep price. The DeLuca family disapproved of his lifestyle and saw his defiance as a betrayal. The tension between Anthony and his family escalated, reaching a boiling point when his father issued an ultimatum: return to the family business or face the consequences. Desperate to escape his father's wrath and the mafia's clutches, Anthony sought protection from a local pimp named Valentino, who operated in the seedy underbelly of Manhattan. Valentino was a shrewd and charismatic figure, well-connected and feared in equal measure. In exchange for protection, Anthony offered his services and loyalty, effectively trading one dangerous allegiance for another. Under Valentino's wing, Angel Dust's career took a dark turn. He became entangled in the world of drugs and prostitution, using his charm and looks to manipulate and seduce. His stage performances grew more provocative and controversial, reflecting the turbulent, hedonistic spirit of the 1970s. Despite the chaos, Angel Dust found a twisted sense of freedom and power in his new life, embracing his persona with reckless abandon.But the life he had chosen was fraught with peril.

In 1976, at the height of his infamy, a violent confrontation erupted between Valentino's crew and the DeLuca family, who had never ceased their efforts to reclaim or eliminate Anthony. The bloody showdown ended tragically for Angel Dust. He was found dead in a dilapidated motel room, a victim of a brutal beating and overdose, his once bright future extinguished by the very world he had sought refuge in.

Angel sold his soul to Val when he was alive.

If you have anymore questions please ask.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Oooh. Here's a hypothesis that fits the available facts.

Meghan plans to wear the Spencer tiara for the wedding and designs her outfit around it. It's Harry's equivalent of William giving Kate Diana's engagement ring, so his mother can be 'part' of proceedings.

The late Queen gets wind of the idea and puts her foot down quite late in the game. Before her marriage Meghan is neither Spencer nor Windsor so it is not her family tiara. Moreover she is marrying into the Windsors not the Spencers so it is more fitting that she have a Windsor tiara. And finally it makes no sense for the wife of the 'spare' to wear a grander tiara than the future queen did.

H&M throw the most enormous strop, "what Meghan wants Meghan gets" and demand the Vlad with emeralds or Eugenie's emerald tiara or something else not on offer.

Earl Spencer withdraws his offer of the Spencer tiara. He doesn't care either way and wants a quiet life. He and Harry fall out.

The late Queen digs out an obscure all diamond tiara with a similarish shape to the Spencer for Meghan, who later puts out PR saying she'd wanted it all along (a sure sign she didn't)

Earl Spencer uses the opportunity to reconcile with Harry wants a high profile anyone to attend his IG service.

The Spencer tiara was never an option for Meghan and Harry. They probably assumed they could get it because Harry was Diana’s son and if they did enough PR talking about how much they wanted it, Earl Spencer would probably fold and give it to them. Because there was *a lot* of press about the Spencer tiara 2017-mid 2018.

Say what you will about Earl Spencer and his view of/relations with the royal family, but the man is an aristo from one of the more aristo-est families in the UK. He knows protocol and he knows etiquette. He would never give Meghan and Harry the Spencer tiara and probably didn’t think twice about it after saying no, but probably realized how big of a fuss they could turn it into so my thinking is he probably let Sarah/Celia have the Spencer just to justify it to Harry and Meghan to shut them up. (Celia announced her engagement in The Times and The Telegraph on November 13, 2017. If that’s not “shots fired” for the Spencer tiara debate, I don’t know what is.)

Meghan’s only option was a tiara from The Queen. The Queen and Angela Kelly made a selection of three or four for Meghan (same as they did for Kate in 2011) and Meghan chose from that batch. Why she picked Queen Mary’s, I don’t know. (We know Kate chose the one she did because it was the smallest of the ones she was presented.)

So in sum: Meghan would have only ever gotten a Windsor tiara from The Queen. Bar none. It was either a Windsor tiara or no tiara.

Also the “What Meghan wants Meghan gets” fiasco was in response to Angela Kelly not giving Meghan the tiara for a hair trial when her hairdresser was in town. Allegedly, tiara protocol is that they must request it in advance and coordinate it with Angela (makes sense - it’s a heirloom piece of the family collection stores in an underground vault). Meghan and her hairdresser just randomly showed up one day demanding the tiara and Angela told her “no” because there’s protocol to be followed. Meghan collapsed on the floor sobbing to Harry, Harry went storming over to BP and confronted Angela with “what Meghan wants Meghan gets,” The Queen found out about it (either Angela told her or other staffers told her) and The Queen called Harry in and read him a “you get what you get and you don’t have a fit” riot act.

And allegedly, according to Lady C, Meghan wanted emeralds for her wedding and the only reason she knew of the Grenville’s existence (the one Eugenie wore) is because she heard Eugenie talking about it.

[quinloki]

Quicksand

Fem Reader x Sir Crocodile

20 Chapters - 46,838 words

Version with images can be found here.

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations, yandere, angst with a happy ending, a referenced instance of physical abuse. 18+ only

Summary: You're employed as an Internal Coordinator in the West Branch of Rain Dinners in Grandline Metro. You're well-aware your boss is the Warlord Sir Crocodile, but your sixty days is almost up on the popular dating website Cult of Personality, and you're looking forward to meeting the person you've been talking to for the last sixty days. (This makes it sound way fluffier than it is, oops.)

Chapter 1: The Nitty-Gritty

You smile at the sound of the message popping up on your computer. You'd been chatting online with someone for the last couple months, and after getting to know one another through your shared likes and dislikes, you'd finally decided to meet. You've avoided sharing photos, or even having a conversation on the phone, but all of that had been the point of the website you'd both found yourselves using.

Cult of Personality was a quirky singles site that focused on people getting to know one another purely through interests. The idea behind it was that you could get to know someone without those pesky instincts getting in the way – no getting swept away by someone's voice, or getting too focused on their appearance (for better or worse). Instead, you spent at least sixty days communicating by text through anonymous proxies. If anyone said something that was a deal-breaker during that time, then there were no messy fallouts to deal with.

The connection would be severed without you knowing enough about the other to be able to locate them. The system was even designed to automatically censor location names, so people couldn't accidentally give themselves away. The only thing the service did with location information was use it to randomly match people who were within 100km of one another.

It was great for people who didn't really want to fill out tons of questionaries, or worry about uploading photos, or dealing with talking about themselves. 

For you it was nice because after a few failed relationships, and with a job that took a lot of your time, it was an easy way to get yourself back into the whole idea of dating.

As your luck would have it, you found someone who you enjoyed "talking" to after only a couple tries. You had even admitted that you looked forward to your conversations and had been pleasantly surprised to find out he did as well. It was reassuring to know that things weren't one-sided, and shortly after that you'd both started making plans to meet up once the 60 days was completed, and the site gave you the option to lift the automatic censoring.

You had preemptively decided on a Saturday lunch meeting, just in case you were at the edges of the 100km diameter that the site utilized. Better than trying to make a dinner reservation on a Friday after work, and ending up in a panic if one of you were to be stuck in traffic.

The restrictions lifted tomorrow, Wednesday, and as you got ready for work you were humming to yourself.

In Grandline Metropolis, amidst it's 600,000 sq km of land, you worked for one of the seven Warlords who oversaw the second circle of the city. While you knew Mr. Crocodile was a warlord, you weren't directly connected to the city's underground. You knew about the city's underground because you were school friends with people who had ended up in that life, and you still kept in touch. But, like most of the employees of the Rain Dinners – the casino/restaurant/hotel chain with five locations around the Grandline Metro – you weren't a part of the underground directly. There were people closer to Mr. Crocodile who probably had ties to stuff like that, but you were just the secretary to one of the mid-level casino floor managers of the West location, just outside White Beard's territory.

Buggy was, well, buggy. He seemed to be constantly under a lot of stress, but he wasn't a terrible boss. He had a decent sense of humor, was easily brought into focus, and often went out of his way to make sure the people under him were doing well. He was a bit selfish, but whenever someone needed to be legitimately let go, you always had to come to him with well-documented, irrefutable proof. While that could be annoying in some cases, it was also reassuring that he wasn't letting people come and go without being sure there was nothing else to be done for it.

"Hey boss, I won't be available this weekend." You explain, handing over another paper for Buggy to review. "So if something goes wrong you'll have to call Alvida."

"Are we expecting anything unusual this weekend?" He questions calmly.

"No, there's no big events, and Alvida's already aware I'll be unavailable." You're kind of surprised to see Buggy this calm. Usually, he was a complete mess when you took vacations or called out sick.

"Alright, (Y/N), just make sure to let Alvida know that Galdino's going to be the one reaching out. I'm off this weekend as well."

Ah, that explains why he's so relaxed. You muse. After a moment's thought you flinch. You hadn't exchanged names with the person you were meeting this weekend. Statistically, it was improbable that it was Buggy, but it wasn't impossible either. Well, if it was him, you couldn't let your professional assessment of him color how he was in his private life.

"I'll let her know." You assure him flatly, taking back the last of the documents and reorganizing them quickly on his desk. "Your meetings are light today, and tomorrow you have the Staff Luncheon to attend."

Buggy flinches. "Right."

"It's at our branch this month, Buggy."

Your boss sighs. "That's the problem."

You laugh. "It is harder to 'accidentally' miss it due to traffic when it's here."

"You're being a little too flashy, Miss (Y/N)." He grumbles.

"And yet you still appreciate me." You quip, giving him a smile before walking out to get back to your own work.

The rest of your work day went smoothly. You coordinated with Galdino and Alvida about the weekend, making sure they knew that neither you nor Buggy would be available. Alvida had raised an eyebrow over it, since she knew you'd been signed up on Cult of Personality. You had filled her in on your plans for the weekend before now. You were still pretty sure it wasn't Buggy, but she made you promise her that if it turned out to be him you would let her know immediately.

Alvida had her quirks, and she could kind of mean in that haughty beauty sort of way, but she wasn't malicious or cruel. You'd shared a few drinks outside of work, and mainly she just enjoyed drama and gossip.

Getting home you went through your after-work routine. Peeling off your work clothes you slipped into sweats and a t-shirt, made yourself something easy, and relaxed with an episode of your favorite show while you ate. Afterward you checked your messages and settled into the dating website.

You: One more day \o/

Him: I'm glad your enthusiasm hasn't waned.

You: At this rate I'm worried I'll be exhausted come Saturday. I'm really looking forward to this.

Him: Plans can be easily adjusted if need be.

You: Joking aside, I'm sure I'll manage. Though, I have to admit that today has caused me to be very curious about something. >_>

Him: Oh?

You: Well, it seems my boss at work has requested this weekend off as well. O_O

Him: Ah-ha. Did you request your time off today?

You: I did.

Him: Then I wouldn't worry. I didn't have any of my employees request time off to me directly today.

You: Oh good.

Him: My condolences to your boss.

You: lol he's not a bad guy, but that would've been incredibly awkward.

Him: It would've been a mark against you wanting to meet someone new, as well.

You: You're not wrong.

You: Admittedly, I wouldn't hold it against you if we did know one another.

Him: That's reassuring. Though, if I do know you, then I have done myself a great disservice for not knowing you well enough until now.

You feel yourself blush despite it all. It was nice to be appreciated for your, well, you-ness, and not for anything else. You let him know you appreciated the sentiment and the two of you talked about nothing and everything off and on for the rest of the evening.

Tomorrow was going to be the longest Wednesday to ever dare to exist, not just because you were looking forward to getting home before you'd even left for work, but also because the monthly staff luncheons always made the days feel longer when they were at your branch. It wasn't nearly as bad when Buggy was ushered out and into a different branch for the event, but every 5th month it meant your casino was filled with important people.

Important people like to feel important, so there were all sorts of extra protocols and fine moving parts to worry about. The hardest part was going to be dealing with the Billions. The people who were only just barely important and wanted to make sure no one could possibly forget it. The Baroque Works staff would be there as well, and if things went well, after the initial meet and greet, all you would have to worry about was filling Buggy's shoes while he was busy at the Luncheon.

. . . . .

You: Good morning, I can't stay on and talk much right now, there's an event at work I need to be in early for. Looking forward to talking to you tonight!

Him: Much anticipated.

The drive into work was faster than usual since you had left a couple hours earlier and traffic was nonexistent. You got into work and got all your normal morning work done before the doors had even opened. Alvida and Galdino were in almost as early and you set them to work organizing the cleaners and preppers. Surfaces that had been polished the night before were polished again just to add a little more luster.

There were three times as many valets available today, to deal with the influx of VIPs, and almost every member of staff was working. People were rotated in and out on tables more often as well to keep every extra sharp. Extra areas had been opened in the back to accommodate people being able to lounge between there active table times so they could recharge properly. It was an untenable schedule every single day, but everyone came together to make it work for the Luncheons.

When the owner, Mr. Crocodile arrived, everyone lined up to greet him. It was the only time all the staff stopped what they were doing to greet a guest. Nothing was said, but everyone lined up neatly in the lobby and bowed slightly as he entered. As far as you knew it wasn't even something he had requested, one of the Numbers had demanded it at their branch some years ago and the tradition stuck.

Frankly, if you ever learned who Mr. Nine was, you would happily punch the lout right in his nose for suggesting it. Fortunately, Mr. Crocodile didn't linger in the entry way, and strode quickly through. Considering he was just over 7', he had an impressive stride. Aside from the company photo, and the occasional glance in the hall when the luncheons were held at your branch, all you ever saw of him were his shoes.

When you first started working at Rain Dinners you'd had a little crush on him, but from the way things went for most of the staff, everyone had a little crush on him. He was the least eccentric of the Warlords, far as you were aware, and the man had style. Most of the ladies swooned over him and half the of the men on staff did as well.

He wasn't much older than you either. Far from the youngest of the Warlords, he was just over 30 and doing remarkably well for himself. He was barely of legal gambling age when he started the first Rain Dinners, and within three years there were 5 of them in the Grandline Metro alone.

With the owner gone, everyone burst into action and the several moments later the casino came alive as the doors opened to the public and the day began properly.

Only eight more hours to go before you could start making proper plans for the coming weekend.

[darkdemeter]

OLD DRAFT CONCEPT : " GUARD DOG "

—- not my gif, credit to original poster! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader (x slight Natasha Romanoff)

A/N — Here's a little bedtime story for ya'll. Old draft concept for an upcoming and looong oneshot for Wanda in a mafia au setting. Bits and pieces may be recognised in the published column plot wise but overall, we're taking an alternate route, my babbies.

WORD COUNT — 2.2k

READER DISCRETION — Alcohol consumption — mafia business and semi dark themes — profanity — mention of death and murder — mention of black market and auction — reader and Nat have some history — player reader Tony is so proud — Alexander Pierce is of course an arsehole, what else is new? — Rumlow is a bad guy (duh) — I think that's it?

An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment.

“Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particular deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need a refill and pronto. 

“People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

“He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere oopsie?”

You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his fold, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

When Steve casts a hardened stare your way and you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

“Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your refurbished liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

“Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

“Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

“Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, Sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs. But she never committed to joining forces. 

You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

She’s facing you, back arched and ass resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, the sweet bouquet of lavender rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

“Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

“I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

“Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

“You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

“Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

“We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

“No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

“I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

“And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

“Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

“Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

“I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave, because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

“I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. 

“Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.”

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST — (Even though I doubt this is worth putting the taglist on, here it is anyway)

@alexawynters

[ant1quarian]

Disjointed Timelines Dusts Personalities

Void is usually a designated "aloof" guy. He's mostly completely silent and the things he does is considered acts of service. On the off chance you catch a glimpse of his face somehow, it's marble-cold, chilling neutrality. He was the second to snap.

Murder was the first to snap- and he genocided his underground out of curiosity. He's a lot more unhinged than the others are- a lot more chaotic, but a lot more fun to hang out with. He usually goads the others into doing stupid shit for the sake of it and keeps up the competition of who has the quickest speedrun.

Cap tends to be pretty chill and still puns a lot. He would kill unflinchingly but he's often a lot more lazy about his genocide route. He has the slowest speedrun time. He's a pretty jovial, light-hearted, dark-humoured guy, too.

Scarf feels guilty about killing his brother and tends to be a bit more nervous and on edge than the others. he's very much a "you better be a close friend before you touch me otherwise I'm skewering you" kind of guy. His EXP highs hit hard and intense but they're quick. He's a pretty calculated killer, too. (A lot less guilty since he has the others that did it, too.)

Specs is the perfect image of a highly-trained killer that puts meticulous detail into what he does. He has embodied more of the Science aspect of it- and it's not unlikely for him to do the genocide backwards. He also doesn't usually use his hands- opting for poisons and explosives rather than his own magic.