#artisan alley

[night-market-if]

Turner

Say hello to Turner. Our Artisan Alley foul mouth. Covered in clocks and grease and really afraid of who wants to buy his time pieces.

Art done by the fabulous @mooreaux who informed me that these were Turner's nicer set of clothes. :)

🪷✨🪷✨ If you want to support me 🪷 ✨🪷✨ 

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[esotheria-sims]

One very rocky broom ride later (during which they nearly dropped into the bay a couple times), Phillip and Marcus arrived at Artisan Alley, ready to paint the town as red as the setting sun behind them.

Predictably, Phillip dragged the older boy straight into the Three Boars Tavern. It was a dingy little inn, but in Phillip's own words, nothing could compare to their home-brewed pale ale. Strategically, he kept the information about the strength of the beverage to himself; if his plans of having a good time were to have any chance of working, he needed his friend to let loose.

As with anything else that was fun, Marcus seemed reluctant at first - but he didn't say 'no' outright, which already showed promise. And indeed, a few drinks later, he didn't say 'no' to much of anything, least of all raunchy woohoo talk, much to Phillip's delight.

The boys' philosophical discussion about the mechanics of copulation only ceased after the door swung open and Prince Feanor walked in. A collective hush fell upon the inn as everyone turned around to get a better look at the noble patron. Curious eyes watched him ascend the creaky staircase to the first floor, erupting in a slew of speculations once he was out of earshot.

"D'you think he's here for a secret meeting with one of his many lovers?" - Phillip mused with a tipsy grin. He jabbed Marcus in the ribs with his elbow and continued, "Whaddya reckon they're going to do up there?"

Probably for the best if he didn't know the answer. 🫣

[siplick]

And the last batch of merch I've been working on - handmade griffin-like birb plushies! They're all 100% handmade and unique, as I only made one of each species. Enjoy! 🐦

[bonlynx]

Friendly reminder I make blood cell necklaces in little test tube vials 🩸🧪✨ I could make other tiny things too if you'd like something custom. I've done brain cells, ebola, the flu, amoebas, euglenas, & gram stain bacteria. I've also made them into earrings! 🔗link here!🔗

[xo8ball]

GONNA GO WATCH A LIVE LOCAL BAND!!!!! AGAIN!!!!!! NOW A DIFFERENT ONE FROM A GUY I KNOW!!! AND ITS ROCK MUSIC!!!!!!!!! WITH MY BESTIES!!!!

[malinisworld]

halfpe.com offers starts from 50% -90%OFF on

jewellery, electronics, home and kitchen, eatables

join our whatsApp channel for more collections

https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaNGuLm1iUxfTNlxzK1

[enihk-writes]

[someone older]

pairing: older!multi-fandom men x gn!they/them!reader

reader is written to be in their early twenties, under twenty-five and fresh out of uni with their first degree and no corporate work experience.

summary: shorts about old men and a younger beau to-be

content warning: big age-gap relationships // superior-subordinate power imbalance // possible infantilization // some form of saviour-complex // (some unintentional) manipulation

characters: zhongli (genshin impact) // neuvilette (genshin impact) // jing yuan (honkai star rail) // tang gunak (return of the blossoming blade) // dokgo (return of the mad demon) // chongyue (arknights) // shamane (RE:1999) // hiromi higuruma (jujutsu kaisen) // ryū (gokurakugai)

author's note: my lovely oomfs i need yall to look away and pretend im doing okay,,, the demons and the little voices in my head have won and taken over..... i have to make that middle-aged man pregnant so so so so bad it's terminal... (head in hands)... OUGHHHHKKKGSHHH (coughs blood and straight up dies)..... looking at the list here i really have a type huh....

[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]

ZHONGLI who had lived for long enough to have seen and experienced almost everything one could see, was still taken aback when he felt a familiar throb in his heart as he conversed with the new face of the artisan's alley. a fledgling who had just left their nest and was beginning to make their way into the world — your naivety much unlike your more seasoned neighbours who knew how to set the prices of their goods to gain the maximum profit. you were often tricked and scammed out of selling your wares at their proper price, too scared to stand your ground and disrespect your older customers. the former archon couldn't bear to see a budding talent, such as yourself, sell themselves short out of expected social courtesy. he often found himself buying your highest-priced works even if he had to empty his entire wallet. you were beyond grateful for his patronage, even offering a commission, free of charge. that's just how bad business was before he stepped in. oh you poor thing, now that he knows how easy it was to get you dancing in his palm, how could he let you meet better opportunities? he was your lifeline, the only way you were going to make it in this career you chose. and you better not forget that.

NEUVILETTE knew that he shouldn't be so enamoured with the new hire. really. a being who had been alive for as long as he falling in love with someone thousands of years their junior? he wanted to rip his hair out. the chief justice approached this predicament as he would with almost anything he deemed annoying — avoidance. sending you out on errands that kept you out of the office for the whole day, giving days off to everyone if there was nothing on the agenda, having you go sort out documents in the filing room, and a whole host of other things that made sure you and him wouldn't cross paths. once he had a clearer mind to sit down and think, he is immediately riddled with guilt. weren't his actions akin to that of a black company employer? you on the other hand, could not be happier to hit the jackpot. good pay, regular days off, responsibilities that didn't require you to rack your brain too much. this was everything an energy-saving adult like you could ever want. it must be nice to frolic around and stay blissfully unaware while your boss was in the middle of a mental breakdown alone in his office.

JING YUAN was a calculating man, despite the commonly held belief that he never really took things too seriously. he kept a rather consistent air of nonchalance so impenetrable that it annoyed you whenever you couldn't discern what was on his mind at that moment. your after-hours hobby these days was to drop by the community starchess club and play a few rounds with the people there. and who else was waiting there at your seat every day? your damned boss. the elders who were there swooned over the handsome general, remarking about how you and him made a great pair — much to your chagrin. the man would always send a blinding smile in your way as you got closer, even going so far as to help you settle down. the routine was always the same each night. you would play against him for at least five rounds consecutively, lose against him in almost every single match, play against the other club members, gather your things and go home for the day. the general would also coincidentally be done with his activities. he offered to walk you to your front door, you've learnt from the one time you refused that the general was unusually talented in pulling an extremely sad, pathetic, wet and kicked puppy face. unfortunately, you were too nice to reject him further. ah, but now that he knew of that weakness of yours, you'd better expect that he would be pulling the same trick again soon.

TANG GUNAK felt that he was far too geriatric to be feeling this way. especially when he had adult children of his own. the youngest of whom was only a few years older than you were. a talented person, emerging at the top of your class in the academy meant that the world was your oyster. so why had you decided to come down to sichuan and work as an aide in this family? the patriarch had no clue, and he certainly didn't know how to even bring up the question. at first, he had hoped that perhaps you and one of his children would be wed but as time passed, it became increasingly obvious you were not interested in them at all, rather you had set your sights on the patriarch himself. him? the widower? the poor man who had only felt the touch of his dead wife? he was very scandalised that the young aide of his house was so open about their attraction to him. however, it seemed nobody in the household was on his side. not even his own flesh and blood. though for all that forwardness, he never expected that you would be so hesitant and shy when you were alone with him. it was endearing how you became more diligent whenever that happened, how you would engross yourself in your work just to pretend he wasn't there with you. the next time he looked up from what he was doing, you were passed out on your desk. he moved over to carry you back to your quarters — it was deep into the night right now anyways, so nobody would see him with you in his arms. he tucked you into bed, leaving as quickly as he came. the glimpse of his own flushed face in the reflection of the window never left his mind the rest of that week.

DOKGO had agreed to follow his disciple to town only because said disciple was going to throw a tantrum in his courtyard and the older man was not in the mood to deal with the adult child. the master pretended to not be acquainted with his own disciple when the man began to flirt with the women passing by. he walked on and sat down at a vacant bench in front of a teahouse. his troublesome disciple eventually shook off the girls clinging onto him and joined his master at the table, a string of apologies falling out his mouth when he caught sight of the older man's disapproving glare. only when the younger man offered to pay did the old master's hardened expression fall softer — fine, he said with a grunt. the second headache of the day came in the shape of you, a wandering merchant, or so you said. you slipped in to sit next to the master after the disciple had graciously allowed you to. not like the older man could oppose when there weren't any empty seats in the vicinity. while the conversation was lively as you talked with the disciple about your travels, he could only focus solely on the callouses of your palms, something a merchant who says they are not a martial artist shouldn't have. you had noticed his scrutinising gaze, throwing him a quick grin as you continued the chat with his disciple. oh? he could only wonder what that was about. shame that his dull, blockheaded disciple had let that slip past him. the master wonders if he should up the training regime when they get back.

CHONGYUE was up and early, as he usually does, leading the daily morning exercise with the other operators. the doctor not being there was somewhat expected, but you going missing? that was a first. when the morning exercise was over, he headed up to your room to check on you, finding the door slightly ajar. cautiously, he walked into the dark room, you had a bag of junk near the entry, from the looks of it you were living off cup noodles and soda, again. no wonder you were now curled up in bed all sick. he might have to give you an earful later, but for now, he puts aside your laundry and took out the trash. he goes down to the canteen, ordering some warm chicken porridge and even stopping by the nurse's office to pick up whatever he thinks you might need. this time, you were now somewhat awake. grumbling and muttering complaints under your breath from the disturbance, he helped you sit up. you insisted on feeding yourself, but he would have none of it. you could only comply and open your mouth wide every time he brought the spoon to your lips. you finished the food and even took the medicine obediently, earning praise from the man himself. before he left, he rubbed some medicinal balm on your stomach, layering warm blankets and patted you back to sleep, reciting an abbot's chants as he did so. the nostalgic feeling was comforting. you should thank him when you got better — maybe he might be interested in a popular classic novel from your home country, or should you try your luck with the lacquer pots instead?

SHAMANE spotted a figure hunched over the running stream near his hut as he was out collecting the fresh water he would need for the day. when they didn't answer his calls, he walked over, not too worried about whether the figure was a dangerous critter or not. the snap of a twig had them spin their head in his direction — that's when he met your eyes. you both stared at the other, sizing each other up. when he decided that you were not a threat, he introduced himself with his signature smile. you did the same, albeit quieter, still a little peeved from seeing a large bearded man in the middle of nowhere. friendly as ever, he kept the conversation going. he talked about himself, he asked about you, and so on and so forth until you finally admitted to him that you had gotten lost in the mountains, also you had twisted your ankles. he pointed to his hut and asked if you wanted to rest in there until you got better, how could you say no? the month when you lived under the same roof as him passed by quickly, and soon enough it was time for you to go back down the mountain. when you both parted ways at the entrance of the village, there was an air of reluctance in saying goodbye. you promised to write to him, maybe even visit him. he only laughed you off, not expecting much to come out of that. though when he received his sister's letter not long after, he thought about taking you with him to his hometown. but ah, isn't visiting each other hometowns a thing expectant newlyweds do? well, he could always pretend he didn't know about these things, couldn't he?

HIGURUMA was pretty friendly with the tenants renting out the office space next door. all of whom were fresh design school graduates trying to start a business together. you were the one he's grown the most familiar with, the unofficial boss of the company and the one who was single-handedly juggling your own practice along with other administrative duties. he helped you where he could, the doors to his own law office always open to you — even in the wee hours of the night. you would sit cross-legged on the big swivel chair as both of you engrossed yourselves in your respective work with the boxes of takeout splayed all over his table. when it was late enough that you missed the last train, he drove you back to your apartment. and everytime you sat in the passenger seat, he would reach over to pull the seatbelt on for you. you could have done it yourself but how were you supposed to pass up the chance to have him come this close? enough to even catch a whiff of his cologne? the lawyer himself knew that you were capable enough to do something this simple, but he couldn't help but enjoy the way you tried not to look at him as he did this each time. the ride back was quiet and serene, your tired body sank into the plush of his car seats and soon you were knocked out cold. even when you were both already parked outside your residence, you still wouldn't rouse. he clicks the seatbelt off you, even going so far as to push the seat back so you were lying more comfortably. you've done this enough times where he has a blanket to cover you with as he waited for you to wake up. which you would, and feel so ashamed. he thinks about how cute you were babbling out your apologies and thanks, all while scrambling to pull yourself together and out his car. only to repeat this whole song and dance the very next night.

RYŪ was a bit of a recluse. never really leaving his room unless it was for a really good reason. which was rare, and by rare it was almost never. but a human had to eat, shit and get clean — which was where you came in. as the designated errand runner for the organisation, you were the one that ended up having to take care of that guy's day-to-day needs. you might have hated him at first, with how picky he was with his food, even the brand of his necessities had to be the exact right one. doesn't matter if the stock ran out, you had to go out there and haunt for a place that still has it or else he wouldn't even entertain your presence. the one good thing you had going about you was that you were adaptable, learned things quick and was light on your feet. if things went south, you always had a backup, and a backup for the backup, you get the idea. the man, mayhaps out of the other's insistence, but you liked to think that he had warmed up to you, started to initiate conversations. at some point whenever you brought him his meals, he would make you sit and watch him eat. at first, you didn't know what to talk about, but then you also started bringing your own lunchboxes to eat alongside him, and you talked his ear off about what you made that day. over time, you both fell into a routine and on days when he's kept you a little too long with him, you'd stay over and crash on his couch. and after more time had passed, he's already got some of your clothes together with his in the wardrobe. hell, he even bought a bigger sofa just so you could sleep better whenever you stayed over. give it more time and who knows, you might end up moving in completely, not that this old hack would mind too much.

[archivecon]

Statement begins...

Statement of ArCon staff, regarding the third annual ArchiveCon convention for fans of Rusty Quill’s The Magnus Archives/The Magnus Protocmagprool. Statement recorded 23/02/09 by the Official ArchiveCon Tumblr.

—

Hey archival assistants, avatars, and everyone in between!

Welcome to the official Tumblr for ArchiveCon 2024. We are proud to be hosting our THIRD (!!) ArchiveCon - a fan-lead, fan-run online mini convention for 18+ fans of the Rusty Quill horror podcast, The Magnus Archives (and now Protocol!)

Whether you are an old fan, a new fan, a deeply-rooted fandom denizen, or looking to make your first connections in our fan community, we hope you’ll join us. ArchiveCon may be online-only, but we’ve got all the energy and features of a traditional offline convention - everything from panels and special guests (voice actors, writers, and industry professionals!), to cosplay and games, streaming and discussion, and even an Artist’s Alley.  

Here’s the quick rundown:

- June 21-23, 2023 (that’s three days, folks - Friday to Sunday!)

- 18+, online only (Most areas of the con will be SFW, but you still must be 18+ to attend)

- FREE TO ATTEND! (Registration is required and must be done so before the convention starts; you can register here!)

- All events scheduled in PST, but all international fans are welcome and most panels (at the discretion of individual panelists) will be recorded for post-convention, on-demand viewing.  

- Primarily focused on The Magnus Archives/Protocol, but fans of all things horror, podcasting, and transformative works will find something to love. The Plain Old Curious are always welcome, too - we have to feed The Eye somehow, right? ;)

For more detailed information and FAQs, visit our website!

—

Are you an artist? A storyteller? A connoisseur of pulp fiction novels looking for an audience? ArchiveCon is here for you, beyond attendee registration. :)

Artists and artisans of all kinds are welcome (encouraged!) to apply for a slot in our Artists’ Alley. Do you take digital art commissions? Make soap? Knit hats?  All of the above?? (Kudos to you, you must be using superhuman eldritch powers to get all that done.) We’d love to give you a place to showcase and sell your work, reach a like-minded audience, and network with fellow creatives. 

Don’t have anything to sell, but want to share your passion for the world of The Magnus Archives and its fans? Then we’d love to chat with you about hosting a panel. ArchiveCon will host panels on a wide variety of subjects including (but not necessarily limited to!): 

- deep dives and meta on TMA/TMP characters, plot points, history, and relationships (we love a detailed ship manifesto)

- queer identities in horror and fandom spaces

- the evolution/history of fandom culture

- fan creations and transformative works (such as zines, art, fic and fic-binding, cosplay - you name it)

- friendly discussions and debates

- technical tutorials and discussions on podcast production, streaming, sound editing, etc!

For more insight and ideas, check out last year’s program schedule!

Applications aren’t open quite yet, but we’ll update all our pages when they are.  Hope to see you there!

[Statement Ends.]

[ancientorigins]

Meet the sari weavers of Varanasi, whose nimble fingers and artistic vision keep alive an ancient craft that dates back to the 16th century. Here’s how they create exquisite works of art that reflect the beauty and culture of India.

[dogmasks]

[ID: A poem written in a black arial font on pure white background, formed as a bullet point questionary. It reads:

(Title, bolded:) Endocrine gland necrosis

(bolded) Select a sentence which applies to you:

You are a creative person. 

You try to be an artisan of your own fortune, even if it is a hard task.

You have been mentioned at least once on TV and / or in the news.

You probably have more friends on the internet than you do in real life.

You are similar to a bird of paradise, inside and / or out.

You are unwelcome in your environment because of your clothes and / or the way you describe reality.

You are seen by some as a new fashion; you have heard at least once that normal people want to be like you nowadays, and that is upsetting.

They say that you and your friends – people like you – were created only in this century.

You understand that most things on this planet are neither black nor white.

You are [___] in appearance, but you have [___]. It is funny.

You are described as an epidemiological threat at national level.

You are described as a tourist attraction.

Corpses and zygotes (both animal and human) have more autonomy than you.

You understand what social constructivism is. You can analyze certain human behaviors (including your own) and explain the reasons for them.

People do not want you to talk with their children.

You have thought about taking a self-defense course at least once, or that knowing it would be useful due to your life situation.

You have come to the conclusion that pepper spray is good as well.

You cannot take care of some of your basic physiological needs without surveillance and supervision.

You often wonder what happened to your life. So, what happened to you?

You are statistically susceptible to premature death due to (cross out as appropriate): acute poisoning; asphyxiation; wounds: slash wound, stab wound, laceration, blunt trauma, ballistic trauma; severe internal injuries.

You can see that I have depicted death here as a phenomenon beyond human control. I’m sorry. It is such, because I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily.

…

But you know what?

If I am to — after almost two decades of latency — end up with my skull split open in an alley somewhere, thanks to metal-winged warriors — then so be it. Your stories, your spied-on-me gestures and your laughter are a monument stronger than any mass grave I could be thrown into.

Your voice is the most beautiful sound, that has ever resounded on Earth.

You are immortal – your legacy is forever imbued in all who were made in your example.

You are built from the same dust as I am.

Just stay here to watch sunrises for even a little while longer.

Please.

/end ID]

wrote this little thang when i was seventeen going on eighteen and experiencing about five life-altering personality changes in a row and i guess im in a similar place rn so . here it goes

[night-market-if]

Sawyer and Iblis

Introducing Sawyer and baby Iblis from Artisan Alley. Armored coreset and beautiful silks. Ibby might also be slightly feral. :) And yes, those boots are metal.

Thank you @mooreaux for another wonderful design!

🪷✨🪷✨ If you want to support me 🪷 ✨🪷✨ 

🌿 Free Demo 🌿Book 1 Steam🌿Book 1 Itch.io🌿🌿 Patreon 🌿Discord🌿FAQS🌿

[esotheria-sims]

The next item on the party agenda was, of course - gambling.

Phillip had already found his way to the poker table, leaving Marcus at the counter to finish his booze; but as the older boy went to join his friend, he found his seat already occupied. Looks like Winona Tanner had beaten him to the game!

The poker match now started, Marcus had to content himself with standing on the sidelines as a spectator - not that he complained. But Winona soon got up, seemingly losing interest in cards. A furious blush coloring his cheeks, Marcus realized she was now standing right in front of him.

"Hey, long time no see! You look... different" - she lilted, casting an appraising glance at Marcus. Maybe it was the ale speaking, but Marcus responded to her flirtatious comment in a way he would've never thought of sober - with a flirtatious comment of his own. Winona laughed, perhaps a little too loudly for the level of joke he made, and they hit it off, despite Phillip's playful mock-protestations that they had no bolts.

The duo now a trio, they spend the rest of the evening exploring Artisan Alley together, sampling tea and pastries, joking around and generally having a good time. And when the time came for the crew to go their separate ways, they made promises to get together again sometime, in this exact setup.

[mikuni14]

Yesterday's Pit Babe finale, which took place as it should, according to gods and human law: a disco club playing German techno, most people somehow still end up dancing macarena, some drink away their sorrows cosplaying Way, bright colors, confetti, joy, happiness, everyone is together, collective meltdown in the shady alley behind the bar, where the fun continues 🥳🥳🥳

Today's finale of The Sign: a seedy bar in a lawless world, a few brave souls, everyone avoiding each other's eyes and contact

Meanwhile DFF: the collective is sitting in the best pastry shop in town, enjoying craft croissants and artisan coffee, and conducting discussions at the highest level 👩‍🎓👌 the artisan coffee is with vodka

[finniestoncrane]

Indulgences

BTAA!Scarecrow x Female!Reader, word count: 4k commission: jonathan crane and secretary!reader give in to their mutual desires, which reader needs to be encouraged to partake in 🎃🧡 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: daddy kink, oral sex, rough sex, persistent behaviour

At least I don’t have to walk through any alleys. At least I get to stick to the busier streets, the nicer neighbourhoods. There’s an artisanal coffee shop on the way, not many people can say that. It’s fine, this is luck. You’re lucky to have this job. You’re lucky to have any job, really. But this one is perfect. It’s fine. You can do it. He doesn’t have any power over you. He’s your employer. He’s your boss. Yeah, he’s Jonathan Crane, but that doesn’t automatically give him a one-up. He likes you just as much as… it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you will not give in to this temptation.

Each morning, as you took the short trip to work from your apartment, you had to give yourself a pep talk. A reminder that this was worth it, in the long run. That you would be foolish, and quite frankly almost ignorant, to give up the comfort you managed to find, in Gotham of all places, because of some uncontrolled emotions. You had a job that provided enough money for you to afford a nice apartment in a nice area, that challenged you, but not too much, and brought you a genuine sense of value and worth. But it did mean you were exposed, almost daily, to the difficult charms of Jonathan Crane.

Working with Jonathan was a blessing and a curse. The security of employment with a reputable, at least society facing, psychologist was something that was rare in Gotham. Add to that the element of safety in being employed by one of the city’s more venerable and amicable villains, there was limited risk of being caught in the crossfire, unlike the employees of Sionis or Cobblepot. And he clearly trusted you, as he hadn’t been shy in telling you of his criminal escapades, his alter ego as The Scarecrow. In fact, you’d only been working with him for a month before he took you into his office and revealed the secret.

You supposed for someone like Jonathan, if he’d sensed even the slightest hint that you might not be one to trust, he would just have you killed. You’d thought as much at the time, as you stood, heart racing, swallowing your fear in your closed throat, sweat beading on your forehead. But the fear you had shown, it seemed to comfort him. Very on brand for that strange, yet deeply interesting, man.

Realising how silly you sounded, as you tried to quantify all of the thoughts in your mind, you stopped on the street corner across from the building which housed his office. You liked him. You really liked him. But it felt like a risk, or a mistake. Something about it seemed to suggest to you that it would only end in tears, or worse, in your demise. And it was this contradiction, this predicament, which made it so difficult for you to show up to work each day. Only worsened by the fact that you had begun to suspect that Jonathan had similar feelings for you.

He had always been flirtatious, part of his charm you guessed. He was like that with everyone. Little jokes, a lingering touch on the arm or the lower back. He’d frighten people, speaking soft and low, making them get closer to him before giving them a little jolt of fear. It usually had them giggling, sweating, confused. On several occasions he’d pointed that out to you, the line between fear and arousal. It all had to do with adrenaline, he’d say. And he was very right about that.

As you entered the office, you took your place at the desk in the waiting room. Checking the calendar, you realised it would be another two hours before the first patient arrived for their appointment. That gave you plenty of time to get comfortable and settled. But just as you began to repeat your affirmations, taking your slow, long breaths in a bid to calm your body, Jonathan entered.

“Ah, you’ve here. Always there to brighten my morning, huh?”

“Jonathan, lovely to see you. I’ve left coffee on your desk.”

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest. Why don’t you come in and join me?”

“Is that… mandatory? Or work-related?”

Jonathan offered you a wry smile as he looked you up and down, scrutinising you.

“Would that make a difference? C’mon, we’re all friends here, right?”

You swallowed your nerves at his wink, trying to maintain your composure, the control you still had over the situation.

“I suspect that this might be more than a friendly discussion, Crane.”

“Oh! I do love it when you’re feisty in the morning.”

He walked into his office, still speaking to you.

“If you feel like joining me, make sure to bring that snarky attitude with you. Drives me crazy.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, picking up a pen and twirling it as you absent-mindedly stared at the wall in front of you. With an irritated mumble, you got up form your desk and followed Jonathan into his office, standing against the closed door and staring at him with your arms folded.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I’m here now, what do you want with me?”

Jonathan let out a dry chuckle, as his pupils widened, staring at you from his desk.

“Oh, bit of a dangerous question, don’t you think? I could do a lot of psychoanalysing on that. The phrasing, the way you’re standing, the words you chose, the slight implied innuendo despite your obvious attempts to seem uninterested. All of it, very telling indeed.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so. Why don’t you take a seat?”

“I’d rather stand, thanks.”

“A contrarian, through and through.”

“I’m really not.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, smiling wide as you proved his point. It infuriated you to no end that despite as hard as you tried to gain the upper-hand, he was always one-step above you.

“Fine, I’ll take a seat.”

You chose the softer of the two armchairs that faced his desk, avoiding eye contact with him until it was impossible to ignore the silence any longer. When you looked up to him, he caught your eyes, staring into them intensely. His stare held you, it was almost hypnotic. He was a commanding presence in your life, and you hated that as much as you enjoyed it. In moments like these it was difficult not to give in to your temptations. To succumb to the harmless but persistent flirting. To accept that you had a crush. Maybe get it out of your system even. But you sensed that someone like Jonathan Crane wasn’t up for being quickly used and discarded. He had to conquer his love interests, and you were determined not to let that be the case, despite how he made your heart beat faster and your body tremble with just a few innocent enough words.

From the drawer on his side of the desk, Jonathan produced a folder marked confidential, with your name on a label on the top right hand corner. He thumbed through the pages in silence as you sat nervously. You wondered what it could be. A dossier of reasons that he wanted to kill you? Or reasons he wanted to sleep with you? It could have been anything with him, and the anticipation only served to help you conjure up more fanatical and nerve-wracking theories.

Reading from the pages, he made an occasional soft noise, a small ‘hm’ or an ‘ah’ as he took in the information. Eventually, you grew more irritated than you were nervous, and coughed, clearing your throat obviously in the hopes that he would get whatever he intended to do over with.

Without looking to you, eyes remaining on the pages as he scanned them from top to bottom, reading whatever words were so intensely interesting to him, he finally.

“So… would you like a performance review?”

“A... a performance review? Are you kidding me?”

“No, why would I be?”

“That’s what you called me in here for?”

Jon smiled wryly as he peered over the top of the folder he held in his hands.

“Partly. I thought it would be a good idea to kill two birds with one stone. I love that phrase, don’t you? Such violent imagery. It conjures up such a guttural feeling. So… connected to our ancestry, and yet the convenience of modern life is hinted at to-”

“Jonathan. I have a job to do.”

“Uh-huh, and who provides you with that employment?”

Leaning back in your chair in slight disbelief, you narrowed your eyes at him as you spoke.

“Are you threatening me, Mister Crane?”

“Not at all, sugar. I’m simply… reinforcing the status quo here. The hierarchy. The way that our… relationship works. You’re my employee, after all. And I’m your boss, correct?”

With a scrutinising glance you tried to figure out what he was getting at, but couldn’t make it past his cool exterior.

“As technical as you can get, yes.”

“And yet, we’re also friends, are we not?”

“I suppose so.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling deeply complimented by the suggestion.

“You’re my employee, and my friend. But perhaps… maybe… I would like you to be a little more than that.”

“More…?”

“Oh, come on. As if you can’t see it, as if you don’t want the same things I do. As if we aren’t already something a little bit more than that.”

Trying to contain your smile, you feigned innocence, or ignorance, and looked up and to the right, as though you were trying to think of what he might be suggesting.

“Listen… we flirt. Constantly. I can see it, you can see it. Everyone can see it. I have clients who are so unaware that they don’t even recognise their mother is to blame for their issues, and even they can see it.”

“You talk about me with clients?”

“That’s besides the point. Look. We work great together.”

“Yes, in the same office.”

“Not like that, you know what I mean. You and I, we gel. We get on, we have a connection. I think we’d make an excellent pair, don’t you?”

Jonathan had stood up from his seat as he spoke, walking around the desk and stopping in front of it, where he leaned in repose on the surface when he had finished his argument in the little debate you two were caught up in.

“I want people to see us together, more obviously than they do now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want them to see you with me. I want them to know who you’re with.”

You kept your face still, not wanting to give anything away, but desperately wanting to scream at the concept he was offering you. You didn’t want to be owned by Jonathan, you didn’t want to make a big thing out of whatever you two might have. It seemed that he wanted the opposite though, and admittedly, his determination to have you, to possess you, like a trophy he could show off, was deeply intriguing and more than a little arousing.

“In a sense that…”

“In a sense that they wouldn’t dare try anything with you, because they knew who you belonged to.”

Trying to maintain your air of composure, your dignity in the face of potential ownership, you tilted your head and stared him down with an unamused look.

“Belonged to? So I not only work for you, but I’d be your property too? Sounds… unpleasant actually, Jon.”

He stood up from the desk and moved closer to you, his stance commanding, charisma oozing from his very being, his voice trance-like as he spoke to you so directly and convincingly.

“Come on now. We’re both intelligent people. We both know what’s going on here, what’s going on between us. It would be so easy to just admit it and let it happen. I don’t have a human resources department, so there’s no one to get on our case. What is it that you’re so worried about? What makes you so hesitant?”

He had answered his own question, really. Jonathan was so deeply, intensely interested in you, in everyone. He could learn more about you from the way you lifted a coffee cup than most people could in a decade of spending time with you. You could only imagine what information he might glean from fucking you. And then where would you be? You’d be employed by a psychotic psychiatrist who knew everything about you, that’s where. Only in Gotham.

“Just let go. Let yourself give in to pleasure. I promise, I’ll make it worth the risk of this little dalliance.”

His smug grin, pressed into his cheeks so firmly that it accentuated the wrinkles around his eyes had your chest heaving as you breathed heavily. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. It was tempting, so tempting. And though you were reluctant to give in to the feelings you held for him, it was deeply flattering, and very encouraging, to see him outwardly express those same desires.

It couldn’t possibly be as bad as I think it will be. I want this. I need this, I think. It’s gone beyond just a silly workplace crush, with witty remarks and back and forth flirtatious teasing. This is… something deeper now. And the longer I hold off, the worse it’s going to get. Perhaps it would be better to just get this out of my system. Do it now and get it over with. And then I’ll-

You were pulled out of your thoughts, ruminations and worries swirling at the forefront of your mind, by the feeling of Jonathan’s lips on yours, his hands holding your upper arms to keep you steady. The grip, forceful but deeply romantic, held within it the exact amount of passion, it turned out, to have you falling into him. Melting into the embrace, you wrapped your arms around his, feeling your leg beginning to snake up the back of his pants. He gripped it, fingers digging into your thighs and bringing it higher, around his waist, as he stepped forward, pushing you, stumbling, back into the wall where he deepened the kiss.

Biting, licking, sucking at your lips, Jonathan moaned hungrily against you. You yelped as he bit a little too hard, and he pulled back quickly, soothing over your bottom lip with his thumb and offering an apologetic smile.

“I’ve wanted this for a while. You’ve held out on me. So I apologise if I’m a bit… rough.”

His eyes moved from yours and began mapping out your body, taking in every inch of you.

“It’s been very difficult to watch you, a free agent, outside of my will.”

You scoffed, but took a sharp inhale as he stared into your eyes again, smiling at you, wry and mischievous.

“You’re so dead set on not indulging me. Why is that?”

Trying to avoid his intense gaze, you turned your face, but with a soft motion he brought you back around with his palm on your cheek.

“Is it because you’re ashamed of how much you want that? It’s ok to want to be wanted. It’s completely normal to want to be owned. I should know, I’m a psychologist, remember.”

He let his fingers trace down your throat, following their trail with his tongue as he made his way down your front with kisses, planting them softly, his breath warm against you, as he got to his knees before you, resting his face against your abdomen as he ran his hands up and down your sides.

“Every curve.”

His hands pressed into you, grabbing and squeezing at your body, your waist, your hips. As he let them reach behind you, cupping your ass, you let out of a soft noise, which made him smile.

“Every moan.”

You giggled as he made his way back up your body, bringing his hands to your face, fingers skating over your lips, making you shiver at the touch.

“And indeed, every quiver. They belong to me. And only me. Understand?”

Completely entranced by the way he held you, you nodded slowly but with enthusiasm.

Smiling at you, a grin that made your blood run cold, he leaned in to whisper into your ear once more.

“Then would you kindly lay down on my desk, please. And remove all the clothes on your bottom half first.”

As you stepped past him, pulling at your clothes in a hurry to get them off, his palm caught your rear, smacking the cheek and bringing forth an amused yelp and giggle from you. It made your cheeks flush, the way you had reacted. You hated how much you liked it. And he could tell, as he watched you lean back on the desk, bottom half completely nude and exposed. Running his palms up your thighs, past your stomach and to your neck, he loosened a few of the buttons on your shirt and kissed at your neck again.

Distracted by his moans and ministrations against your sensitive skin, you hadn’t even noticed he had removed his own pants and underwear until he was pressing his cock inside of you. You moaned, letting your breath out in a slow exhale as you smiled, unable to stop yourself. It felt amazing, better than you could have imagined or hoped. And you’d spent a lot of time hoping and imagining, though you wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone, even under threat of Jonathan’s fear inducing drugs.

Jonathan, enthused and encouraged by your reaction to his cock twitching and throbbing within you, began to rock his hips, pressing himself into you further, picking up the pace and grunting with each movement. At the angle you sat at, legs hanging over the edge of the desk, perched on your rear alone, he gripped your hips, holding you steady so he could push up into you, hitting the right spots as he did so. Occasionally, past the panting and guttural groans, you could hear him laughing. He was so smug, so proud of himself. So happy to be claiming you. The thought drove you wild, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer to you.

As Jonathan continued to fill you, pumping his substantial length inside of your cunt, pressing his tip as far as he could, he clutched at your back, holding you tight, close to him. In lustful desperation, you gripped his hair, drawing his mouth to your neck, begging him silently to ravish you, kiss you, bite you, suck you, whatever he was willing to do for you. And luckily, his participation extended to all three, as his teeth clenched softly on your neck, nipping at it before his tongue flitted over the stinging pain and soothed it, his lips enclosing around you, sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Ooh… Jonathan…”

“Sorry, was that too hard?”

The faux mocking tone sent a tingle down your spine, and you clung to him tighter out of instinct.

“Just… just a little bit…”

He leaned back for a second to offer you a sham pout followed by a cruel smirk.

“My most sincere apologies, I just wanted to make sure you were marked.”

Diving back into your neck, he bit harder this time, lips covering over the stinging pain in a smooth kiss.

“I can’t have any doubts as to who you belong to.”

His teeth marked your flesh, imprints of his bite pattern across your neck, soft ovals of burst blood vessels where had sucked on you, definitely leaving enough of a trace that it was impossible to deny that someone had claimed you. The notion of being entirely his was getting easier and easier to submit to with every passing second, and you could barely contain yourself. It didn’t surprise you at all when you started whispering to him, your own mouth ahead of your brain as you exposed your secrets and begged to be his.

“If you want me, Jonathan, then you can have me. Take me, fill me.”

With a struggled grunt he forced himself deeper, an action you would have thought impossible, and you could feel your abdomen tightening with the pressure of his cock buried so fully within you.

“I want you to make me yours, Jonathan. Mark me, inside and out.”

Jonathan’s breathing quickened, his pace getting faster and less steady as he rutted clumsily against you, hips jutting forth to meet yours as they rocked into his body. His grunting had been reduced to a whimper, almost a whine, as he clung to your skin, holding you as he used you, appreciated you.

“What do you want from me? Tell me. Don’t be shy.”

“I want you to cum inside of me. Paint my fucking insides, Jonathan. I want to be yours. Fill me, take me, just… please, god please don’t let me lose a single drop.”

With a guttural laugh and another quick bite at your collar bone, Jonathan’s body shuddered as he shifted you back and forth in time with his own thrusting, cock twitching as he felt himself coming undone. His seed spilled in thick, white ropes within your cunt, spent entirely within you and holding himself inside, pressed tight against you, to keep as much of him there as possible. He lingered for a few moments longer, enjoying the warmth, the possessiveness over you. His fingers tensed as they clung to your body. He didn’t want this moment to end, and neither did you.

Finally, pulling himself from within you with a low moan, he sat back down on his office chair, holding his slicked cock in his hands as he felt it softening, finally spent and relieved of the tension he had been holding back, that you both had been holding back. He panted slightly until he had caught his breath, his age showing in the way he braced himself, trying to recover from the shaking orgasm that had all but consumed him entirely.

“There… phew… no doubts now, huh?”

You were standing, trying to straighten your clothes out as best as you could, feeling his cum dribbling down your inner thigh and coating your panties. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, knowing you belonged to him, feeling like you were still marked as his territory, his possession, even after he was no longer holding you physically. You had to admit that it was divine, something you had craved before but never would have let yourself admit to.

“Doubts? About what?”

Jonathan leant his head back, groaning in mock frustration before he snapped back down, eyes focused on your body, his gaze drawing up over you and back down as he took you in, still flushed and sweating, marked by his teeth and his fingers.

“Oh, sugar. Don’t be obtuse. It’s no use, I know you’re a sharp girl.”

Playing up, just to irritate him, you stared blankly with a slight frown. You shrugged your shoulders lightly and shook your head a little.

“You wanted that. I wanted that. And I continue to want that. As, I expect, do you. I think we can both feel the tension around us, around the office. So let’s not beat around the bush here!”

He laughed as he spoke in a lilting cadence, trying to seem casual. But you could sense the desperation in his words. And you finally felt like you had the upper-hand.

“We’ll see, Jonathan.”

You walked towards the door, turning as you opened it and stepped back into the hallway.

“We’ll see.”

Leaving him alone in his office, you returned to your desk with a wide grin on your lips. Finally, you felt like you could let yourself indulge in your desires. But not before you teased Jonathan a little longer. He deserved it, after all. And you deserved to feel in control, after everything you put up with from him. A little bit of sweet and sour in your relationship wasn’t anything new, but the method in which it was employed, a change in pace and hierarchy, it made you feel excited to come into work tomorrow.

[tiredlilguy]

The Flags Origin's HC's

because I think about them a lot. there's probably some things that don't make sense here, or rather "out there" takes, but since the Flags are all squished into 70 pages let me have this... also it's hc's, so all in good fun ^^ (chew on this while i continue working on requests in the mean time), also sorry this is kinda angsty

also if you want to see my other hc's then look here

Pianoman (my beloved):

came from a family who was already Mafia, his parents and the generation before them and so on so forth, were Mafia

wore a family ring that the oldest child wears as a symbol of his families dedication to the Mafia

sort of think of it like a generation by generation kind of deal: the oldest has to take up the "family business"

his family had different specialties in what they did, Pianoman specifically became an artisan in crafting supernotes, but his family all had their own different talents

because of his success of almost becoming a mafia executive, his parents chose to retire peacefully and take care of all of his younger siblings

his parents can retire peacefully out of respect with no harm because their legacy is so well-respected

he's the oldest in his family, since birth had to deal with the pressures of "being the oldest", which made him a perfectionist in his own craft

100% Japanese, mainly because the family just deals with generational upbringing; though if he married someone of a different ethnicity that was in the Port Mafia, then that wouldn't be a problem so long as his spouse is PM

when he died, the second oldest took his place, but not for a while because his family heavily grieved his death (but because of their legacy, still tried to make up for their loss)

Lippman:

was a child actor, spent a lot of time away from his family to do films/work on sets/etc.

his affiliation with the Mafia didn't happen until way later in his acting career

had a back alley deal with a man that involved blackmail in order for his cooperation - was saught out because he was so good with words (the Mafia found out he wrote a few of the screenplays himself)

could not hold a gun up until after his first year of being with the Mafia, was Pianoman's partner until The Flags were formed

half European, has an older sister; when his family found out he was Mafia, they sort of distanced themselves from him

often treats Chuuya like his own brother sometimes because of his situation with his family

when he died, his family didn't bother to attend the funeral; but one day upon visiting Japan, his older sister visited his grave and left a note

the clean up after his death was a mess... the Port Mafia was accused of killing him and Chuuya had to witness crowds of people false-blaming him for his own friends death

Iceman:

Italian, grew up in a Mafia family in Italy (his father was the don), but was considered the weakest link

still though, his family cared for him very deeply, and despite being Mafia, he always tried to do the right thing (didn't kill until he was with the PM)

at a younger age, he was more of an observer; would witness how his family/the people that worked for his family worked technique wise

his family actually didn't want him to be a mafioso, and was glad to know that he didn't have any particular interest in it either (they wanted him to live a normal life as a citizen)

one night, his home was bombed and his family, friends, coworkers all died in the explosion; he was the only survivor

was being hunted down because he was the only survivor, snuck into Yokohama and made a deal with a man to join the Port Mafia

(this is already in my previous hc's but) after the explosion, his ears were permanently damaged and he's slowly growing deaf: was teaching the flags sign language

he was really happy with The Flags, and at that point when they were fully established, he knew that if he was going to die, it'd be around them

Albatross:

Blasian; grew up in an average family, but he himself got interested in mechanics at a young age

his family didn't approve of his interests, saying that it was rather dangerous, but his father always indulged him

dad is a retired air-pilot and used to teach Alb a lot of what he now knows

in high school, had a job as a mechanic, but told his parents he worked in a library (they did not believe him, but they also didn't bother to check either); he also had pretty bad grades

the mechanic he was working for happened to be with the PM and offered Alb a job as his apprentice for a much higher pay

his mentor was getting quite old and wanted to retire, offered the job to Alb because he saw the potential that Alb had and wanted him to succeed

his mentor was sadly assassinated during a job, and so Alb became the Mafia's wheelman

Alb covered all of this up by confessing that he was a mechanic (but didn't tell them he was with the Mafia) and then got promoted to working for the government

when he died, his parents had to sort of bit by bit discover everything that was going on behind their backs (but they couldn't be mad)

Doc:

grew up in an orphanage and is completely unaware of his own family origins, but he's Japanese

was the orphanage nurses assistant and would often observe how injuries worked; eventually started taking care of his peers injuries himself

did quite well in the schooling that the orphanage taught, and they offered for him to take a test to go to med school (he succeeded)

had his normal doctor school in Japan at age 18, then after that was offered a full scholarship in North America to get his doctorate (we already know he graduated top of his class)

is not actually interested in God and if anything, wants to spite him: that stared his need to save people, but somehow ended up killing a few on the way (though not being caught)

when he came back to Japan to go find a job, he got a deal with the Mafia and took it because he thought "well, there's a lot of death in the criminal underground... so, yeah"

when he died, Chuuya didn't think anyone would come to visit, but upon visiting their graves the next day: he found piles of bouquets of flowers from the orphanage and his fellow classmates from the US

[ladyveronikawrites]

LOST IN THE CONCRETE JUNGLE CHAPTER FIVE Bad Omens x Star Wars Pairing: Zebastian (Noah Sebastian) x F!Reader CW: hostage/interrogation scene Summary: You are the perfect senator's daughter- next in line to become his aide to learn everything about the Galactic Senate. But on your 21st birthday, your perfect life changes forever when the mysterious masked man you met at the nightclub was not who you thought he was. A/N: POV switching from second to first occurs often in the story. Shout out to my amazing beta team @mysticdoodlez, @roley-poley-foley, and @nerdraging4point0 your insight and cheerleading has been invaluable. Word Count:2k Crossposted: Wattpad & A03 Cast list

Master list

May the Force be with you✨

Lounging on a red leather couch in the office my sleek matte black wrist comm alerts me of a message. ‘Green’ is all the message says from an encrypted line. Jax. I reach for my data pad that is on the small table beside me. Immediately the black screen lights up and shows me a fuzzy image at first and then it clears. 

Her. 

Nash and Revan have been on the surface of Coruscant for about a month- watching her- waiting for my order. Daily they complain about how miserable they are on the surface. Despite the long days, their bodies have not adjusted to the natural sun, even as it sets for the day. The lower levels of Coruscant use artificial sun and energy to power them. 

Now I can see what they mean. The image shifts to Revan who is pacing by the small round table they are sitting at. From Jax’s discreet body cam, I notice Revan’s hair is tied loosely atop his head accented with small braids woven throughout.  I chuckle to myself because I know Jax braided Revan’s hair when he met up with them earlier in the week. I am certain Revan fussed about it the whole time, just like he always does. But Revan won't admit he enjoyed it.

 "Can you hurry up?" Revan grumbles looking straight at the cam, straight at me. 

His eyes are tired and sad. I know he is struggling with the situation, still getting over the attack I orchestrated. The role he had to play was to rough her up; to violate her. Even though he hated every minute of it, he played the part well. They all did. 

She fell right into my trap.

Jax turns again and I can see Nash sampling what appears to be Corellian Whiskey. I shake my head. Even on a mission, he finds ways to drink. I notice the vendors nearby are closing for the night and Jax turns back to the artisan shop. There is a closed sign on the door.

Time to execute the plan. 

5

I watch as Nash and Revan walk over to the door until Jax passes beside them into the nearby alley. The sun has set and the alley is only lit by moonlight. From a few meters away I can hear Revan talking to an older human woman who answered the door.

4

She shrieks as I imagine Nash and Revan have pushed their way into the shop.

3

Jax is leaning on the parked landspeeder so I can only see the concrete wall and a few feet into the store from the side door. My breath quickens with anticipation. 

2

Muffled screams, scraping wood against the floor, and a loud thud from a flipped table. Feet shuffle through the shop. 

1

The side door bursts open as Nash and Revan drag the girl with them. There is a hood over her head and her hands are bound. 

“The lost girl has been found, boss.” Jax’s stoic tenor is the last thing I hear. Then the transmission ends. 

“By his blood, he is chosen!” Everyone echoes, raising clenched fists into the air exposing the red dagger tattoo on their wrists.

I stare intently at the ceremonial stone in the abandoned warehouse recalling my initiation night. The night that changed my life forever; my father’s passing and then meeting her. There is something about her, I can’t stop thinking about her. 

Frustration tightens my stomach as I glance down at the ever-present scars and the bands of black ink that came with them. Tonight, I can’t be the man I want to be but who I must be. 

“She’s awake,” Jax’s voice fills the empty air. 

Jax has always been the level-headed one of the group; the calm and cool water that snuffs out the wildfire in my veins. Anger pulses through me as I remind myself of who I have to become to get the answers I want.

Jax tosses a glowing orb at me when I walk by. The small room we are keeping her in has no other light source than the luminescence in my hand. 

I storm into the room letting the metal door slam against the wall. She shakes in the chair, letting out a small whimper. How adorable. I throw the glowing orb in the air and it illuminates the room with soft white light.

There she is, the lost girl; the outsider. Memories of her dancing in my nightclub curl the corner of my lip, if only for a moment when I’m jostled back to reality by her rustling in the metal chair. 

“There’s the lost girl,” I smirk when I rip off the hood. 

The anticipation of her attention is making me delirious. Her eyes bulge wide as she scans over me with her gaze, my familiar mask, and my dark outfit. 

She tries to beg and plead through the cloth gag around her mouth. She rattles against the rope binds that will soon make her wrists raw if she doesn’t stop. 

I can’t stop from chuckling to myself as I examine the binds. Nash did well this time, even with that damned cybernetic arm.  Watching her struggle does something to me that I can’t quite describe. 

I crouch down low at her level to search her face. Maybe she’ll give herself away before I ask a single question. Her breathing becomes labored and tears well up in her eyes. 

“It’s ok to cry,” I feign sympathy as I caress her cheek. 

Anger flashes through her eyes as she thrashes about in the chair. She has some fight left and I want her to let loose. 

I lightly push away the hair to expose her long neck. I pull my mask off and throw it on the ground. Instinct and desire take hold of my body as I lean down and graze my lips on her neck. The taste of her sweat-slick skin turns me feral. 

“Stay still,” I whisper into her ear. “Or this will go from bad to worse.” 

I breathe in her scent one more time because I can’t get enough. I place the blade of my kal against her neck and she goes rigid. Perfect. In one swift swipe, I make a small cut. She yelps softly as the pain courses through her. 

I let out a small groan as a small bead of blood gathers at the incision. Something primal takes over and I lick up the blood dripping down her neck. 

Ecstasy swirls in my mind and adrenaline pumps through my veins as I cut the gag loose from her lips. My mind is still hazy from the chemicals when she cries out “What do you want from me?!” 

Her hasty question pulls me from bliss…again. Red-hot fury takes its place when I lean over her and grip her jaw. "You don't get to ask questions,'" I bite out.

Her crafted expression is void of emotion, but her blushing cheeks give her away. Her breath hitches and she shivers against my touch. My dick twitches. 

Disgusted with myself, I push myself up causing her to rock in the metal chair. She squeals as the chair rights itself. Her noises alone will be the death of me. 

I clear my throat and ask  “What’s your name, Lost girl?” She doesn’t flinch this time when I approach her. Good, she finally remembers her father’s teachings. More of a challenge for me. 

“Going quiet on me now?” I raise my voice right in her face. “Too bad I want to hear you-.” A knock on the door cuts me off. 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT!” I yell as I shove the cart of knives beside me. 

I scream in Jax’s face as he opens the door. He doesn’t flinch, he just nods slightly. His unyielding composure makes him incredibly intimidating; but for me, it's incredibly irritating.

As the door closes behind me I have to bite down a groan as her muffled screams ricochet off the walls. My wrist comm buzzes and a shadowy figure appears on the hologram.

“I hear you found the senator’s daughter,” the staticky voice breaks through. “I need the answers now. You may be the leader of the Scarlet Dagger but you still answer to me.” 

The transmission abruptly ends. 

The room is silent now when I approach. Jax is standing in the corner casually flipping a dagger in his hand. 

“She’s a feisty one,” Jax laughs without humor. “She claims to have no idea who your father is and what happened.” 

Her head is slumped over. I watch her shoulders rise and fall with each breath. Of course, she doesn't. She has no idea who her father really is.

🗡🗡🗡🗡

Piercing bright light from the sun sears your vision when you finally come to. You tug at the rope binding you to the metal chair. When your vision clears, you see masked figures lurking throughout what appears to be a warehouse. Panic rises in your stomach as you look for the nearest exit. You shout through the cloth gag to get anyone’s attention until …

A hologram of your father appears in the center of the room meters from me. “Father!” You try to yell but it comes out raspy and ragged. You shake against the binds to get his attention.

“There you are! Are you alright?” Your father asks his eyes wide as Mikkah steps into view, his face is without emotion. Tears tumble down your cheeks and anger sparks at your insides. 

“Your daughter is fine for now, Senator,” A familiar deep voice comes behind me. You yelp in surprise as a cold metal hand wraps around the back of your neck. 

“Please don’t hurt my princess,” your father pleads. 

Mikkah’s eyes move from you to the shadowy figure pacing nearby. Suddenly another strong hand grabs your jaw and your vision becomes filled with him.  

The world stills around you as you examine his maskless face. His lips are a thin line, and his dark eyes search yours. Tattoos spread down his neck and defined shoulders. 

All too quickly, he crouches down, brings his lips to your ear, and whispers, “Your father calls you princess.” A shiver slithers down your spine. You try to turn away as the metal hand tightens around the back of your neck.

“What do you want, Zebastian,” your father demands. 

Zebastian. 

Zebastian laughs to himself as he paces beside you. “You don’t get to ask the questions, Senator. Isn’t that right, princess? He sneers, turning his gaze back to you. Heat rushes to your cheeks as your heartbeat quickens. 

“What happened to my father?” Zebastian’s voice booms beside you.

“I don’t know what you mean,” your father says cooly. 

“Wrong answer, Senator.” Zebastian sneers.

Abruptly, the metal hand leaves your neck only to have a warm hand make contact with your cheek, jostling you in the metal chair. You scream as the pain trickles through your face. Tears form in your eyes as drool drips down my neck.

“Dammit Zebastian!” The vein on your father’s neck begins to bulge. “He’s dead.” 

All at once, Mikkah disappears from the frame and something small and metallic shines in the corner of your vision. 

Without warning, the fabric tears and then goes slack. You spit the gag out as different emotions surge through you. 

“Tell your daughter why you did it,” Zebastian says flatly. Your father pauses for a brief moment. Something cold and flat lays against your neck.

“Please…” Your father begs. Zebastian’s body turns rigid beside you. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Zebastian says lowly pressing the blade’s edge against your neck. You wince with anticipation, but he does not move.

“Your father found out I work for the Empire,” your father blurts out.

Your vision starts to darken as you gasp for air. Your entire world crumbles in an instant as you stare at your father. The man you love and admire has betrayed you. Anguish consumes you as the tears flow relentlessly down your cheeks. 

“Princess, please say something.” Your father pleads as Zebastian cuts your ties freeing you from the chair. “I will come to get you. Please anything.” 

You rise from the chair and take a step closer to the hologram. “I’m not your princess anymore,” you spit out. 

The holo goes black and you fall to your knees burying your face in your hands as you sob uncontrollably while despair washes over you.  

You can't go home. 

You can't stay here. 

tysm for reading❤️🗡️

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