#lethal ledger

[welivefast-dieyoung]

Heath Ledger has no business being dead actually. God do I miss that man

[mrsvante]

Bad Decisions

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre: biker au, secret relationship, pfp filth

summary: by day, jeongguk is the youngest heir of the noble seven—untouchable, lethal, and born into power. by night, he’s the ghost on a matte black Husqvarna, tearing through city streets with recklessness only royalty can afford. but there’s one thing he can’t control: you. the girl he’s been sneaking around with in stolen hours and secret places. when a high stakes race throws you back into his path, a charged game of cat and mouse ignites—your biting words matched only by the heat in his stare.

later that night, you find yourself exactly where you swore you shouldn’t be—underneath him, breathless and begging for more. but what starts as a heady, sweat slicked surrender spirals into something neither of you expect. in the quiet between moans and the hush that follows release, something shifts. words are whispered that neither of you can take back.

warnings: motorcycle racing jeongguk, role playing? you act like strangers in public, light bdsm, bondage, blindfold, cumming lots of cumming, breeding kink? jeongguk loves filling you up (wrap it up kids), boob job, jeongguk calls you princess 🫠 (i’m weak for it SUE ME), anal sex, soft dom weak for his princess jeongguk, fingering, they’re just a freaky ass couple who’re obsessed with each other

word count: 5,903

Introducing: The Consequences

The first time you see Jeongguk is at a street race near the east side of town, where the Reapers’ territory bleeds into the Titans’ stretch of concrete

Neutral ground. Or at least, that’s what everyone pretends it is.

It’s not the best place to be after dark—but not the worst either. That’s the thing about the city. Whether you’re in a luxury high rise or posted on the block, you keep your head on a swivel. No exceptions.

Jeongguk rolls in on a black and chrome Kawasaki Ninja H2 Carbon, the engine purring like a predator with too much money and nowhere to be. The bike looks custom, vicious. So does he. His black leather jacket clings to his frame like it was stitched directly onto his body. One you’ve heard about in rumors passed between girls with loose lips and tighter jeans.

Flanking him are the rest of the Noble Seven. Heirs of the seven families who run the country from behind velvet curtains and bloodstained ledgers.

“My god,” Keira breathes, her voice low and reverent. “It’s like the universe said, ‘Hmm, what would sex on legs look like?’ and dropped them here just to fuck with us.”

You laugh. It’s such a Keira thing to say.

But she’s not wrong.

“Hey.” Pierce’s voice cuts through your amusement like a whip, authoritative. You and Keira both stiffen as he approaches, already pulling his helmet on. “Don’t go far. And don’t talk to anyone.”

You fake a gag, just in time to catch him yanking Keira toward him by the belt loop of her jeans.

“Good luck kiss?” he grins at her. You roll your eyes and tune them out, shifting your attention back to the growing crowd of riders and onlookers. It’s the first night out you’ve had in weeks.

The shop’s been busier than ever with the warm weather—more cash in your pockets, sure, but less time to enjoy it.

A cold rush skims up your spine.

Someone’s watching you.

You scan the crowd from beneath your lashes, discreet but alert. You’re not in the mood for a fight tonight.

Your breath falters in your chest when you find the source.

Jeongguk’s gaze locks with yours; dark, curious, and far too direct for comfort. His eyes glitter like onyx under the flickering neon lights. He says something low to the man beside him without breaking eye contact. Park Jimin follows his line of sight and smirks, slow and dangerous.

Nope.

You whip your head away.

Pierce said don’t talk to anyone. You’re pretty sure that includes body language.

“Come on,” Keira says, tugging your arm. “Let’s grab drinks and find seats before the race starts. You should flirt with Baekhyun—he’ll let us watch the drone footage.”

“We can just stream it on our phones,” you grumble, trying not to trip as she drags you along “And Baekhyun’s like a brother. That’s weird.”

“Ugh. Everyone is like a brother to you. When are you gonna stop friend zoning dick and swallow some?”

“Hyunwoo wasn’t like a brother.”

Keira side eyes you, tongue sliding over her teeth. “No…no he was not.” You both dissolve into giggles as you join the line at concessions.

—

The second time you see Jeongguk, it’s through the grainy feed of Baekhyun’s drone—high above the treacherous backroads of Howlers Mountain, where one wrong move means a broken body or worse.

You’re sitting on the roof of the camper, knees pulled to your chest, drink sweating in your hand. Keira’s next to you, vibrating with adrenaline.

“Who the hell takes a curve at that angle?” she yells, nearly spilling tequila down your jeans.

“Apparently, Jeon fucking Jeongguk,” Baekhyun mutters from his monitor below.

The camera pans to a blur of black gear, tires screaming around a cliffside, the rider leaning in like he’s bulletproof. Your breath catches as gravel spits from his rear tire—he’s inches from the edge.

You hate how your chest clenches.

Hate more the thrill that curls in your belly.

He’s reckless.

Stupid.

Beautiful.

And completely in control.

“He’s okay,” you say quickly, pointing at the screen as the rider regains balance. “He’s okay.”

Your own cocktail sloshes over the rim of your cup, ice rattling.

“Keep it down, ladies,” Baekhyun mutters from behind his controller. “I’m working.”

“Sorry, Bacon!” you and Keira chorus, teasing him in sync. He groans like he regrets inviting you, which only makes you laugh harder.

Your attention drifts back to the sleek shadow slicing through the mountain pass—black bike, black gear. Jeongguk.

“Let’s go, silver surfer!” Keira yells as Pierce takes the lead, cutting past Jeongguk in a clean maneuver.

You glance at the route map—tight turn coming up. That’s usually where the race is won or lost.

Pierce surges ahead, dressed in head to toe white like a declaration of war. It’s too on the nose. Too symbolic. But your brother loves a metaphor.

Your heart skips when another rider, Marcus, skids out, bike sliding across the asphalt with a sharp screech. He tumbles, helmet shattering as the other riders swerve to avoid him.

“Fuck, that was close,” Baekhyun breathes.

You’re already out the door, feet pounding the steps of the camper, Keira hot on your heels as the thunder of engines rushes toward the finish line.

Jeongguk crosses first.

Pierce is a breath behind him.

The crowd goes feral.

Jeongguk revs his engine, slowing just enough to pull up directly in front of you. The way he swings off the bike is criminal—helmet in one hand, jacket clinging to his chest like a second skin. His eyes rake up your body: chunky heels, cargos, crop top. He doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about your chest.

“Now this is a first place trophy,” he says over his shoulder to Jimin, who’s lounging nearby with his helmet under his arm.

You scoff. Loudly.

“Even if winners did get trophies, it definitely wouldn’t be me.”

Keira tugs your sleeve, whispering not to antagonize a member of the Noble Seven. You couldn’t care less. Arrogance doesn’t look good on anyone—even if he wears it well.

Jeongguk laughs, the sound warm and rich, but edged with something colder.

He plants his helmet on the seat, closing the distance between you in two strides. His frame is massive up close, all sculpted muscle and quiet dominance.

He smells like leather and bergamot, and the scent wraps around your senses before you can brace against it.

“And what kind of winner do I have to be,” he murmurs, “to win you?”

His voice curls around your spine like a promise or a threat. Maybe both.

You meet his gaze evenly, only your lip caught between your teeth betraying the flutter in your chest. You lean in, just enough that your breath ghosts over his lips. You hear him inhale.

Good.

Two can play this game.

“I’m not won, Jeon,” you whisper, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear. “I’m earned.”

Then you step back, grab Keira’s hand, and vanish into the crowd.

His laughter follows you like smoke.

“I know you’ve heard the rumors,” he calls after you. “That I don’t like to lose.”

You pause but don’t turn. You don’t have to.

“I’ll admit it. I’m a bit of a sore loser.”

His tone shifts—silken, dangerous.

“Just know whatever they told you about me? Lies,” he says, the crowd swallowing him in a sea of noise and flashing lights. “I’m much worse.”

Your skin prickles. Your breath catches.

You keep walking.

Hopefully, your little show doesn’t bite you in the ass later.

“Damn,” Keira whistles beside you. “He’s definitely not like a brother.”

You squeeze her hand tighter. “Is he still looking?”

“He’s doing more than looking, sister friend.”

— — — — —

The door slams shut behind you.

In an instant, Jeongguk has you pinned—his palm wrapped around your throat, pressing you flat to the wood like he owns you. His other hand works between your thighs, fingers curling deep inside your dripping pussy with unrelenting rhythm.

Your legs tremble as your slick soaks through ruined lace. His knee knocks yours apart, kicking your cargos across the hallway.

“You said I have to earn you, huh, princess?”

Words escape you. Your tongue feels swollen and useless, lolling helplessly against your lips as your mouth parts in silent cries.

His fingers find your g-spot, hook into it like he’s done this a thousand times, and your body convulses. The edge of your orgasm looms, sharp and sudden, white-hot pressure blooming behind your eyes.

“Answer me.” His voice is a growl against your ear, his body the only thing keeping you upright.

“J-Jeongguk—I’m gonna—please—”

His fingers don’t relent. If anything, they move faster. The obscene sound of your arousal fills the air, each wet squelch making your cheeks flush. You clench desperately around his hand, right there on the edge—

Then nothing.

He pulls out.

Your orgasm evaporates into a scream of frustration, your nails dragging down the door. Tears spring to your eyes as the emptiness between your legs throbs violently.

“Fuck!” you cry out.

Jeongguk lifts his slick-covered fingers to his mouth, moaning shamelessly as he licks them clean. His hand tightens around your throat, thumb stroking the column of your neck as he forces you to watch.

“Did you really think you could get away with saying that shit to me?” His voice is low, deadly, nearly amused.

You shake your head, lips trembling. He leans in, his lips grazing your ear.

“Use your fucking words. Or I’ll play with this pussy until the sun comes up. Is that what you want?”

“No—no! Please, let me cum, baby—please.”

His lips crash into yours, swallowing your plea. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes your pussy clench in need, your whole body arching for more.

He breaks the kiss with a dark chuckle. “Did you have fun teasing me, princess? Standing there in front of everyone, looking like my own personal goddess? Thinking I wouldn’t make you pay for it?”

“I wasn’t—!” you gasp, but your protest dies on your tongue when his thumb circles your clit, rough and fast.

You writhe, your legs locking around his hips, chasing any sensation that’ll give you what he keeps stealing.

“You’re a horrible fucking liar,” he snarls. He yanks your panties aside and plunges his fingers back into your soaked heat. “Let’s try again. Be a good girl. Tell the truth. Now.”

“Y-Yes—I did, I was teasing,” you gasp, shame and need tangling in your throat. “Gguk, please—!”

“Such a bad girl,” he tsks. “Teasing me in front of Keira, in front of your brother? It’d be wrong of me to bend you over my bike and fuck the attitude out of you, wouldn’t it?”

You moan, head rolling back as his fingers fuck you ruthlessly. You’re so close it feels like dying.

“Gguk…”

“What? You wanna cum?” he mocks, voice syrupy with false sympathy. “My baby wants me to let her cum?”

You nod frantically, lips parted, mind unraveling.

He grins.

And then he wrecks you.

His thumb finds your clit again, and the combination sends lightning through your veins. Your orgasm builds like a storm surge, fast and furious, until it’s the only thing you can feel.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “I’ll make you cum, princess. And then I’ll keep going—until you remember who you belong to.”

When it hits, it devastates you.

You scream his name as your orgasm slams through your body, collapsing every muscle with it. Your vision whites out, your walls fluttering around his fingers, spasming again and again as tears pour down your cheeks.

He doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it—past it—ruthless, merciless. His hand tightens around your throat, not enough to hurt but enough to make your lungs burn, and the overstimulation mutates into a new kind of hunger.

“You’re so sexy like this,” he growls against your cheek, “looking all innocent in front of Keira and your brother. But we both know better, don’t we, pretty girl?”

“Jeongguk—!”

“You love it.” His voice is hoarse with desire. “Getting all stupid on my fingers, going cock drunk before I even fuck you. I should make you cum again just like this.”

You claw at him, your thighs trembling as you try to pull away, but he catches your waist and holds you still.

“Fuck, baby—you want me to cum in my pants?” he groans, rutting into your thigh. “Shit, you’re dripping down my wrist.”

“N-No—I—I want you in me,” you whimper.

He inhales sharply, and it’s all over.

He drags you to the living room, drops onto the couch, and pulls you into his lap like he can’t bear to wait another second.

“Can I fuck you now? Please, baby—I need to feel you.” His hands are trembling as he unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants down enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, leaking.

You fall to your knees, hungry.

“Need to suck your dick,” you pant, reaching for him.

But Jeongguk grabs your wrists. “Not now,” he growls. “Need you riding me.”

His eyes burn into yours as he tears your panties from your body, lips parted in awe as he stares at your soaked, puffy folds.

“Come here, princess. Sit on my cock.”

You straddle him, guiding the thick head of his dick to your entrance. You both gasp when he slips in, walls stretching to accommodate him.

“So wet… ‘m gonna cum just from you sitting on me.”

You whimper as you sink down, inch by inch, until he’s seated fully inside you.

“F-fuck,” he hisses. “Love your pussy, princess.”

He cups your breasts, pulling your bandeau down with a groan. Your nipples are hard, begging to be tasted. He wraps his mouth around one, tongue flicking while his other hand kneads the other breast.

You ride him slowly, grinding your hips in lazy circles that drive him mad.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, switching to the other nipple, suckling greedily. “Wanna live right here forever. Just like this.”

You start to move faster, hips bouncing, skin clapping against skin. His cock hits deep with every drop, the stretch addictive.

“I’m close,” you pant.

“I know, baby—I feel it. Fuck—you’re squeezing me so good.”

He grips your hips and thrusts up into you, punching into your cervix with brutal precision. Your orgasm builds fast and hot.

“Harder!” you beg. “Please, Jeongguk—harder!”

He slams into you, over and over, and suddenly he’s everywhere—his mouth on your tits, his hands bruising your waist, his cock claiming every inch of you.

You scream when you cum again, whole body shaking as you collapse into him, trembling in his arms.

But he’s not done.

He lifts you and flips you onto the couch. “No—please, Gguk, I can’t—”

“You can,” he croons, lining himself up again. “You will.”

He thrusts into your overstimulated cunt and sets a ruthless pace, eyes wild as he watches your eyes roll back.

“So wet, so fucking warm—shit! Gonna fill you up, okay? Gonna fuck you right, princess.”

You cry out, clawing at the cushions, unable to form words anymore. Just please and more and don’t stop on loop.

His rhythm stutters. His face contorts in pleasure. He shoves in deep, holding you down as he empties inside you with a broken groan.

His cum floods your walls, thick and hot, and it makes you moan again, your legs twitching around his waist.

He leans in, kissing your lips softly now. Passionately. Worshipful.

“You’re mine, baby,” he breathes, brushing your sweaty hair back from your forehead. “All mine.”

And in the wreckage of your shared desire, you believe it.

Feel it in your bones.

—

You find yourself in Jeongguk’s bedroom, sprawled across 800 thread count Egyptian cotton. The sheets are cool against your flushed skin, a poor remedy for the heat coursing through you—made worse by the steady chill of the air conditioning he always insists on.

Your vision is cloaked in black silk, blindfolded and vulnerable beneath the weight of his desires. Every creak of the bed frame, every shift in the air feels magnified, your heartbeat pounding in your ears like a warning—or a promise.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head, princess?”

His voice cuts through the silence like velvet over steel, coming from your right. You gasp, your body tightening reflexively around the sound.

A whimper escapes you, helpless and raw. After making you cum on the couch downstairs, Jeongguk had carried you upstairs over his shoulder—his toned ass on display the whole way—then bound your wrists to the bedposts with soft cotton rope.

Now you lie there, spread open, waiting.

“Gguk…”

You strain to hear, to locate him. But there are no footsteps, no shifting weight. Just a vast, mysterious silence.

It used to terrify you, this surrender of control. When Jeongguk first introduced you to the world of blindfolds and bondage, the loss of sight had been a seismic jolt to your nerves. But with time—and with him—you learned to trust. And Jeongguk? He always took care of you.

Your body flinches when something cool and leather trails up your thigh. A heartbeat later, the riding crop slices through the air and lands on your skin with a sharp crack.

“Ahh—”

The sound that spills from your lips is more moan than cry, your body arching in response. You’re trembling, sensitive and aroused, a lit fuse waiting to be touched.

“I asked you a question,” he murmurs, his voice brushing your cheek like a phantom kiss. “You know I don’t like repeating myself.”

You chase the heat of his breath, desperate for a kiss, a graze, anything—but he withholds, as always.

“I was thinking…” You’re panting now, your breath catching in your throat. “Thinking about you… and this.”

Even now, you’re bashful—unable to shake the taboo feeling, even with how deeply you’ve fallen into his world. Kinks, bondage, the blurred lines of pleasure and pain. You crave them, but speaking them aloud still feels like standing naked before a crowd.

He hums low in his throat. The riding crop returns, this time ghosting over your chest. Your nipples stiffen instantly, and you jolt when he flicks them with the tip.

“Do you want to stop?”

His tone changes—no more teasing or dominance, only calm and care. Sincere. He always checks in. Always offers an out.

This is about trust first. Pleasure second. Always.

You shake your head vigorously, the blindfold shifting slightly with the motion. “No. Please… don’t stop.”

Another sharp crack. You jolt, the pleasure bursting through you like sparks.

“Then use your words, princess. Why am I repeating myself so much tonight?”

You cry out again when the crop strikes your swollen clit, sticky with need. Strings of your arousal stretch and snap with every motion.

“N-No. Please, please don’t stop.”

He blows lightly against your exposed cunt, the breeze making you squirm.

“Maybe I should tease you until sunrise. You’ve had your fun, haven’t you? Now it’s my turn.”

“Gguk… please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for—release or denial, more pain or mercy. All of it. None of it. Just him.

“Always begging. Always wanting. What about me, princess?”

You’d give him anything if he asked. The moon. Your soul. His name, carved into your skin.

The bed dips near your legs. Jeongguk straddles you, his thighs bracketing your own. His heat is molten, almost unbearable. You feel him shift again near your head, then—

A hot, wet tongue swipes across your nipple.

You choke on a gasp. Your body, already oversensitive from the teasing, lights up like a live wire. He sucks and bites, lavishing attention on your breasts until you’re nothing but tremors and whimpers.

“Fuck, I love your tits,” he groans, voice strained.

He sits up, sliding forward until he’s perched just above your ribcage. He presses your breasts together, thumbs circling your aching nipples while one hand reaches back to dip between your thighs.

You cry out at the sensation, hips jerking instinctively. But he doesn’t fuck you. He just strokes your folds, coating his fingers in your slick.

You hear him groan. Then he grabs his cock, stroking himself with a hiss, smearing your arousal over his length.

“Gonna cum all over these pretty tits, okay, princess?”

You feel the weight of him settle on your chest, the head of his cock dragging along your sternum. Your mouth waters. You still haven’t tasted him yet—and he knows it.

“What’s your color?”

“Green.”

“Good girl.”

He begins to move, sliding his cock between your breasts. You tilt your head down to flick your tongue over the tip whenever it emerges from your cleavage.

“Oh fuck, baby. Keep doing that—shit,” he grits out, his rhythm faltering for a moment as your tongue teases him.

Your clit throbs, aching for attention, but even this—just his cock, your tongue, his voice—is enough to have you teetering on the edge.

“Fuck, your tits are so soft. So perfect. Fuck—”

You moan, drunk on the way he uses your body for his pleasure. Drunk on him.

“I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum, princess.”

You whimper, tongue flicking greedily. His grip tightens, his pace quickens, until—

“Shit, shit, I’m cumming—”

He groans deeply, cock jerking as hot ropes of cum spill across your chest, painting your skin in thick streaks. You feel one hand release your tits, fingers dragging through the mess before they press against your lips.

“Open.”

Your mouth falls open instinctively, tongue rolling out to receive the offered gift. He lets the cum drip onto your tongue, then slides his fingers into your mouth.

“What do we say when we get a treat?”

“Thank you,” you mumble, words slurred.

“Now swallow. Show me.”

You obey. His breath catches when you swallow around his fingers and reveal an empty mouth.

“Fuck. Now you want to behave, huh? What happened to the brat from the racetrack?”

You whimper, still aching. Your thighs press together in search of friction—but he notices. Of course he does.

A sharp slap lands on your pussy.

“Thought you could sneak one past me?” he growls. “Pretending to be a good girl? I guess I’ll have to edge the disobedience out of you.”

“Gguk—no, please! Please let me cum—need it so bad,” you sob, pride long since abandoned.

“I said shut up, fucking cumslut.”

He returns like a shadow, one hand wrapped around your throat, a knee wedging between your legs, grinding against your clit.

“Am I not enough for you? Don’t I give you everything you need?” he hisses, the slap of his hand against your soaked folds punctuating every word.

“Yes! Yes, you do! You’re all I need, Jeongguk—please, let me cum, I need to cum!”

He lets go of your throat. You gasp for breath, trembling with desperation.

But he’s already gone again, vanished into the quiet once more—leaving you writhing, needy, and dripping for him.

The ropes fall away from your wrists first, then your ankles, leaving behind a tingling sensation like ghost chains. You barely have a moment to breathe before his voice rumbles low and commanding.

“Turn over.”

You obey, the air cool against your sweat slicked skin as you roll onto your stomach. A firm grip on your wrists draws them behind your back once more—retied, restrained. The plush wedge that’s slid beneath your hips lifts you just so, ass perched high in the air, back arched in offering.

“Gguk, what are we—”

“Did I say you could speak?” His interruption slices through the dark like a blade. You bite down on your lip, choking back the moan that bubbles up your throat. Anticipation skitters down your spine like an electric current. You feel feral for him—need thrumming in every vein, your heart beating out a rhythm your body can’t ignore.

“You want me to fill you up, princess? Need dick that badly, huh?” He’s behind you now, one hand gripping the swell of your ass while the other parts your cheeks, exposing your drenched folds and twitching hole to the cool air.

“Yours,” you pant. “Only want you.”

Jeongguk groans low, pleased and ravenous. He knows what you need before you ask for it. He always does.

“Yeah? My greedy little thing.” His thumb trails through your slick, spreading it up over your tight ring of muscle. “Wanna be stuffed so full you feel me in your throat, huh?”

You shiver, a hot sound escaping as he circles your ass slowly, deliberately. The sensation is thicker than lust—it’s something darker, deeper, something that roots itself in your bones and grows.

“You like that,” he murmurs, voice laced with twisted delight as he watches more slick drip from your pussy. “You’re such a filthy girl for me. My perfect, dirty little princess.”

And then—pressure.

His thumb presses against your rim, slow and unrelenting, until the tight muscle begins to yield. You tense instinctively, hips jerking, but his hand on your back steadies you.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you, baby.” He coos it like a lullaby, breath hot against your skin. “You’re doing so well for me. My good girl. Just relax.”

You moan—long, low, and desperate—as the thick digit pushes deeper. The stretch is sharp but thrilling, your walls fluttering from the unfamiliar fullness.

“More?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Please,” you gasp, arching back against his hand like a woman possessed. “More, Gguk.”

“Color?”

“Green,” you cry. “Green, green—I need it, please.”

He hums, dark and approving, and slides his thumb deeper, moving it slowly in and out of your clenching hole. Your cunt throbs around nothing, your body begging to be filled in every way it can.

You hear the slick pop of a lid, then feel warm globs of lube land on your skin in lazy drips. He rubs them in, spreading the slickness around your rim, thumb teasing you open again and again. Your moans are breathy now, unfiltered, as the tight ring of muscle yields to him.

You can’t see him, but you can feel the shift in the air when he starts stroking himself—slow, wet sounds of lube-coated flesh against flesh. Your stomach flips.

The blunt head of his cock nudges your hole.

You tense.

“Gguk? Wh-What are you doing?” Your voice trembles, laced with hesitation.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says simply.

Your name on his lips lands like a weight in your chest—heavy, grounding. He means it. He always means it.

But you don’t want him to stop.

You trust him.

“N-No… don’t stop.”

His cock returns to your ass, head pressing in soft circles against your rim as one hand finds your pussy, fingers rubbing tight, rhythmic circles on your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Just breathe. Let me in, nice and slow. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“Always,” you whisper, melting into his touch.

The pressure builds, and the head of his cock begins to push inside. It’s a slow burn, foreign and breathtaking, paired with the practiced strokes to your clit. He pushes forward inch by inch, and your body surrenders, clenching and fluttering around the intrusion.

“J-Jeongguk…” you whimper, already so full, so close.

He groans behind you, his voice strangled with restraint. “Fuck, princess… this ass is gonna ruin me.”

He stays still, letting you adjust, fingers never stopping their motion on your clit. Your walls begin to flutter—so close again. Your legs shake.

“‘M close… Gguk, I’m—” Your moan splinters as your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, long and rolling, each ripple dragging another cry from your lips.

“Shit,” Jeongguk hisses. He’s not even fully inside and you’re already cumming for him.

Once your body stops shaking, he begins to move—slow, shallow thrusts, coaxing your ass to accept him inch by inch. The stretch remains, but now it hums with pleasure, building into something raw and addicting.

“Fuuuuck, baby. You’re perfect,” he groans, hands gripping your hips tight as he finally buries himself inside you.

Your whimpers turn into moans—real, needy ones—your body instinctively rocking back into him.

He moves with more confidence now, pace quickening, hips slapping against your ass with wet, sinful sounds. The wedge keeps you elevated, forcing you to take every inch. You’re trapped between his body and the bed, utterly at his mercy.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls, one hand slipping beneath you to rub your clit again, hard and fast.

“I–Gguk—I think I’m gonna–!”

“Yeah? Cum on my cock, baby. Show me how much you love being ruined.”

You cry out, vision going white as your second orgasm tears through you, louder, sharper than the last. Your hole tightens around him, and Jeongguk curses violently.

“Fuckfuckfuck—princess!” He cums with a shout, cock pulsing inside you, hot ropes painting your insides, claiming you completely.

He doesn’t stop.

Even as his orgasm fades, he keeps moving—softer now, fucking you through the aftershocks. His fingers return to your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles.

You keen softly, too sensitive to handle it, but too blissed out to push him away. Another orgasm builds—sharp and shocking—and then explodes across your body, leaving you limp and trembling.

When you finally slump forward, boneless and trembling, Jeongguk catches you with careful hands, easing your weight down onto the wedge. His touch is slow as he unties your wrists, his thumbs brushing over the faint, reddened grooves the rope left behind. He doesn’t speak yet—just presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, then to your temple, grounding you as your breath stutters its way back into rhythm.

The blindfold slips off next, and you blink slowly, vision adjusting to the dim golden light just in time to see his broad back retreating toward the ensuite bathroom.

“I’ll run us a bath,” he murmurs over his shoulder, voice low and warm. “You did so good for me, baby.”

There’s quiet pride in his tone, wrapped in something softer—adoration, maybe, or something frighteningly close to love. And before the water even starts to run, he’s back, tucking a warm blanket around your shoulders and cradling your face in his palms like he’s still worried he might’ve pushed too far.

“Let me take care of you now, yeah?” he says, gently brushing your damp hair from your face, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re mine to break—but you’re also mine to put back together.”

You hum, eyes fluttering closed once more.

Behind your lids, you still feel him—his warmth, his weight, his hands claiming you over and over again.

And in the corner of your blissed out mind, one thought curls up like a secret:

You’ll never belong to anyone else.

— — — — —

The water is warm and fragrant, infused with the scent of vanilla and brown sugar—your favorite combination. Jeongguk had started keeping your bath bombs stocked at his house without ever making a big deal out of it. The kind of quiet gesture that said more than his words ever could.

You’re nestled between his legs, back resting against the firm plane of his chest, your arms stretched lazily across his knees while his fingers trace idle circles beneath the surface. It’s peaceful here. Quiet. The kind of quiet that feels sacred.

Until he speaks.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The words pierce through the steam thick air and sink straight into your chest, rooting themselves like lead in your lungs.

Your body stiffens before you can stop it, muscles tensing where you lie against him. You blink at the candles dancing along the tiled wall, refusing to move, to breathe, to react—because if you don’t acknowledge it, maybe it won’t be real.

You always knew this day would come. That Jeongguk—beautiful, untouchable Jeongguk—would eventually grow tired of sneaking kisses and hidden nights. That he’d outgrow you, just like the others before you, and move on to his next fleeting thrill.

And maybe it hurt more because, somewhere along the way, you’d started to believe you were different.

But what could you say?

You were never his to keep.

“Princess?” His voice is gentle, testing, but you don’t trust yourself to answer. Your silence seems to worry him more than any argument might’ve, and when his arms shift around you, the water sloshes in protest. A wave spills over the porcelain lip of the tub, splattering onto the floor, unnoticed.

He turns you gently until you’re facing him, your chest brushing his with each uneven breath. His features are muddled—blurred by steam, or maybe the tears clinging to your lashes. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until his thumbs brushed under your eyes, wiping away water with more water.

“Why are you crying, baby—? Oh. No, no, no. Shit. That’s not what I meant.” He panics slightly, eyes wide and fingers fumbling like he’s trying to put you back together. “I didn’t mean us. That’s not what I… fuck. I’m not good at this shit.”

He’s rambling now, the way he always does when he’s trying to fix something that’s slipping through his fingers. He leans in to kiss your cheek, lips warm and soft and a little desperate, the way someone might kiss a bruise they didn’t mean to cause.

You see it in his face—adoration, guilt, sincerity. You used to think he was a mystery, impossible to figure out. But now? He might as well be an open book.

“I meant I don’t want to sneak around anymore,” he clarifies, voice softer now, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

You blink once. Twice. “What?” Your head tilts to the side, eyes wide, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. God, you were so fucking cute when you were confused.

He cups your cheeks in his hands, thumbs barely skimming your skin as he brings your face closer, so close your noses brush.

“I want to be with you,” he says simply. “You’re mine. No more hiding. No more pretending we’re strangers. I want to kiss you after a race in front of everyone. Even your brother.”

You wrinkle your nose in horror. “Ew. Why would you say that? That’s nasty.”

He chuckles, full and deep, his grin stretching across his face like sunshine breaking through a storm.

Your voice turns soft, almost childlike in its wonder. “You mean it?”

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t need to ask what you’re really searching for. He leans in and kisses you—slow and certain, like a promise written in ink instead of pencil.

“What’d I say, baby?” he murmurs against your lips. “Make bad decisions, you deal with the consequences. You’re stuck with me.”

You giggle, bright and unguarded, and tug him back in. “If this is my punishment, I’ll happily do the time for the crime.”

Jeongguk pulls away with a groan, throwing his head back in laughter. Wet strands of hair sling droplets across your face and neck, but you’re too busy watching him—really watching him—to care.

He sobers only slightly, eyes finding yours again with that same unshakable intensity. One hand slips behind your neck, holding you there as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

“You’re so fucking cheesy, princess,” he whispers, brushing his nose against yours, “but I love it.”

You lean into him, fingers curling around his wrist, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling alone.

You feel like you’ve been caught.

masterlist

[isolatedrose]

A Message In The Water (Part I)

Part II

Part I

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Mermaid Reader

Summary: Arthur picks up your precious jeweled comb, leading to a chance encounter between the two of you. He thought you were the stuff of legends. Reader is a mermaid.

Word Count: 3.9k AO3 Link

You have never been this close to the shore before, much less this close to a human. But what could you do? The burly man with the hat and the gun (plus whatever weapons he could have on hand) took your jeweled comb. You cursed yourself for being so careless. 

The man sat on a stool at the edge of the wooden pier along with all of his other belongings scattered across the wooden planks, your precious comb included. Luckily, his holster and gun were laid to rest with the rest of the items as well. You just needed to be quick and stealthy, at least in theory.

Your tail swished back and forth in the water as you kept yourself in one spot, the water lapping at your face as you tried to hide as much of yourself underneath the surface. While your main objective was to retrieve your comb, your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the man. This impressively large human you noticed, hulking in form, was actually hunched over a notebook, silently sketching on the parchment pages. What could he be doing, you wondered. A man as intimidating as him could kill not just one, but several men, and even more easily a mermaid. But his intent seemed to be capturing the picturesque view of Flat Iron Lake.

You brought your hands together and dived into the depths, bringing yourself closer to the edge of the pier, circling around it to avoid his field of view. You broke through the surface of the water, and reached out to grab the wooden post closest to your comb, keeping yourself steady against the lake’s currents. You craned your neck to peek at the man, and seeing he was still focused on his notebook, you dared to stretch your arm out on top of the wooden planks. You were so close, the comb glittering in the sun as if to beckon you to return it to its original owner. 

Just a little more, you thought, outstretching your arm and fingers as far as they could reach, your other hand gripping the edge of the pier. Your fingertips were just about to graze the comb before you heard the unsheathing of metal. You froze in shock and horror at seeing a knife lodged in the wood, just millimeters away from piercing the palm of your hand. 

“What in the hell—”

Your frightened eyes darted to the knife grasped in the owner’s hand, and then to his face. His journal was discarded to the side, his lethal reflexes taking priority over his leisurely activity. His expression mirrored yours, eyes widened and lips parted in surprise and shock. You snatch your hand back to clutch to your chest, eyeing the man warily. You were this close to closing a limb and your comb. 

He’s speechless, his mouth moving to attempt to form coherent words. While Arthur Morgan has robbed and been robbed, he’s never thought someone would use underwater tactics to get the one up on him. But when he took a closer look at you, he was coming to a realization that something was off. Your wet hair was clinging to your skin and trailing behind you in the water, and he swore he saw something sparkle in the water, reflecting light.

He slowly pulls out his knife that was jammed in the wood and returns it to its sheath. “Miss?” Is that the appropriate title to call you, he wondered. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He raises his hands up to show his nonviolent intent. 

Your head lowers in the water as your eyes nervously flick between him and your comb. He takes notice of this and directs his attention to the object. He remembered he picked it up along the shoreline of the river, fascinated by the jewels adorning it. He’d never seen anything like it before, as it gave off its own luminescent reflection and glow. He thought it could pick up a good price if it got sold, and he could add the earnings to the camp ledger. But the gems looked to be so otherworldly that he wasn’t even sure if the pawnbroker would accept the piece unless it was clearly made of gold or diamonds.

He gingerly picks up the comb, and your eyes follow it. How can she hold her breath for that long? “Is this yours?” His voice sounds gravelly to your ears, but softens at realizing what you were looking at. He holds it out to you in his large palm.

You still don’t move as you cautiously look between him and your comb. What if he pulled that knife out on you again?

“Go on.” He nods towards his hand, extending his arm further to you. “It belongs to you right?” 

You lift your head fully out of the water now, realizing that he truly was trying to return your comb back to you. You drift closer to him and grip the edge of the dock while your free hand reaches for the comb, water dripping from your outstretched arm. Your fingertips grip the comb’s spine, but not before your skin makes contact with his palm, which was rough and callous to the touch. Being so close to a human, even touching one was such a novel experience for you. 

You allow yourself to take one last curious glimpse of him, but you made sure to not overstay your welcome. You fully enclose your hand over the comb and swiftly draw your hand away, whipping your body around to dive back into the lake’s depths. 

Before you took off running, or swimming as Arthur was witnessing, his jaw hung open at seeing your iridescent tail flick up at the surface of the water and disappear along with you. 

—————

You thought you would stay away and keep your distance, attempting to be cautious after your last visit to the lake’s shore. But all caution was thrown out the window at every instance you would see the same man from before at the wooden docks. He didn’t come everyday, but it was more frequent than the usual human visitors. Sometimes he’d come with his journal like last time, others he’d bring a fishing rod. If he’d exhausted every other activity, the man would just sit there with his stool, gazing along the water’s surface as if he was waiting for something, someone.

You dove head first in the water, and kicked your tail behind you to make your way to the wooden dock, avoiding his line of sight. You circled around a wooden pole just like last time, quietly inching closer, plank by plank until you were near enough to catch a whiff of his cologne. The scent was unfamiliar to you, as it one that couldn’t exist underwater. Everything you’ve observed so far from this particular human was so intriguing to you.

You thought it would best to gently alert him of your presence. Hopefully he wouldn’t be equipped with his knife this time. You softly knocked at the wood by his feet with your knuckles.

He immediately sits up straight, his ears perking at the sound. He turns to the source, and his eyes settle on you. He stares at you in disbelief, awe and wonder clear in his expression. The man takes off his hat and holds it to his chest, as if doing so would better clear his vision at seeing you again.

“It… it’s you!” He exclaims breathlessly. “I thought last time I was dreamin’ in broad daylight.”

You remain silent as you quietly observe him, taking in all of his features. You wondered if all humans looked like this one. He carefully draws closer, taking down to one knee on the wooden plank you were holding on to. This time, you allowed your tail to lay buoyant on the water’s surface, the water lapping at the scales catching the sunlight. His eyes are gawking at it in astonishment, realizing that he wasn’t imagining things.

“You are real.” He grasps his bearded chin, amazement clear on his face now knowing that the tail did belong to you. You still remained wordless during this exchange.

He shakes his head and collects himself, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry about last time. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just, you startled me, that’s all.” He rubs the back of his neck. He’s beginning to feel restless at your silence.

You nodded your head gingerly, hoping to show him that you understood. His blue-green eyes light up with relief at getting an actual response from you, a small smile touching his lips. Were you imagining things, or was your heart starting to beat just a little faster?

“My name’s Arthur.” He thumps the rim of his hat against his broad chest and then tips it towards you. “And you, Miss?”

You opened your mouth, but no words left your lips. The sound was as if you were fogging up a glass windowpane.

“You… can’t speak?” 

You shake your head. You lift yourself onto your elbows to hold onto the ledge.

“Well, here.” He turns to reach inside his satchel to grab something. “I got a pen and some paper. You can write it—”

Your arm springs forward to stop him, your fingers enclosing around his wrist. His eyes widen as he freezes in his tracks but lets you guide his hand closer to you. You look at him intently and motion with your eyes to your joined hands, entreating him to follow along. Arthur begins to get the message as he angles his torso towards his palm as you hold it up for the both of you.

You begin to draw into his palm, the residual water from your fingers leaving behind a trail of letters. Your index finger slowly drops off at the edge of his palm at the last letter, and you turn your head back to look at Arthur.

“Is that your name?” Despite the water-etched letters already disappearing, he keeps his eyes on you with rapt attention.

This time a small smile graces your own lips, and you nod, pleased at his understanding.

“You know, I’m with a group. Our camp’s just a couple miles down that way.” Arthur cocks his head inland, a place impossible for you to set foot without any feet to walk on. “I asked them if they knew anything about mermaids.” He shakes his head and chuckles at the memory. “I damn well could’ve grown a second head the way they laughed at me.”

You listened to him intently despite being clueless to what he was talking about. For some reason, you could listen to his voice for hours. But your meeting was cut short at the sound of hooves rapidly approaching.

“Oh, that must be them.” Arthur glances over his shoulder. “Wait! You’re leavin’?” His brows furrowed in dismay as you were about to dive off into the water.

You conveyed your concern with your eyes as you looked between Arthur and the trees. While you exposed yourself to a human, he was the only exception. You didn’t want your existence to be known by others with less than good intentions.

“I understand. Look, I won’t keep you.” He places his hand down on the space of the wooden dock right in front of you. “I’ll see you again though, right?”

You hesitate with your reply, but you couldn’t lie to yourself. You did want to see him again.

“I’ll be here tomorrow, same time. Promise me you’ll come back?” His eyes pleaded with you, and you knew it would hurt you to say no to him. 

You quickly nodded your head. You didn’t wait for his response once you saw horses and their riders beginning to break through the trees, kicking your tail to propel yourself under the water’s surface.

—————

You met him every day after that. While there was a communication barrier between the two of you, you both made do with your hand gestures and his guiding questions. Once, he asked you where you came from, and you realized that pointing in the general direction left much information to be desired. 

Arthur brought with him a map the next time to show you. He unfurled the parchment, and you placed your finger on the Lannahechee River before following the river’s path until you reached Flat Iron Lake.

“Why did you leave?” He asked.

Your eyes turned solemn, your fingertips brushed against the city that was Saint Denis, its bustling industrialization tainting the waters and forcing you to leave your home. 

And he continued to bring many things to show you, as well as your own treasures, despite little in quantity they may be. A lone mermaid such as yourself in these waters couldn’t afford to have many worldly possessions. This was why you were so determined to retrieve your comb at the risk of being discovered. 

Arthur even one time brought his horse to introduce to you. You were stunned at seeing one for the first time, and you hesitated at first to approach it as Arthur led the horse to the shoreline where you were waiting. 

“She doesn’t bite. Well, she does but only if you cause her grief.”

You looked between him and the foreign creature in awe, a thrilled smile forming on your lips. It comes closer to you as it bows its head, but you couldn’t help pulling away in surprise.

“She wants you to rub her head. Go on.” Arthur keeps a hold on the lead as he beckons you forward, bending down at the waist with his palm facing upwards.

You allow Arthur to guide your hand to the horse’s muzzle and feel its breath puff against your forearm. Your hand delicately moves back and forth against the creature’s coat, fascinated by the foreign sensation against your palm. The horse bobs its head to encourage your pets, and you let out a breathless laugh. 

Arthur gives you an approving smile as he pats his loyal steed’s neck. “I reckon she likes you.” While your attention is trained on the horse, his eyes are transfixed by the image of you full of wonder and amazement. He’d brand the scene in his mind if he could. But the closest he could get was sketching in his journal. The next time he’d see you, maybe he’ll build up the courage to show you how he sees you in his eyes.

—————

You absentmindedly traced the cracks of the dock’s wooden post, occasionally peaking over the planks hoping to see a familiar figure. By now, Arthur would hitch his horse and make his way towards the shore, his face brightening at catching sight of you. 

A couple days passed by, and you weren’t too concerned. But then those days turned into weeks. The worry transformed into fear at the possibilities. Has he grown tired of you already? Or even worse, he told your secret to his group? Even with all of the negative thoughts swirling in your mind, they all converged to one point. You missed him. You wanted to see him, just as much as when he begged to see you again all those meetings ago.

Just as you were about to dive back into the water’s depths, your ears perked at the familiar sound of hooves galloping in your direction. Caution was thrown out the window as you lifted yourself up on the wooden dock in full view to hopefully catch sight of the person you wanted to see most. 

You were elated to find that it was Arthur. But his usual friendly demeanor was replaced by a grave expression on his face. He hitches his horse nearby and makes his way towards you in the water.

He kneels down at the dock. “You should’ve checked that it was me before you showed yourself.��� Arthur admonishes you but not unkindly.

Your tail flicked restlessly in the water as you looked up at him and drank in his features. You cocked your head to the side, curious as to why he hadn’t paid you a visit in so long.

Arthur looks over his shoulder to double check his surroundings. “I’m sorry I haven’t come in a while. Our group’s been put through the wringer, and we lost one of our own, a kid. We also got enemies on our trail, so we had to leave the area.” His explanation comes tumbling out, and you did your best to listen and make sense of it.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back again.” Upon seeing your crestfallen face, Arthur is quick to reassure you. “But I swear I’ll come find you again. I just need to take care of some things on my side.”

You nodded hesitantly, not sure of the implications of his situation, but there was nothing else that you could do. 

“Our camp’s moving towards the swamps, closer to St. Denis. Place called Shady Belle. It’s near where you used to live.”

Arthur looks back again, a more urgent tone rising in his voice. “I have to go.” Just as he was about to stand, you reached out to grasp his arm, a silent cry coming out of your mouth to stop him momentarily.

His eyes widened in surprise to be stopped in his tracks. You entreated him to give you his hand, and you placed the same jeweled comb that allowed the two of you to meet into his palm.

“No I… I can’t take this.” 

You shake your head and urge him forward by closing his fingers over the comb.

Arthur hesitates at first, but then he turns to stow away your treasure in his satchel. “I’ll keep it safe. You know, it’s like I have a little piece of you I can carry around.” 

A warm flush envelopes your face at the idea, and you nod in agreement. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

—————

You didn’t wait for him to come. Instead, you went to him. If the alligators didn’t eat you, that is.

The swamp waters were harder to navigate, with all of its algae and murkiness. You were careful to avoid any vegetation that would catch onto your tail fin. 

Eventually, your head peeked out of the water, and you saw the outline of a worn down, two story mansion, with a camp set up along the front porch. You kept your distance though, remembering that Arthur was with not just one but multiple humans.

You swam along the outskirts of the swamp until you reached the backside of the mansion, finding purchase on a wooden dock similar to the one at home. 

Meanwhile, as Arthur was upstairs in the dilapidated mansion, his eyes caught the glint of familiar iridescent scales flitting through the swamp water. He could recognize them anywhere. He rushes down the stairs as quickly as possible without drawing suspicion from the gang, occasionally looking over his shoulder. 

He kneels down at the dock and urgently whispers your name. At the sound of his voice, you emerge from underneath the water, a bright smile on your face that Arthur swears makes his heart ache.

“The hell you doing here for?” He’s all astonishment. 

Out of all of the times, you wished you could speak now, form the words you wanted to say to Arthur. Express how you feel. How you missed him so desperately that you sought him out yourself. But the only thing you could do was reach for him.

Arthur catches your hand without hesitation. Your breath hitches at him pressing your palm to his cheek, not caring about the water touching the scruff of his beard. 

“What if someone saw you?” His brows furrowed in worry. “The water here’s not safe, you know. It’s teeming with alligators.” 

He notices the bits of algae caught in your hair. “Look at you.” His fingers move to pick them out of your locks. “You’re too pretty for a swamp.”

You close your eyes, and Arthur takes this chance to dust his knuckles over your cheek. A shiver runs down your spine and all the way to your tail at the intimate touch. 

“You should’ve waited. I would’ve gone to you.” His voice is soft.

You open your eyes at that and shake your head, your expression forming into a sulk. 

“I… I have to tell you something.” He’s hesitant, a little fearful even. 

You cock your head to the side in curiosity.

“The way you look at me…  the way you make me feel. It almost makes me think I’m a good man.” He smiles bitterly.

You shook your head fervently. Why wouldn’t he be anything else but good?

“No, I’ve done bad things, horrible things. All for the sake of… well now I don’t know anymore.” Arthur’s eyes are distant as his gaze is trained on the ripples caused by your tail undulating in the water.

You sensed that you were losing him. You reach up and clasp his face in your hands, trying to ground him back to this moment. He’s startled at first, but then his eyelids lower as your fingers smooth out the lines in his forehead, tracing his eyebrows. Your thumb gently rubs back and forth across his cheek. 

“You make me want to be better.” His voice is a low murmur. He lowers his head towards the water, towards you, as his lips press against your forehead. Your heat picks up pace in your chest, a rosy pink staining your cheeks. He stares at your lips in longing, and you didn’t realize how you unconsciously raised yourself out of the water to meet your lips with his.  

The two of you were just a hair away from a kiss before noises erupt from the camp, and the two of you whip your heads towards the source. You heard Arthur curse under his breath.

“They’re back.” Arthur returns his attention to you, but his eyes are now frantic. “I can’t have Dutch see you. You gotta get out of here.” 

You didn’t know who this Dutch was, but based on Arthur’s tone, he was a person that was a danger to your existence. You nodded resolutely.

“Go, now!”

You give him one final look before you dove under the surface of the swamp. 

—————

You didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. There was no guarantee you would see him again. And like how Arthur said, the swamp was a danger to you. You could’ve been an alligator’s next meal.

Just as you thought the water was getting clearer as you swam, you didn’t realize the dark shadow that was descending on you, a fishing net to be exact. 

An underwater gurgle escapes your throat as the net latches around you. You darted back and forth, clawing at the netting to try to escape its clutches, but it was no use as you were being lifted out of the water. 

You weren’t able to fully process the sensation of completely being a fish out of water as the net dumped you on the floor of an massive, industrial-looking fishing boat. 

There were shouts and exclamations from a group of humans at witnessing what they just caught. Other crew members rushed over to see the commotion.

“What the hell?!” 

You were breathing fast, hyperventilating even as you thrashed about, your tail fin lodged in the net’s openings. 

You felt helpless as these foreign humans crowded around you to catch a glimpse of the once thought mythical creature. 

“Captain, what do we do with it?” One human speaks up, his eyes practically bugging out of his eyes at the sight of you.

The leader of this fishing boat was also left speechless. But he eventually collects himself.

“What we always do with a catch. Sell it.”

[necrotic-nephilim]

"Can you two manage not to tear each other apart while I'm gone?"

Bruce, Jason, and Tim (With JayTim or maybe even BruJayTim)

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

god, this one was so good. so, you get the catch-22 of this being a bit longer, 4.5k, but with the warning, i have not edited it so it might be a little rough. but the whole point of this is quick fun so! this is basically Tim and Jason trying to kill each other bc they're under the influence of a toxin. both have a relationship with Bruce and are mad about it. it does end in some short JayTim porn and an implied BruJayTim ending. you could argue dub-con, but it's mostly consensual. enjoy <3

Tim honestly would’ve preferred if it was fear toxin or Joker venom.

Those, he at least knew the tricks for dealing with. How to keep his heart rate down, how to focus and not give in to his body’s adrenaline response. And even if none of those failed, the worst of the fear toxin was just something Tim could wait out while playing distracting music.

This was different.

Anger was different.

“It looks like someone took Crane’s compound and modified it,” Bruce, the lucky bastard who had managed not to inhale the substance, was stood perfectly calm in front of the Batcomputer. “It’s difficult to tell though without a direct sample.”

“If you would just let me look at it maybe we could get somewhere,” Tim hissed through grit teeth, aiming a lethal scowl at Bruce. His nails were digging into his palm. He frowned and tried to take a break. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder at Tim with concern and pity. “Are you sure you don’t want to be tranquilized until I synthesize the cure?”

“Bruce, if you try to get close enough to tranq me, I’ll probably try to rip your larynx out with my teeth,” Tim said. The itch for violence sat right underneath his fingertips. He was desperate for it, already twitching at the thought.

Logic and reasoning were hard to hold onto. Every straight thought Tim had was immediately consumed by the fire of fury, burned into something unrecognizable.

Tim didn’t feel like himself when he was angry. That was the worst part. He never liked his anger before and now, it was the only part of him on display. An ugly and twisted thing.

“He could just shoot you with a tranq dart,” Jason said smoothly. “I’d pay to see it.”

Jason was also affected by the rage toxin, though compared to Tim, he looked barely bothered. His head was tilted back to rest against the back of his chair, eyes closed. Both hands were in his lap, fingers calmly laced. His hands were forced together by the same cuffs that Tim was also wearing. Tim had suggested the cuffs when he tried to claw out Bruce’s eyes because Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. Despite Jason’s lack of reaction, it was universally decided to also put Jason in the cuffs. The handcuffs were chained to the chairs Tim and Jason were sitting in, with at least six feet’s distance between them so they couldn’t try to grab each other.

Which Tim had done at least a half a dozen times by now.

“If you’re not going to have helpful input you can keep your goddamn mouth shut,” Tim snapped, holding himself still in the chair from trying to launch across the room again. His muscles were so tense from clenching them that he was starting to shake.

“Tim,” Bruce said softly, giving him a look. Bruce was perfectly fine if Tim snapped at him. But when Tim snapped at Jason, he got a stern reprimand.

Which only pissed Tim off more.

He didn’t understand how he was fine with Bruce sleeping with both of them now. The thought was ridiculously enraging, how he could allow Bruce to even be around Jason Todd. It usually didn’t bother Tim, and was one of the things Tim accepted about Bruce. The lack of monogamy.

But now? Staring at Jason’s smug face that Tim itched to break? It made Tim’s blood boil.

He was more important and useful to Bruce than Jason could ever be. And Tim didn’t have a pile of bodies on his ledger. He actually knew he to behave like a person and not a wild animal.

Ironic how they looked now, then.

Jason’s face split into a feral grin. He leaned forward. “Yeah, Tim,” his tone mocked the one Bruce used. “Let’s behave ourselves.”

Tim could see it in Jason’s eyes. How angry he was, how he was holding back everything that Tim couldn’t. His little show was a facade and Tim damn well knew it.

He wanted to rip Tim apart just as badly.

Now it was Jason who Bruce gave the look to. “This is easier for you to control than it is for him, Jason. Don’t try to provoke him.”

Tim hated how he was spoken about as if he wasn’t even there. Like he was some hapless child throwing a temper tantrum that Bruce was indulging, but sharing quiet whispers about with the real adults.

Like he thought Jason could control himself better than Tim just because Jason had experience with the Lazarus Pit, making him less susceptible to anger manipulation.

At least that was the working theory, currently. Jason’s working theory was simply that he was better than Tim. It was when he said that, that Tim suggested the handcuffs. He had enough of his wits left about him to know he’d sort of regret killing Jason Todd, no matter how badly he wanted to right now.

Jason just shrugged at Bruce’s words and relaxed back into his chair, crossing his legs. “He shouldn’t be so easily provokable then.”

“You know damn well-” Tim started.

“Timothy.” Bruce put a command in his voice that he rarely used with Tim. It made Tim straighten on instinct. The endless patience Bruce had was getting worn more and more thin with every jab and insult traded between Tim and Jason. He looked like he was at his wit’s end. “Don’t listen to him.”

A slow, deep breath did nothing to calm Tim’s nerves. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and then resisted the urge to spit it at Bruce. “B, I love you, but you have no idea how hard this is. Especially around him of all people.”

The look that crossed Bruce’s face was pained. They always danced around the elephant in the room, that was Bruce accepting Jason back into the fold a little too quickly for everyone’s comfort. It was his soft spot showing. Even when Tim wasn’t under the influence of a drug he didn’t like it and had tried several times to warn Bruce that Jason was a lost cause.

It’d caused a lot of arguments on their best days. Weeks of not speaking to each other on their worst.

And because Tim was the dutiful partner, the loving Robin, he always gave in first. Bruce needed him. In some ways, romantically. But in most ways, Bruce just needed genuine companionship from someone who wasn’t batshit crazy and murdering drug lords like it was a sport. That was Tim’s job. A job he liked, even.

Not that he was too fond of it right now.

They both knew, deep down Bruce had desperate wants of Jason and Tim getting along. The soft comments Bruce made about how well Tim and Jason could work together in a hypothetical always held an unspoken meaning. It wasn’t actually about Tim working with Jason on the field. It was about the fantasy of them being in Bruce’s bed at the same time, loving each other the way they loved him.

That would happen over Tim’s cold, dead body.

“I know,” Bruce said quietly. He reached out for Tim, then seeing the look in Tim’s eye, seemed to think against it and pulled his hand back. It only made Tim angrier. Angry Bruce didn’t currently trust Tim to give him affection. Angry Bruce was right not to trust him. So goddamn angry that despite craving comfort, all Tim wanted to do was bite the hand that fed him. A frustrated growl came out of Tim’s throat and he kicked the ground.

“You know,” Jason drawled, studying Tim with his barely contained madness, “I’m glad for it, honestly. I was starting to think you didn’t have any bite in you at all, Drake. Least we all know what it takes for you to finally snap.”

Tim opened his mouth for a biting insult, but looked at Bruce. He took a deep breath. “I hope all this self-restraint you’re showing is a lesson you keep when all this is over. The last thing we need is for you to go on another murder rampage because someone hurt your feelings.”

Jason’s eyes flared. His hands curled into fists. “Oh, you have no idea the self-restraint I show. If you want to see on a real rampage I’ll fucking-”

“Enough!” Bruce slammed a hand on the console. He ran his hand over his face and sighed. “I have more files on fear toxin in my study I need to find.” Bruce looked between them, giving them both a hard stare. “Can you two manage not to tear each other apart while I’m gone?”

“Ask him,” Jason shrugged. He was trying to sound nonchalant again, but he spoke through grit teeth. “I’m just fine over here.”

Tim just held up his cuffed hands, showing where the chain ended, keeping him firmly connected to the steel chair. “I couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to.”

Bruce nodded. He passed one more look between the two of them. “I’ll be right back. We’ll figure this out, I promise.” Again, he looked like he wanted to reach out. To which of them, Tim wasn’t sure. probably both, which sent an involuntary wave of disgust through his body. If Bruce touched Jason in front of him, Tim was probably going to puke. Bruce turned on his heel and walked out of the cave. They both watched his figure slowly disappear from view.

Before Tim could even turn to Jason and say something, he was tackled to the ground by a blindingly fast and heavy human body.

“What the-” Tim started, raising his hands to protect his face when a fist tried to come down on it. “How the fuck-”

Jason was wearing a grin that had gone completely mad, in every definition of the word. He had easily pinned Tim to the ground, a knee on Tim’s chest. Jason’s hands were still cuffed together but somehow, he’d undone the chain connecting him to his chair. Which boded particularly poorly for Tim, who was still chained to his chair, giving his arms a limited range of movement to defend himself.

Of course, Jason had picked the lock without either of them noticing.

“Thought you were the smart one, Drake,” Jason sneered. His hands were forced together, so when he reached for his waist with one hand they both had to move away from Tim’s face. “You really fucking thought I’d willingly hand over all my weapons to Bruce in a room with you?” He pulled a small, switchblade out from under his waistband and flipped it open. “I wouldn’t have even if I wasn’t drugged.”

“I knew you were acting, you fucking bastard,” Tim snarled. He didn’t have a weapon. It had been his suggestion to hand all of them over to Bruce because Tim was trying to be reasonable.

He should’ve fucking known better. There was never any reasoning with Jason.

Tim still had his bare hands. He launched them toward Jason’s throat. They managed to curl around flesh, nails just starting to dig in, when Jason stabbed Tim in the hand. Tim yelled, yanking his hand away and taking the other one with it.

That was the other shitty part of the anger. It made pain harder to ignore.

“Had to convince Bruce it was okay to leave you alone with me,” Jason said, shrugging slightly. “Figured I would only get one chance.” He raised the knife and tried to bring it down on Tim’s face. Tim managed to stop him, getting the knife tangled in the chains. “For fuck’s sake.” Jason shifted his weight. He pulled the knife free and brought up his over leg, using it to pin down the chain under his boot. Without any slack, Tim’s hands were forced against the ground, tugging uselessly.

“I will rip you apart with my teeth if I have to,” Tim growled, trying to snap at Jason’s face to prove his point.

Jason easily dodged and laughed. “I’d like to see you try. Maybe It’ll make you interesting, for once.” He brought the knife down and held it to Tim’s throat. “Grayson, I could’ve understood. He’s a pretty guy. Got a good sense of humor on him. Even Gordon. I don’t like her, but I could’ve respected it.” Jason’s face twisted into an ugly look, staring down at Tim with utter contempt. “But you? I have to share Bruce with you of all people? My goddamn replacement? That’s just fucking insulting.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten yourself killed then,” Tim shot back. “You were easy to replace.”

“Yeah, provoke the guy with a knife to your throat,” Jason pressed the blade against Tim’s skin until a drop of blood was sliding down his adam’s apple. “I’ll show you what a dead Robin looks like.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You really think Bruce will forgive you for killing me?” He tugged at the chain as hard as he could. It still wasn’t budging. “He’d tear you apart.”

“Yeah, I really do,” Jason mocked Tim. He leaned in close enough for Tim to smell mint on Jason’s breath. “He always does. He’ll just blame it on the toxin. We both know he always forgives me no matter what I do.” His grin was a ghastly thing. “Can you say the same, Drake?”

Tim just growled. He headbutted Jason, not caring about the knife. If he was going to die, he would at least leave his mark.

Jason jerked back, rubbing his nose. Tim had hopefully broken it. Blood was already starting to pour down Jason’s face. Jason had the audacity to laugh. “Cute.” He rubbed his nose for a moment, feeling the bone. “You know I’m not going to kill you, though. That would be way too nice.”

“Nice?” Tim scoffed. “Did you finally learn the meaning of mercy, or something?”

“For you? Never.” Jason brought the knife to Tim’s face. “I just want to make you wish you were dead.” he dug the blade into Tim’s temple and Tim yelled, feeling it cut through his skin all the way down to his jaw. “What part of you do I have to mutilate to make Bruce stop loving you?”

Tim didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying to blink through the pain of a shallow cut that should’ve felt like nothing. Instead, it felt like a hot iron had branded the entire left side of Tim’s face, melting most of his skin off.

“What’s so pretty it could make Bruce like someone as pathetic as you?” Jason pressed on. He put another cut across Tim’s face, slashing through his cheek. “You’ve got a nice face. Is that it?” He leaned back so he could rip Tim’s shirt apart, exposing Tim’s chest. “We both know Bruce is a physical guy. Maybe it’s something else.” The blade trailed across Tim’s chest, looking for the next place to cut.

Tim managed to get leverage against the concrete with his feet. He pushed himself up as hard and fast as he could, throwing Jason off of him. Before Jason had the chance to recover, Tim launched himself forward and wrapped the chain around Jason’s throat.

“Maybe his love for you is only skin deep,” Tim pulled the chain as tight as it could go, watching Jason’s face turn red without oxygen. The rational part of him knew he was taking too much pleasure in watching Jason struggle for air. The rest of him didn’t care. “But Bruce actually loves me.”

Jason snarled. “He’s loved me longer.”

He wildly stabbed at Tim until the knife sank into Tim’s forearm. Tim screamed and let go, giving Jason slack to breathe, getting a hand under the chain and yanking hard on it. Tim didn’t fall off of Jason but instead fell into him. Their bodies were pressed together, and Jason used it as an excuse to wrap the chain around Tim, forcing them against each other.

“Can’t get away from me now,” Jason whispered into Tim’s ear. He ripped his knife out of Tim’s arm.

“You really want to be this close to me?” Tim asked. He tried to headbutt Jason again but didn’t have enough damned room to move. “Your fucking funeral.”

“I’m the one with the knife,” Jason said in a sing-song voice. He wiggled his arms between them and brought the knife against Tim’s crotch. Tim had his pants as a layer of fabric protecting him, but he still went rigid. “Is it here? Is this what Bruce likes so much? Go on. Tell me how he likes to fuck you, Drake. Bet you’re real fucking vanilla about it and he has to be all nice to you.”

“You sound jealous,” Tim tried to bite Jason, who kept pulling his head away. “You’re the one who needs to hear him say he’s proud of you just to come. I’m not the one of us who cries during sex.”

“How the hell-” Jason’s whole body jerked in anger.

Tim knew his grin was feral. “Trust me, I know all the embarrassing details. Bruce talks about it all the time.” That wasn’t entirely true. Tim had just overheard it once when Bruce forgot to turn off his comms. But the lie was far more embarrassing for Jason.

“I could make you cry,” Jason sounded angrier than Tim had ever heard him, which was a hell of a feat. “He’s just not fucking you hard enough. Putting you in your goddamn place like you deserve.”

“You want to fuck me, now?” Tim taunted. “I thought you hated me.”

“Too vanilla to know what hatefucking is, Drake?” Jason shot back. He pressed the knife harder into Tim’s crotch. “I could make you fucking beg for it.”

“Like hell.”

“You wanna find out?” Jason asked.

Tim paused his struggles. He pulled back and gave Jason an incredulous look. “You’re not actually serious.”

“Either I kill you, torture you, or bitch you.” Jason shrugged. He dug the knife down enough to cut open Tim’s pants. The fabric tore loudly. “I’ll let you pick.”

“I’ll kill you first,” Tim shot back. He refused to take the offer seriously.

He didn’t know what his answer would be, if it was a serious offer, so it was better for Tim to not think about it entirely.

“Scared you’ll like it?” Jason was just mocking him now. “If I ruin you enough, you’ll come crawling back for me instead of Bruce. And besides,” Jason lowered his voice to a purr, “we both know he’d pay to watch. Bet he’d even help me hold you down.”

Against his will, Tim shuddered. His anger was clouding his judgment, making it hard to figure out what other emotions were there. Maybe there was arousal. Maybe it was fear.

Tim always had trouble telling the difference.

“Have you always wanted to fuck me?” Tim avoided everything Jason was saying. It made him too dizzy to think about.

Jason just gave him a shrug. “Can’t say I haven’t wondered what’s so special about fucking you that he keeps doing it. Is your ass really that good or something?”

Tim snorted. He had no idea Jason didn’t know. “He doesn’t fuck me in the ass.”

“What?” Jason’s brow furrowed.

“If I had a dick down there, you’d have cut it by now,” Tim pointed out, looking down at the knife.

Jason frowned. He dug the knife deeper, ripping open a bigger hole in the fabric of Tim’s pants until he could force his hand inside, thankfully the one that wasn’t holding the knife. Tim tried to kick, but he couldn’t stop Jason’s hand from groping until it found his cunt, pressing against Tim’s underwear.

“Son of a bitch,” Jason said. “Well, that makes you even easier to fuck. Now I don’t need prep.”

“You’re not fucking me,” Tim snarled, trying to get away from Jason’s hand. his skin was too hot, to have Jason that close to his most sensitive areas. He didn’t want to know what his body would do if Jason got past the thin barrier of fabric between him and Tim’s skin.

“You haven’t actually told me no yet,” Jason pointed out. He managed to cut apart Tim’s underwear, a cold reminder of how close the knife was to his cunt. Thick fingers pressed against Tim’s hole until two managed to sink in. “You’re wet.”

“No, I’m not,” Tim gasped, even though he could feel it. The easy slide of Jason’s fingers inside of him, the way there was no resistance from his body. He still wasn’t ready to admit to himself that he wanted this. Not when he wanted Jason dead just as badly. Tim opened his mouth to say something more, but Jason brushed a thumb over his clit. “Oh god.”

“if I’m being honest with you,” Jason hummed, starting to move his fingers inside of Tim, “I think it’s a lot easier to be horny than angry right now. That’s the only damn feeling that works to fight this.”

He was right and Tim hated him for it. The anger thrumming under his skin pulled back, just slightly, to make room for arousal. It made Tim want to give in, just so he could have anything to latch onto besides cold, empty fury.

And Jason’s fingers felt good inside of him. They arched right up into Tim’s sweet spot, making him gasp and jerk.

“How quick do you think I can make you come?” Jason asked. He worked his fingers and thumb together, finding a good pace. Like he knew exactly how Tim liked it.

“Fuck you,” Tim groaned, throwing his head back.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Jason said.

They both knew he wouldn’t. Tim didn’t want Jason to stop. If Jason stopped, Tim would probably grab the knife and gut him.

“I hate you.” Tim’s hips were moving against his will. He was acutely aware the knife was still down there too, but he put a small amount of trust in Jason to not let it trust.

“It’s mutual,” Jason agreed. He shifted his hips until they were pressed against Tim’s thigh. He was hard. Tim could feel the outline of Jason’s cock as Jason started to rut, grinding against Tim for friction. A low moan came out of him, going straight to Tim’s core.

Jason was kind of handsome, at least. Especially with blood all over his face.

“Now are you gonna come for me or what?” Jason growled into Tim’s ear. “Show me exactly how much you hate me, Drake. I want to fucking feel it.”

“You’re a bastard who doesn’t deserve Bruce,” Tim whined as Jason’s fingers worked him. Rubbing his clit and thrusting into his sweet spot. It was a sweet, torturous distraction from his rage, but it still didn’t make the feeling quite go away.

“Agreed.” Jason shrugged, seeming unbothered by the statement. He groaned again, pressing his forehead against Tim’s. “I’m still better than you, though. You’re the little bitch who’s never going to forget what being fucked by me feels like. Maybe I’ll be nice enough that you’ll enjoy it and jerk off to it every time you’re wet.”

The thought of jerking off to Jason repulsed Tim. Yet it was the same thought that sent his orgasm through him, like a shock to his core. He yelled, so loud it echoed through the cave. His hole clenched around Jason’s fingers as his body worked through the spasms of pleasure.

For one glorious moment, Tim didn’t notice his anger. He just had the beautiful crescendo of pleasure crashing down on him, making his body sing.

“Isn’t that fucking adorable,” Jason gasped, grinding harder against Tim. You’re finally not annoying for once. No wonder Bruce fucks you. It’s the only way someone can enjoy being around you.”

The words were mean and Tim wanted to snap back, but he was boneless. Every insult from Jason was a new aftershock of pleasure down Tim’s spine.

Tim opened his mouth to find something to say, but he was cut off.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce stood at the mouth of the cave, staring at them with wide eyes. He looked just as angry as Tim felt, stalking over to where they were pinned and bloody on the floor. “Jason if you hurt him-”

“I’m fingering him, actually,” Jason corrected lazily, still grinding his hips.

Bruce stopped walking. “What?”

Jason thrust his fingers inside Tim to make his point, pulling a cry out of Tim. He was oversensitive from his orgasm and couldn’t get away from the pressure against his g-spot. “You should be proud of us. We’re getting along pretty well.”

Sure they were. Like Tim’s face wasn’t cut up and Jason’s nose wasn’t broken.

“You…” Bruce trailed off, breath caught in his throat. Tim watched his pupils dilate.

“He’s enjoying himself. Just came on my fingers,” Jason said. He pressed the knife against Tim’s thigh as a warning. “Right, Drake?”

Tim bit back a remark. He nodded.

“I promise to behave if you let me fuck him,” Jason looked up at Bruce. He was definitely lying. “We should both fuck him. See how much he can take. I’ll even keep the cuffs on just to be nice.”

Tim couldn’t stop the soft moan that came out of him at the thought.

Bruce looked between them. His eyes settled on Tim. “Are you-”

“Yes,” Tim said. “Please?”

As soon as Tim said the magic word, Bruce was by their side, taking his clothes off. Jason groaned in victory. He grinned against Tim’s cheek. “Now we can have some real fun.”

[thezolblade]

Thinking about the 'personality simulator' aspect of Disco Elysium lately... Every bit of backstory we find out about Harry adds a lot of context for who he is. And still, he changes so much, in so many possible directions, that it's hard to map out the best and worst of his potential, compared to what would be 'ooc'.

Take his kill count as an example. He must have worked incredibly hard to keep it lower than even Kim's, even while working in a more dangerous district. He must have refused to use lethal force even when other cops would've, even when that principle put him in danger or meant letting suspects get away, desperate to avoid killing anyone else or repeating the kind of mistakes that he beats himself up for in that self-flagellation thought. He can relate to Cunoesse, when he remembers that the first time killing another human being sends people into shock for days out of self-revulsion. He was a teacher, people call him good with kids, he'll adopt Cuno if he asks him to, and he worries about getting other kids in out of the cold.

Within the last few months, while he was having a breakdown and drunk out of his mind, he fleetingly got angry enough to try to kill Burke for breaking the compartment in his ledger, which meant he couldn't access Dora's letter, and he stopped when he got that compartment open again. ('Half Light - Kill them. They broke it.')

You could easily look at all of that canon and say that Harry's limits are: while sober, he'll genuinely do all he can to avoid killing people. He might snap if an aggressive adult actively does something to trigger him when he's not in his right mind on multiple levels, and that type of violent intent wouldn't be at all thought out, it wouldn't be a state of mind that would last for long or involve anything as considered as pausing the beating to draw his gun. He would definitely never shoot at children.

Any yet, in the worst case scenario, he can spiral worse than ever before. He can murder Cunoesse, even in the middle of a conversation where he's broadly aware of what's going on around him despite any leftover drugs in his system, even when she didn't come anywhere near him, resulting in a game over for murdering a helpless young girl. He can become someone his old self would've hated, someone the old Harry never would've believed he'd become. There's a huge gulf between the best and worst outcomes. If Harry starts at a point were his mind is more broken than ever, he can make helpful or harmful choices that allow him to rebuild himself or spiral beyond recognition. There's space for character analysis in what could drive someone to fall apart so thoroughly, and what seems 'in character' or 'out of character' even then. It gets murky though, trying to estimate how much change is ever possible within a lifetime, whether it's change for the better or for the worse.

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

no regrets

a/n : levi x femreader | mature / explicit theme | some characters kept alive because why not it's my au | not for kids.

Story Masterlist : Attack on Titan

MDNI [MINORS DO NOT INTERACT] < previous ... next >

FOURTEEN

The office was dim, lined with towering shelves stacked with leather-bound ledgers and dust-covered files. Commander Nile sat behind his desk, his sharp eyes watching each member of the entering squad with quiet calculation. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing off the tension.

"Section Commander Hange. Captain Levi," Nile greeted curtly. "Scout Officers. I trust you're here with the report?"

Levi stepped forward first, his tone clipped. "We've completed the investigation. The smuggling ring ran deeper than we thought. Corruption inside the Military Police, routed through Scout sympathizers. The ones running weapons and supplies weren't just low-level pawns."

Hange stepped up beside him, setting a thick folder on Nile's desk. "Names, locations, movements, and enough dirty laundry to make a laundress weep. We've got statements and signed confessions from three of them. Enough to light a fire under the Military Tribunal if you want to play that card. Boom—evidence mic drop."

Nile raised a brow as he flipped open the file. "This... will rattle cages."

"That's the point," Levi said flatly.

But Hange raised a hand gently between them. "Let's not oversimplify this. While our team has done thorough groundwork," she shot Levi a side glance, "and some excellent field interrogation thanks to Vice Captain and Petra, we can't assume this is the full depth. These sorts of operations are like cockroach nests—you stomp one and ten more skitter out of sight."

"Which is why the Tribunal needs to act fast and wide," Moblit added. "Before the rats disappear."

And then Cullen spoke, voice too casual. "Still, I think we need to reconsider the implications. If this leaks too fast—"

"Afraid your name might come up?" You asked coolly, arms crossed, eyes locked onto him like you were daring him to lie.

Cullen stiffened. Emilia, who had been standing just behind him, placed a gentle hand on his arm like she could calm the rising heat in the room.

"I was brought into this to assist—" Cullen began, but Levi cut him off.

"You inserted yourself to cover tracks," Levi said, voice low and lethal. "You thought showing up would redirect suspicion. That we'd look the other way."

Hange leaned in slightly toward Moblit, whispering loud enough to be heard, "Oof. That's the tone he uses when he's two seconds from rearranging someone's face."

Moblit gave her a side-glance. "And you're narrating it like it's a theater production."

"Hey, if the cloak fits," Hange said with a grin. "Besides, it's not every day you get front-row seats to Levi's 'I-know-you're-guilty-and-I'm-going-to-ruin-you' stare."

Emilia stepped forward quickly, trying to redirect. "Can we not let this devolve into personal attacks? We're here for the mission."

Levi's glare shifted to her. "You're the last person who should talk about things getting personal."

She paled slightly but held her ground.

Your voice was calm, almost amused. "This mission was never about you, Emilia. Not everything revolves around how you feel."

"You know," Hange chimed in, tone deceptively light, "it's almost funny how quickly someone's priorities shift when they realize Levi doesn't belong to them. Plot twist: he never did! Sorry, did I say that out loud?"

Emilia bristled. Cullen was sweating.

"You're both just playing house," Emilia said, voice venomous now, "pretending your relationship makes you untouchable."

Levi stepped between you and Emilia, shielding you without a word, but the intent was crystal clear.

"No one here is pretending," he said, voice like cold steel. "You want to talk about untouchable? Try me."

There was a long, tense silence.

Then Hange took a measured step forward and her demeanor shifted—still smiling, but sharper. "Enough. We've got bigger things to address than bruised egos and old flames. Cullen, your role in this investigation will be reviewed. Thoroughly. As Section Commander, I'll be overseeing the follow-up inquiries—and I don't intend to leave any stone unturned."

She turned to Nile next, tone shifting to diplomacy wrapped in charm. "Commander Nile, I recommend immediate internal containment. If your own MPs are compromised, you need a sweep—not a whisper campaign. Full transparency will buy you more credibility than trying to sit on this until it explodes."

Nile raised an eyebrow at her, recognizing both the warning and the offer in her words. "Understood. I'll take the report to the Tribunal. I'll make sure to copy Commander Erwin and Commander Pyxis after this reaches the Commander-in-Chief."

"Glad we're speaking the same language," Hange said brightly, unaware of the weight of her recommendation.

The office remained heavy with tension, the silence thick after Hange's sharp words. Nile's fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the desk before he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as his gaze locked onto Cullen.

"I want to be very clear here," Nile said, voice low and deliberate. "You were not formally assigned to this operation. So I'm going to ask you once— what was your real reason for insisting on joining the mission?"

Cullen shifted, jaw clenched. "I believed my insight would be useful, given my station and familiarity with the region."

"Bullshit," Levi snapped before Nile could respond. "You inserted yourself to mislead, not assist. Your idea of 'insight' was keeping eyes off your own tracks."

Your face was impassive, but her brow twitched faintly—just enough for Moblit to catch it. Moblit's lips pressed into a thin line, glancing briefly at Hange, whose posture had shifted—shoulders squared, a scientist ready to dissect the truth.

Nile turned to Hange next. "Section Commander. I trust your judgment. What's your assessment?"

Hange's grin was gone now. Her voice was all steel. "Cullen's behavior in the field was erratic, overly cautious, and consistently aimed at obstructing our search. The records show his unit rerouted supply logs two months ago. That paperwork alone screams 'cover-up.'"

"You have no proof that I—" Cullen began, but Levi's boot slammed forward, chair legs scraping harshly as he stepped right up to Cullen, eyes ice-cold.

"I've got enough," Levi said darkly. "And I've got no patience left."

Gunther and Eld shifted slightly behind him, tense but quiet. Petra's expression darkened—less from fear, more from barely contained contempt. Oluo crossed his arms, muttering under his breath, "He's lucky Captain Levi hasn't put him through the floor already."

You arched a brow, arms crossed, face carved in stone—but a flicker of amusement crossed your lips when Cullen flinched under Levi's stare. Moblit shot you a look that said he deserves worse, and you gave the barest shrug.

"I demand an internal hearing—" Cullen sputtered.

"You'll get one," Nile said sharply. "And you'll sit through it as a suspect, not a soldier."

Emilia stepped in suddenly, voice honeyed but shaking. "Commander Nile, surely you can't take their word without—"

"You're not off the hook either," Hange cut in, smiling tightly. "You tampered with witness statements and misfiled movement logs."

"I—" Emilia faltered. "That was a mistake, not sabotage."

"Every mistake you made just happened to slow us down," Moblit said flatly. "Coincidence, right?"

Hange turned toward Emilia, voice dangerously calm. "You've been so busy chasing Levi's attention, you forgot how obvious your guilt is. Pro tip: obsession makes for terrible camouflage."

Emilia's face reddened, stung by the precision of Hange's words. You didn't even bother looking at her. You merely leaned on one foot, watching with the same bored expression one might wear during a dull boardroom brawl—though Gunther could swear he saw the corner of your mouth twitch with satisfaction.

Levi's voice broke through again—quiet, lethal. "If either of you so much as moves a toe out of line while we finish this report transfer, I'll make sure you're stationed so deep in the Interior you'll forget sunlight exists."

Cullen finally looked away, sweat glistening at his temple.

Nile folded his hands. "I'll be sending this to the Tribunal. Immediately. Until then, both of you are suspended. Surrender your gear and IDs."

"Commander Nile—" Emilia protested, but he raised a hand.

"This isn't a debate."

As Cullen and Emilia reluctantly handed over their gear, Hange suddenly spoke again—casually, but with a twinkle of amusement.

"Oh! One more thing."

Everyone turned.

Hange held up a folded document—the very one Cullen had been clutching nervously before they entered.

"I intercepted this in the hallway," she said brightly. "Cullen tried to swap the mission logs with doctored reports, but his sleight of hand is terrible. I took the liberty of replacing it with something more... illuminating."

She walked over and handed it to Nile.

"These," she said, "are the original logs—untainted, courtesy of Moblit's backups and a little late-night forensics."

Nile's eyes scanned the papers, his brow darkening with every line. "You tried to deceive this office, Cullen."

Cullen paled. "That's impossible—how did you—?"

"Don't underestimate nerds with insomnia," Hange sang.

Moblit pinched the bridge of his nose, but he was clearly proud.

Levi grunted in satisfaction. "You're done."

You stood tall beside Levi, calm and silent, gaze steady. But as you caught Hange's eye, she gave you a slight, satisfied nod.

Hange exhaled loudly, then muttered with her hands on her hips, "Well. That was satisfying. Better than coffee, actually."

"Don't say that," Moblit whispered beside her. "You'll jinx it."

"Too late," she chirped.

As they turned to leave, Nile called out one last time.

"This report is damning. You may have shaken something bigger than you know."

Levi nodded once. "Good."

And with that, the squad filed out, their footsteps echoing through the stone halls—justice, scandal, and unresolved feelings trailing in their wake.

"What?" Cullen blurted, too fast, too loud.

"Oops." Hange's grin was razor-sharp. "Lucky I'm the paranoid sort. Thought I'd do a little document swapping of my own."

Commander Nile continued to flip through the folder with tight lips and a furrowed brow, then the real ones Hange had intercepted. His expression grew colder with each page.

"These are falsified reports," Nile said, voice cutting through the air like a whip.

"No—no, I didn't—" Cullen stammered. "There must be a mistake."

Levi didn't move, but his glare was suffocating. "The only mistake," he said icily, "was letting you anywhere near this mission."

Emilia's eyes darted nervously between everyone, her forced smile finally faltering. "Let's not be dramatic. I'm sure there's an explanation—"

"Of course there is," Hange cut in sweetly, crossing her arms as her tone turned sharper. "Like what I said earlier... Cullen was trying to cover his tracks. He was neck-deep in the smuggling operation. His presence on the mission was a blatant attempt to redirect suspicion away from the Interior MPs."

Moblit stepped forward and placed the mission report beside the forged documents. "Our squad found evidence directly linking certain Military Police officers to illegal distribution of weapons and supplies. The real documents show everything."

"I want to see proof," Nile snapped.

"Then read them." Your voice was steady and cold as ice. "You'll see Cullen's signature on one of the supply ledgers. And his handwriting. There's no denying it."

Cullen tried to lunge for the files, but Levi moved first.

With a sharp crack, Cullen's wrist was slammed against the desk and pinned. "Touch them again, and I break your hand," the Captain said flatly, unmoving even as Cullen winced.

"I didn't think it'd get this ugly," Nile muttered, finally looking up from the damning evidence.

"Corruption usually is," Hange replied lightly, though her eyes were steel. "Now, how would you like to proceed, Commander?"

There was a long silence.

Then Nile let out a slow breath and turned to two of his guards stationed just inside the door. "You'll both be detained. I'll oversee the tribunal myself."

Emilia opened her mouth, but Hange held up a finger before she could speak. "Don't. Whatever you're about to say will just make everyone in this room want to throw up."

Moblit muffled a cough—half-choke, half-laugh. Petra and Gunther didn't bother hiding their smirks. Eld just nodded once, slow and deliberate, like he'd been waiting all day to see that man taken down.

You remained still, unreadable, but your gaze locked on Emilia's face with something cold and final. And Emilia, for once, had no witty comeback. Just an empty look of disbelief as everything is crumbling down right in front of her.

Levi looked at Nile. "Are we done here?"

"For now," Nile said, eyes flicking from Cullen's retreating form to the pile of evidence. "But I want the rest of your squad ready for testimony. And I expect a full debrief with names."

"You'll get it." Hange smiled. "Every dirty name in that ledger."

The tension slowly lifted, the weight of justice finally shifting. But the mood was far from light.

Because this wasn't the end.

It was only the beginning.

Cullen's face had gone a shade of crimson that clashed violently with his pristine uniform, even as Emilia tried to calm him down, he jerked against her hold, practically seething.

"You think this proves anything?" he spat, glaring at Levi. "You're just a thug who got lucky. Don't pretend you're better than the rest of us."

Levi didn't blink. "Lucky?" he echoed, stepping closer—so close Cullen had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes. "You think crawling into a corrupt system and fucking it from the inside out is clever? You're not just a coward—you're sloppy."

Cullen sneered. "You think you're so high and mighty now that you've got a title and a girl on your arm—"

That was a mistake.

The room practically stilled as Levi grabbed the front of Cullen's jacket and slammed him back against the edge of the desk hard enough to rattle everything on it. "Watch your mouth."

"Captain," Moblit said cautiously, not stepping forward but clearly alert.

But Levi didn't throw a punch. He didn't need to. His voice dropped to a low, venom-laced murmur. "You've already lost everything. Don't make me give you a reason to lose your teeth too."

There was a heavy pause.

Then—

"Whew," Hange exhaled, hand to her chest like she'd just watched the best drama of the year. "That's one way to assert dominance. Someone's been spending all his free time learning how to deliver full emasculation in under five seconds." She gave Cullen a slow, mocking clap. "Really thought you could swing your ego around in front of Captain Levi and win? That was brave. Stupid, but brave."

"God, you're annoying," Cullen hissed, eyes darting to Hange as his face twisted in frustration.

"And you," Hange said sweetly, leaning in just a little with a faux-whisper, "have spent so long trying to get her attention. I mean, honestly—it's almost cute how hard you try. But Levi's Vice Captain? She's got taste. And Captain Levi just keeps one-upping you, doesn't he? Even now."

The smirk she threw was pure mischief.

Petra made a sound between a laugh and a cough behind her hand. Gunther choked on air. Oluo let out a bark of laughter that he poorly disguised as a cough when Emilia shot him a look that could've incinerated a tree.

Emilia's fury was barely masked. Her jaw clenched so tightly the muscle in her cheek twitched. "This is inappropriate—"

"Oh, sweetie," Hange cut in brightly, "what's really inappropriate is your taste in men."

You said nothing, but the slight arch of your brow and the way you crossed your arms suggested you weren't disagreeing.

Cullen's shoulders sagged slightly, the arrogance crumbling in real time as everyone in the room witnessed the collapse of both his composure and reputation.

Levi let go of his collar with a little shove and turned away like Cullen wasn't even worth the energy it took to look at him.

"I believe we're done here," Hange said, adjusting her glasses and walking toward the door like she owned the room. "Come on everyone —I think we've thoroughly ruined someone's day."

"Thoroughly," Moblit echoed under his breath, hiding a smirk.

As they left, Emilia's voice rang out one last time, sharp and desperate: "This isn't over."

You turned slightly, offering a glance over her shoulder with zero warmth. "No. But you are."

The door clicked shut behind them.

And that silence—thick with humiliation and the aftertaste of defeat—was all Cullen and Emilia had left.

As the door shut behind them, the hallway outside Commander Nile's office buzzed with low murmurs—Levi's squad sharing smirks, Moblit exchanging a look with Hange that said, 'Did that really just happen?' and Hange humming like she was proud of herself for setting the whole theater ablaze.

But they weren't quite in the clear yet.

"I hope you're proud of yourselves," Emilia snapped, striding after them with her usual dramatic flair, heels clicking too loud in the corridor.

You turned slowly, expression unreadable save for the smallest tilt of amusement at the corner of your mouth. "Proud? I'd say relieved. It's exhausting pretending to tolerate incompetence."

Emilia's nostrils flared. "You think you're so perfect, don't you?"

You smiled, but it was cool—unbothered. "Not perfect. Just... competent. Respected. And, well—chosen."

That landed.

Levi stood a step behind you, arms crossed as his eyes flicked over you. Calm. Controlled. Commanding the room in your own way. Your chin lifted with quiet defiance, stance confident. Hair sleek, lips curved, every inch of you practically glowing after putting Emilia in her place. Sexy as hell.

Hange bit back a snort, nudging Moblit with an elbow. "I'd be taking notes if I were her," she murmured, loud enough to be heard.

Emilia opened her mouth to respond, but you were already stepping forward, slow and deliberate, voice velvet and steel.

"I don't need to compete with you, Emilia," you said lightly. "That would imply you're actually in the running."

Oluo's jaw dropped. Petra blinked, stunned. Gunther had to turn his face away to hide the grin.

"Vice Captain," Levi said, voice low as he moved beside you, his hand gently touching the small of your back, "we're leaving."

You didn't look at him, just gave Emilia one last lingering glance—cool and graceful—before pivoting on your heel and walking off with Levi at your side.

And gods, that walk.

Levi's eyes dipped, just for a second, taking in the sway of your hips, the graceful line of your stride, that effortless confidence. It wasn't just the things you said. It was how you carried yourself. Like you didn't have to try — you just were.

He smirked faintly to himself, satisfied.

Behind them, Emilia stood frozen, red creeping into her cheeks. The burn of humiliation was written all over her face.

Cullen, still guarded, muttered bitterly under his breath, "Unbelievable..."

And Hange, never one to let a dramatic exit go un-commented, added brightly, "Ten points to Vice Captain for the knockout. That's going in the official mission report under 'collateral damage.'"

Moblit groaned quietly, "Please don't actually write that."

"No promises!"

The group continued down the corridor, a mixture of smug pride, stunned amusement, and sweet, sweet vindication trailing behind them.

Before the echo of their footsteps had fully faded down the corridor, two Interior Police officers stepped forward from the adjacent hall, uniforms crisp, expressions stoic.

"Commander Nile's orders," one said curtly, eyes locked on Cullen. "You're both to come with us for questioning and detainment until further notice."

"What?" Cullen balked, chest tightening as reality started to sink in. "You can't—there's no proof—I demand to speak with—"

"There's more than enough," the other officer cut in sharply. "Now move."

Emilia took a step back, lips parting. "You're detaining me? For what?! I've done nothing wrong!"

"Conspiracy. Tampering. Interfering with an active military investigation," the first officer listed off without so much as a blink. "And that's just the start."

"I—no, wait—this is a mistake," Cullen stammered, now visibly sweating. His eyes darted to where you and Levi had disappeared, as if hoping one of them would turn back and argue in his defense.

They didn't.

"Start walking," the guard snapped, grabbing Cullen by the arm.

As they were led down the opposite corridor, Emilia hissed under her breath, "This is your fault—"

Cullen yanked his arm away. "My fault? You couldn't shut your mouth! You blew it, Emilia!"

"Don't speak to me like—!"

The hallway swallowed their bickering as the officers pushed them forward, their angry voices fading beneath the echo of steel-toed boots and locking doors.

Justice, it seemed, marched swiftly in the Interior.

A few moments after Cullen and Emilia were escorted out, the tension still lingering like smoke, one of the Interior officers returned and approached the remaining group and gave a sharp salute. "Commander Nile has made arrangements for all of you."

Levi raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed as he glanced sideways at Hange, who was still quietly grinning like she'd just won a bet no one else knew was happening.

The officer continued, "You'll be staying at the Interior guest quarters reserved for high-ranking officials. Your presence is required at tomorrow's trial. Commander Nile will be conducting the session, and you will be called upon to provide formal testimony regarding the mission findings, the black market trail, and the individuals involved in the cover-up."

You exchanged a glance with Moblit, who nodded slightly—already mentally cataloging every piece of evidence and document Hange had slipped into their report.

Petra, standing behind Levi, shifted subtly, her brows knitting in concern. Eld and Gunther stood tall, more stoic, while Oluo muttered under his breath, "Guess no rest for the heroes, huh?"

The officer added, "You'll be escorted to your accommodations shortly. Security is tight for the night. No one in or out unless approved by Nile himself."

"Fantastic," Hange said brightly, clapping her hands once with a mock flourish. "A sleepover party with the Scouts in the Interior. We'll bring the truth and the wine."

Moblit sighed behind her. "There's no wine, Hange."

"I can dream," she replied, then turned toward Levi. "Looks like we're sticking around for the show."

"Tch," Levi muttered. "Better be worth it."

You just exhaled softly, arms folded, your eyes lingering a moment on the corridor where Cullen and Emilia had vanished. There was a strange satisfaction knowing they weren't walking away from their crimes.

"Let's get it over with," you said, calm but firm.

The officer nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for them to follow.

And so the Scouts moved out—worn, but upright. Ready to testify. Ready to fight with truth as their blade.

Even if it meant sleeping in enemy territory for one more night.

TAGS LIST : @raginginferno267

Photo grabbed from Pinterest, made by @ychpo4mak_ai (follow on ig more more)

A/N : I have no systematic shit for my tags list yet. Just comment if you wanted to be tagged. I'll think of something in the future if there'd be more ppl who wanna be tagged. Thanks for reading ^^

[seriousfic]

These posters are actually a major reason why the MCU Spider-Man sucks. The "Spider-Man in high school" stuff had been largely picked clean by earlier adaptations, but Feige was still set on making Spider-Man the MCU teen movie. So instead of basing it on the comics or even on contemporary teenage culture, they decided to turn it into a huge John Hughes reference (because he's the most iconic teen movie voice, even though he's largely irrelevant to actual teens, to say nothing of comics from the sixties). They didn't have Mary Jane in their movie, they had Allie from the Breakfast Club, only they made her the endgame love interest because people found her character more memorable than Molly Ringwald.

I mean, there's a little bit of Miles Morales in there, because he's the most recent 'Spider-Man' origin story and the MCU has a huge recency bias, but by and large, the throughline of the MCU Spider-Man is that Tom Holland is a wittle babby. Spider-Man 3 ended with Tobey Maguire proposing marriage. No Way Home ends with Holland getting a GED and moving into his own apartment.

I could keep going... Black Widow is shockingly derivative of The Americans and gives Natasha a 'little sister' she never had in the comics, while Shang-Chi entirely erases his supporting cast and Ant-Man 3 bizarrely turns into a Star Wars movie... but the adaptation process where every comic character is turned into a stealth remake of an old, popular Hollywood blockbuster I think has definitely resulted in the MCU's samey-gamey feel.

It's the same problem as DC turning all their villains into a variation of Heath Ledger's Joker--all the colorful, oddball characters of the Marvel universe are turned into lesser versions of RDJ's Tony Stark, or at least given quippy sidekicks that turn them into a gestalt Tony Stark.

Imagine if every cop movie was done by taking a novel about the police, adapting it as a Lethal Weapon movie, then just changing the names and hiring different actors to play Murtaugh and Riggs. It'd get old fast, right? Even the Disney+ series are essentially drawn-out blockbuster movies. It's all a copy of a copy of Independence Day and the like.

Even Spider-Man... which started out with the thesis statement of "he's too small-time for the Avengers"... immediately became about going into space, foiling terrorist attacks on London Bridge, and even preventing the entire multiverse from collapsing. They can't go smaller because a smaller movie, even in the action genre like John Wick or Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, is outside the 'blockbusters from the last twenty years' mindset. So I think they're just going to keep doubling down and doubling down until they run out of nostalgia (this is all they have going for them at the moment), because it's not in their wheelhouse to do anything but big massive summer blockbuster, they can't conceive of anything that wasn't first done as a Michael Bay movie.

[questionableratatouille00]

Red In Her Ledger

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: A very small Drabble. Natasha’s betrayal leads to an irreversible outcome.

Note: This is my submission for day four (hiding an injury/betrayal/lying) of @ailesswhumptober!

Warnings: Main character death (reader), guns, violence.

---------------------------------------------

“Don’t do this. Natasha. Please.” You beg her. Your girlfriend of nine months. You trusted her with your life.

Well, you used to.

“You know this isn’t right. You don’t have to do this. Let me go.” You pleaded. But she said nothing. “S.H.I.E.L.D. can help you. Please, don’t do this.”

“There’s too much red in my ledger for that now.” She kept her voice flat as she raised her arm at you, her Widow Bite ready to hit you. Lethally.

“Please, don’t do this. Please, don’t do this to me.” You sobbed. She lowered her arm then, frowning.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry.” She said softly, pulling the gun from her thigh holster. She walked towards you, putting one hand on your waist as she kissed you.

She kissed you with all the love she had before she pointed the gun to your heart.

Her lips were the last thing you felt before she pulled the trigger.

[alixharrigan]

Is that ALIXANDRA 'ALIX' HARRIGAN? I heard the THIRTY FIVE year old belongs to the NIGHTSHADE as a CONTRACTS MANAGER. I’d stay away from them if I were you. I heard they were EXPLOITATIVE, but they can also be AMBITIOUS, so proceed at your own risk.

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

name. alixandra bella harrigan nicknames. alix gender & pronouns. female. she/her birthday. june 14th zodiac sign. gemini birth place. london, uk father. conrad harrigan mother. rosalie harrigan time in los angeles. one year occupation. contracts manager for nightshade

character inspiration: rosalind pearson (the gentlemen), maeve harrigan (mobland), elvira hancock (Scarface)

𝐓𝐋;𝐃𝐑.

Born and raised in the UK, the daughter of a calculating politician and former mercenary with deep ties to hidden power. Fucked up family life for these people idk what to tell you

Studied law at Oxford.

Moved to Miami after law school to care for her estranged brother, a black ops contractor, when he fell ill.

His terminal illness unraveled her plans—and opened a door to the world of contract killings that he left behind that brought her to Nightshade's door.

What started as an attempt to poach Gael’s clients, became him making her an offer to come work for him as contracts manager.

Now, she’s traded the courtroom for kill lists—graceful, calculated, and unflinchingly lethal.

Everything in her life is about what she can gain from you - there are very few people she’s found a genuine connection with. (huge advocate of playing favorites)

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

Can decipher the make and model of a gun from the sound of it firing.

Favorite pastime is coming up with theories for the clients who hire assassins.

Loves bubblegum, candy and a cigarette, will always have one or all on her.

Falls out of her English accent occasionally.

Her business cards for Nightshade just have a photo of a Rolls Royce Wraith printed on them - good luck deciphering that one.

Lives her life day by day - 0 future planning, everything is a freestyle, just to see what'll happen.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: cancer

Raised in the United Kingdom, Alixandra Harrigan was the picture of promise: the well-spoken daughter of Conrad Harrigan, a calculating MP with a military past. Her father, a man who never fully shed the shadows of his mercenary ties, left behind more than just secrets when he disappeared under quiet circumstances. She never intended to follow his path—until fate rerouted her.

After completing law school at Oxford, she relocated to Miami, not for ambition, but for blood. Her estranged brother, a former black ops contractor with whispered links to the criminal underworld, was dying of cancer. Reuniting with him in his final months unraveled the tidy future she had laid out for herself. Through his unfinished business, she found herself thrust into a world of whispered names and blood-stained ledgers.

It was during this descent that she found herself at Nightshade's door. What began as attempting to poach Gael's clients, became him making her an offer to come work for him as contracts manager. Soon enough, she wasn’t just negotiating settlements, she was negotiating lives.

[micamicster]

Hi! Do you have any romcom (movie) recs? I feel like i hypothetically like the genre, but have a lot of trouble finding ones i enjoy. So many romcoms feel so formulaic (in a dead way) and misogynistic and stale to me. I think they’re a lot easier to do well in the context of a series because there’s actually time to build. Recently i thought rye lane and fire island were fun. I like kdramas when i have the time for all the episodes because i appreciate the build. I need chemistry— people who both convincingly like each other and seem like actual human beings. I thought you might have some good ideas! Thanks <3

HELLO LARGE VOICED ANON <3

I hope you weren't waiting on my recs all day haha i have been. hm. hungover af <3 (i'm going to leave kdramas off this list for now but if you would like specific recs for kdrama romcoms send me another ask and i can try to do them justice!)

I think this is a genre with underrated range! So one thing that I find very interesting about the genre of romcoms is that I think there tends to be a split between romcoms whose goal is, like, to be a fun lighthearted movie with a central romance, vs romcoms whose goal is to Say Something About Love in the vehicle of a funny movie. Both of these categories are represented on this list but for giggles i will not be saying which i think are which <3

anyway recs under the cut <3 i will link my tags for these movies if you want to take a look but be warned for spoilers ofc

I think for your purposes my primary rec would be Lovesick (aka Scrotal Recall). It's a (short) tv show so it would likely give you the chance to get to know the characters and see a slower build. In contrast to the frustration you've had with some more "formulaic" romcoms the writing in this show is very deliberately in conversation with romcoms of the past. Also it's just one of my favorite romcoms ever made so I rec it to everyone. The premise is that a young man, Dylan, is diagnosed with chlamydia and instructed to tell his past partners. Being a hopeless romantic (emphasis on hopeless), he decides to try to turn this into an opportunity to revisit relationships that didn't work out, and try to figure out where he's been going wrong. Two simultaneous storylines play out in each episode, the flashbacks to the exes (and breakups) and the present, where Dylan's best friend is getting married.

Older romcoms: When Harry Met Sally (ive heard this is divisive? but idc its SO funny and so well made), Moonstruck (a romantic-comedy in the operatic sense. also cher <3), The Philadelphia Story (katharine hepburn the woman u r. tw for a classic 1940s gag about punching ur wife in the face), Bringing Up Baby (screwball comedy my beloved), Roman Holiday (audrey hepburn is lethally charming in this movie), Dirty Dancing (someday ill write something this good and then You Will Realize), Much Ado About Nothing (i tend to enjoy either the danielle brooks shakespeare in the park version or the classic tennant/tate combo)

Teen romcoms: 10 things I hate about you (young heath ledger and young julia stiles ur welcome), to all the boys i;ve loved before (lana condor is ADORABLE), The Half of It (my other favorite sort-of romcom of the decade)

More recent-ish: Speed (like its keanu and sandra what more do you want), Strictly Ballroom (i used to watch this literally weekly as a child and I WAS RIGHT TO), Miss Congeniality (sandra bullock what u did for us all <3), Fire Island (thank u 4 my LYFE), The sandra bullock/channing tatum movie that came out last year (i forget what its called but he's so funny in it), Mamma Mia AND Mamma Mia Here We Go Again (beautiful greek islands, abba, cher, what more can you ask for?)

Indian/bollywood: Jab We Met (after dramatically quitting his job, Local Man somehow ends up escorting a woman he meets on the train while she attempts to elope with her boyfriend. aka classic screwball comedy heroine and Guy She Dragged Along For The Ride), khabie khushi khabi gham (multiple generations of romance and family drama featuring Kajol, the Most Beautiful Woman In the World), Band Baaja Baaraat (two wedding planners fall in love--great choice if you want to watch idiots ambushed by their feelings)

Other tv recs: Selfie (john cho and karen gillian in a show canceled far too soon)

[inkmonster21]

Let Me In

Series Masterlist

Heath Ledger Joker x Fem!Batgirl!Reader

Warnings: TDK Plot

The Assist

💚🃏💜

The Officer attempted to hold up traffic, trying to keep order in the chaotic city. But amidst the ongoing commotion, a transfer truck approached, horn blaring defiantly. It was clear that the driver was impatient and unwilling to wait any longer.

The Officer stood his ground, determined to uphold his duty despite the impatient truck driver. "You wait like everybody else, pal," he retorted, his tone firm and unyielding.

The Officer never saw it coming. With a quick, calculated movement, the Joker surfaced from the middle of the truck and unleashed a shotgun blast right at the Officer. The force of the shot sent the Officer stumbling backward, his body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap.

The SWAT Officer slowed down, his attention momentarily diverted by a sight in the distance. Up ahead, amidst the chaotic intersection, a fire raged, its flames flickering and crackling as they consumed whatever was in their path.

The Officer's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. He knew that something was amiss, and his instincts kicked into high gear.

The Officer's radio crackled, an urgent message from the dispatcher cutting through the tension of the moment. "All units, be advised," the voice said, "all units will exit down Cheviot west and proceed north on lower 5th avenue."

Another Officer, filled with skepticism, questioned the orders on the radio. "Lower 5th? We'll be like ducks in a barrel down there," he said, voicing his concerns and doubts about the plan.

The convoy, carrying the newly self-proclaimed Batman, vanished from sight as they made their way down the exit ramp. The streets seemed to hold their breath, awaiting the inevitable storm that would soon follow.

The garbage truck behind the convoy seemed to move with a purpose, an unexpected and lethal presence amidst the ordinary chaos of the roads. With a simple yet powerful maneuver, the truck swiped the rear vehicles of the convoy off the road, sending them crashing and rolling as if they were nothing but mere toys.

The officers inside the truck reacted with panic, their fear palpable as they stared at the carnage behind them. "Get us out of here!" they shouted, their voices filled with desperation. The garbage truck picked up speed, maneuvering through the chaotic streets with a deadly precision that betrayed the expertise of its driver.

The garbage truck continued its relentless pursuit, its heavy frame colliding with the rear bumper of the armored car. With a loud thump, it rammed into the car, pushing it forward and forcing it to accelerate against its will. The sound of metal grinding against metal filled the air, a symphony of destruction that echoed through the chaotic streets.

The driver, acutely aware of the threat behind, kept a watchful eye on the garbage truck through the rearview mirror. With growing unease, he picked up the radio and relayed the warning to his fellow officers. "We've got company back here,“ his voice tense and urgent.

The nightmare continued as a second truck made its presence known, smashing into the SWAT van at the head of the convoy with brutal force. The impact sent the van crashing through the concrete barriers and into the water below, its descent leaving a trail of shattered debris in its wake.

The truck, unmistakably marked with the haunting words "LAUGHTER," was a stark reminder of the twisted sense of humor of the Joker and his gang. The graffiti on its side, now reading "SLAUGHTER" with the addition of an "S," only heightened the sense of menace, while the "HA, HA, HA" repeated across its side served as an ominous soundtrack to the unfolding darkness.

The Joker's truck navigated the maze of support columns with an almost playful ease, weaving effortlessly through the narrow spaces before swooping into the oncoming lane. With a smooth motion, it now found itself running parallel to the armored car holding Harvey Dent, its menacing presence taunting and challenging the law enforcement within.

The driver's eyes widened in terror as the cargo door of the truck slid open, revealing the Joker holding a machine gun. The villain's twisted face was illuminated by a menacing grin, his eyes filled with manic determination. As he gripped the weapon, a sense of imminent danger filled the air.

The armored car reacted desperately, its brakes locking up as it attempted to defy the relentless force of the garbage truck. But all efforts were in vain, as the truck pushed it forward, leaving it vulnerable to the Joker's deadly assault. Bullets from the machine gun sprayed the side of the vehicle, each impact sending a violent shudder through its steel frame. The air was filled with the sound of gunfire and the shattering of glass, as the armored car struggled to withstand the onslaught.

Suddenly, the Joker found himself mesmerized by the sight of the Batmobile, racing towards the second truck. For a moment, his sadistic gaze fixated on the dark figure at the wheel, his twisted mind intrigued and fascinated by the sight. But the distraction was short-lived, as the Joker dropped his machine gun and picked up an RPG, aiming it directly at the Batmobile.

The scene unfolded like a violent ballet, as the Batmobile, unstoppable and relentless, plowed straight into the second truck. The impact was brutal, the low-profile car sending the truck flying vertically into the concrete ceiling. With a thunderous explosion, the truck disintegrated, leaving no trace of its existence. The Batmobile, undeterred, carried on through the wreckage, a symbol of unyielding justice amidst the chaos.

The Joker's twisted smile widened, his eyes glinting with sadistic amusement as he watched the Batmobile continue its destructive path. The sight of the vigilante had sparked something in the villain's mind, a mixture of fascination and challenge. He watched with a twisted curiosity, his anticipation building as the Batmobile approached once again.

One of the Joker's thugs, standing by the boss's side, couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle in front of them. As the Batmobile closed in, the thug voiced a simple yet loaded question, his voice thick with both awe and trepidation. "Is that him?" The Joker spoke, still fixated on the Batmobile, “Anyone could be driving that thing. Stay on Dent.”

The Joker, always the master of manipulation, was playing a dangerous game. If the one driving turned out to be you, he didn't want to bear the burden of having taken your life.

In a swift and calculated move, the Joker lined up his RPG, taking aim. With a single trigger pull, he unleashed a rocket-propelled projectile towards the car, its trajectory aimed straight at its target.

The scene was a chaotic symphony of metal and destruction. The armored car slammed backward against the garbage truck, its brakes screeching and scraping in a desperate effort to slow down. Just as the RPG launched from the Joker's hands, the squad car in front absorbed the impact, its body disintegrating in a ball of fire. Miraculously, the armored car emerged from the inferno, battered but unbroken, continuing its escape.

The Batmobile, undeterred and unfazed, spun around with a flawless pirouette, determined to rejoin the pursuit. The vehicle's agility and power were undeniable, as it effortlessly navigated through the chaotic streets, its eyes fixed on the escaping armored car.

From the driver's seat, Batman observed the Joker readying another attack, his twisted smirk a grim portent. Several rows of cars stood between them, a formidable barrier in the midst of the city's chaos. Without hesitation, Batman activated the Batmobile's afterburner, unleashing a surge of raw power that would propel him through the obstacles standing in his way.

The Joker, with a steady hand, took aim once more, his finger hovering over the trigger. With a calculated motion, he fired the RPG, unleashing a powerful blow that threatened to vanquish the Batmobile. However, the vigilant hero was no ordinary foe. The Batmobile surged forward, carving its way into the space between the two vehicles just as the missile struck, absorbing the impact of the explosion.

The rear of the Batmobile met a devastating fate. An explosion tore through the vehicle, causing it to spin uncontrollably amidst the flames. The Batmobile, once a symbol of hope and fear, now resembled a battered warrior, struggling to keep its balance against the onslaught.

The Batmobile, now a smoldering ruin, lay motionless on the ground, its front end miraculously unscathed amidst the wreckage. Scattered across the roadway were the remnants of the rear wheels, a stark reminder of the violent encounter. A growing crowd gathered, their faces a mixture of shock and curiosity, witnessing the aftermath of the battle between the vigilante and the twisted forces of Gotham.

Still dazed from the impact of the huge crash, you sat in your seat, coughing and trying to regain your bearings. As your eyes settled on Batman, you couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and concern. The Batmobile's destruction seemed almost surreal, but he seemed unharmed. His stoic expression concealed any signs of pain or injury, leaving you to wonder if he was truly invincible or simply good at hiding his vulnerabilities.

Despite the chaos and destruction surrounding them, Batman's voice remained calm and composed. He turned to you, his eyes filled with determination, and issued a simple command. "Get onto the rooftop at the exit of the tunnel," he said, “if you see him before I do, stop that truck.”

Though you nodded in agreement, a nagging doubt gnawed at you. You were all too aware of your inner turmoil. You knew that you had no choice. Gotham, as well as Batman, needed your help. So, with a heavy heart, you reluctantly accepted the mission, unsure of what the outcome would be.

The Joker grabbed his lifeless driver, yanked him out of the cab, and effortlessly vaulted over him to take the wheel. His distorted voice echoed through the air as he declared, "Excuse me! I wanna drive!"

The pursuit continued a deadly game of cat and mouse. The armored car, its path a trail of relentless determination, raced ahead, with the Joker's truck nipping at its heels. The Joker, behind the wheel, displayed an unnerving sense of joy and amusement, his twisted laughter reverberating through the chaotic chase.

You found yourself standing on the rooftop, your eyes scanning the dark tunnel below. In your heart, you silently prayed for a miracle. You hoped that the Joker would be thwarted or that he would somehow have a change of heart, abandoning his plans before he exited the tunnel. However, deep down, you knew it was highly unlikely. The Joker's twisted mind defied reason and logic. He was the embodiment of chaos, and he was set on causing destruction and mayhem. But you held onto that glimmer of hope, no matter how faint it seemed.

The chase continued, as the armored car veered onto a ramp, heading upwards. The Joker's truck was relentless in its pursuit, closely tailing its target, refusing to yield or give up. The scene was chaotic, the city's towering buildings whizzing by as the vehicles ascended through the urban landscape.

Your heart sank as you spotted the Joker's truck trailing behind the armored car, its presence confirming your worst fears. With a mix of anxiety and determination, you reported the sighting to Batman, your voice betraying a hint of desperation. "I've got eyes on him," you said.

In pursuit of the truck, you nimbly leaped and glided across the city rooftops, navigating the urban landscape with grace and haste. The truck weaved through the streets, its path a wild and erratic journey, while you chased relentlessly, determined not to let it out of your sight.

The scene turned into a chaotic symphony of destruction. The Joker's goons, with deadly precision, fired cables across Seventh Street, setting the stage for a devastating trap. As the hapless chopper approached, flying blissfully unaware, it became snagged by the taut cables, falling into a blazing inferno that sent it spiraling down into the street. The resulting fire ball barreled towards the armored car, a malevolent force seeking to claim its prey.

The urgency in your voice crackles through the earpiece, as panic sets in. "You gotta hurry!" you exclaim, knowing that every second counts. Batman, amidst the chaos, feels the weight of the situation. He realizes he's running out of time, and each moment that passes only puts those trapped in the armored car in greater danger.

The Joker's gaze fixated on the Bat-pod as it emerged from the alley in a spectacle of fire, screeching sideways in a near-impossible maneuver. He couldn't help but chuckle, his twisted mind finding a moment of dark amusement. "Now there's a Batman," he quipped, his voice tinged with both mockery and anticipation.

The Bat-pod charged towards the Joker's truck with a determined frenzy, “oh you wanna play? Come on.” Batman fired a harpoon launcher with a sharp trigger pull, it launched a harpoon, hitting its mark low beneath the truck's bumper. “He missed!” The thugs cheered.

Batman, demonstrating remarkable skill and agility, swerved past the Joker's truck with a precision that defied the laws of physics. With expert control, he zigzagged through the streets, weaving effortlessly between obstacles. The cables trailed behind him, wrapping around a lamp post effortlessly. Batman executed a flawless spin, coming to a halt, his eyes fixed on the outcome.

The cables, now taut with tension, yanked violently one lamp post clean from its foundation. The truck's front wheels Caught in a horrific fashion, causing it to flip end over end, its steel frame crumpling under the sheer force. The impact was catastrophic, a chaotic symphony of metal slamming into pavement.

Leaning precariously over the edge, you fight back the urge to check on Joker. You feel an inexplicable mix of emotions welling up inside you—fear, concern, and a strange sense of responsibility. The thought that he might be hurt or worse is overwhelming, causing a knot in your stomach.

As the dust settles on the chaotic scene, the Joker Emerges from the wreckage, dazed and shaken yet undamaged. His gun, fired when he fell, echoes through the air with a loud report. The Clown Prince of Crime rises to his feet, his twisted grin returning as he vigorously wrings his neck, seemingly unphased by the brutal crash.

The Joker, seizing the chaotic moment, raises his pistol high and waves it frantically at the passing traffic as he glares at Batman. The bat-pod roars forward, racing towards the Joker with alarming speed. The Clown Prince of Crime, holding a gun, continues to Fire at passing traffic, creating a chaotic and dangerous situation.

Panic grips your voice as you cry out in horror. "What are you doing? You're going to kill him!" you exclaim, watching as Batman's bat-pod hurtles towards the Joker.

The Joker, standing defiantly, mutters, "Hit me. Come on. Hit me." His voice is filled with a maniacal eagerness, and he remains rooted in place, challenging Batman with his very stance. The Bat-Pod inches closer, its ominous presence growing by the second.

Your voice cuts through the tense atmosphere like a clarion call, echoing with desperation. "Stop!" you yell, your plea directed at Batman.

Despite your plea, Batman doesn't slow down. Instead, he seems to accelerate, the Bat-Pod hurtling forward with even more speed and intensity. The Joker, undaunted, remains defiantly planted, his twisted smile never wavering. “Come on. I want you to do it. I want you to hit me. Come on.”

Your love for the Joker, despite the darkness and madness within him, compels you to take action. With a determination fueled by emotion, you decide you can't allow this situation to escalate further, especially if it means the Joker's life is at stake. The thought of a world without him fills you with a profound sense of loss, making the prospect of his death unbearable.

"HIT ME!" The Clown Prince of Crime bellows, his voice a maddened cry for attention. The air is thick with anticipation as the Bat-Pod inches closer and closer, the impending collision immanent.

Batman, sitting atop the Bat-Pod, observes the scene unfolding before him. His eyes stay fixed on the Joker, who stands defiantly in the path of the speeding vehicle, waiting for impact. The road narrows, providing no room to maneuver around him.

With lightning-fast reflexes, you grab your grabbing hook and shoot it across the buildings, swinging down in a graceful arc. Just as the world seems to move in slow motion, you manage to collide with Batman, knocking him off his bike. The impact sends him sprawling, while you land with surprising precision between him and the Joker. The tension hangs heavy in the air as the scene comes to a standstill.

Batman lies motionless on the pavement, the impact from his tumble rendering him unconscious. Meanwhile, the Joker's gaze remains fixed on you, that wide smirk growing wider as he takes in the scene before him.

He takes a step towards you, his gaze never leaving your face. The air is crackling with suspense as the Joker closes the distance between you, his twisted grin a contrast to the tense atmosphere. "See? That was fun, wasn’t it?”

You look at Batman and then back to the Joker taking a step back as you realize what you’ve done. A sense of shame washing over you, the Joker simply waves with a casual farewell. "See you soon, doll," he says, before you disappear into the night, leaving Batman unconscious without a second thought.

[bloodsoakedogre]

||graphic made by @screamformemore​||

Info:

Mun is 21+

Main Reblog

As this is a Dead By Daylight rp blog:

I am open to rp heavy themes but not sexual ones unless discussed beforehand, nsfw rps will be tagged as such. And Magic!Anons.

Shipping would have to be discussed and if there is chemistry.

No godmodding.

Tags: ooc - out of blood, crack- silly oni, dash commentary, asks- ask the big bad oni, art- brush strokes, ic posts- on the ledger

Feel free to send me a message if you have a rp in mind!

If you would like to continue an ask with a thread, please create a new post and tag me in it with a link to the respective ask!

--------

This Kazan is willing to spend most of his patience on his great-great-great-great grand daughter, since they’re family. He is very old fashioned but he knows that woman can be great warriors and has known noble lady samurais.

Outside of trials Kazan is still prone to flip off the handle but there’s anyways a choice for your character to escape. It depends on you. Inside of trials, he is constantly enraged, everything done to him, he takes as slight to him. You may attempt to talk to him but otherwise you are going on that hook whether you like it or not.

The estate does have a hot springs for Rin and himself to relax in between matches.

Kazan knows:

archery, swordplay, horseback riding, horseback warfare, martial arts, unarmed fighting, sumo, falconry, being proficient in fighting with chain weapons such as the kusarigama, kanabo, bos, yari, naginata(even if was used typically by samurai women.) And being that samurai were part of the noble class and Kazan had a legendary samurai for a father in Renjiro. Kazan is an all star in Japanese warfare thanks to his father and access to extensive training.

Also samurai were taught to do poetry, tea ceremonies, ink painting, gardening.

Couple that with his blood empowerment, manipulation, and among other things. Kazan is a force to be reckoned with.

Kazan believes that the other killers are not worth his time and pathetic, although:

The Spirit: Rin is the only killer he will feel sympathetic to((for now?)) and empathic with the rage she feels for being cut down by her father and his cursed blade. She being his kin helps greatly, he feels a great familial need to be there for her. He is absolutely devoted and loves his great-granddaughter.

The Huntress: Anna's is held in high respect for her prowess and the lethal proficiency with her hatchets. The fact that she hunted dangerous game without any help is commendable.

The Plague: Adiris' status as a priestess who kept her devotion even after being brought to this foggy hell is remarkable to him. He would meditate with her if not for the sickness she carries(he's not sure if the infection is easily passed outside of trials like it is in.)

The Shape: He hates him for treating his kin that way but-. Michael's obsession to kill anyone associated with his sister is horrifically astounding.

The Trapper: As Evan is one of the oldest killers in the Fog, he defers to him for advice and company. He is more patient with him as so, even if he doesn’t always understand his devotion to the Entity.

The Executioner: Hates him.

The Nemesis: Clearly the bioweapon is sapient, astounds Kazan on how far weapons for war have progressed.

The Cenobite: Another demon that Kazan is on friendly terms with, great conversation partner while enjoying tea. Baffles him that there’s another sadistic demon from hell that’s somewhat interested in him.

The Legion: A gaggle of idiotic teens, annoyance range depends on specific Legion members.

Frank- Kill/Torture on sight, the leader of Legion is the most annoying one by far.

Julie- Does respect her gumption, too bad her devotion to Frank makes her the second most annoying one.

Joey- the hanger on that Kazan has mixed feelings about, respectful but seems defer to Frank too much.

Susie- the most reluctant one, reminds him of Rin in someways; definitely has potential.

The Ghostface: A moron.

The Trickster: Annoying but fun to infuriate.

Exclusive: @screamformemore - mutual carnal relationship, doesn’t know how to feel about things on the emotional side but Kazan does love how creative Ji-Woon is.

The Pig: Respectful, for how they have treated and gave his granddaughter a shoulder to lean on before he arrived in the Fog.

The Knight: Another soldier, but where there was thought to be honor, there is none. Kazan still respects Kovács expertise and adeptness with his weapon. But the positive things about this beast ends there.

The Skull Merchant: A forgettable little girl who deigns to have anything noteworthy about her, using schemes to kill and torture the innocent for fun. Disgusting.

The Singularity: Appalling monster, those whom discount the validity of man will be doomed to be reminded who created it.

(More killers to be added)

|Last updated on: 7/10/23|

[manmetaphysical]

4: Heath Ledger: Jupiter at 29° of Cancer

Hundreds of people would have been born with Jupiter in Cancer and perhaps that was lucky for them. Feelings and intuition are at a premium with this placement. But that is not always the case. Jupiter might be conjunct the Nodes, or Saturn or Mars, or square to Pluto causing issues to flare up in the native's life.

A fascinating case is that of actor Heath Ledger who was found dead in his New York home in  2008. He was born an Aries/Ascendant so was ruled by Mars. His appeal was with both men and women and I see a conjunction of Eros and Psyche in Aquarius in his chart. But he had Jupiter at 29° of Cancer. This is the 'difficult' degree.

He was one of the youngest actors to ever be nominated for an Oscar for his performance as ranch hand Ennis Del Mar in Brokeback Mountain (2005).  His death shocked the world as his star was rising and his death cut short this huge potential- all the projects he had yet to do and the awards to come. He left behind a total immersion style performance as the Joker in The Dark Knight which was released posthumously.

The most obvious factor is that Ledger had an appointment with Saturn- in his grim reaper mode. Ledger's Saturn had returned exactly to where it was when he was born in the early degrees of Virgo. Not everyone at this age makes it through this first test of reality. There can be challenges so difficult they take your life. He may have been pushing himself too hard.

His death was attributed to an overdose of prescription drugs. It was true he had been taking a mixture of Diazepam (Valium), Zoloft (for depression), Doxylamine and Tamazepam (for insomnia).This was in addition to the Alprazolan (Xanax) and Diazepam (Valium) for anxiety. Possibly there were other over-the-counter drugs because he may even have had a bacterial chest infection from his stunts during the filming of The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus (2009). But according to the toxicology report there was no Zoloft found in his body. However, there were traces of the other drugs plus two illegal pain-killers: Hydronoclone and Oxyclone. So this may have been the lethal combination that shuffled his mortal coil.

Why was he in such pain? He had a highly active imagination and could not shut down his mind so was only managing to sleep two hours a night. He had trouble with fame and intrusions into his personal life. He had split with his partner Michelle Williams a few months early. He worried about his young daughter. Then he had embarked on the role of a lifetime, a total immersion into the role of the Joker which he played as a twisted, psychotic monster. The performance was right there on the edge of dangerous, but may have damaged his mind or even weirdly 'possessed' him. Jack Nicholson had even warned Ledger about getting sucked too deep into that particular role and Ledger's personal friends said that the 'Joker' had a traumatic effect on his psyche.

Ledger's Jupiter is conjunct the dwarf planet Orcus who is a stand in for Hades/Pluto, and who punishes those liars and hypocrites who go against their stated goals.  Jupiter might activate the Plutonic events in his life, such as this when he overdid the prescription drugs. His Pluto is opposite the Sun on the angles and square to the Moon in Cancer so that's tough enough for anyone but suggests a tragic life.

The day of his death January 22nd 2008 was blamed on an 'overdose' where it appears he had been overworking, overthinking, and overdoing it all, pushing his body to extremes. Jupiter was in early Capricorn perhaps driving his career aims beyond physical limits? Both Pluto and the North Node were at 29° this tricky last degree point with Venus conjunct the Galactic centre at 28° in Sagittarius and the North Node at 29° Aquarius, and Saturn returning to his natal Saturn.

Ledger does have the mark of a serious actor with muse asteroid Melpomene conjunct his Moon in Cancer. Melpomene inspires the dramatic arts and in Cancer to reveal emotions. But this duo is also conjunct asteroid Nessus, the centaur, which is fascinating as the wife of Heracles, after being raped by Nessus, believes Nessus gives her a love potion which turns out to be a poison. So even though Heracles kills Nessus, Daeneira uses the shirt on her husband thinking she is getting revenge for his infidelity. So she makes him wear the shirt with this potion but it gives him an agonising death which she instantly regrets. It is a bitter irony. According to Melanie Reinhart Nessus is about a life event being inevitable and poisoned somehow, that if Nessus is activated (by the Moon also in Cancer which refers to stomach poisonings) he or she can be the one to embody the shadow elements of their ancestors. Reinhart arrived at the phrase 'The Buck Stops Here' for the Nessus energy. So along with the Joker which embodied the darkest of shadows lurking in the human psyche, there is a sense of family secrets too which have not been revealed, or possibly some karmic load paid off by his sudden and tragic death.

© Kieron Devlin, Proteus Astrology, 6th June, 2025

[nicklloydnow]

The old global economic order is dead

“How should outsiders want the trade war between the US and China to end? They should want both to lose. Ok

True, Donald Trump’s approach is far worse than intellectually incoherent: it is lethal for any co-operative global order. Some people think a collapse of such “globalism” is even desirable. In my view, it is foolish to imagine that a world run by predatory “great powers” would be superior to the one we have. Yet, while Trump’s protectionism has to lose, Chinese mercantilism must not win, since it, too, creates substantial global difficulties.

To understand the problems the world economy faces it helps to start from the topic of “global imbalances”, which was much discussed in the run-up to the global and Eurozone financial crises of 2007-2015. In the years since, these imbalances have grown smaller but the overall picture has not changed. As the IMF’s latest World Economic Outlook notes: China and European creditor nations (notably Germany) have run persistent surpluses, while the US has run offsetting deficits. As a result, the US net international investment position was minus 24 per cent of global output in 2024. Since the US runs trade and current account deficits and has a comparative advantage in services, it also runs large deficits in manufacturing.

So what, a passionate free-marketeer would ask? Indeed, even a not-quite-so-passionate free marketeer might note, with good reason, that the US has been fortunate to live beyond its means for decades. That need not be a problem: nobody, after all, will be able to force the US to pay its liabilities back. It also has ways, both elegant and not so elegant, to default. Inflation, depreciation, financial repression and mass corporate bankruptcies all come to mind.

Yet, one can see at least three large holes in this rather complacent view of large and persistent global imbalances. The first is that they have become politically noxious — so noxious, indeed, that they helped get Trump elected president, twice. The second is that, on the surplus side of the ledger lie negative-sum interventions designed to shift the global balance of economic power. While international relations is not only about economic power, the latter is certainly a crucial part of it.

The third is that the counterpart of external deficits tends to be unsustainable domestic borrowing. Combined with financial fragility, the latter can lead to huge financial crises, as it did between 2007 and 2015. Sectoral savings and investment balances are revealing indicators of this last challenge. Foreigners have been running a substantial savings surplus with the US for decades. US businesses have also been in balance or surplus since the early 2000s, while US households have been in surplus since 2008. Since these sectoral balances have to add to zero, the domestic counterpart of US current account deficits has been chronic fiscal deficits.

If real interest rates had been high, fiscal deficits might have been driving the chronic external deficits. But the opposite has been true: real interest rates have been either low or very low. The Keynesian hypothesis looks right: the inflow of net foreign savings, shown in capital account surpluses (and current account deficits) made big fiscal deficits necessary, because domestic demand in the US would otherwise have been chronically inadequate.

China is not the only player on the other side of the global ledger. But it is the most important. Michael Pettis is, in my view, correct that the world economy cannot easily accommodate a huge economy in which household consumption is 39 per cent of GDP and savings (and so investment) correspondingly huge. What is also clear is that the latter has also helped drive what the Rhodium Group judges a successful Made in China 2025 policy. Inevitably, the existing industrial powers are frightened of this Chinese-made juggernaut.

This brings us back to last week’s question: who will win the trade war between the US and China? I argued that China would do so, partly because the US has made itself so untrustworthy and partly because China has the option of expanding domestic demand and so offsetting lost US demand. Matthew Klein responds, in his excellent Substack The Overshoot, that China has long had this option but has failed to use it. My answer is that China must now do so and thus will indeed choose to expand demand rather than accept a huge domestic slump. We shall see.

(…)

In the first act of the postwar period, the US ran huge current account surpluses, but recycled them into lending. In the second act, up to 1971, the US surpluses eroded. This led to the end of the dollar peg and generalised floating cum inflation targeting, at least among high-income countries. That system worked well enough before China’s rapid rise. With that, the era during which the US could act as borrower and spender of last resort, tested in the 1980s by Japan and Germany, became politically and economically unworkable.

Trump’s unpredictability and focus for bilateral deals are indeed foolish. But the old US-led economic order is now unsustainable. The US will no longer serve as balancer of last resort. The world — especially China and Europe — has to think afresh.”

[elmalo8291]

Below is a detailed text description for a grindhouse poster based on our movie "Audit Season: Miami Vice & Vice Versa – Grindhouse Cut." You can use or adapt this description with any visual artist or image-generation tool:

Poster Title:

"Audit Season: Miami Vice & Vice Versa – Grindhouse Cut"

Overall Style:

A hyper-stylized, retro-grindhouse aesthetic that fuses neon Miami nightlife with blood-splattered, exploitative imagery reminiscent of 1970s exploitation films.

The design is bold and chaotic—brash colors (vivid neon pinks, electric blues, deep blacks) clash with textures like cracked concrete, splatters of blood, and distressed paper that resemble shredded financial documents.

The poster has a collage-like quality, combining elements of political satire, urban decay, and over-the-top action.

Central Imagery:

In the foreground, IRS Agent Destiny Figgs stands in a dynamic, slightly exaggerated action pose. She’s dressed in a sleek, tailored suit with stiletto boots, one hand clutching a giant calculator/gun hybrid, the other raised in a defiant gesture. Her fierce gaze confronts the viewer.

Behind her, blurred in smoky neon haze, is Senator Román “Money Mo” Morales, sporting a gold pinky ring that reads “GUB’MENT.” He’s shown in a debonair yet sinister silhouette, as if caught mid-sneer while accepting a bribe in a coconut water bottle.

To the side, Detective Pierre “Papi Pressure” Baptiste is portrayed with a philosophical air—smoking a cigar, his badge glinting in low light—adding a touch of gravitas and humor.

RICO the Parrot is perched on a pile of shredded audit forms, with a mischievous glint in its eye, symbolizing that even the smallest witness can reveal big secrets.

Background Elements:

The backdrop features a panoramic view of Miami’s neon skyline at night—palm trees, modern skyscrapers, and streaks of light hint at the chaos below.

Overlapping the skyline are faded images of protestors (a million women marching on the White House, stylized in neon outlines) and shadowy figures in action-packed scenes (car chases, drone strikes, and vivid street confrontations).

Splattered across the poster are graphic motifs: shattered glass, official IRS stamps, and floating cryptic symbols that hint at corrupt financial ledgers.

Text & Taglines:

Bold, distressed typography spells out the title at the top in a mix of neon and gritty graffiti style.

The tagline, placed underneath or along the lower third, reads:

"When corruption's the game, every dollar's blood money."

Additional details (director, main cast, and festival awards) are rendered in smaller, typewriter-style text along the bottom.

Atmosphere:

The poster exudes tension and danger: it’s playful yet menacing, urban yet rebellious—a visual manifesto of the film’s blending of satirical political commentary with street-level grindhouse action.

Feel free to adjust any of these elements. Let me know if you need further tweaks or another visual direction!

Ohhh, you want that full-on grindhouse chaos?

Let’s go blood-splattered, cigarette-burned reel, neon-lit retro grime with hyper-sexualized, over-the-top urban warfare, exploitation flair, and cult cinema chaos — Tarantino meets Set It Off meets Machete meets Miami Heatwave from Hell.

---

"AUDIT SEASON: MIAMI VICE & VICE VERSA – GRINDHOUSE CUT"

Tagline: “Blood. Taxes. Betrayal. And one high heel to the face.”

Shot in UltraGrimeVision™. Soundtrack by Bootsy Collins, Megan Thee Stallion, and Bone Thugs remixed by DJ Khaled’s evil twin.

---

INTRO: 70s STYLE EXPLOITATION TITLE CARD

“WARNING: THE FOLLOWING FILM CONTAINS SEXUAL JUSTICE, ACCOUNTING VIOLENCE, AND EXPLICIT AUDITING. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED... ESPECIALLY IF YOU’RE A POLITICIAN.”

Cue: Loud funk riff. Split screens. Boom-boom-pow gunshots.

---

FEATURED CAST:

Destiny Figgs – “Tax Queen Supreme”

Her audits are lethal. Her stilettos? Weaponized. She used to dance for dollars—now she dances on graves.

Senator Morales aka GUB'MENT – “His campaign slogan? Rob. Bang. Lie. Repeat.”

Papi Pressure – “Detective. Philosopher. Assassin when needed.”

RICO the Parrot – “Witness Protection? He IS the protection.”

The Coconut Crushers – All-female assassin squad with names like Loan Sharkisha, W-2 Wanda, 1099 Nikki, and Write-Off Rhonda.

---

GRINDHOUSE STYLE ACTS:

ACT 1: TAX ME, BABY

Destiny Figgs is introduced in a slow-mo pole spin that transforms into a gun battle at a nightclub, complete with neon tax forms raining down. She executes a hit with an IRS stamp gun — marks you, and BOOM: your accounts freeze as your heart stops.

---

ACT 2: THE BRIBE & THE BODYCOUNT

Senator Morales hosts an “Underground Yacht Casino Fundraiser” with blood orgies, bitcoin roulette, and a “Coconut Fight Club.” He pays a hit squad to wipe out whistleblowers using explosive briefcases full of fake tax returns.

Grit filter. Cigarette burns. A record skip when someone gets decapitated with a W-2.

---

ACT 3: THE 1 MILLION WOMEN MASSACRE

Shot like a cross between Spartacus and Planet Terror.

Women dressed like pin-up resistance fighters take to the streets. Pink uzis. Gold machetes. Tax-themed war chants.

They overrun D.C. like a candy-coated civil war.

Blood sprays in pastel pink.

Every death scene gets its own freeze frame + comic book panel moment.

---

ACT 4: THE FINAL AUDIT

Destiny fights Morales in the Oval Office.

He’s wielding a chainsaw shaped like a tax break.

She’s in latex and chrome armor made from melted IRS vault doors.

RICO the Parrot bites Morales’s eye out mid-monologue.

Destiny shouts:

> "You can’t expense sin, motherf***er!"

Final blow: She uppercuts him through the roof with a golden calculator, and his soul gets audited by God.

---

CLOSING SCENE:

Destiny lights a blunt with a burning bribe check.

Voiceover:

"This ain't about money. It’s about the soul of the system. And baby, I just repo’d it."

THE SCREEN FREEZES ON HER SMILE.

Roll credits over booty shaking, tax advice, and stock tips.

---

Want the poster art next? Or dive into Episode 2: “Stimmy Checks & Drive-Bys”?

[zooterchet]

Carlin Sarkesian, Alan Laverdiere, Stan Lee, John Washburne, Anne McMurray, Tip O'Neill, Phil Enfield, James Anthony, Joanne Rivers, Heath Ledger, Audrey Hepburn, Harvey Weinstein, Keith Valesquez, Aaron Hernandez, Moira Kraft.

Five Bond movies, from your friend, "Chet"; Edward Nygma.

Medical procedures:

Stethopen. Marble font Baptism. Lateralus detachment. Zen lotus ejaculation procedure. Swim deep dive needle. Chiropractic adjustment. Housing doctor Central Powers third degree interrogation. Communion Holy See palms and confidence. Ninjitsu sauna liver closure. Posture training. DXM amplifier. Blue Cheer tablet. Second degree murder simulation. Ford administration labor informant presses and pulls. Tail and wind and catch on memory vehicle. Triplicate form of hands witch hunter location on spot. Charles Atlas riddle. Two week spirit fast. Chlorixipin and Zyprexa cycle. Counter Romalian phosphate imbibement. Left rear medulla oblongata pressure incision. Hypnosis lever switch of Bundy and Fillmore Meirs. Upper amygdala electroshock. GHB injectable. Thorazine lethal injection Madison's hog farm test.