#I DID SOMETHING >//<

[narcissarina]

Darkened Desires

Prologue and Chapter 1: The sun || Chapter 2: The moon || Chapter 3: The moon || Chapter 4: The sun || Chapter 5: The sun || Chapter 6: The moon || Chapter 7: The moon || Chapter 8: The sun || Chapter 9: The sun || Chapter 10: The outsider

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 2,306

Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.

Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.

Your mental health matters.

CHAPTER 11:

THE MOON

I sigh and lay my head low, I left her alone in her own home—I shouldn’t worry too much since I know she’ll be safe and can protect her own. But I can’t help but feel my gut that tells me the opposite of it.

I’m not ready to talk about it, I’m not ready to share my criminal life and leave her uncomfortable.

She’ll ask me questions and probably press me why I didn’t become an agent like my mother is.

I lean back to my chair and tap on my armrest, papers been stacking up—got a few calls, few emails here and there.

Letting out a frustrate sigh, I look up my ceiling—there’s been a gut feeling that’s bee stabbing me to check up on her, see her, feel her.

I fight the urge and stood up from my chair, fixing my tie and brushing off dust from my vest.

I took out my phone and look through my messages, Ajax texted me: “Are you still gonna refuse what we had planned?”

Rolling my eyes and a scoff left my lips as I tuck my phone in.

Although I am worried, I know she is safe since I did sent out a few guards to check in on her. I assure myself and walk walked out of my office to stretch my limbs and stiffen body.

I let my head hang up in the air and silence filled my surroundings, muting any sounds as my eyes shut and take a deep breath. I hear faint footsteps… getting louder and louder and closer.

I took out my gun and point to my right, halting someone as I assume they would come knocking me out or attack me while I let my guard down, turning my head to see who they are. They’re one of my men, I groan and put back my gun.

He was frozen in fear and shock, I snapped, “what the hell do you want?”

“Sir…” his breath hitches, his voice quivering.

The moment I hear those words, the moment I felt my heart drop through the ground.

“She’s gone.”

Immediately bursting through her house door, I was met with eerie silence. My brows knitted together as I search the living room, I called out her name… No response.

“Sunshine?” I say out in a panic, my chest rising up and down as I head upstairs to her bedroom—I open the door and saw her messy bed, she was taken when asleep.

My head started hurting and my breathing starts to pick up, too much is happening all at once.

I called to one of my men while heading downstairs in a panic, I gripped on his collar and bring his face closer to mine.

“you had one fucking job.” I say in gritted teeth, he was still and his fist clenched, “how did this happen?” I asked and pushed him down, safely landing on her couch—god fucking damn it!

I clench over my hair and brush it back, letting out a frustrating sigh as I kick down a fucking chair.

Too much is happening and it’s happening all at fucking once.

“Where were you when she got taken?” I asked, trying to keep my cool and flatten my tone, he open his mouth to respond but his partner answered for him, “he was taking a fat shit.”

I closed my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, “couldn’t you shit faster?” I sat down on the nearest and clasp my hand together, I lean forward and rest my elbows onto my knees.

“if you don’t find a piece of clue of her whereabouts within twenty-four hours, I’m going to have each of your fingers taken off.” I spoke, loud and clear—he nods and had a death grip of his own knee. If his nail could pierce to that piece of fabric and skin, he would be bleeding by now.

I lean back, groaning in pain and defeat.

Out of anyone, why would they target her? She hasn’t done anything wrong, she’s just a simple I clench over my hair and brush it back, letting out a frustrating sigh as I kick down a fucking chair.

Although she likes to poke her nose and ears where it doesn’t belong.

I need to find her fast, or all will be too late.

I sat in my car seat, my hands gripping on the steering wheel as I hit it repeatedly to let out my stress, I already made my men go back first without me since they’re doing shit at their job. I need a time alone before I couldn’t contain myself and kill them all.

Ping—

The sound of my phone notification grabbed my attention for a second as I look to the messages with a picture attached.

It was Ajax.

I read the message carefully and felt my heart stop for a few good minute.

I put my hand on the wheel and took off, speeding up to get to my destination, I’ll be breaking Ajax’s neck if his explanation did not satisfy me.

I arrived in front of his house as I slam my cars door shut and bolt inside his home, “where the fuck is she?!” I yelled and took his collar, making him meet me eye to eye. I would love to cut that grin off of his face as he only held his hands mid air and chuckle, “chill, she’s safe.” He said and grip one of his hand to my wrist, “if it weren’t for me, she would’ve been taken by… You know.”

“The hell you talking about?”

“It’s better if you go see her first then we’ll talk.” Ajax snap his finger to one of his men and got behind me, signaling me to follow them—my grip on Ajax collar loosen as I slowly turn my back and followed them.

My mind swirls with questions and how would I approach her and what her condition is, I never knew fear exist in me when one of my men says that she’s gone…

We arrived downstairs as his guard open the door, isn’t this Ajax torture room or something? Why did he kept her in here? Is he sick in the head, what the fuck…

Impatiently waiting and tapping my shoe, they opened it and I burst into the room and look around the dimly lit room, I see a couple of blankets and pillows on the ground and a tray with a plate that was once filled with food.

There she was, sleeping uncomfortably on the freezing ground as she toss from her left to right and the blanket wrap her like a burrito. I rush to her and held her in my arms, she was snoring and mumbling in her sleep, I held her tight and my hand on her cheek.

“Sunshine.” I mutter, my lips connected to her temple as I softly rock her in my arms. She’s also hugging a pillow and curl up into a ball, “wake up, darling.” I called, she whines and turn her back on me while still being in my arms. I chuckle at her tactics and carried her bridal style as I walk out of the room with her sleeping soundly in my arms.

I lay her down in one of Ajax’s luxurious couch and sat down beside her—sleeping soundly as if she doesn’t sense the danger in this world and that in her dreams, she’s safe and happy.

I adjust her position and let her head use my thigh as her pillow, she grunt and whines a little but proceed to smack both of her lips and turn her back as her forehead made contact where my healing wound is. I smile down at her and remove some of her hair from her face.

Ajax is right across me, legs cross and drinking his tea.

“I won’t cut to the chase.” I hear him clear his throat, his tone serious but his smile not disappearing. I look up at him and remain eye contact, “I called you for a reason, Scara.” He added then continue, “actually, when me and the boys did our job, you know? The usual—breaking in, shooting, murdering the wanted people. You know?” He chuckle to himself and lean back to relax his muscles.

“But there’s something that caught my eye when I broke in to my targets office,” his hands clasp together, “there was a file that stands out the most and most familiar,” he then snap a finger as his men gave him the file that he was talking about, “it's about your previous Sunshine, Scara.” He handed me the file by tossing it to the table between us, the file slides close as I manage to grab a hold to it.

I scan and read each word carefully while still listening to what Ajax’s saying, “she was being targeted, I don’t know who nor what do they want but they just wanted her.” My brows frown, muttering under my breath every sentences I read.

Name: Y/N L/N

Age: 24

It was one of her personal backgrounds, the same one I also have but different… It has the approved stamp on it and the date when they’ll be taking her, my eyes widen and filled with so much rage that I could fucking kill every single person in this room…

But I remain calm, as waiting my darling up would be every upsetting.

He could just watch me stress this out, “I know you have a lot in your plate right now, but I feel like you should know and that why I took her in the first place.” He explained, “she’s a lovely girl, but we can’t have her be taken away now. Not when she’s your sun ray and that the Tsaritsa just want to question her.”

My eyes shot up to him, “she wants to question her..?” Ajax nodded and smiles more widely now, “I mean, just a harmless question, she’s going to be fine!”

My eyes darkened, annoyance visible on my face, “now, now… Let me explain.” Ajax laughs, as I feel her again turning and letting out a sigh of relief as she knew she’s in a warm and comfortable spot to sleep on.

“You know… She low-key looks like the Tsaritsa’s diseased child, but more older and mature now.” His tone became soft and calm, “you know, since her lover got killed in an intense battle in war.”

“Isn’t her lover in the military?”

“yes and the Tsaritsa is part of the most powerful and resourceful mafia family…”

“Why and how did she fell in love with a soldier?”

Ajax thought for a moment and let out a deep breath, “she ran away to be with him, then his deployment came when she’s pregnant. Before she knew it, he’ll never return. And he doesn’t know that she’s the most wanted mafia’s daughter.”

I nodded, look down at her sleeping soundly and caress her cheek.

“how did her kid die?”

“When the Tsaritsa’s little princess was running around the house, greeting every servant and giving them smiles. She’s a lovely girl, like her—” he points to my sleeping sunshine, “—like her, the Tsaritsa calls her child her sunshine. Her ray of light when she was out of hope, but she continue pursuing life because that day, she has a child.”

I smiled, I know it’ painful to lose a kid. But I knew, because I lost not one but three kids because I failed to save them from their abuser and predator…

“But when hope was building, it collapsed when her ray of light got into a flight accident—along with the Tsaritsa’s trusted servants to guide her sunshine back home. Back where the kid belongs, not only did the kid lost its life, but also four or six people died there too. Most of them survived, but not the kid and the servant.”

I listen, as I feel this pain in my heart. I continue caressing her face as I look up and see Ajax wiping off tears from his eyes, he laughs and dismiss this matter. “N-No, sorry. Quite unprofessional…” I could hear him sniffle and smile again, “it’s just awful to lose someone that young and that they’re your only reason why you’re keeping it together.”

He inhales and tries to stop tears from falling off, he took a fan and starts flapping it in the maximum speed he can. “It’s just that, when the Tsaritsa caught a glimpse of her file. She immediately knew that she found another reason to keep it together and finally had someone worthy of her protection.” He smiled while battling with his tears, even though in those dead eyes of his—there’s still a hint of emotion in there somewhere, just finding it’s way to wave and finally come around eventually.

“So, I’m only doing this for her request, not a demand—but a request.” He clarify twice, assuming that I would hear it right. “it’s okay to refuse since the Tsaritsa only asked if she had a chance to meet her, and maybe talk to her too.”

I’m free to refuse, but how could I refuse when I finally knew what the Tsaritsa’s intentions are? There’s a side of me that’s really soft and this is one of them.

“I promise you, comrade.” Ajax lean forward, his elbow resting on his knee and hands clasp together, “that the Tsaritsa will provide her everything, will do anything to protect her. Even though she’s not her daughter—she found yet again a sole reason to keep it together.”

I sigh, pinching the nose of my bridge and look down at sunshine. Ismiled and try to lean and kiss her forehead, “alright.”

“Arrange an appointment for us to meet Her Majesty.”

Link:

Chapter 12: THE SUN

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

License to Kitty.

[hanjoj]

their ship name might as well be theseus the way there's not a single original characteristic left there

[prouvaireafterdark]

listen I know it's heartbreaking that Claudia dies and it's understandable to wish she didn't, but let's please not accuse the writers of fridging her. to do so is a fundamental misunderstanding of the story and is frankly insulting to the intelligence and skill of the writers of the show.

Claudia's death, and the overwhelming grief and regret her parents experience because of it, is quite literally the point of the entire story. she dies because Anne's daughter Michele died of leukemia when she was five years old and there was nothing she or her husband could do to prevent it.

writing IWTV was how Anne coped with the unimaginable loss of a parent losing her child. she created a story about a little girl that could not die and then killed her anyway. Claudia's death is a senseless, unavoidable tragedy, just like Michele's was. the grief that haunts Louis and Lestat for the rest of their lives is the same grief that haunted Anne and her husband.

so when you're accusing people of killing Claudia off to benefit a story about two men, please remember that in real life sometimes parents lose their children. please remember Michele Rice.

she's the reason Claudia exists.

she's also the reason Claudia cannot be saved.

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[cyancees]

i have neither a good imagination nor aphantasia, but a secret third thing

[secretdazedragon]

[katsinspats]

Thematically appropriate comic for Make a Terrible Comic Day!!

I saw the original post this morning and it made me get out of bed to make something, so thank u Pseudonym Jones mission accomplished

[protoctist]

i know ryoko kui is a real one because she wrote 97+ chapters of a manga about fantasy ecosystems and food chains and not once did she write the phrase "survival of the fittest" (it's a bad phrase) (it's a social darwinist phrase even) (hated amongst biologists) (doesn't make sense) (darwin didn't use it) (coined by an business major) (one of the worst phrases in pop science) (no good)

[littlelightfish]

This... this is a whole different kind of psychic damage here. When nightmares got Marcille, we get to knew that her's biggest fear is outliving her friends. This isn't even canon probably, but look at this. This isn't a "I don't want my friends to die" kind of dream. This is a "I'm terrified of loosing my daughters, of something killing them, and being incapable of stopping it" kind of dream. It's so simple yet it explains perfectly the whole of chilchucks character. He loves, he cares, deeply. But he, or doesn't acknowledges, or doesn't know what to do with that knowledge.

Besides that. Someone had to wake him up after this. Imagine the devastation in this man after he wakes up. He just saw his three little babys murdered corpses (or maybe he saw them die, wich isn't better). He would possibly not talk about it, and that would worry the hell out of the party, because we'll, they see him all down and only one of them knows what he saw. Imagine being the one to pull him from that nightmare. Seeing this man, usually so composed, fuking staring with tears and terror in his eyes to the composes of what you can only assume are his daughters. It would be heartwrenching.

Idk, I love this man so much...

[cozylittleartblog]

not that we didn't already Know belos was full of shit, but it's even funnier knowing the titan was still alive the whole time and probably judging him

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Dog Meshi.

[utilitycaster]

"why should I get invested in shows if they'll just get canceled" I was deeply invested in Heroes (2006) and it was not canceled, it just got really terrible. I also got really invested in the sandwich I had a few weeks ago despite it only lasting like 15 minutes. You must embrace the ephemeral. You must be willing to love things that may not love you back, that might betray you, or that may die an untimely death. As the great philosopher Mr. Mitchell Lee Hedberg said "I'm not gonna stop doing something because of what happens at the end."

[no-face-no-shame]

Locking in seconds before doing the most insane thing possible

[mijucats]

a party with a catgirl and a dogboy

[souporsaladnatural]

Obsessed with the sudden shift in Cas' willingness to say insane romantic shit to dean in season 8. A couple of seasons ago, he would tell dean that they had a profound bond to his face. That everything he did, he did for Dean. Now? He's hesitating. He clenches his fists to avoid hugging Dean back in purgatory. He stutters and looks away before saying he stayed away from Dean to protect him. When asked what broke through heaven's brainwashing, he looks away and says he doesn't know. It's so interesting to me