#Nail Care Market price

[csuitebitches]

Things I Have to do for My Sanity

1. Wake up at the first alarm - no snoozing and no going lying around in bed. Getting up straight away and head to the bathroom. It’s going to suck initially but you’ll get used to it in a few days.

2. Mental self care: 30 minute meditation, brain games mental math, reading, news. Knowledge is sexy and don’t deny yourself sexiness.

3. Daily review in my diary at the beginning and end of my day: what went well, what didn’t, what I need to accomplish to achieve my goals. This has tremendously helped my goals and keeping my motivation more consistent, especially at work. Analysing and correcting incremental changes creates long term success.

4. Cleaning up before bed - clothes, shoes, organising my bag, etc. I set a timer for 5 minutes and try to get as much done as possible.

5. Pick out my clothes the night before and steam iron them for the next day.

6. Face masks twice a week, a hair mask once a week, I scrub the soles of my feet with that foot scrubbing thingy once a week. Manicures every month because my nail beds are too sensitive to do it biweekly, iron supplements so that I’m not a moody bitch. Matching underwear to feel good about myself. Lavender spray on my pillow before sleeping so that I don’t get weird dreams.

7. Reading biographies and autobiographies. My mentor had suggested this to me and it’s amazing how literally I don’t have a single original experience - everything I’ve felt or mistakes I’ve made have already been done by someone else.

I’m going to curate a list of business books that I feel that have helped me the most recently.

8. I write a short essay everyday in the language I’m currently learning. I also end my day by talking about my day for at least 2 minutes in that language and I record it in voice memos to keep a track of my progress. I want to be fluent to a level where I can think in this language.

✨

I don’t generally share a lot about my personal life - none of you know my name or where I’m based and I feel comfortable doing that. But I do want to start giving out more insights to what I’m doing personally in my career - the good, the bad, the ugly.

Being self aware and honest to myself has helped me improve a lot. I know that shame is my Achilles heel, so now I’m reading books to combat that. I’ve caved in and decided to try therapy for a bit to see if what I’m doing is useful or not. My first session is tomorrow. Staying disciplined was my initial hurdle but the systems I’ve set (waking up early + habit stacking) have helped me slowly overcome that.

Work side, I’ve started establishing myself publicly more. I don’t want to reveal too much about what I do exactly but the good news is that our biggest competitor has noticed my progress (a former employee of that company came to us for an interview and directly asked our top management about me). It’s been 4 months that I’ve been working here but I know that next year I really have to swing the bat and hit a home run. I’ve decided to work on the field more and less in the office to really understand people’s needs and create unique solutions.

The daily/weekly/quarterly diary is definitely credited to my recent wins. That’s the biggest change I’ve made in my routine and i can already see that it’s working well. I’m going to continue refining and implementing that method.

Recent work methods I’ve decided to start working on (I’m not required to do these but I do it for my growth):

1. I’ve started studying popular companies’ business and revenue models in detail. Everything is adoptable and adaptable, you just have to figure out how to tweak something for your company’s clients and needs. Now I’ve decided that I want to keep a track of our competitors, their business models, their owners names, pricing strategy, their target audience etc etc on an excel sheet so that I’m aware with what’s happening in the market. 

2. I’ve started making client profiles. Every time I meet a client, I note down their name, the company name, what they were like, anything specific they seemed to like or want, how much they had paid us for a service, what their paying capacity could be, etc. 

[asgardian--angels]

Now that I've ranted on the phone to my fam a bit, I'll just say this. I call utter bullshit here. I refuse to believe no other streamer wanted to make a deal - David implied as much when he said there were many complimentary meetings. This was Zaslav refusing to sell for anything but an insane price tag just like Coyote vs Acme. He knows it would be a hit anywhere else that was willing to fund and market it. And he'd rather sink our ship and take himself down with it than let it flourish and make his company look bad (as if it can look worse at this point).

So you know what? Fuck all this. This is the hill I'll die on. David may have waved the white flag but I won't. We were prepared for a marathon, not a sprint, and two months is not nearly enough for me to throw in the towel. I want to see WBD implode. I won't rest until we get something, anything - a movie, a graphic novel, a Samba's cell phone basement version of s3, I don't care. If streaming is dying, let us put that final nail in its coffin for what it did to us and so many others who have asked for so little and been spat at.

Make some fucking noise about this. It's not over until we say it's over. I love and respect David dearly, but I have a lot of fight left in me.

[ranpoesgirl]

HELLO IF UR REQUESTS ARE OPEN CAN I REQUEST PT2 OF “ACCIDENTALLY SPILLING THAT YOU SLEPT WITH THESE BSD MEN” WITH CHUUYA, NIKOLAI AND JOUNO?

ACCIDENTALLY SPILLING THAT YOU SLEPT WITH THESE LOSERS BSD MEN II;

ft; chuuya, nikolai, jouno ( i, ii )

CHUUYA;

You were currently out roaming around town with Chuuya after your guy’s mission, when passing by a cafe, you heard a voice call out for Chuuya by his name.

He turned around annoyed but that face continued to turned into discomfort, you looked to see a young boy, maybe 14? He wore a farmer boys clothing and now that you think about it, he might be the boy Chuuya talked about.

The young boy was a ball of sunshine and invited you two to join him around the market, Chuuya was quick to shut him down so the both of you began convincing the ginger.

“Come on, Chuuya! You weren’t this difficult in bed!”, the words from your mouth came so fluidly that you couldn’t stop it.

“NAME ! THERE IS A CHILD PRESENT!”, his voice cracked while his face was redder than when he was usually drunk.

“You both sleep together in the same bed? That’s very intimate, only the married slept together in the same bed back where I’m from,”

Chuuya wasn’t joking when he said there is no one as pure as him…

NIKOLAI;

You were losing your sanity simply being in the same room as this man but it’s the price for the favor you were obliged to help with.

Sigma and Nikolai were going back and forth with Sigma mostly arguing with common sense and Nikolai being who he is, a clown.

“Ugh, how long have you been assisting this man?! I thought you’d at least lose your sanity and be like him not sit there filing your nails!”, Sigma yelled close to pulling his hair out.

“don’t bring me into this, how am I supposed to know that a man putting my pleasure first completely before his is not the same out of bed?”

This one came out accidentally but it’s not like you cared about the two toned man about knowing such information.

“You did WHAT?! And you’re still sane!?”

“Hey, I’m sane, but my standards in men? That’s my therapist’s problem.”

JOUNO;

The mall was a fun and practical, you had all sorts of things in one place from clothing stores to Dior, but to go with Jouno? You were regretting every second that you ignored Tachihara’s warning…

“Those shoes are cute,” “they don’t make sizes for big foot.”

“I wonder if they sell refills for my favorite perfume?” “have you tried taking a shower?”

“let’s go to the food court, I’m hungry!” “We got food at home— also, didn’t you say you weren’t hungry minutes before we left the house?”

A pain in the ass, and not in a good way either. What you wanted to be a fun trip and where you threw all your money, is now a sad walk in silence because you’d either get judged or insulted. On the way, you spotted Teruko walking your way with her sly smile but it slowly dropped when she reached you.

“I thought you said you wanted to splurge on yourself after your paycheck?”, the red head questioned.

Jouno looked a bit taken aback before glancing at you and quickly looking away because you were slightly glaring at him. He began walking away quietly while Teruko waited for your reply even though you hinted that he was the reason.

“Honestly, what did I expect from a man who took complete control bed even while being blind?”, you whispered quietly to the girl who simply chuckled at your comment in surprise.

You swore you saw the man’s head whip so fast and began glaring at you till there were holes in your head, not like you were going to turn to look at him to confirm…

bonus; Jouno proceeded to buy you everything you needed along with your wants and was currently standing next to you with shopping bags stacked on his arm as you were forced to swipe his card to buy those shoes you found cute…

[tightjeansjavi]

The Menu | Part 1

“Vices to fill a Void”

A/N: so I decided this is gonna be a two-parter because if theres one thing I’m good at, it’s edging my dear readers ;)

~word count: 3.4k~

Pairing | dark! Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: Joel Miller has a menu concocted just for his customers. Pills? He’s got ‘em. Guns? Ammo? Name your price. Booze to warm the broken souls and hearts of the QZ? give him a holler. Everything comes with a price, of course. Joels got somethin’ special on his menu. Somethin’ that he doesn’t advertise freely. Y’gotta want it. Y’gotta have a desire that matches his own, only then will he offer what you seek.

Warnings: dark themes, two feral cats energy, mentions of deceased bodies, Joel is an asshole that knows how to get exactly what he wants. Dark! Joel, post!outbreak, Joel and Tess run the black market in the QZ, age gap, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her late 20’s, mentions of drugs, smoking, alcohol, graphic depictions of violence, reader is a spitfire with a no-shit taking attitude, enemies to lovers type beat, Joel likes to play mind games, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is Angel, +18 minors dni!

The first time you meet the infamous Joel Miller is in his and Tess’s apartment in one of the few available Boston QZ apartments. Rumor on the street is that Joel and Tess are an item. When in all actuality, they’re business partners that occasionally fuck. His options, however, are not just limited to Tess. He likes to keep that part of his business on the low. He’s got a reputation, sure. But he doesn’t boast it proudly like a peacock. He knows his expertise, and he knows it well. His purpose in the structure of the QZ was smuggling. He’d bring pills, booze, ammo, guns, and anything else that was desirable. He’d trade for ration cards; a hefty amount of them. Sometimes, he’d allow his customers to trade their bodies, but he was quite picky, and it ain’t had anything to do with women’s appearances. In that department, he indulged in all body types. What he was most intrigued about was their minds. Their ability to survive, and most importantly, what they desired most in this shit-hole world.

He liked it when they were verbal. Silence was not a name in his game. He liked it when they showed up at his doorstep knowing exactly what it was that they wanted from him. He could play all the cards, and he played them well. He could be empathetic if they asked for it. He could pretend to love them just for the night. He could yank their hair, dig his nails into their flesh and call them a dirty, useless whore, but only if it was requested. See, he wasn’t all that brutal of a man, but if you weren’t careful and direct, he might send you home with more than just an ache between your thighs. He knew how to fuck, and he enjoyed it almost as much as he enjoyed beating a man senseless, almost.

You, however, held no interest to know what laid beneath his weathered jeans. You showed up wanting one thing, and one thing only. A vice to fill the hole in the void of your heart. You knew that Joel Miller’s menu was just what the doctor ordered.

Tess and Joel were seated at the kitchen table going through their supplies for the day. They had their usual customers, but Joel was always intrigued to see new faces walk through his door.

A cigarette dangled between his lips as he flipped through a stack of ration cards. The scent of tobacco wafted through the cracks in the door frame as your knuckles rapped firmly along the chipped paint. You knocked once, then twice five seconds later. It was customary like a code. Not that Joel or Tess had any concerns with FEDRA; they were a part of his regular cycle of customers too.

“Come in.” His voice was thick, deep, and dripping with authority.

The tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange as he inhaled the toxic fumes. The nicotine that coursed through his system calmed his nerves. Everyone had their own skeletons in their closets after all.

He paused his counting momentarily as he listened to the door handle squeak before it was pushed open.

“Sit.” He rasped with his freehand gesturing to the open seat in front of the table. “State your business.”

You watched the way the smoke coiled around his head like an ashy halo through the stagnant air. His brow cocked in your direction as his eyes zoned in on the stack of ration cards that you pulled from your jacket pocket.

“I was told that your menu is designed to cater to one's vices. I’m needin’ a bottle of booze, and a pack of smokes if you got any.” You placed the ration cards along the table before leaning back against the chairs frame.

“We ain’t got a whole pack, unfortunately. Five cards gets you five sticks, and three gets ya a bottle of hooch.” He declared in his warm Texas twang.

He was handsome, you’d give him that satisfaction only.

“I’ve got ten cards total. How about you throw’n two more smokes to make it even?” You countered smoothly as you crossed your arms against your chest.

“A negotiator, huh? Well, I'll tell ya what, girlie. Y’got yourself a deal. Y’new around here? Ain’t seen ya before.” He knew pretty much every face in the QZ. But yours remained a mystery. He wasn’t all too big of a fan of mysteries.

“Don’t think that is any of your concern, Joel.” You ignored his question as you passed off the cards.

“True.” He mused with a grin tugging across his lips. ‘S’alright. I’ll jus’ end up findin’ out about you in my own way.” He shrugged with the utmost casualness that sent your blood boiling under the surface. “Besides, my customers always end up comin’ back for more.” He grabbed a bottle of hooch and seven freshly rolled cigarettes concealed in tinfoil.

“There ain’t much for you to find out. Wouldn’t go wastin’ your time.” You grabbed the bottle swiftly before tucking it into the inner lining of your jacket. Before he could send you on your way, however, you unrolled the tinfoil to inspect the handiwork. Once you were satisfied with the merch, you plucked one of the cigarettes and placed it between your lips. “You got a light I can borrow?”

His nose twitched and his eyes squinted tightly before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He beckoned you silently to lean in as he ignited the flame.

“Y’know, these are a nasty habit to break.” He leaned back into his chair with his own cigarette dying between his lips. “Ain’t nothin’ like a good ole’ fashioned nicotine addiction.”

You scoffed under your breath as you took a deep inhale of the cancerous smoke that filled your lungs. “Says the man puffin’ away on one right in front of my face.”

He didn’t even look half fazed by your remark as he blew the smoke drifting from his lips off to the side.

You stared at one another a second longer before you stood up from your chair and snatched the cigarettes from the table.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Joel Miller. See ya around.”

Before he could respond, you were already slipping back out his apartment door and into the hallway.

“Man, she’s got a pair of balls on her, huh?” Tess mused from her seat alongside him.

“Yeah,” He smirked. “She sure does.”

The next time you saw Joel Miller was a few weeks later. You were assigned with assisting in dumping deceased infected into the deep pits where their flesh would be burned and melted away and all that would be remaining was their brittle bones. You had done this job enough times to get used to the putrid stench of rotting flesh. Others, however, couldn’t stand the smell. Some would pass out, others would empty what little was in their stomachs.

A denim-clad shoulder brushed against you as you lifted another body from the truck bed.

“Fancy seein’ you here, Angel.” Joel’s voice was muffled through the bandana he wore across his face, but you knew it was him just from that Texas twang of his.

Your eyes rolled back as walked past him and dropped the body into the flames that engulfed it.

“C’mon now.” He mused. “I know y’heard me.” He pressed.

“Fuck off, Joel.” You muttered under your breath as you bumped his shoulder harshly.

“Y’break that nasty habit yet?” He asked with a twinge of curiosity.

“Nope. Don’t plan on it either.”

Much to your relief, he walked away without speaking another word. It was short-lived however as he was standing right behind you in line to receive your ration cards for the day. The air was hot and almost unbearable as you wiped the sweat of your brow along your sleeve. When the cards were placed into your outstretched palm you shoved them deep into your pocket. The pay wasn’t worth the work that you put in.

Before you could disappear around the corner of the alley to head home, a hand grasped your shoulder rather firmly and before you could reach for your concealed weapon, your back was met with something hard that nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

Joel Miller.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doin’, Joel?!” You hissed under your breath as he flipped you around to face him.

“Got a proposition for ya, girlie. Trust me, you’ll want in.” His voice dipped down an octave as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of pills. Painkillers you suspected. The kind of shit that people could easily find themselves getting addicted to.

“And what makes you fuckin’ think that I would wanna do anythin’ for you?” What the fuck was this guys problem? The nerve he had.

“Cus’ I know there’s somethin’ that you want. Somethin’ that you need. Besides, you ain’t gonna make it long here if you don’t start usin’ people. S’the only way to survive in this world now. So, here’s what you’re gonna do. Tess and I wanna branch out further and in order to do that, we gotta get the rest of FEDRA off our backs.”

“You ain’t know shit about me, Joel. I’m doin’ just fine on my own.” You ripped your arm from his grasp, but he was quicker than you expected.

“I ain’t askin’ you, Angel. I’m tellin.’ Now, you’re gonna take these pills, and you’re gonna go on over to those guys o’there, and you’re gonna trade them. Y’get half the ration cards from the deal. Seem fair?” His tall stature loomed over you like a shadow being casted across the sun. Everything about this man was massive. His hands. His bulging arms. His shoulders. He was built like a fucking fridge, and he clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Is this what you do to all of your customers? Corner them into alleys and force them to do your dirty work for you?” You scoffed as you ripped the baggy from his hand. “And I get all the cards. I ain’t gonna let you just go and boss me around for half.”

“Jus’ the pretty ones that have a mouth to ‘em.” He mused with a wicked grin. “Fine. Y’get all the cards, but only if they agree to trade. Go on now, Angel. Time's a tickin away.” He nudged you forward with the palm of his calloused hand resting along your lower back.

“Asshole.” You hissed under your breath as you stashed the pills into your pocket before departing from the alley. If there was one thing you were good at, it was getting men to give you exactly what you wanted. You could flutter your lashes, giggle, flirt a little and their little egos would be crushed to dust beneath your fingertips.

“Hey boys, got a minute?” You spoke in a honeyed voice as the three officers diverted their attention towards you.

Joel watched from the shadows of the alley as you worked your charm like a fiddle. He was impressed with your natural skills. You certainly were no pushover. He did wonder if this was all a facade that you wore confidently. He thought briefly about what it would be like to have you beneath his sheets. What would you request from him? Would you ask him to be sweet and gentle? To fuck you like a man oughta? Or, would you be willing to share your deepest, darkest, filthy desires with him? He hoped for the latter.

When the deal was done, you made your way back across the street. Maybe Joel Miller was right. Maybe you should start using people for what they have. Who gave a fuck about morale anyway?

“How’d it go?” he inquired with his broad arms crossed against his chest as he leaned back against the brick wall.

“They wouldn’t take the bait unfortunately.” You let out a faux sigh. “Guess the deal is off.”

“What a shame, Angel. I surely thought you had it in ya. Guess I was wrong. Oh well. Good luck to ya.” He pushed himself off the wall only to find himself being pushed right up against it. Your palm lay flat against his chest as your freehand reached into your pocket and pulled out a single ration card.

His brow raised curiously as you went to slip the card into his back pocket. His eyes widened when he felt the warmth of your fingers searing through his jeans. At this close proximity, he got a proper whiff of your natural scent, and his cock pathetically twitched in the tight confines of the denim.

“Here’s your half of the deal. Decided to be generous.” You whispered through the thick growing tension.

His hand reached up to grab your wrist but before he could make contact with your skin, you were already stepping away from his reach. Your fingers rose in a mock salute before you turned on your heel and walked away.

Fuck. She’s perfect.

The next time Joel Miller saw you it's past curfew. Hours to be exact. The Boston QZ streets are quiet sans the labored breathing and deep grunts coming from a group of low-life scumbags.

“I already told you, I don’t have shit on me!” You emptied out your pockets to show these fuckers that you weren’t messing around. Would raw honesty really keep these men from tearing you apart?

“Bullshit. Y’got stuff back at your place, right? C’mon now darlin’, don’t lie to us. We’ve seen you hangin’ around Miller. Y’workin’ with him?” The man that had you pinned against the brick wall pressed further.

“Oh, for fuck sakes! Are y’all really that boneheaded to think that i’m gonna be carryin’ merch on me out in the open like this?!” You yelled out of frustration as you tried to pin your wrists free to reach your concealed knife.

“How about you shut the fuck up and tell us where Joel’s apartment is, and we won’t have to kill you. How’s that sound?” The man twisted your wrists tightly to the point where you were just waiting to hear a sickening crack.

“I don’t know where his apartment is, asshole. And even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell the likes of you because i’m not a fuckin’ rat!” You hissed between your gritted teeth as you threw your head back in one swift movement right into the face of the man that was holding you hostage. His nose crunched audibly from the force as he stumbled back right onto his ass.

Blood pooled and gushed down his lips as he yelled out a slew of profanities in your direction. Just as you were reaching for your knife, it was knocked from your grasp and clattered to the concrete out of your reach.

A fist collided with your face that sent you slamming into the brick wall with your ears wildly ringing.

You detected a familiar voice through your half-conscious haze as you slumped down to the ground with a labored wheeze.

A sickening crunch, followed by a strangled yell as Joel had one of the men in a headlock. Their body dropped to the ground like a bag of bricks. Eyes forever unmoving. The man that you headbutted was desperately trying to crawl away as Joel staggered after him. He bent down, grasping the hilt of your knife in his calloused palm.

His pupils were dark like a never ending black pit as he sent his steel-toed boot colliding into his gut over and over again. The man’s wails died in his throat as Joel flipped him over onto his back and slit his throat with one fatal swipe. Blood spurted from the entry wound and speckled Joel’s skin in a spray of crimson.

The third man almost got away, but Joel fired a bullet right into his spine without a second thought.

He focused his attention on you as he crouched down, knife still in his grasp, dripping with blood onto the pavement. His freehand grasped your face gently as he assessed your injuries. His good ear detected the sound of tires crunching under gravel; FEDRA.

“Angel, we need to go. We need to move. NOW.” He spoke urgently as he tucked your knife away before placing that hand along your shoulder. “FEDRA is gonna be here any minute, and I don’t know about you, but my ass is NOT bein’ thrown in lockup!”

When you didn’t immediately respond to his dire request, he took matters into his own hands, literally. You felt his strong arms lift you from the ground as if you weighed nothing. He left the crime scene in a flash. He was speaking to you, but you couldn’t detect his words as his mouth was moving too fast.

The last thing you remembered seeing was his dark, espresso brown eyes, and his blood spattered skin.

“Need’ya to open your eyes for me, sweetheart. C’mon. Guy knocked ya pretty good, but you’ll live.” Joel murmured close to your face as you were coming to.

What the fuck.

Your lashes fluttered for a moment and then snapped open. Despite the ache in your face from being punched, and the pounding in your skull, you immediately shot your hands upwards and shoved harshly at his broad chest.

“Joel?! What the actual fuck–”

“Ah, there she is. The sleepin’ beauty awakes, finally!” He’s grinning like a cheshire cat as he moves off the couch to give you space to breathe.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here, Joel?”

“Wow.” He tuts under his breath dissaprovingly. “Can’t even get a thank you for savin’ your fuckin’ life?”

“I had the situation handled on my own. What the hell were you doin’ out past curfew anyway?” You sat up a little too fast as blood rushed to your head.

His strong hands were gently easing you back down to a lying position before he was backing off again.

“Easy now, Angel. I wouldn’t sit up a’that fast if I were you.” He warned you sternly.

“Well, good thing you aren’t me, huh?” You snapped back as you swung your legs over the side of the couch.

This time he was more forceful in his actions as his hands pressed down on your shoulders firmly. “I said, stay put. God, can’t you jus’ fuckin’ listen to me when I tell ya to take it easy? You’re gonna bust your nose back open, and the stitches on the back of your head. Just chill the fuck out.” You could taste his hot breath on his tongue and feel his pulse quicken. The bulging veins in his neck protruded through the thin skin.

You swallowed harshly as your gaze wavered along the remnants of blood on his skin. Why didn’t he bother to wash it off? You couldn't help but wonder.

“I didn’t fuckin’ need your help, Joel. And you still haven’t answered my previous question either.”

He rolled his eyes before he lifted his hands from your shoulders and stalked away into the kitchen. You heard him grumbling under his breath as he slammed open a cabinet door that was already hanging by the hinges on its last legs.

“Oh, I see. So you’re just gonna ignore me now? Y’know, its fuckin’ rude to not answer someone when they ask you a question, Joel.” You muttered mostly to yourself, but you secretly had hoped that he heard you too.

Two semi-cleaned glasses were yanked from the sink and lifted from their rims as Joel swiped up a bottle of whiskey before stalking back over to the couch. He slammed the glasses down on the faded coffee table before popping the cap off with his teeth.

You were infuriating. Disrespectful. And he wanted nothing more than to put you right back into your fucking place. He however, refrained from doing so and instead poured a large splash of amber liquor into both glasses.

“Y’know, Angel. One day that mouth of yours is gonna send ya six feet under.” He stated firmly as he picked up his glass, swirled the liquor around before throwing it down his throat in one gulp.

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you glared at him from the couch. You reached for your own glass as you slowly sat up. He was pouring himself another when you downed the liquor without a fuss.

“I am well aware of that, Joel.” You deadpanned and he poured you another.

“Good, that’s real good, Angel. S’then it should come as no surprise to you that I think you’re a fuckin’ disrespectful brat.” He rasped low and deep as his words rumbled like an oncoming storm.

The tension in the room was palpable as you stared one another down. Two predators with sharpened claws ready to strike.

______

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[unicorncornflakes]

Family Sins - One Shot || Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Paring: Reader x Aemond Targaryen.

Summary: Every Thursday afternoon you and Aemond meet, even if you have to pay for his family's sins.

Tags: Alternate Universe/ Emotional Hurt/Angst/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: I am just sad. This is the best I can write these days.

Author´s note:  Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 4.2 K

You were soaked to the skin. All your clothes were loose. But, you were still pretty. It was all Aemond could think when he saw you walking through the aisles of that roadside gas station. He followed you with his eye while you consulted the prices of a small cocoa bun. Your black sweatshirt was soaked all over while your damp hair was tied up in a ragged bun. Your black-painted nails grazed some of the price signs as you put the small dessert back in its place and grabbed a cheaper one. You smiled at him as he followed you closely and he picked up the same product that you had left in its place. You didn't talk, Aemond wasn't given to too many words and you were tired from the rain. But, storms always made you happy. It was something Aemond could never understand, but he shared with you.

Outside, at that small gas station in the middle of the forest, it was still raining. Only Aemond's gray Mercedes and the old bicycle that your mother had given you two birthdays ago were parked at the door. You always pedaled five kilometers to meet Aemond. Every Thursday afternoon. He came directly from the city and was waiting for you, drinking a coffee that he always considered awful while you arrived. He always thought he could go find you. Pick you up at the door of your house and take you to a better place. But, that would have been giving you greater importance than you really should have for him. Although, you had driven him crazy. That was all he could think every time he saw you arrive at that place on your bicycle. In summer you always arrived with your short shorts, in winter with your military boots.

On that rainy autumn afternoon, you arrived with that huge black sweatshirt that must have been borrowed, courtesy of your older brother, surely. Or that was what Aemond thought as he followed you through that small commissary that the gas station had. The idea that that sweatshirt belonged to a man other than your brother drove him crazy, so he preferred to think that it belonged to your brother. It made things easier for him. You looked at a series of cookies one last time and left them in their place.

Aemond continued to follow you at a safe distance. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye while you laughed. The two of them alone in that place. Thus, things seemed easier than they really were. Everything was simpler when you were alone.

You walked up to the register and opened the small cloth bag hanging from your back. You took out that cat-shaped purse that Aemond had bought you at a market in Flea Bottom. Also soaked, you opened it, careful not to break it while you counted the coins that that strawberry bun that you had left on the counter cost. Right behind you, Aemond also placed the cocoa puff you had chosen earlier and took the elegant black leather wallet out of his pants. Unlike you, he wasn't wet. His hair was immaculate and his clothes looked as always, well ironed and freshly washed. That black turtleneck sweater he was wearing that day, you knew, cost the same as what it took to eat at home for a whole week.

“Give me a pack of Lucky Strike too,” he said diligently as the cashier looked you up and down. Aemond also dropped a package of condoms on the counter and you blushed while he simply prepared to pay with his credit card. Two small buns. A pack of tobacco. A package of condoms…

Rob, the cashier, looked over his shoulder at you as he charged Aemond for that purchase. He was your neighbor and you were sure that he knew what you and Aemond were going to do that rainy afternoon. You left the store with the strawberry muffin even before Aemond finished paying, although it was clear that you preferred the chocolate one.

He looked at you through the huge glass doors of that gas station and wondered if it wasn't better to give you the treatment you deserved. However, he simply took the condoms and tobacco in one hand, that chocolate bun in the other and went outside. The water continued to fall hard and you were leaning against the door frame. It fell so hard from the ledge that it soaked your torn canvas sneakers, even though the rest of your body was trying to regain heat. Aemond gave you the cocoa puff and you reluctantly took it. You knew what awaited you at home that night because of that simple gesture that was intended to be kind on Aemond's part.

“I could have bought it,” you said without much encouragement, taking down your backpack from your back and putting the condoms and both buns in it. You looked at Aemond, who remained stoic and unfazed as always.

“You would have bought the strawberry one because it's the only thing you can afford and because you need to eat something,” he responded, shrugging his shoulders and opening the packet of tobacco. “This way you will eat something you like,” he said out loud, making the difference between him and you evident: he always paid with a credit card, it seemed like his money was created out of nowhere. You always carried coins in your bag and you never bought what you wanted because you simply didn't have the money for it.

“I guess,” you answered, not daring to look at him. Aemond approached you and finally kissed you. All of his slim, slender body against yours. The height difference was considerable. He just grabbed your face in his hands, his lips making contact with yours in a sweet and passionate way. You held his wrists, as if you always needed an anchor to the ground every time he kissed you. That kiss, surrounded by the storm, was observed under the disapproving gaze of that gas station cashier in the middle of nowhere. The rain threatened to soak you, but you didn't care.

As always, in the middle of all your kisses, Aemond opened his only eye, almost wanting to check that you were real, and not a simple fantasy of his imagination. He always slowly closed his eye again as your lips continued to crash against each other.

At the end of that silent kiss, Aemond took your hand, without looking back, and opened the passenger door for you in the rain. You quickly got into the car and Aemond ran to the driver's seat in the rain. You saw how his hair had now become wavy and he gave a half smile when he saw how you smiled silently, tiredly resting your head on the seat. “I could take the bike and put it in the trunk. Take you home after the motel,” he confessed, not daring to look at you. At that moment, he wanted to go further with you, beyond what he wanted to admit.

"No, do not worry. Then just leave me here and go. I’ll go home from here on the bike,” you told him, not daring to look at him either. You grabbed one of the wet, unruly strands covering your face and tucked it behind your ear. “I don't want my parents to know where I've been this afternoon,” you confessed dejectedly. You knew they would find out before nightfall, just when Rob walked through the door of your father's bar, the nerve center of the town where you lived.

“As you wish,” Aemond responded as the engine roared just started. He turned on his car radio. It only played classical music and you wondered as always if Aemond listened to anything else or the high cultural esteem in which you knew he was held prevented him from doing so. “I bought you other sneakers,” he whispered while keeping his eyes on the road. The windshield wipers of his car moving frantically in the face of such an amount of water.

“It wasn't necessary,” you responded, biting your inner cheek. You hated that he did that. You hated that he bought you everything you needed. You knew he did it for a simple reason: to hold your meetings every Thursday afternoon. As if you were a prostitute, Aemond bought everything he thought or felt you needed. It was his way of keeping you by his side. The only language of love that seemed to know how to offer, understand… “My sneakers are fine,” you said, looking at them. Destroyed and torn. That was all they were.

“They were just on sale,” he responded, putting the issue to rest. His voice always seemed to be devoid of all emotion. Sometimes you wondered if Aemond knew how to feel anything other than indifference or anger, but you knew he did. Every Thursday afternoon he demonstrated it to you. Always in the solitude of that motel room that he reserved for a few simple hours. The radio interrupted the broadcast to talk again about another urgent environmental disaster and Aemond turned it off.

Both you and he knew it was what was going to be talked about. You could see him tense up as he drove. And you directed your body towards his, releasing the seat belt. You bit your lip hesitantly as you brought his body closer to his, one of your hands gripping his seat. The other traveled to Aemond's fly.

“Hmm” was all you heard him say as your hand slowly lowered the zipper. The metallic sound of each and every one of the teeth that made it up exploded against your ears, just like the sound of the rain in the now silent interior of that high-end car. You unbuckled his belt and your hand quickly found his cock in his pants, hard and warm, soft and firm. You bit your lip seductively as you took her out of those extremely expensive underwear. “I don't want to have to give explanations at a police checkpoint like last time,” he answered, without taking his eyes off the road. Grabbing your hand with his as the other grabbed the steering wheel. “Don't be mean to me, (Y/N),” he asked you under his breath.

“I just wanted you to relax,” you whispered sensually and he smiled again without looking at you, although you never knew if when Aemond smiled he was truly happy. You returned to your seat and watched as he quickly buttoned his pants again. “If you don't like it…” you purred and he interrupted you.

“Hmm, I didn't say that,” he repeated again, remembering the fine he had had to pay and how your cheeks had blushed the most while that police officer asked you what your relationship was and forced you to take out your ID card to verify that You were actually nineteen years old and no less. Aemond was six years older than you at the time, but he had always looked older than he really was. He remembered telling the police officer that you were a couple and how you had looked at the ground in regret as those words came out of his mouth. The following Thursday you had not shown up, nor the next one. Three weeks later you came back with a very bad-looking bump between your ribs that you promised was the result of a bad fall on the bike. He knew you had lied, but stating it out loud would have meant never seeing you again.

You finally arrived at that roadside motel and Aemond left you in the car while he went to the reception to get the keys to room thirteen, the one he reserved every Thursday. You received a message from your mother asking if you needed her to pick you up after your study hours at the library. You answered no because you were carrying the bike. You lied to her again. You turned off the phone and closed your eyes. You could understand why your parents didn't want you to see Aemond, but it really wasn't his fault…

He woke you from your thoughts as he opened the car door. You walked out next to him and he held your hand again. You ran through the rain until you reached the second floor of the motel. He clumsily opened the door and you both walked in laughing and soaked. Aemond kissed you again, closing the bedroom door behind you. Holding your face again, with no escape. Your bodies swayed together in that room that had witnessed your meetings for the last two years.

You could hear him gasp as he kissed you. You broke away from his grasp and took off your soaked sweatshirt, which fell heavy to the floor. You also took off your wet shorts and were left in your underwear. Cold and shivering, Aemond covered you with his body, though he was almost as wet as you. You took off his eye patch and he laid you on the bed.

He smiled bright and powerful, like you knew he really felt about almost everyone. He was a Targaryen. He took off his turtleneck and you could see the symbol that already named him as such. The tattoo was fresh on his skin. A green and black dragon on his shoulder. Detailed to excess and you knew it named him as someone important within the family and business, criminal and legal structure. You didn't dare ask, even though he knew you knew the meaning. Your sister had explained it to you when Aegon received his. Years ago, you had both been naïve enough to think that type of tattoo was exciting and powerful. Your sister had been a fool. You weren't on a different path.

Aemond's arms supported his entire weight as he lunged at you to kiss you. His pants though on but his belt undone. He had never been a subtle boy. He smiled at you proudly and cockily, he almost seemed to know what you were thinking. He was dying to tell you that just two days ago he had given him the tattoo, that he had stood stoically and without any emotion while it was done, but his heart had been beating strongly, as if this were finally the moment of approval that he had been waiting for all his life.

He kiss you. His lips met with strength and need. They eagerly bumped into yours. A watery sound. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine, like every time he kissed you. You knew there wouldn't be much more foreplay.

He stayed silent over you. His single eye scrutinized you while the prosthesis remained immovable in that empty eye socket. He had never told you what had happened to him. He would never do it. You had heard rumors, but... His eye continued to look at you in silence. You looked beautiful with your hair wet, all spread out against the pillow, your eyes locked on his, a half smile on your lips.

His thumb brushed your bottom lip gently. Comfortable silence reigned in that cheap motel room. The gray walls. The simple sheets. That sad blind half lowered. The complete scene of your meetings every Thursday afternoon. “I love you,” Aemond confessed in a whisper. Your eyes appeared to offer a small surprise upon hearing him. He felt your entire body stiffen under him. It was the riskiest confession he could make to you. However, he was happy. At that moment, he was happy after a long time. “I love you” he repeated again with more force, as if he wanted to reaffirm his words.

His lips found yours again and you relaxed at the attention. You were in big trouble if Aemond confessed something like that, but it was really what you wanted him to do. Confess that way, with you, and only you. He lightly bit your lower lip with a smile, trying to relax you. Your hands ran up his arms as you kissed. The hand traveling on his right shoulder tried to avoid the dragon tattoo. Aemond was beginning to follow in his older brother's footsteps... You thought, you always thought that he was not that kind of man... but, he craved power like everyone else, right?

Aemond's always skillful fingers undid your panties, removing them heavy from not only the humidity of the rain that had soaked everything. You were too. Your core throbbing and waiting for a simple contact with him. An arrogant smile appeared on his lips when he saw the small soaked grotto, as if his mere presence already activated all the keys you needed. You smiled shyly at him and he kissed you again.

Your bodies merged in an embrace that promised to be eternal. You felt Aemond's cock hard, eager for what he always got when he was with you. The bright red tip protruded through the elastic of his boxers and you licked your lips in a reflex and subconscious act that Aemond was always grateful for. Seeing your wet lips and bright eyes, he could only think that you were perfect, terribly perfect.

“I'm going to get the condoms,” you whispered, a feeling of regret running through your head, as if those words had ruined everything. The atmosphere that had existed until that moment seemed to have almost disappeared and you felt his grip loosen.

“Sure” It was all he said as he stood up and took off his pants and boxers. He didn't dare look at you because he thought that afternoon was finally the moment you would leave him... bareback. He had confessed. He had done it... and you had been taking contraceptives for a year, he had no more sexual encounters than the ones he had with you... he looked at you out of the corner of his eye, crouched down rummaging through your bag, looking for the packcage that he had bought himself. You had never talked about it, but… “I'm not my brother, you know?” He whispered, looking back ahead, not daring to look at you. “If something happened, I would…”

You interrupted him by returning to bed with a condom and leaving it between the sheets while you lay on your side and he turned to look at you. “You know we can't take risk,” you told him as he went back to the bed and grabbed the wrapper. You didn't point anything out but it always made you nervous that he would tear it with his teeth. He put it on silently and positioned himself between your legs. He looked into your eyes and, for the first time, you saw an authoritative gleam behind them, almost as if that damn tattoo had changed him.

“I'm not my brother,” he repeated again under his breath. He entered you forcefully, without breaking eye contact. Your legs surrounded your hips and you moaned at that impact with such violence that it caused his testicles to collide against the slit of your pussy. You closed your eyes and didn't say anything. The sins of his family would always be present among you.

“I'm just saying that family is destroying the town.” Old Tom was sitting at the bar while your father cleaned it. It was late, but he kept moving that old rag against the bar. His eyes filled with worry as he waited for you. He knew where you had been. He knew what you had done. He had always thought of you as a smarter girl than your sister, but it was clear that you were not.

“Once again they have polluted the river with waste from the plant,” said Clark. His mug of beer met his lips. Your father knew where you had been, Rob had told him before he went home. His face had turned gloomy just then. “Those damned Targaryens…”

Just then, all the voices fell silent in the town bar. You had just walked through the door, soaked to the skin. You had pedaled there from the gas station in the rain, even though Aemond had insisted on giving you a ride home. You couldn't let your father see you with him, although when his accusatory eyes fell on you, you knew he knew. Everyone tried to return to their previous conversation as your steps led you to the bar. There a boy with white hair painted in silence. You sat next to him and saw your sister's son painting a green dragon. You were surprised to see him there. Normally the child was always well hidden at home.

“They are just destroying lives. That's the only thing they know how to do…” Tom attacked again. Clark agreed and your father approached in silence, trying to pretend he didn't know, but he knew, of course he knew.

“Your mom had to go pick up your brother… Why don't you join Greg for dinner?” your father whispered as the four year old was still engrossed in his drawing. You scooped up the little boy, who clutched the paper in his hand as you walked up the back stairs.

Your house was on the second floor of your father's business. The metal steps creaked under your weight, but your father's eyes exerted a greater weight on you. He would never tell you anything. He hadn't told your sister before he died either, but the Targaryens had destroyed his life, the life of the people in that place... your life.

Greg stared blankly as you dressed him in his pajamas after dinner. Sitting on your bed, his purple eyes seemed empty and innocuous. It had always been like this. Consciousness never seemed to have reached that unwanted child. You ruffled his hair, almost expecting a smile, but he just fixed his eyes on you. Empty and deep. As if he knew everything and nothing at the same time. You sat down next to him and took off the new sneakers Aemond had forced you to accept.

“Today I saw a dragon,” you commented, also staring at the wall. The boy turned his head slightly. His huge eyes fixed on you. The stories you always told him seemed to be the only ones that woke him up from his lethargic state. “A green dragon, like the one you were painting,” you smiled at him and his eyes seemed to get even bigger.

Greg's real name was Aeron, courtesy of your sister and his father, Aegon Targaryen. Your sister had been stupid enough to get pregnant by that rebellious boy and die in childbirth, leaving her son alone. Your parents had wanted Aegon to keep the child, but it had been impossible. A child who was not like the others, a dragon locked in a home where they were hated. Greg. It was a much better name according to your father. Your grandfather had been called that.

The Targaryens had destroyed the town with the pollution emitted by their businesses, both legal and illegal, and your entire family. And you… you had fallen in love with one of them.

Greg ended up falling asleep with you while you waited for your mother and brother. Your father always closed the bar late, but it wasn't normal for them to take so long to come back. Something must have happened...

At midnight, the lock on the front door clicked and you went out into the hallway to see if your brother and mother were finally arriving. However, that was a big mistake.

“Be thankful they're not going to press charges,” your mother's words echoed throughout the house, no doubt she was scolding your brother. He uttered something incomprehensible in the state he was in. At the time, you didn't know it, but your older brother was in trouble with Aegon again... bloody knuckles. His lost look. The split lip. While you had made love with Aemond, Gregory had punched Aegon to death.

You stood petrified, contemplating him in silence. Just then he located you. “You're a whore who sells herself for a simple cocoa roll,” he whispered. He had never told you anything like that. He, unlike your father, had always known how to hide his anger towards you. But, that night was the one that changed everything.

“Gregory, stop it,” your mother scolded him, knowing before you what he had in mind, after all she had given birth to him… Gregory pounced on you. “Gregory!!!” your mother shouted it. His bloody nails dug into your brother's skin as he hit you while you fell to the ground.

Your father had only hit you that one time... only that one time... was all you could think as you received one blow after another. He grabbed your hair, stretched your neck, and choked you until you were unconscious... The Targaryens had destroyed everything you cared about... and the only thing you could think about was that Aemond would be angry when he saw your body full of bruises... The enormous Greg's eyes watched everything in silence. That child had only seen violence in his life.

The Targaryens always destroyed everything, and Aemond and the tattoo he now had on his shoulder were proof of that.

[mister-eames]

darling, you have to give me more flesh on the scenario “what if arthur went to mombasa aka cobols backyard to fetch eames on doms request” would inception still have happened? or would end credits roll immediately? You can’t dangle that scenario infront of me like a carrot infront of a horse and say nothing :(

I love this question!! <3 I could write a whole novel on the possible canon-divergence, aha, sorry this took me a to minute to reply x I imagine it went something like this:

Above the din of the gambling house Eames suddenly notices two things at once.

One, the sharp scents of Davidoff Cool Water and nicotine.

The other is the barrel of a gun pressed in-between his shoulder blades.

Between his restless fingers the chips stop moving before resuming again. Saying nothing, Eames places the chips on the unluckiest number he can think of - if the person behind him is who Eames thinks it is, not a single sliver of luck can be wasted on something as frivolous as a dice game.

"Now, now," says Eames, sitting up straighter until the gun digs into his back. "Is that a firearm or are you just happy to see me? Goodness. You could at least buy me a drink first."

The dice roll on the table. Eames has lost. He wears his best look of disappointment as the dealer collects his chips, fewer than before, but still enough to cash in on. Currency comes in all shapes and forms and, hearing the tap of Arthur's loafers behind him as he's followed to the cash exchange, Eames very much get's the sense he'll need every last iteration of currency to bargain with.

"That's an interesting way of spelling Mombasa," Arthur says somewhere over his shoulder.

After all, Arthur is a man who plays to win.

---

"So," Eames deshells a pistachio and pops it in his mouth, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, dear Arthur?"

On the other side of the table sits Arthur, composed of long lines, angular limbs and dark fabrics, hair slicked back so perfectly it can only be a product of industrial-strength pomade and Arthur's sheer will. A pair of wayfarers are perched upon his nose, an old pair. His face is angled to the view outside beyond the terrace.

The nail of Arthur's right thumb, bitten short, digs into the side of his beer bottle.

"I'm here to offer you a job."

"That so?" Eames pries open another another pistachio, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me, was the gun to my back part of your offer?"

"Had to make sure you wouldn't run."

"What makes you think I still won't?"

"You won't," Arthur says confidently. "Not when you hear what I'm selling."

"And why would I buy anything from you," Eames asks, following Arthur's line of sight to the people milling in the market below, "when I could simply cash in on the price on your head?"

The challenge hangs in the air, suspended, awaiting Arthur's repartee. Instead, Arthur sighs, finally sliding the frames off his face, slipping them into his breast pocket. His expression turns pinched. "You won't," he repeats. He sounds less sure.

"I might."

"You would've done it already."

There it is. Eames shifts in his seat, throwing an arm around the back of it. "How'd you end up pissing off Cobol Engineering, hmm? Let me guess."

"How'd you know about that?"

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Inception," Arthur says suddenly.

"...Pardon?"

"The job," Arthur clarifies, a little uncomfortably. "Our client is asking for inception."

Eames stares at him.

Under the weight of Eames' gaze Arthur seems pressed to project nonchalance, sitting up straighter in his chair, re-adjusting his legs until they mirror Eames' outstretched ones. Eames knows him better. He's already catalogued all of the little things that are different with Arthur since they last crossed paths - some for the better - a nicer suit, longer hair. Some for the worse. Tired lines. A tie tied too tightly, begging to be made crooked. Bitten nails.

The problem with Arthur is that Arthur cares so much that it's written all over him.

"You do recall what happened the last time we attempted inception, yes? How horribly we failed at it."

"Yep."

"And you recall telling me from the get-go to the get-gone that it wasn't possible?"

Arthur shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. You still think it can be done."

"You don't," says Eames, confused. "Which leads us to the inevitable question of why you, Arthur, are here, risking your head to ask me onto what you in your mind consider to be a fruitless endeavour."

"Cobb wants you on the job. You'll get paid."

"Try again."

The exhale that escapes Arthur's nostrils seem to deflate him a little. The too-short nails stop digging into his bottle as the hand retreats to his lap. "If we're to succeed, the client will secure Cobb's return to the states."

"In shackles, I hope."

He shakes his head. "To his kids."

"I'm still failing to see what I get out it."

When it's clear that he won't capitulate, Arthur sighs. "What do you want?"

To never be in the same room as Dominic Cobb ever again. To wind back the clock three years. To live out his retirement in peace.

"Something priceless," he says instead.

"The opportunity to achieve inception isn't priceless enough?"

"No."

Going quiet, Arthur appears to think on this. "This is the last job," he says after a moment. "No more. He'll either go home or go to prison."

He says it like it's fifty-fifty; luck; the toss of a coin. Eames considers this, wondering uneasily if he is the element that will give weight to one of the coins sides - which yet, he isn't quite sure. Which Eames wants, he knows even less.

"And you'll be a free man."

"Yes."

"And what are you planning to do with yourself after?"

"That," Arthur raises his chin, meeting his gaze, "I will let you decide."

Lightning crackles up Eames spine.

"...That is priceless, indeed."

"Yeah," Arthur smirks. "So, what do you say?"

Eames writes down an address on a napkin. He slides it over and stands.

"Meet me here in an hour. I know of a chemist that might be useful."

Arthur blinks down at the napkin. "Why? Where are you going?"

Eames tilts his head towards the bar where a middle-aged suit sits, eyes flicking towards their table.

"Giving you a chance to shake your tail."

Arthur looks over to the bar and swears under his breath. "Does this mean you're taking the job?"

"Depends on whether our friend over there shoots first. Go on."

"Wait," Arthur says, placing a hand on Eames' arm. He raises an inviting eyebrow, eyes brightening brilliantly. "I've got a better idea."

---

Twenty minutes later emerge from a narrow alley with a matching pair of bruised, bloody knuckles, an unconscious body slumped in the shadows of the alley.

Eames grins at Arthur, who is already smiling wide at him.

Something in Eames' chest is in freefall, starting from his throat, right down to his sternum. The same thing that always robs him of any good reason when it comes to Arthur - the one that hits the reset button in his doldrums, like pulling the lever at a poker machine and says come on, try again, hoping that he might make dividends this time. A horrible lack of certainty; a wonderful, frightening unfurling of possibilities and hope.

Arthur's shirt is crumpled to hell; dirt and dust mar the cuffs of his suit jacket, the shine of his loafers. He places his wayfarers back onto his face and Eames thinks hello again. Hello Arthur, the man who is both nineteen and twenty-nine in Eames' mind, who has kept the same sunglasses from five years ago and wears Davidoff Cool Water because it was what he wore when he needed something cheap and accessible and never quite grew out of it, even when he has the means to afford 'better'. A creature of habit - and sentiment.

"Cobb wanted to come to ask you," Arthur says, tone light, shoving his bloody hands in his pockets as they rejoin the greater crowd, sides brushing as they close in to avoid getting separated.

"Thank christ he didn't."

Arthur hums agreeably at the sentiment. "What would you have said, if he had?"

Eames shakes his head, not even needing to think about it. "I'd tell'im to piss off. Probably had sold him out before he touched soil."

"Come on. You would not have."

"Would've. There is not a single thing in Cobb's coin-purse that would sway me to sign up for this," he insists.

Arthur rolls his eyes, squeezing past Eames to get through a narrow opening in the crowd. Eames follows closely, eyes trained on the back of him.

Well... maybe one thing.

He'll take the job. And after that... Eames has some ideas already.

[sporesgalaxy]

what's uppppp I have some backstory writing for Pierre I've been fiddling with for aaagesss & I mostly like where it's at now. so I show you :)

short life history intro + Devil Fruit aquisition origin + little blurb from on the way to the Grand Line. enjoyyyy

warnings: animal death, bfrb (nail chewing)

•••

Tiny Pierra lets ants crawl all over her. She watches them tear apart a dying grasshopper in the garden, piece by piece.

Pierra looks with wonder in her eyes at a rotting fish covered with maggots. At a dead baby bird that fell from its nest too soon. At a bag full of bloody ducks her father shot.

Pierra gets too upset sometimes, and too frightened frequently. Pierra hides as often as possible.

When Pierra starts getting big, she wishes she was still small. She used to like squeezing into tight spaces; inside a box, under a small desk, under a bed. She doesn't fit anymore. Sometimes she feels like she's stopped fitting anywhere at all.

Pierra sneaks into places she is not supposed to be when she's alone, just to look around. Just to hear the silence.

Pierra takes food she is not supposed to eat, just to get away with it. Just to test how far she can go without being noticed. Just to be unnoticed on purpose.

When Pierra is 16, she goes to the market with her mother. While her mother speaks to someone, Pierra breaks off a tiny piece of the most interesting fruit at the stand. No one notices her do it this time. Pierra chews and swallows the piece of fruit, and it tastes bad, but Pierra is pleased to have learned what it tastes like without permission.

Later that evening, alone in her room, Pierra thinks she is dreaming, or maybe losing her mind. She wonders half-heartedly if the fruit was poisonous and she's dying. Then, she does what she always does when she thinks she is losing her mind: distracts herself and waits for it to pass.

It passes, eventually, but this won't be the last time. She learns that it's not madness, but the curse of a Devil. She learns she can't swim anymore. She prays for forgiveness. She tells nobody.

When Pierra gets too upset and admits it her mother a year later, she is begged never to transform again. To hide it forever, for her own safety. Human traffickers could be anywhere, her mother says, and Devil Fruit users fetch a high price. Pierra promises to keep hiding. Pierra wonders if it will be easier now, having someone who understands.

Pierra's mother goes back to acting like nothing ever happened. It doesn't get much easier.

----

Pierra Piper is currently one of many passengers on a large Navy escort vessel, which is in the process of entering the Grand Line through the Calm Belt. Pierra is trying very hard not to look at the water or think about Sea Kings. Her nose is buried resolutely in a short book.

The book isn't exactly comforting, though; it's about a man who transforms into a bug and finds himself useless and helpless and burdensome to his family, unable to continue working at his job or caring for himself. Pierra knew the book was about this, and chose to read it anyway. She reminds herself of that as she bravely turns the page rather than closing it.

It still feels surreal that Pierra is making a once-in-a-lifetime journey into the dangerous waters of the Grand Line for something as droll as her lab assistant job.

Pierra digs her nail into the book's spine restlessly.

She wonders if somehow, the Marines who interviewed her had known. Had been able to tell, just by looking at her, that she's been cursed by a Devil Fruit. Maybe there's some dead giveaway that she just doesn't know about.

More realistically, Pierra had been chosen for transfer despite her inexperience simply because she's big. She isn't especially athletic, but maybe being 7 and a half feet tall was deterrent enough for some pirates. Or maybe it was about being sturdy and able to reach things in a large laboratory.

Pierra chews her thumbnail and makes a great effort not to think about the sorts of biological research experiments she's read about the World Government allegedly subjecting prisoners to, or just how many prisoners the Marines have access to on the Grand Line. Those reports might not even be true. Pierra's thumb begins to bleed.

She wishes she had turned this job down. She wishes her mother hadn't been so encouraging despite the danger. She wishes her dad hadn't sounded so happy for her. She wishes the job didn't pay so much. She wishes it didn't promise a free return trip in 6 months. She hopes she'll meet a rich Zoologist while she's on the Grand Line.

[orange-demons-deactivated2024]

Congrats on getting into your dream school and the new doggo! I know you're gonna be really busy with irl stuff and incoming asks, but if you have time, can I have an alternate scenario where MC somehow saved Bosch from the explosion during the end of World Tour? A fic or hcs is fine either way!

thank youu! and yeah you can save bosch, but it'll cost you tw drugs art work was done by @komewatari on twitter

You finally saw your chance when Bosch overextended his punch. Taking this as an opportunity, you slipped behind him and knocked him to the ground, locking your arms around his neck in a rear naked choke hold.

Half of the job was already done, but it's still going to be an uphill battle from here. And the box on his head acted as the perfect cover.

If you're fast enough, no one would notice anything; you just had to be careful of the drones circling in the sky.

When you first heard about the bomb located in the Championship belt, of course, you wanted to deactivate it. But you didn't expect JP to catch you in the act and put a halt to your plans.

Even if you win the Suval'hal Tournament, would Bosch even accept the fact that you ripped this opportunity from him? Or would he fight you every step of the way? He wanted to die with honor and take out JP himself. No way he would just let you interfere.

But you didn't have the luxury to sit around and wait for an answer, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

You grit your teeth, refusing to relent even as Bosch struggled against your hold. Time was running out, and you couldn't afford to let him carry out his plan.

Your fingers brushed against Bosch's lips as you attempted to deliver the powder hidden in your sleeve. You had to hurry, that purple glow burning in Bosch's body was dangerous and unpredictable.

So in a last-ditch effort, you tightened your grip and forced the white powder in his mouth.

"Rohypnol..."

"...It's a potent sedative, a tool of dreams. It clouds the mind, dulls the senses, and plunges one into a state of unconsciousness. But beware, for its effects are not confined solely to put one under." A.K.I leaned closer to the phone, with a tantalizing whisper.

"But, is it safe?" You asked, staring out the open window of your hostel.

A.K.I. chuckled darkly, sending shivers down your spine "Safe? Well, that depends on your definition, now does it? Slurred speech, impaired judgment, loss of coordination, and that's just the beginning. But if you take too much... well, let's just say you might wake up with more than just a headache."

"Brutal stuff." You said, watching the kids outside play in the market.

"Don't you worry, dear. I'll make sure you get just the right dose to suit your needs. And I'll have it delivered to you by tomorrow morning. But remember, everything comes with a price.~"

Your heart pounded in fear as you waited for the effects to kick in. Bosch’s eyes widened once he realized what you've done and tried to spit out the substance, but you clamped your hand over his mouth, forcing him to swallow it.

He convulsed violently, hands clawing at your face, trying to break free from your hold. And you winced once his nails dug deep into your skin.

But despite the pain, you knew you had to see this through to the end.

You held on even when Bosch began to sag in your arms, his movements growing sluggish as the drug took hold of him.

And when you felt his body going limp, you finally felt a sense of relief wash over you.

You knew you had made the right choice, no matter how hard it was.

"Fighter, you need to let go." the referee said, motioning for you to release your grip. "Your opponent has passed out. The fight is over."

But you didn't. Even though Bosch was unconscious, his plan still loomed over you like a rainy overcast. You couldn't afford to let him wake up.

"I can't." You replied, screwing your eyes shut. "Not until he's completely incapacitated."

"I'm warning you," He sternly said. "Let go now, or I'll have to disqualify you."

Reluctantly, you loosened your grip, allowing Bosch's unconscious body to slump down. You watched as the medical staff rushed to his side to assess him.

Once they saw he was still breathing, they hauled him away on a stretcher to the medical ward.

“You should go too. Get those wounds fixed up before the announcement.” 

You touched your face, feeling the blood trickling down.

You hardly noticed it when Bosch clawed at you because your adrenaline refused to let go of him.

The referee pulled you to your feet to help guide you out of the arena. And all you could hear is the crowd's cheers slowly disappearing as you descend deeper into the tunnel.

"You're lucky these scratches aren't deeper." Nurse Hema said, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Could have done some real damage if he hit your eye."

You nodded, eyes watching Bosch from the other side of the room. "Yeah, lucky." you mumbled.

"You're quite the fighter, you know.Not many people can withstand these injuries during a match, let alone pull off a move like that."

Forcing a small smile, you gave her your thanks but there wasn't much pride in your voice. You didn't fight to win a title or prove your strength. You only did it to save Bosch from himself and to prevent a tragedy from happening.

"Is he going to be okay?" You asked, pointing at Bosch's unconscious body.

Hema followed your finger and sighed. "He'll be out for a while. But yes, he'll recover."

Once she finished cleaning your face, she stepped back to look you over again. "There you go, you're all patched up. Just try to take it easy for the next couple of days, Okay?"

"Thank you, I appreciate it." you said, returning to Bosch.

She gave you one last nod before returning to her other patients.

The room was mostly quiet, other than hearing beeping monitors and the light whispers from people in the ward.

Your heart ached as you stared at him, guilt burrowing in your chest.

You reached out and brushed the loose strands of Bosch's hair away from his face. But you stopped once you saw your fingers shaking.

Letting out a deep breath you said, "I'm so sorry, Bosch, I didn't have a choice."

You glanced around the room, making sure no one was listening in. They stabilized him, but they didn’t know when he would wake up.

But you knew that when he did, he would never forgive you for what you’ve done.

"You always wanted to get strong so fast and I never understood why you pushed yourself so hard." You continued, slowly intertwining your hand with his.

You felt the burn of tears welling up in your eyes, "But when Kalima told me your plan, I just knew I had to stop you. I couldn't let you kill yourself. Especially since you have so much people who care about you."

Bosch had always been so driven and it was one of the things you loved about him.

Even if it drove a wedge between you two.

"I know you think I'm naive," You said. "That I don't have any real motivation. And maybe you're right. But I do know this…I can't lose you. You mean everything to me and I wish you could’ve opened up to me more. I didn’t know how much you were hurting."

You tightened your grip on his hand and leaned closer to him. "I love you, Bosch. Even if you don't feel the same way anymore, even if you hate me for what I did. I just couldn't let you die."

You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against your intertwined hands. "What JP is doing is wrong and he needs to be stopped. But not like this. There has to be another way. And we can find it together if you'll let me help you."

The door creaked open, and two officers stepped in. They scanned the room until their eyes landed on you.

"Y/N?" One of them asked. "We need to speak with you about what happened during your last fight.”

This is it, You thought.

"We have live footage of you administering an illegal substance to your opponent, and we need you to come back with us for further investigation." the officer continued.

"I understand." you said untangling yourself from Bosch.

You stood up to take your leave. But before you went, you gave him one last look and leaned down to press a soft kiss on his forehead. "Please wake up soon. We still have so much more to talk about."

[incorrectbatfam]

Got any Carrie Kelly headcanons? She is such an underrated Robin

For those of you who are new here, Carrie Kelley is technically the third Robin after Jason. She's had a couple of cameos across different universes (like as Damian's acting teacher), but the majority of her appearances are confined to Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns where she is a 13-year-old girl who takes up the Robin mantle herself after an aging Bruce returns to the vigilante scene. Her canon sucks, but since I'm out here butchering the batfam anyway, I might as well revamp her characterization.

In regards to her place in the batfam, I think 13-14 is a good age for her because it helps fill in the gap between Tim/Duke and Damian, plus it adds balance because the rest of the girls skew older and it gives her more room for growth. Also 13 is prime Chaotic Weird Girl age and Carrie would absolutely be one

And I know she was briefly Batgirl in canon but can we also revamp that? There's a Batgirl void that she can totally fill but canon is like unseasoned boiled brussels sprouts. In my mind she's Batgirl but with a better costume, different mindset, and keeps her fun and distinct firecracker slingshot

Every time she goes shopping with Alfred, she comes back with another candlestick. She's up to ten now and they're all sitting in her room, fire hazards waiting to happen

She volunteers to help with the kindergarten and she's really good with kids... when she's not acting like one herself. She comes home after the first day with finger paint all over her face

A carjacker tries to break into the Batmobile and she just walks up to them like "Excuse me that's not yours"

She always keeps the dictionary up on her phone in the unlikely event she needs to prove to someone that contranyms are thing

She knows exactly what certain words mean, but pretends she doesn't and uses them wrong in the family groupchat because she knows Bruce will ask, which forces the other batkids to not only explain what a malewife is, but also correct Carrie by demonstrating how to use it correctly

She remembers every Taylor Swift song by heart and she's not ashamed

"Any pool is a public pool if you have the initiative," she says before selling wristbands for Bruce's pool

She gets the pets their own phones so she and Damian can text them throughout the day

She asks Bruce before taking any money, but the way she frames it is weird. For example, she'll ask him for a hundred bucks to buy some video games because that's the market price only to get them for $20 at a garage sale and spend the rest at on a really expensive burger

She's one of the privileged few to come across a person buying 300 watermelons in real life

Her invitations to hang out are like "Wanna come over? We can watch a movie or clean the Batcave, whatever works"

Damian is the "don't eat meat" type of environmentalist, but Carrie is the "I'll spam you with sad turtle pictures so you'll recycle plastic" type of environmentalist

She stocks up on Teen Spirit deodorant so she can say she smells like Teen Spirit

Her makeup skills are... not good. Jason mistook her for a Joker sidekick

She also snuck into Jason's phone and hid one of his Robin pics in his profile

She clips her nails during Bruce's briefings

Carrie and Duke go to the bookstore and see who can find the most Written By A Male Author book

She drinks water with a dash of olive oil

At galas she wears suit tops with skirts and light-up Sketchers

Carrie also doesn't care too much about gender or pronouns. She has a "she/they" pin on her backpack, but that's only 'cause she found it on a bathroom floor and liked the color

Her favorite nap spot is Bruce's favorite chair. It's a huge plush armchair and she's small enough to pass off as a cushion, so Bruce always has to double-check before sitting down

Carrie can read cues in other relationships, but not her own. After Kon offers to refill Tim's drink she's like "ooh he likes you" but when a kid at school gives her flowers on Valentine's day she's like "I think they were just being friendly"

She's the only Robin not to have dentists ask about broken or missing teeth

At a sleepover, she and a few other kids catfished someone on Hinge using a terrible teacher's picture

Her drawing skills are pretty good (not Damian level though) and one time when Dick was sad she drew him as the Dreamworks crescent moon kid

She's friends with the old lady that shops at Trader Joe's the same time she does every week

She puts all her phone calls on speaker. ALL. OF. THEM

She goes to Canada on a short mission and promises to bring back souvenirs. She brings bagged milk

[soapskneebrace]

Okay, first of all hello! I hope you are having a great day.

Secondly, remember how you said that Price and Alejandro are the only MW2 guys that could be sugar daddies?

I’d like to add two more, Graves and Valeria. Graves is the CEO of a private military company, I bet you that man is loaded. I’d say more about my love for him, but I know that In the Fandom you kinda either love him or hate him, and idk where you fall 😭

Then Valeria, the leader of the mexican cartel, WE SAW that fucking house. Only stipulation would be time and danger. And honestly, my goal in life is to be a pretty and loved thing on her arm. I’d let her do whatever she wants with me 👀

Don’t even sweat it, we love Commander Phillip “Failgirlie” Graves here. (Also did you draw that?? That’s so funny ahhdhwufudhdh)

I did address Graves in the comments of that post, but I agree, Graves would definitely like to be a sugar daddy. I’m of the opinion however that he probably isn’t drawn to people who want to be sugar babies—he just finds people with his same ambition and drive more attractive. Naturally, those people would object to being taken care of, so Graves’ sugar daddy dreams can’t really be realized. He can, however, get away with being very very generous at Christmas and birthdays.

And VALERIA. I can’t believe I forgot her, she would absolutely be a sugar daddy (yes, daddy). Taking care of her little wifey (gn), making sure they were spoiled rotten with everything they could ever want? Valeria to a T.

You’ll always get to have your hair done, nails done, staff to clean your house, people to cook your food, a massive closet full of Gucci, Balmain, Valentino. You want to vacation in Corfu, cariño? She’s already got the jet spinning up. Wanna see the northern lights this weekend? The entire hotel will be rented out, it’ll just be you and her (and some security she will make sure you never have to see). It snows diamonds at Christmas and rains your birthstone on birthdays. You only drive the safest, nicest cars on the market, if you even drive at all. Your name is at the top of every VIP list, anywhere you want to go.

Honestly out of any of the mw2 cast Valeria is really peak sugar daddy. She wants a pretty little thing at her side that knows nothing but comfort, love, safety, and ease.

[plasticfangtastic]

Can we Be Lonely Together? Ch. 2

A Homelander x Stalker!Reader fanfic

This is a gender neutral fanfic but deep down its just a Homelander X Joe Goldberg fic do with that as you wish. This is a slow burn fic btw

PLZ FORGIVE ME I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PUT A READ MORE OPTION ON MOBILE SO SORRY IF THIS LOOKS LENGHTY.

Summary: We were two mices pretending to be cats, weren't we?

We Didn't expect to find ourselves int his situation, But John... Homelander... You were perfect... none of this was a lie, these feelings are genuine! So I don't know why you're using such words... stalker... pyschotic bitch? Insane... Liar!? to describe me, after all I've done for you-- Us!? all I done to help you!?

You were wrong.

I just yearned to get closer so what if I did my homework? After all you played along. I knew you knew... you were so loud

R18: TW murder mention, CSEM mention.

Chapter two

Financial Advice for Crooks.

I had my vices.

Life hadn’t been easy, I had limited options and limited paths for the longest time so when I finally had a taste of anything but misery I sank my teeth in its throat, I settled my nest in a corpse of my past– I found my calling. Got my groove on, and began to move up in my way to hell. I made my money, and I made connections, and eventually I got used to this lifestyle.

I thought you would’ve been impressed by how good I was at my job… 

So I came to New York for business. It wasn’t cheap, but unlike the usual dreamers… they didn’t come to this city with a terabyte of crap to blackmail their landlord to lower their rent seventy-five-percent below street average. So I treated myself to the finer things, expensive things… short lived things… so all the meals and wine money could offer, material things didn’t last, but I wanted to feel good… the sort of good where sex doesn’t compare, beside I could never be loved or love… until I met you.

So I devoured with gusto all the Michelin stars, critics recommendations in the Times, highest rated Yelp! review joint, hidden gems, and anything that failed to include the price on the menu... I lived for once. 

For I was starved… until now.

So there I was in some bloody fucking warehouse tied up, my left arm dislocated and a five inch nail adhering my palm to this facebook marketplace find of a chair.

Let’s not even discuss the state of my face.

“You think you can rob me!? I gave you my trust! I welcome you into my family! I let you babysit my fucking kids! And this is how you repay me!? Stealing from me!?” His voice was louder than any thought around me.

I could hardly see or hear anything, my eyes swollen and my ears throbbing, hot, stiff, my shoulders burnt, my hand itching, and screaming.

“I’ll… I’ll pay…”

“Doesn’t change anything, kiddo. If I let you live then word gets out in the streets that you can disrespect me, and sail smoothly!”

“I’ll pay you double the interest! Come on Roman! I fucked up!” I can barely think, my mouth is dry and wet– I can get you something good!” My throat rips itself apart trying to speak to this suited hooligan.

“Like I care… get this bitch out my face.” he said to some goon behind me.

“Vought! I can get you Vought!”

It's always on your mind. You become a petulant child when it comes to Vought– your biggest competitor.

“Excuse you?”

“Edgar is on his way out. The market is going to be in a panic, no?” I spit drool and my teeth– word is that Homelander will take the helm… you think that homeschooled twat can manage to run one of the biggest companies in the world? I’ll get you the trading secrets… I’ll get.. you anything…”

“How do you know Edgar is out? What are you saying?”

“My FBSA contact… they didn’t pay up, so I gave them a visit… and that Neuman chick was so fucking loud. Something about a big press release in a couple days, they’re gonna arrest Edgar. The Homelander wants him out.”

“Why do you have a contact in the FBSA?”

“I wanted to pay you… needed some Supe to blackmail…”

“You’re lying.”

“Keep me alive until you see the bitch on the news. Help me get a job at Vought. I’ll get you something worth more than One-Hundred-K.” I plead, my voice a tire running out of air– please… Roman… please I beg you… believe me one more time! even I wouldn’t lie about this.”

It might’ve been the fantasy that gave him the capacity to hand mercies for he kept me alive in that warehouse for two days, for your new girlfriend was on the TV hitting Edgar like an avalanche.

Cut to, three weeks later, there I’m in business attire sitting across an exhausted HR rep who can’t believe his boss is making him do this, behind the almost perfect smile, and the mundane questions he had already hired me, my resume was perfect and seeing the urgency pulling at his leash even if my resume hadn’t been finely crafted, your company would’ve given me the job. The department was stressed while being examined closely by the shareholders, the whole company was frantic.

I got the call by the end of the week.

By Monday there I was walking into that massive hundred plus storey behemoth of a tower, worse than any fugly billionaire row structure. I saw why people were impressed by this butt-plug of a building, just sucking on the land around it, hogging all the air space with its glass ‘Seven’ and its name illuminating the airspace, big enough to have its own gravitational pull and New Yorkers were the moons running laps around it.

Before I knew it I was dragged around by security to receive my special keycard with my fake name and all, then met the highest qualified person in this department, some sweet anxious thing called Anika, you know her– if not the smell of adrenaline she gives off when you’re around.

It seems people here were allergic to sunlight– any light actually! This couldn’t be good for anyone's eyes.

She handed me a desk, and well everything after that must be quite boring for you, so let me TDLR…

There was a reason why I chose this department. I could’ve aimed to be an assistant, worked in any other department, even been the fucking janitor and I would had been able to fulfil my task, but I knew that Vought had all the resources and cutting edge technology to get the fuck away from Roman Ban and Banvision Global. In here I’d forge a new name, destroy all trace of my existence, what little there was of my digital fingerprint, and above all… I could make money.

It wasn’t difficult. 

So I started with Kevin… sorry I meant… The Deep (ugh) his mind was easy to navigate, behind the mountain of cetacean erotica, self-loathing, bisexual worries, genuine environmental worries, his abs and octopussy fantasies– it didn’t take me long to find out his social security number, his bank account passwords and numbers, social media passwords, both private and public– did you know he had an account in the Jeremy Renner app? Anyhoo… I had all I needed written in sparkly ink, and swirly cursive. 

I simply had to sell some tabloid his web search history, or transfer small amounts at a time to an offshore account, small enough to go unnoticed disguised as his usual transactions, he had several trials and memberships he had yet to cancel-- I pitied Deep to a degree we both had been bad with money. I just didn’t spend most of my money donating to cults and environmental causes. 

As the days went by I collected passwords and keys from all suits worth a damn, and did my job to cancel those memberships diverting them to me, and taking small amounts, collecting and crafting packages to blackmail them, sending personalized emails demanding ransom, etcetera.

But I had a guy ready to kill me to prove a point, so I kept working.

The more I saw my plan coming together, the more brazen I became. I thought I’d be there for a month at most… so there I was staying till late. My mind still assaulted by the discovery of the depth of the Deep’s depravity, and his annoying wife, this wasn’t my first introductory lesson into bestiality… that had been in the fifth grade at a Wendy’s parking lot when my powers were at their worst– and he wasn’t the only person on this floor that indulged in filth, not even the worse kind, the worse was that lady in IT storing a hard-drive with the sort of shit, that will have the FBI shutting down Vought for a couple days to investigate why there’s kids stored in the company servers– which… I did… tell Roman about.

“Excuse me?”

I had forgotten till now.

“Yeah… Joanne in IT… you should… keep Ryan away from that floor, just saying ‘cuz she ain’t ugly and he’s vulnerable.”

I’ve never seen you so pale, almost as pale as the corpse next to the couch.

“Anyways I was saying…”

I love how family oriented you are. The way your heart was racing just now, the way your jaw twitched for a second, it was sweet how much you cared.

“There’s also that guy in security who’s been stealing shit to roofie girls.”

Your pretty blonde locks felt to the side of your forehead, as you cocked your head confusedly.

I sat in that screen lit room, waiting for the building to get as quiet as it possibly could. There were always people in this place, sleepyheads and night shifts. This place had become less phallic and more a living organism, every hallway and room serving a function to keep it erect non-stop.

Curiosity won over me and I love obscene indulgences, I have an appetite for things that do me no good. So I knew a place I had to see So there I’m in the elevator knowing the floor is mostly empty, and knowing I had the floor all for myself, knowing where every soul was placed and the password to erased the security footage (plus I had already blackmail the right security guard) I headed upstairs to a special place.

The ninety-nine floor.

Walking across the golden marble, crossing the wooden frames and the gallery of greatest hits with no artistic value intrinsic to them– I saw the statues guarding the Seven’s boardroom, and found an unlocked sliding door. The silvery "Seven" table, with all its sharp edges, the famous chairs every supe in the world wanted to sit down on– not me. 

I wasn’t pretty enough for the pageant circuit, my parents were… disappointed… to say the least… found me creepy, repulsive even! saying I kept them hostage in their own home, unable to keep anything hidden. I tried to control my powers until they could forgive me, anyone…could forgive me, so I never imagined myself in this room, much less in spandex.

So I sat on your chair, at the helm turning to see the best view of the big city.

Your statues and your painting staring down on me, you were unbearable, just a pretty blond in tights, with a padded suit even for your dick as if you needed protection from upcoming kicks to the balls. Everybody feared you, and if they didn’t they wanted to be you, you seemed so far up your ass– and all your staff simply indulged you, afraid that even an atomic bomb couldn’t stop your tantrums. Too afraid to tell you… even if your name was on the door, you weren’t running shit. All the actual work was done by your former assistant it seemed, just delivered dumbed down to your level by the time it reached this table for you to play pretend, and feel like a big boy. 

I was surprised you could even read, but then again you could shoot lasers out of your eyes and if rumor was true your piss was acid– so Jesus knows I wasn’t going to question it.

Your chair was comfy, and I bet all those numbnuts wished they could sit on it.

The view was worth it, I could see why people liked this stupid city– did my job and ate quickly but I wanted more… so thankfully I had a good book on my kindle and a juicy chapter to unfold.

Looking at the clock I cleaned myself and began heading out, my mind finally shutting down, it was the only way I could sleep, Soon I would’ve been awake trying to hold my head together… I know you were at my house so I know you saw the valium next to my bed, and the mix-and-match bags of sleeping pills.

I should’ve looked at the clock better, I should’ve hung in there, freely disrupting my routine willingly. It was nice to hear nothing, just the sound of my wispy breath and my loafers squeaking, in this silence I failed to notice you.

I failed to notice you had entered this place at all. Did you find it hard to sleep? Did you step outside your enclosure looking for enrichment? I wasn’t thinking that when I stepped into the elevator with my eyes glued to my phone, you weren’t on my radar. 

My heart nearly burst out of my chest at the sight of red gloves holding the door.

My bladder nearly emptying itself.

When your frame came into my general vicinity. I swallowed hard. Still had some cheese caught behind my teeth.

Nervously I looked up, catching the back of the American flag and your shoulder pads. Golden eagles caging me, frosted tips right before my eyes, and your hand pressing on the elevator going up.

My hand still hovering near the control panel aching to press down, your collar creeked as you turned to look at my insignificant presence.

“What floor?”

How polite, your voice so quiet, guess you hadn’t noticed me either.

“Ground… thank you.”

Your perfume was virtually non-existent, you were warmth, sunflowers and cotton. I had cats to kill it seems for I looked up catching your disturbed reflection in the chrome. Your eyes somewhere else, something about that picture made me too curious.

I turned it back on: feeling the burst, holding a wince behind my teeth. I found myself leaning against the wall, your ear picking up as I held my head lightly.

You found me annoying, dramatic, loud. I held back my breath as I fixed myself in the corner, just out of fear.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” 

I’m dead. I thought

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing you are!”

I…I…I am sorr– I began to mumble.

You weren’t saying anything, but it was you speaking. Screaming at yourself. 

That voice so rough and you became so meek, I took a quarter step forward-- in this small box I could do more than just listen, in the chrome your face moved, it spoke and walked in his few feets of space looking down on you, taunting you, remind you of today’s failures listing them as if he was your mother in the middle of math homework.

You could cry.

You wanted to cry.

You were a wave, a wave pulling me further into the sea and I had no idea how to swim any longer. How? How could you see yourself like this? Why do you let him act like this? 

When had you turned to see me? Had my leaning been too noticeable, could you smell the provolone in my tongue? My lips shakily pursed upwards.

It seemed the voice faded away.

“Did you get lost?” You looked directly at my badge.

“Heard they had mints in this floor’s bathroom.” where’s my fucking oscar!? 

Homelander mouth half open, too tired to react just shaking awkwardly but your half closed eyes watched me curiously.

And finally I saw your face.

Your eyes were so tired, everything about you looked exhausted, your posture kept straight by your suit pulling you up, but when your lip indulged in the joke. 

Magic.

My heart sang a song made in your honor, my cheeks so flushed it made me itchy. 

The elevator stopped but you didn’t leave when the doors opened, your finger pressed lightly on the right command.

“Who are you?”

“A corporate spy sent to steal trading secrets for your competitors”

You bombarded me with a singular warning “Don’t lie.” I lived in a world where nobody could lie to me, it got boring, it got insulting, hateful, cruel, so I wasn’t going to lie to you, not when I knew you wanted to decompress… with my spine.

You laughed.

It was so cute– you moved in slowmo.

You took a step back, listening to my unfazed heartbeat, I told you the truth but you heard a joke, maybe you needed a laugh for that voice was back to pestering you.

“I’m new. I was curious about the Seven’s gallery… sorry.”

“Don’t do it again.” You said with a jovial tone so threatening it reverted to being sweet– got it?”

Not a single picture, drawing, GIF, fancam, etcetera. Did ya justice, I could see it now… why everybody fawned over you, but I saw something else.

Behind those blue eyes.

Was the loneliest man in the world.

Your mind I wanted to peek more. I wanted to speak and decipher that voice in your head, I wanted to see why you hated those people under you, I wanted to understand what made you so upset that no matter how much you tried threatening me, it wouldn’t… it wasn’t making you feel any better.

“I’m sincerely sorry.” I said barely whispering but you heard it crystal clear– hope you have a goodnight Mister Gillman.”

The doors began to close as your eyes widened and your lips shaped an ‘O’.

I could’ve sworn your cheeks turned pale and pink.

Mine were candy apples, for once… I regretted saying Good night.

[drakulateeth]

Reject the Level Up Parade

I have curated my feed in a very specific way where I only see pretty images and content about discipline and self-actualization. After having consumed more than enough media, I wanted to discuss the idea of “leveling up”.

We suppose that if we follow this super strict regimen, we will inevitably be better and therefore level up. Let’s just assume that levels are correlated to social class, and we want to make more money, be prettier, and healthier. In order to level up, it seems that we should:

Go to the gym (subscription/at home kits + pretty clothes and accessories)

Have a pretty room (rent + furniture + trendy lights or whatever else, these are just examples)

Aesthetic electronics (iPhones, iMacs)

Prestigious schools (5-figure tuition + relocation costs, etc.)

Self-care (nails, hair, hair removal, laser, dermatologist appointments, facials, massages, and beauty products)

Prettier clothes, accessories, pets, cars, vacations and the list goes on and on.

Obviously, all these things must also be extremely pretty in order to count towards the level-up philosophy. Is it clear how high the price tag for this level up is? Everything that is being marketed as level up is actually just more consumption. You assume that through changing your friend circle and going to uni, you will level up, which is true, but it doesn't imply that you will be a completely different person.

We are who we are, and chances of us revamping totally are very low. Even if you invest a lot of money in acquiring everything that level-up gurus swear on, you will still be you. And even journaling and therapy and whatever else will not save you from yourself. You will change and evolve and become better, but you will still be you.

I only know one person who does all of this and is actually happy, and do you know what it comes down to? A healthy family life and a shit ton of money. So, if you do not happen to have that, you need to just accept yourself as you are and make the most out of your life. You have full rights to want to make your life prettier. I’m not against that, but you should reject the sense that it will fix your life. You can buy a new phone; it looks better, it works better, it is great, but you are still you. No one cares. My nails do make me feel prettier, but do I think I am somehow better because I have them? No. I’m still the same bitch with or without them.

Was I a worse person because I did not go to the gym? Will I be better because I restarted it? I will feel different; it will affect my thoughts and my body. But I am still me. These acts of “self-care” are just a money grab.

And I’m also tired of hearing about, "Oh, but I do not have the money." You’re just not viewing yourself for what you are; you are hiding behind the fact that you do not have money to spend frivolously for nails and eyelashes and other procedures that, quite frankly, do not matter. If there are things you want to work with and improve, just set some goals and work with them. Stop being greedy by over-consuming on the next big trend. How about you try work with your reality? That’s it. Decide what you like and dislike and then decide on what you want to do about it. And even if you fuck up, tough shit.

Reject the sense that this “level up journey” will ever end and will ever be financially feasible. Let’s be real, chances are we will always have something that will stress us out. Ideally, we should aim and strive to be healthy and authentic… but let’s be real, do the systems around us support that? It will try to sell you solutions, but that’s about it.

Until next time my maneaters,

snowblack

[vivanightcity]

Name: Adiel Miller

Age: 27

Gender: None, they barely align with ‘human’ fuck having a gender. 

Pronouns: Any and all, with a personal love for ‘it/its’, a sort of reclamation of the dehumanizing language it was raised with. (Practically, you can mix and match, or just pick one and use it, it’s all good)

Lifepath: Streetkid 

Occupation: Doll at a dollhouse that works with a number of corpo hotels and short term rental style hotels in Downtown. Can be found in a number of BDs still knocking about though. 

Cyberware: Doll chip, prototype long term behavioral chip, scratchers and big knucks (reinforced nails and knuckles that are concealable and look like standard human parts) 

Sexuality: People hot. That’s about it. 

Born and raised in NYC. Their parents worked themselves to the bone to get by and take care of him, but it was always a struggle. Maybe the city wasn’t as bad as Night City is now, but it was still a far cry from safe or easy. When it was around 15, and already getting into trouble and running around acting like he had a damn clue, Arasaka (subject to change what corp, I just thought it tied in with their vibe) started contacting parents of minors with records. Offering them an opportunity. A bright future and a new start for their son, get them out of trouble and away from bad influences before things get worse. All it took was signing away its bodily autonomy and they got a good payout and one less mouth to feed. 

They were testing out some more long term behavioral chips targeted at wealthy families, a hopefully safer and more useful version of what was already in use in juvenile correction facilities. A fully customizable range, as much or as little control as wanted across a host of 'problem' behaviors. Even focused on pushing manners and etiquette. It could dissuade kids from indulging, make them obey their parents without question, or just give them a ‘helping hand’ in sitting still and focusing on school. A replacement for conversion therapy, fat camps and drugs, all in one easy package that could be installed when your kid went in for routine work. They never needed to know! But of course that sort of work needed thorough testing before going to market with people who could afford it, and having empirical proof of its efficacy was always good for marketing. 'This wonderful neuralware could make even the worst kids act like a child you'd be happy to have next to you at for press conferences and family dinners'.

A controlled environment, classes to show the improvement rate of those with the chip and those without. Little corrections to strength of influence, fine tuning and fixing it up as they went. So what if some other kids never came back from the surgery room? Price of progress. They’d do big demonstrations pretty frequently, every few months, showing off test scores, video comparisons of posture, attitude, vocabulary use, antisocial behaviors etc. etc. Then the suits visiting would get a chance to interact. To test the parameters themselves, screaming abuse or even pushing whatever sorry sack was chosen for the demo around, proving that these kids - most of which, like Adiel, had some history of violence - would never argue back to those they were told to obey. 

Few short years later, Adiel was around 18, everything seemed golden. Working as intended. Even kids they took the chips out of, or turned them off in the case of some earlier models which couldn’t be safely removed, didn’t seem to be suffering the same level of addiction and withdrawal as seen in traditional behavioral chips on the market. There wasn’t NONE, but it was a manageable amount comparatively. At that point, they turfed everyone out, loosed unto a world they’d been isolated from for a few years, and in the case of a fair number of them, stuck with various degrees of control still implanted in them. ‘A reward for their help’. Saying it would help them stay on the straight and narrow, when really, in the world around them, it just set them up to be manipulated and controlled.

They put protections on the hardware, and the software was heavily encoded. No one Adiel has gone to for help has been able to safely remove it, and the rumor was that someone who tried triggered some sort of anti piracy/corpo espionage failsafes and them and the ripperdoc ended up mulch. Even after it entered the market during Arasaka’s big push in the early 2070s to get back in with the NUSA and free states money, it took money to access the kind of docs who had it on the shelves, and even when he scraped together enough it turned out what they had going was different enough from the market release that it was still a risk. 

So it’s still there. Nearly ten years and a cross country relocation later. Despite everything it went through because of Arasaka, they are the reason he moved to NC. When the city became the international hub it was, and Arasaka’s new north american headquarters, Adiel figured it was their best chance. Get back on their radar, get a foot in that door, and get the damned thing removed or turned off so they could get back to some semblance of a normal life where they doesn’t have to avoid everyone in white coats, expensive suits, or decked out in arasaka combat armor. Eventually, Addy was able to get hired. Went in for a physical and for them to check its doll chip and make sure he didn’t have any sort of spyware installed, made the mistake of telling the doc checking it over what was up, and got sent away with the promise they’ll look into it… Only he woke up the next day to a termination message. No more arasaka job, no more answers, no more way in. 

And that leads us to here. Burnt out from working non stop to get to NC and then get in with Arasaka, only for it to fall apart. Found working as a doll and sticking to hobbies far away from armed guards, docs and corpos, was the best way to control when he was near people who could fuck with him. Then the fancy suits were already paying for their time, and they didn’t have to remember doing what they said. 

One of the only good things that came out of his time with Arasaka was the opening of doors and access to education and the time to explore. Where it grew up there weren’t any stars visible. Even outside of the city the most you could see were satellites that were near enough to shine through light pollution. Getting to see stars, not only as they used to be, but through flicks and even BDs from orbit. To feel so small was freeing. Getting there is something it longs to do. 

Any sort of hobby or task that can be repeated methodically, over and over, to practice and perfect, is the kind of thing Adiel leans into. Repetition, focusing so completely onto the task over and over, helps to calm it down, to think things through. Worryingly, he’s not sure if this was always the case, or if it’s yet another side effect. One that can have it so completely wrapped up in a drill that they don't stop to rest or eat or anything until made to. Shifting that focus sucks, and getting pulled out of it can be jarring and stressful. 

A side effect of the behavioral chip is a sort of mirroring. His posture, inflection, language use, it seems to shift and alter depending on who it’s talking to. Reacting to the people around it to fit in. Well. He thinks it’s a side effect, it could also just be a survival method because of how he grew up. 

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Disastrous Hook household in the 1920 mafia AU:

Their combined bodycount is at least a dozen. They will gladly elaborate if asked.

You might end up traumatized though.

They ended up adopting Claudine Frollo after Uma dragged her to Harry, like: „She wouldn't survive on the streets. She's your problem now.“

Harry, of course, is unable to say no to Uma.

And Harriet just throws her hands up „Well we are not gonna throw her out, are we?!“

And when CJ comes back from her honeymoon (with her husband still alive, to her eternal annoyance), the conversation goes like this:

Harriet: „CJ, this is your new sister Claudine. She is legally dead. Say hi to Claudine!“

CJ: „Hi Claudine!“

CJ: *slowly turns at her siblings*

CJ: „Why is she legally dead?“

Harry and Harriet: „Hey! She was like that when we got her!“

(It was Frollo's fault. Fuck that man.)

„Claudine?“ „Yeah?“ „You grew up in a cult.“ „...Oh.“

This conversation takes place at least once a day.

Uma knows what do the sisters do for living. That said, she doesn't care. It makes for pretty interesting family dinners though:

Uma: „So, CJ, how did your husband die?“

CJ, smiling sweetly: „Natural causes.“

Harry, choking on his drink: „You pushed him off the roof!“

CJ, smiling wider: „Yeah. Gravity is natural.“

Harriet is just siping her wine throughout the entire conversation.

Ok, now, CJ's first husband was Gaston Junior (I'm sorry & rest in peace). I'm mentioning this only because he is/was mostly immune to wide array of poisons due to his sheer size, never even mind physical attack, and I find the image of fairly petite CJ getting increasingly pissed that her dumb husband just won't die hilarious.

At the end, she got him drunk and dragged him to the roof to go stargazing, since it's so romantic activity to do on such a beautiful night, no?

And eventually, he... Slipped. Gravity is natural, after all.

Harriet is also harbouring fugitives in one of her completely legally inherited manors. (Here is where Sammy Smee comes into play )

She is using another one of these for her rendezvous with Ginny and Anthony.

Harry tried persuading Uma to take another of those properties as housing for her gang (because of course that Uma collected a gang), but luckily for him, she was fine where she was. Luckily, because he didn't ask Harriet first.

Uma ends up crashing at his flat pretty often, though, so he isn't complaining.

And yeah, in between Uma herself, her gang of street menaces, her wide folder of blackmail and wider array of favours owed to her, Harry, who is gonna get pissed on her behalf, and his sisters, who will back him up... You don't wanna fuck with Uma.

CJ is on the ace spectrum in this, because I said so. It makes being a black widow a good bit easier, and, like, good for her.

Freddie does have a bit of a crush on her though. There isn't gonna be anything, because a) CJ isn't one hundert percent into it and b) Freddie would know better than to hook up with a black widow anyway (unlike Ginny Gothel and Anthony Tremaine.)

Harry has been trying to figure out whether his younger sister and the singer are hooking up or not for the better part of the last year. Unsuccessfully.

They hang out pretty often, but they do other stuff. Normal stuff. You know, do eachother nails, hair, gossip about fashion, play with the Ouija board a bit, bitch over the price of arsenic on the black market... You know, like you do.

They are having fun.

And yes, CJ is an arsonist in this AU too.

That particular hobby of hers was sparked when she helped her older sisters start a completely accidental fire in the office of the match factory her third husband owned. ...While said husband was inside. What a terrible tragedy.

@hannahhook7744 @dragoneyes618

[harrytea]

I just wanna know who the fuck Harry styles thinks. He is charging almost $200 for a hoodie? And I genuinely just don’t understand pleasing as a brand. They are selling nail polish, merch, and random bits of skin care. I just don’t understand the marketing or the business idea for this at all and it’s all over priced. You can find any dupe for any of his nail polishes online and you can find better merch on Etsy.

It's crazier when you see fans defending the pricing "Pleasing is a high end brand" no it's not 💀 Your favs just greedy for money like every other capitalist.