#fancy drinks and fancy duds!

[indignantlemur]

Hey! I've been a bit quiet lately, so I though I'd share what I've been working on between tapping away at the new chapter! Inspired by this post about Andorians and silly drinks - a bar scene, on Earth, featuring Thoris (drinking Andorian port), Thelen (with a salt-rimmed margarita), Shral (enjoying a cosmo), and Dagmar (drinking traditional akvavit)!

Remember how I said I'd never do complicated background or lots of glass ever again? Well, turns out I lied. Spectacularly.

Thoris remains unchanged, but Thelen has undergone a bit of a redesign - I've been refining his chitin pattern a little, and after playing around a bit I decided to ditch the 'traditional' Andorian hairstyle for Thelen as well as for Shral.

Meanwhile, Shral and Dagmar are largely the same, and unabashedly texting each other while less than ten feet away from each other. Thoris is exasperated and - begrudgingly - entertained. Shral remains baffled but endeared by Dagmar's relentless use of emojis.

I haven't quite figured out how I want to do the fluid/glass distortions just yet, and there's some tweaking to be done here and there, but overall it's a fun piece! I'm tempted to experiment with flat colours in some areas and shading elsewhere, maybe play with more dynamic lighting, but I haven't quite decided yet.

@the-lady-general  @starrynightgardens  @emilie786  @horta-in-charge  @emochook  @velvet-luvie  @creature-of-the-stars @unknownfacelessfanfictions @auroramagpie

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 25

Hancock x Nora - A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

//

Fic Summary:

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

// TW: Mentions of sex trafficking

[ 1 ] <- [ 20 ] [ 21 ] [ 22 ] [ 23 ] [ 24 ] - [ 26 ]

//

Hunting down this piece of shit trafficker guy involved too much cloak and dagger shit, and Hancock was getting borderline sick of it. It was the waiting that got him. Every day he was forced to sit and wait was another day these fucking degenerates had the chance to hurt someone in too many terrible ways. While he wanted to tackle this thing shotgun first it would mean nothing if he couldn’t stop the shit from happening again. Cut the head off of the snake and the body would follow. 

So he’d force himself to wait around for things to fall into place. 

MacCready knocked his job and got to Nora far faster than he’d anticipated, which was a damn gift. While he wanted to head to Bunker Hill immediately, he forced himself to wait a couple days. It was a little bit of time for Nora and MacCready to get to know one another, a little time to steel his nerves and make what he hoped would be his final move against Cecil the skin trader. Nora having an expert gun at her side gave him the comfort he needed to push forward with his plan.

Two whole days after MacCready arrived at the Slog Hancock got Fahrenheit to agree to babysit Goodneighbor, and he set out for Bunker Hill. 

The Hancock clothes were swapped out for something more inconspicuous; casual, relaxed clothes layered with carefully placed pieces of armor. The tricorn hat was replaced with a threadbare ski cap. Without the fancy colonial duds, Hancock was just another ghoul. Just another ugly fucker who might go feral at any second. 

After getting to Bunker Hill, Hancock spent an hour or two milling about, observing and listening. Discretion was key, and he didn’t want to scare off his mark before he even got eyes on him. It didn’t take long to find the guy. His contact, the guy the now-dead secret seller called Gerard, was a big guy. Bear-like in stature. Big, muscly, hefty. And pretty fucking disgusting. He looked sloppy. His chest-length beard looked matted; grossly tangled. The clothes were stained, threadbare, most clothing in the Commonwealth was but Gerard’s were exceptionally so. 

At first glance he looked pretty deep in his cups. His whole upper body was slumped down at one of the tables in the settlement’s main building. It was littered with empty bottles. Hancock wondered if anyone ever assumed he was dead — when Hancock got closer, he certainly smelled dead. But when he placed a fresh bottle of beer on the table, Gerard stirred. He lifted his head, peering up at Hancock with bleary eyes.

"Mind if I have a seat, brother?"

Gerard reached for the bottle, and went to take a swig. The bottle didn't make it to his lips before the liquid was sloshing down over his chin and neck, wetting his beard and his dirty shirt. 

Hancock took a seat, taking a drink of his own beer. He considered sloshing his own drink in solidarity then decided against it. There was a silence between the two for a handful of moments before the guy grunted, "The fuck you want?"

"Gerard, right? Friend of mine said you were someone I should find if I needed help procuring something."

There was a sudden clarity in the man's eyes, a steely hardness that took Hancock off guard. It was like he flipped a switch and turned into a totally different person. There was a sudden tension in his body, an awareness that Hancock wouldn’t have thought he was capable of. If the drunken slob thing was an act, then Gerry needed a fucking award. 

Gerard’s eyes turned appraising. He surveyed Hancock as if he was a particularly interesting science experiment — and Hancock met his gaze head on. For every second Gerard surveyed Hancock, Hancock surveyed him. If he could manage it, he decided that he’d pick Gerard off at a distance. While Hancock could take a hit, he knew that Gerard would fold him like a napkin with little effort.

There was a show of rubbing his too big palms over his disgusting pants, then Gerard held out his hand. Hancock took it, and damn near regretted it. Ol’ Gerry’s grip was tight, just past the point of painful where it seemed like the bastard was deliberately trying to crush his bones. But there was something being pressed into his palm—

"Ya found me. Now get the fuck outta m'face, y'ugly piece’uh shit," he growled, then tossed Hancock's hand from his grip.

"Sure brother, sure," Hancock drawled, fingers curling around the item that had dug so securely into his palm. He stood, rapping his throbbing knuckles on the table, before he pivoted on his heel and left.

Hancock made sure that he was clear of the building before he chanced a look at what had been given him. 

It was a crumpled note, and written in faded pencil were the words: midnight - front gate. 

Hancock groused, glaring at the handwriting before wedging the note into his pocket. He was getting tired of this waiting bullshit. But without a whole lot of choices in the situation, Hancock loitered, he explored, he checked in on Nora.

When his girl wasn’t elbows deep in grease and gears, she was with MacCready. The little shit had listened to Hancock’s request and showed Nora around working a rifle — but the lessons had been brief, and more often than not, MacCready was trying to get his hands on the Pop-Boy. 

"Aw, come on. Just let me see it for a minute."

"RJ, I'm using it right now."

"Come on, I know you have at least one game on there."

"You can play with it when I am finished with it." 

"You swear?"

"Yes, RJ. I swear."

Though he could feel Nora's irritation starting to manifest itself, her voice remained calm, and gentle. The woman must have had the patience of a saint. Hancock sat and watched for several minutes, smiling to himself as he listened to them chat. Arlen would pipe in on occasion to help Nora with some of her work. They all seemed so relaxed, enjoying one another’s company.

When MacCready asked about the Pip-Boy for the millionth time, he couldn't stay quiet.

"Tell him that if he asks about it again yer gonna send him to bed without dinner."

The dregs of irritation vanished, and he felt Nora's emotions shift. A warmth flooded him, bright and welcoming. Goddamn he wanted to be at the Slog with her so fucking bad.

"John says that if you keep asking about the Pip-Boy, you will be sent to bed without dinner."

There was a scoff in response, some kind of joking comment about how Hancock wasn’t his real dad, then Nora stood from her work. She tugged the Pip-Boy from her wrist and passed it to MacCready, "You can use it until I get back."

"Finally!"

Hancock watched as she left the workshop and stepped outside. She loitered away from the Slog, not terribly far, but far enough to get a little bit of privacy. 

"You've been busy today," he said softly, still basking in that pleasant warmth that radiated from her half of the bond. Fuck, it felt like home. Like greeting the sun after a long winter. He wanted to live in it.

"Yeah, sorry. We've been working on the purifier. Almost done with it, actually."

"I'm proud of ya," he said, allowing his focus to settle on her perspective, on the fencing around the pool house, on the surrounding trees and greenery. "You're kicking ass over there."

"Thank you. I feel like I'm accomplishing something - something big, that people can benefit from, you know?"

They chatted about the purifier for a few more moments, then MacCready. Nora didn't seem to mind him, even going so far as comparing MacCready to a brother that she never wanted. 

"I know it's gotta seem like I gave you a babysitter, or maybe a babysitting gig," he started slowly, grimacing when he silently admitted to himself that that had been exactly what he did. She wouldn’t accept his help, so he sent someone in his stead.  "But hopefully after tonight-"

"Tonight? What's happening tonight?"

"I, uh, got a meeting... with our buddy, Cecil. Hopefully."

"How did you find him?"

"Everything is for sale if ya know the right person, and you got the right amount of caps," he rasped. "I... I just wanted to give you a heads up so ya don't come calling and see somethin' you don't want to be seein'."

"Is anyone going with you?" Her voice was steeped in worry, growing a little tight, a little airy. Then came the flood of emotion that took away all that magnificent warmth. It was a bitterness that coated his tongue. It was a rampant heartbeat fluttering next to his own steady calm. 

"Nah, flyin' solo on this one." The worry was immediately accompanied by hair-raising, gut-twisting anxiety. "I'll be fine." No answer, just wave after wave of emotions that almost made him feel ill. He focused his efforts on blocking that part of their bond. "Nora..."

There was a sniffle, "Promise you'll be careful..."

His heart ached. Fuck, was she crying for him? Slowly, he grasped one of his hands, giving it a gentle squeeze as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the knuckle. He hoped she felt what bit of comfort he tried to give her. "Baby, yer breakin' my heart..."

"Please promise me."

"I'll promise to be careful on one condition..."

"John-"

"I promise to be careful, Nora. But now I want you to promise me something..."

A soft sigh, a mere sliver of that anxiety lifted away. He felt smooth skin at his fingertips, felt their tickling touch on the back of his hand. It was a surreal feeling, as if he was touching and being touched. He could feel the caress at the back of his hand, feel it in every wandering digit.

"Okay..."

"I know you don't need a babysitter, and I know that you probably don't like bein' saddled with one. But... if you can keep MacCready with you for another week or two..." He tickled his own fingers over his palm, feeling the softness of her skin under his touch. He pretended that she was there with him, their hands entwined. "Let him show ya the ropes, just for a couple of weeks. Then, when he heads back this way... maybe consider coming with him. You don't have to stay, I won't keep you here but... Promise that you'll consider it."

A gentle touch to his cheek, the barest caress, had him sighing softly. He leaned in to pursue the phantom touch, finding nothing but empty air. He opened his eyes, staring at the space he imagined Nora being and he fucking ached. "In two weeks, when RJ heads back to Goodneighbor... I'll be with him."

"Don't say that unless you're sure."

"I'm sure."

//

Tags: @takottai / @a-little-pebbl  / @yamatra

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

CW: Brief discussion of possible self harm. No actual self harm took place.

oOo

"So, the thirsty birds are holding a party, huh?"

Lucifer wasn't certain which part of that statement to untangle first, but he was fairly certain it wouldn't be too flattering for the Goetia. He picked up his woefully non-alcoholic drink, the direction of the conversation suddenly making him wish he didn't have a prior obligation later that day.

Vaggie gave Angel an unimpressed look, arms crossed. She had apparently caught on to the implications of Angel's statement as well. "There's no way you've been to one of their parties."

The spider demon made an affronted noise. "All the big boys and girls love a nasty sinner with a skill or two." Running a hand up one of his long, long legs, he purred, "And I have a skill or two."

It likely spoke to the level of exposure to the porn star she'd had that Charlie completely glossed over the not so hidden innuendo in that claim and instead focused on, "But the Goetia hate sinners. They complain about them every chance they get."

She turned to her father for confirmation, her brows furrowed. He nodded back in agreement. They did indeed complain about the violent and uncivilized manners of sinners whenever they thought Lucifer was listening, for all that they had long since given up on him doing anything about them.

Husk nodded in agreement. He'd likely seen all sorts of demons come through his casino in its heyday. Lucifer peered at the spider demon over the rim of his cup.

He wasn't about to contradict the Angel, though. Using sex to "tame a wild beast" was totally a thing that wasn't exclusive to the human imagination (and he hated that he knew that).

"Oh, sweetie, havent you heard?" Angel leaned forward, his grin downright fifty and his eyes knowing. "All cats are grey in the dark."

Vaggie's frown deepened. "That's not how that phrase is supposed to be used."

Charlie looked back and forth between them, missing something. "What is it supposed to mean?" Vaggie leaned over and whispered something in her ear, which caused Charlie to make a strangled noise. "That is a terrible thing to say about women!" She turned on Angel. "Who said such a terrible thing?"

Angel appeared to be pleased as punch. Without pause, he answered, "Benjamin Franklin."

Vaggie raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Angel took no offense to her response. "You thought I was just a pretty face, didn't you?" He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his cup like he wished it was something else. "I read, sometimes, and everyone knows about this guy." He leaned his chin on the heel of his palm, shooting Lucifer a leer. "And how could I resist reading about this guy joining some Order into kinky devil worshipping orgies?"

Lucifer took a sip of his drink, a grimace visible in every inch of his body. Not many human groups made an impression on him, but The Order of the Knights of St Francis had. Worse, they hadn't actually been trying, from what he could tell, which made the whole thing worse.

To his understanding, the Order were a bunch of rich dudes who liked some role play and fancied themselves a place they could go a little wild, whether it be at cards or sex. Mockery of religion aside, none of them had ever performed a ritual with the expectation it would work (which was a horrible waste of a sacrifice, in Lucifer's opinion). That was, until one of the members had gotten thier hands on a real grimoire and decided to fuck around and find out by attempting to summon the Devil.

Oftentimes, when humans played these little games, nothing happened. They often got the name wrong and the whole thing turned out to be a dud. Sometimes they got it right, but who they thought they were summoning turned out to be very different from who they ended up getting and that turned into its own can of worms.

And then there were the ones that got it right. Had all the right materials and said all the right words and BAM! Instant Lucifer, King of Hell, at their disposal.

It was tedious and annoying, but it was his only chance at catching a glimpse at Earth throughout the years. And not everyone wanted some depraved, unholy wish, so there was that.

The thing about the attending members of the Order of the Knights of St. Francis was they hadn't expected it to work. They were drunk and having fun. They had thought it was just as real as everything else they'd done up until then. So, when they'd found they'd summoned the actual Devil himself, no one had a clue what to do with him.

What followed was three days of a sliding scale between furious bickering and outright panic amongst the group. The spell said one of them had to ask for something and Lucifer had to grant it (if it were possible). Their heart's desire in exchange for their soul. Only, none of them wanted anything enough to sell their soul for. This might have gone on indefinitely, had not one of them finally stepped up and shouted, "I'd sell my soul any day to make my nagging wife disappear!"

Beyond done with the pompous idjits, Lucifer had accepted the deal. Since the man had failed to specify how exactly he wanted the poor woman to "disappear," Lucifer had simply sent her away to another continent with a portion of her husband's money and the hope she found a better life for herself.

The only good thing about the experience had been the food and wine. The Order had at least not skimped on any of their luxuries, he would give them that.

Placing his cup down on the bar, Lucifer pointed at the spider demon. "For the record, they didn't worship me."

Angel was delighted, as if he'd just been told he was getting everything he wanted for his birthday. "That's the part that wasn't true?!"

"Ooooookay," Charlie interrupted, trying to redirect the conversation back to its original topic. "I can't believe Octavia is turning eighteen. It seems like just yesterday Stolas and Stella were announcing her birth."

If Charlie thought time was going fast after 200 plus years, wait until she hit the thousands.

Nudging his cup over to Husk, who had (mostly) been giving him the silent treatment since Alastor changed his contract, Lucifer pushed away from the bar. "Well, I'm going to go start getting ready." He made an unenthused double thumps up. "Never can start too soon."

Angel raised his glass. "I'd drink to that."

Charlie placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" The offer to go with him was plain in her question, even if she didn't explicitly say it.

Lucifer covered her hand with his own, his expression softening into a real smile. "I'll be okay, Char-Char." He turned his face towards the ceiling, specifically the right most tower. "At the very least, this should be interesting."

Vaggie crossed her arms. "I still don't think Alastor going is a good idea." She had made no secret of this when he'd announced the ceremony and who his plus one would be.

Charlie's expression was a complicated mixture of thoughtfulness, concern, and guilt. Likely, she was worried about Alastor's motives and guilty she felt worried. It was times like these, where Lucifer could see her fighting with her instincts like this that he really wanted to strangle the sinner for how twisted up he'd already made Charlie with his manipulations. "I am surprised he wanted to go," she settled with. "It doesn't seem the kind of event he would want to go to."

Understatement. Nonetheless, at this stage, only the Radio Demon knew his true plans.

Charlie turned her full attention on her father and Lucifer was overtaken by a sense of foreboding. Sure enough, the next thing she asked of him - everything about her full of concern - was, "Dad, please look after him. None of them are as strong as Adam, but they are stronger than him."

This was what he'd been afraid of when he'd told her Alastor was coming. That Charlie would think for a moment that everyone in the room would be a threat to the sinner rather than the other way around. Lucifer sighed, ultimately unable to refuse his baby girl anything within his power. Sincerely, albeit grudgingly, he promised, "I'll make sure he gets home alive and in one piece."

Not that he had any plans of telling the redhead about such a promise. He'd milk the protection for all it was worth with gleeful sadism.

Charlie's brows smoothed out, her worries abated. It was touching that she still had that level of faith in him.

Holding tight to that warm feeling (he had the suspicion he was going to need it), he conjured a swirl of red smoke, which snaked around him as he transported himself up to the top most floor. Taking the stairs might have given his approach away and he was willing to admit he was in a bit of a mood. The moment he was fully corporeal, Lucifer threw open the door to Alastor's room without so much as a knock, shouting, "You better be decent, because I'm coming in!"

Alastor's bayou was dark, its ecosystem in its own time zone and independent of Hell's. It was only the fact that Lucifer didn't want to seem too interested in anything the sinner had created that stopped him from asking how closely it followed Earth's daily rotation. The sinner himself was seated within full view of the door, the rim of a small, white cup pressed to his lips. His spine and ears had gone ramrod straight at the intrusion. An equally white saucer and a pretty white and blue tea pot, that Lucifer pegged was likely picked out for the sinner by his friend Rosie, lay spread out on his little table for one. The scent of the drink was impossible to distinguish from the general scent of the bayou. 

Alastor relaxed upon recognizing him, swallowing his mouthful. Once his mouth was free, he said in a dismissive tone, "Ah, it's just you."

Lucifer strolled in like he owned the place (which he did, actually, and wasn't that something to come back to). A wave of his hand sent the door swinging shut behind him. Ignoring the insult, he said, "Grab anything you need. We're heading out."

Alastor's eyes narrowed at him. "There's still quite a bit of time before the ceremony begins." Pointedly, he took another sip of his drink, loudly slurping as he did. "And I'm busy at the moment."

The blonde remained unfazed. "Thanks to your little stunt yesterday, I have to put some thought into my outfit for once." He gestured to where the wound was currently hidden by the high neckline of his roll down. A pair of red eyes followed the movement, far too pleased despite the clear rebuke in Lucifer's words. "Your reputation might get boosted by our deal being ousted, but I'd rather not advertise it."

Alastor made a considering noise as he took another sip, although if he was pondering the effects to his reputation or the taste of his tea, it was impossible to say. He glanced at Lucifer, pointedly staring at his top. "Why not conjure something up like you did that sweater?"

"It's easier when the thing already exists," Lucifer explained, not that he needed to defend himself to this sinner. To demonstrate, he conjured a simple, base yellow rubber duck. "From there I can modify it-" he gave it a little white top hat, reminiscent of his own, "-Copy it-" a second duck appeared, exactly like the first one, "-Or merge them together." For his last magic trick, he slammed the two ducks together. When he opened them, a duck twice as big as either of the originals lay in his palms.

Alastor took on an unimpressed look of his own, raising an eyebrow at him. "So modify that silly outfit you usually wear."

Lucifer tries to imaging changing his usual outfit and finds the thought distasteful. He worked long and hard on that thing and he's quite pleased with it. "Hm, no. Doesn't fit the style."

The red headed sinner's other eyebrow joined it's twin. "'Style'?" His expression turned shrewd. "You mean that abhorrent circus theme is on purpose?"

Sticking his tongue out at Alastor may have been childish, but he didn't care. For extra effect, he lobbed his latest rubber ducky at the asshole's head.

A shadow darted out from behind the sinner, catching the object mere inches from Alastor's face. He narrowed his eyes at it, turning it this way and that. An unholy grin spread across his face was the all warning Lucifer had before the redhead's head seemed to come unhinged at the jaw, mouth opening unnaturally wide.

Wide enough, in fact, to drop the duck into it. Lucifer's hands flew to his mouth in horror at the poor thing's fate.

With a resounding snap Alastor's jaw came back together, the unmistakable sound of teeth going through rubber slicing through the room. Looking Lucifer dead in the eye, malicious glee plain for all to see in his gaze, Alastor spit the offensive thing out.

No less than fifteen individual pieces of rubber landed on the ground, some rolling off and disappearing into the bayou. It's little head, now split in two and missing it's hat, came to a stop near Lucifer's feet.

Lucifer was in disbelief. He couldn't believe this mangy sinner had the audacity to destroy one of his ducks. Heartfelt, he whispered, "You're a monster."

Alastor cackled. "Perhaps this outing might be fun after all." Leaning over, he poured out the rest of his drink. "The tea was off, anyway."

(Hidden behind his hands, the corner of Lucifer's mouth twitched, uncertain if it wanted to become a smile or a frown. Was it really bad tea or had it already begun?)

Lucifer glared at him as he approached, stepping around the pieces of rubber duckie death like one steps around dog excrement. When he was within arm's reach, Alastor held out his arm in a gentlemanly manner that belied every previous interaction they'd ever had. "Shall we, your Majesty?"

Lucifer eyed the limb like he expected it to turn into a snake and bite him, which seemed to amuse the sinner even more. Grudgingly, he reached out and took it, mostly because physical contact made it easier to transport a second person.

Alastor placed a hand over his, holding it in place. "And where are we headed on this fine morning?"

That was it, Lucifer definitely knew he was hamming it up just to annoy him. Returning Alastor's false honey sweet attitude with one of his own, red smoke began to swirl up around them. Before it took them completely, he quipped, "Down to the Lust Ring."

Alastor's expression as they rematerialized was priceless. One would think the Devil had just dragged this woeful sinner down to the true depths of Hell with the way Alastor was not thrilled with turn of events. It likely didn't help that they arrived to the soundtrack of overly loud wet smacking noises and moans.

Oh no, Lucifer thought, more for Alastor's sake than his own. He really hoped he hadn't picked a bad time. That would be the cherry on top of the sinner's expectations. He spun around towards the noise, relieved when he discovered they'd only interrupted a make out fest.

Lucifer tilted his head to the side, trying to get a better understanding of what he was seeing. His brother was seated at his desk, very into what he was doing, which was apparently making out with an imp. An imp wearing a jester's hat. An imp with very, very stretchy arms? Were those arms? Did imps have stretchy arms? He was fairly certain imps didn't have stretchy arms the last time he checked.

He might have gone on accidentally being a voyeur in favor of trying to work out this odd puzzle, had Alastor not decided he'd reached his limit on everything going on in front of them and cleared his throat.

Asmodeus and the imp paused, both opening an eye to peer at them. The imp glared at them. "Do you mind? We're busy." He frowned, looking at the door and then back at them. "Wait, how did you get in here? We definitely locked the door."

Asmodeus' reaction was much more hospitable. His face broke out into a wide smile, the little faces in his mane both showing joy. "Lucy!" Although his jumping up from his chair was abrupt, the imp anticipated it, altering his grip so he didn't take a tumble to the floor. His arms withdrew and moved around until he was situated comfortably on Asmodeus' shoulder.

Lucifer wondered how long that affair had been going on. Judging from the rather large painting that looked new, but not that new, it must have been for at least the last several months. He didn't have too long to contemplate it, as arms almost as long as he was tall scooped him up with all the ease of picking up a child.

Lucifer might have felt self conscious of this, if Ozzie-hugs weren't 100% worth the indignity. The sin's affections were like a ray of sunshine after a thunderstorm, and he couldn't help but soak it up like a wilted flower. "Hey, Ozzie," Lucifer said around a nuzzle to the side of his face. His new vantage point gave him a much closer view of Asmodeus' partner, who was patiently waiting out the exchange. "Who is this?"

The imp grinned at him, hands curling up under his chin and his feet kicking up behind him. "Name's Fizzarolli, but you can call me Fizz." The rock of his head caused the little bells on the end of his hat to jingle. "And you're the big boss himself."

Lucifer thought he had heard the name somewhere, but couldn't place it. It wasn't unusual for people to know of him, when he didn't know them, so he didn't think anything of it. Asmodeus, however, filled in some of the blanks by saying, "Fizz used to work for Mammon." The smile fell away for a scowl of pure distain. "That awful robot version of him is still at his Loo Loo Land monstrosity."

A light bulb went off. Even several years deep into his self imposed isolation, news of the fire that had broken out due to a fight between something called 'Robo Fizzarolli' and a park visitor had reached him. For weeks, all the servants could speak of was the Loo Loo Land scandal. Lucifer had gotten the impression it was mostly because of the destruction of the robot. The fuss didn't die down until it had been repaired, albeit only barely enough to function.

He studied the imp hanging off of Asmodeus' shoulder. His arms and legs not following the physical laws of nature aside, Fizzarolli was definitely not a robot. Which meant that Mammon had a robot created in his likeness.

Creepy. Par for the course with Mammon, but still creepy.

Asmodeus shifted Lucifer until he was holding his brother with a single arm. The little king, used to the treatment, shifted himself until he was sitting on the sin's arm rather than reclining on it. "We've been trying to get Mammon to get rid of it," Asmodeus went on, his hand now free to curl into a claw, joints cracking a sign of his frustration, "But you know how he can be with legalities."

Which was a roundabout way of saying that Mammon and legal practices barely on speaking terms. Usually, if it was something involving the other sins and anything to do with their rings, the personification of Greed would yield (very, very grudgingly). When it came to anything within his own ring, it was damn near impossible to gain any sort of traction for an argument. At that point, the only beings in existence he'd yield to were Lucifer and God.

Since one of those options was indefinitely AWOL, while the other had been in isolation, it was understandable that Mammon had grown too big for his breeches.

Perhaps it was because Asmodeus' good mood was so infectious. Perhaps it was because Asmodeus was over the moon for his partner. What ever it was, Lucifer found himself offering, "If you want it gone, I could speak to Mammon?"

Fizz looked both happy and a bit flummoxed that Hell's king had just volunteered to get involved with his case, but not like he was about to complain. Asmodeus' eyes turned to crescent moons, his smile was so big. "Lucy! You don't have to do that!"

Lucifer wasn't too bothered by the headache that was dealing with the Sin of Greed on his own turf. He waved off with a roll of the eyes and a huff of only slightly overexaggerated annoyance.

The surprise of their arrival and the pleasantries of their reunion over with, Asmodeus finally turned his attention to the fourth party in the room. "I see you brought company." The fallen angel turned sin circled Alastor, easily pegging him as a sinner. "And who is this pretty cat?"

The redhead's expression was bland, but Lucifer had known him long enough to pick out the calculating gleam in his eye. As Asmodeus was studying Alastor, Alastor was studying Asmodeus. "Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you." He didn't offer his hand, not caring that he might be possibly offending someone easily twice his size. His eyes flicked to Fizz. "I see all the gossip about you two was true."

Lucifer tensed, something about the tone suggesting that Alastor was testing the waters already, although he had no idea how.

Asmodeus merely laughed. "Oh! This cat has claws." He turned that mirth on Lucifer. "You always did like the feisty ones."

Lucifer hissed, even as he blushed. "Oh, no!" He waved his hands for emphasis. "No! Absolutely not! We are not a couple!" He shuddered at the mere thought. They were more likely to kill each other than ever like each other.

One of the Sin of Lust's eyes got wider than the other, his version of raising an eyebrow. Lucifer could already tell he had picked up on there being more to the story. "Oh?"

"I... He's..." Lucifer swallowed, suddenly floundering. His pride was still intact enough he adamantly didn't want to explain that he had had a nervous breakdown and in his moment of weakness, he'd agreed to bring this particular sinner along for support, which was a hilarious concept if one thought about it long enough.

As if to prove his point, Alastor suggested in a faux helpful tone, "An emotional support sinner?"

Lucifer flipped him off with both hands, although he suspected any effect it might have had on the sinner was lost due to the fact that the blonde was still seated in his little brother's arm like a small child. Something he had no doubt the red head was going to bring up at some point in the future, if the sly grin on his face was anything to go by.

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli shared a look. Lucifer refused to think about what totally erroneous conclusions they were jumping to. Thankfully, neither decided to share those conclusions with the class.

"Froggy," Asmodeus asked, voice full of warmth and mirth. "Could you show Lucy's stray cat to the refreshments while he and I chat?"

Alastor's ears flattened as his lips pulled away from his teeth into a sneer at the notion he belonged to anyone, let alone Lucifer.

Fizzarolli pecked his lover's check with a kiss, something Asmodeus responded to with a pleased purr. "Leave it to me." As he withdrew, Lucifer heard the faintest of a mechanical whirl suggesting his arms weren't flesh and blood. Upon touching the ground, the imp tried to wrap an arm around Alastor's shoulder, only for the sinner to side step him. Fizz's lips twisted down into a frown. "What's the matter? Don't like imps?"

Alastor stared down his nose at him. Fizzarolli, like most imps, was closer to a living human's height making it easier to do so. "Make no mistake, I dislike imps as much as I dislike everyone." He lifted his staff like a barrier between them. "Touch me, though, and we'll both find out how much that changes."

Instead of being daunted by the threat, Fizzarolli just placed a hand on his hip and snorted. "You're a snippy one." He walked past the red head, just barely brushing up against the tailored coat in a way that had to be deliberate. "Come on, there's some drinks and candy over here."

Alastor followed after him, his expression suggesting he was more likely to attempt to eat the imp then he was to accept anything offered to him. Lucifer suddenly wondered if it was a good idea to leave them alone with each other. He really didn't want to explain to Charlie that Alastor had gotten himself killed because he eaten the Sin of Lust's lover.

Asmodeus watched them go with a chuckle. "Where did you find that alley cat?"

Lucifer guffawed at the description, unable to help himself. He covered his mouth with his hand as the noise caused Alastor's ears to swerve around to follow the noise. He waited until Fizzarolli had his attention back before saying, "Oh, heh, yeah no. Alastor may be a tease and all touchy feely-" Lucifer wagged his fingers and pulled a face at how territorial the sinner could be, "-But I don't think he's got a promiscuous bone in his body." He paused to think about it, looking at the redhead in question. "I really don't think he's one of yours."

No, Alastor's ego and pride made him all Lucifer's. Joy.

Fizzarolli held out a bowl of multicolored candies, all shaped like mouths and penises. Alastor's eyes went red on black, a shadow darting out, grabbing hold of the bowl, and then tossing it's contents into the nearby fire. Fizzarolli sputtered over the waste.

It was hard to tell where Asmodeus was focused sometimes, him lacking any pupils. "Asexual?"

Lucifer thought about what Rosie had said, about Alastor 'drawing aces.' "Maybe. His friend certainly seems to think so," he said thoughtfully. He turned back to Asmodeus. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Asmodeus laughed at him. "They've been calling it that for almost a hundred and thirty years, Lucy!" He moved them closer to the heart shaped wall to floor window behind his desk to give them more privacy. "But I have a feeling you're not here to gossip about a sinner's lack of a love life."

"Ew, no." The older fallen angel shuddered. "And who says I need anything?" Lucifer put on his best bullshitting smile. "Maybe I just wanted to hang out with my favorite little brother."

Asmodeus laughed at him like he thought that was cute, not buying it for a moment. "Flattery will get you everything, except out of answering my question." He jostled his brother. "Out with it."

Lucifer signed. "Fine, fine." He crossed his arms. "I've come to ask the great and powerful Asmodeus for some fashion advice." He picked at his sweater, a slight whine in his voice as he added, "My normal top won't cut it tonight."

There was a twinkle in Asmodeus' eyes. "Oh? You love that outfit! What's wrong with it?"

Lucifer felt wary, like he was walking into a trap. "I need something with a higher collar."

Asmodeus' expression was the kind only a little sibling scenting possibly embarrassing blackmail material they could use against their other older sibling could make. "Lucy! And here I thought you weren't the type to let a hickey linger."

Lucifer stared, uncomprehending. Wait what? Suddenly, he realized how all of this sounded. Horrified, he shoved at Asmodeus' face, even as the sin cackled. "Stop that! It's not like that!" He attempted to struggle out of his little brother's grasp, but Asmodeus was near enough his equal and several times his size to make that difficult. "Wait, don't--!"

He never stood a chance. Asmodeus had managed to get a single finger hooked under Lucifer's collar, pulling the fabric down.

Both of them froze, Lucifer's breathe catching in his lungs. The wound had completely closed up by the time morning had come around again, allowing Lucifer to remove the butterfly stitches and bandage. The skin was still tender and would remain so for another day or two, when it would finally move into the scarring stages. With Asmodeus' knowledge of how quickly injuries healed on seraphim, it was impossible he wouldn't have guessed it had happened recently.

Lucifer transformed into a snake, slithering out and dropping down from his brother's hold. He reappeared in normal form a meter from the window, arms wrapped around his arms. Asmodeus reached for him, stopping without touching him. Lucifer felt horrible for how grateful he was that he hadn't.

He could hear the concern plain as day in Asmodeus' tone, underneath it a promise of violence if needed, as he inquired, "What happened?"

Lucifer wanted to lie and say that it had happened during one of the attacks on the hotel. To broadly claim someone had gotten too close without saying when. It would have even been true, if one ignored which injury belonged to which incident. His hand couldn't give him away either, as the scar had long since disappeared.

The issue was that Lucifer could count the amount of times he been able to lie to Asmodeus on one hand. King of Lies or not, his brother had always been able to see right through him, the truth practically illuminated over his head in bright flashing lights. The lie would most certainly be caught out almost immediately. The thought of telling the truth, however, threatened to close up his windpipe. His pride refused to allow it.

Unable to tell a lie and just as unable to tell the truth, Lucifer stared back at him wordlessly.

Asmodeus studied him: his posture and body language all telling it's own story. "Lucy, I have to ask." Carefully, gently, almost regretful that he had to ask: "Did you do this to yourself?"

At first the contents of the question didn't register. All Lucifer picked up on was that fact that Asmodeus had spoken to him in Enochian. There were so few people in Hell that spoke their mother tongue it was rare to hear someone else speak it. There was likely only eight beings in Hell that even could, those being the sins, himself, and Vaggie. Lilith and Charlie understood it when he spoke to them in it, but only Charlie could speak it back to him. He didn't think he'd heard her use it since childhood, though. It was even possible that Vaggie had no idea her partner knew the language, if she had been trying so very hard not to let slip she was an angel.

And then the words themselves hit like a sucker punch. Anger, a defensive response, rose bitter and sour in his chest. "No," he vehemently denied. "No," he said again, calmer. "I know my... mood," the word tasted wrong on his lips, too light for the darkness of his depression, "Has been pretty low for a while now, but no." HIs hands tightened around his arms. "I don't want to hurt myself. I never did." This was true. He'd wanted to hide away. He'd wanted to disappear. But he'd never wanted to hurt himself.

Their Father had done that plenty enough for him.

Asmodeus reached for him again, hovering as he gauged if Lucifer would let him. "Okay. Okay, I believe you." When he was given a nod, the sin reached out and placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder, the hand nearly engulfing it. A little of that promise for violence trickled back into his voice as he asked, "Is the fucker who did it dead, at least?"

Lucifer found himself once again at a loss. To say yes would be a lie. To say no would invite an inquiry into who had done it and he wasn't entirely certain he would be able to keep everything from all spilling out. He really, really did not want to explain anything about this situation. "I..." He was beginning to wish he had never come here. He hadn't been ready for any of this. He felt too exposed, his throat threatening to close up as his heart kicked up a notch.

Without meaning to, he looked past Asmodeus, searching out the person who had made himself both the bane of his existence and a source of comfort. Being part deer, Alastor's hearing must have been extraordinary. He would have easily heard the hitch in Lucifer's breathing and the racing of his heart from so meager a distance. This was all Lucifer could think of when Alastor turned his head to face him.

He didn't know what his face was doing. Didn't know what Alastor could read off of it. Whatever it was elicited a sigh and a click of the tongue from the sinner. Without a by-your-leave to Fizzarolli, Alastor abandoned his company to cross the room over to where Lucifer and Asmodeus were standing.

Alastor ignored Asmodeus in favor of concentrating on the fallen angel himself. "Come now, sire, what's with that expression?" He held out a hand, offering his poisonous support, if Lucifer chose to take it.

Lucifer knew he shouldn't. Knew he was already beginning to associate Alastor with comfort rather than trouble. Knew he couldn't trust him. He still stepped out of Asmodeus' grasp and reached for him anyway.

He didn't miss the victory as it flashed across Alastor's expression when Lucifer took his hand.

Asmodeus didn't miss it either.

A flash of blue and pink flame. An alarmed cry of, "Oz?!" Asmodeus' voice echoed with his wrath as he asked in plain English, "It was this guy?"

Both Lucifer and Alastor turned, the latter's ears flattening to the side of his head. Too late, Alastor realized the danger he had walked right into. Most people would have cowered before the anger of a sin, and rightfully so. They were huge. They were powerful. They could do a lot of damage with very little effort.

But Alastor hadn't been prey since the day he took a kitchen knife to his father's throat.

The room around them grew darker as shadows coalesced around them, dancing just out of the flames' reach. Alastor's horns branched out as they grew. His form would be the next to follow.

Two paths spread out before Lucifer. Down one path, he did nothing. Allowed the two to fight and for Asmodeus to remove a thorn in his side that he hadn't been able to remove himself. Charlie would be upset, but Alastor would no longer be a danger to her. Down the other, he interfered. Swallowed his pride and explained the situation that he had landed himself in of his own free will. Deescalated the tension before someone got killed.

Indecision locked up his muscles, almost making the decision for him.

Like the beam of a lighthouse, ready to lead weary sailors back to the shore, Charlie's voice cut through the fog reminding him of his promise.

Dad, please look after him.

There really had only been one path, hadn't there?

His wings came into being, large enough to carry two people if he were to take to flight. He caught hold of Alastor's forearm, yanking the sinner off balance as he twisted them around. The sinner hissed at him, but Lucifer didn't spare the time to explain. The three wings, all from the same side, came up and around until Alastor was completely shielded beneath them, cutting both sin and sinner off from each other. His other hand came up to grip Alastor's other forearm, holding him in place behind the barrier.

For the second time in his life, Lucifer chose to stand between a sinner and his own kind.

Asmodeus might as well have been made from stone. Behind him, Fizzarolli looked like he wanted to interfere, but didn't dare get in the middle of a fight between two giants.

Lucifer was apologetic, but resolute. He swallowed his pride, the taste of it burning his throat as it went down. In a language everyone in the room could understand, he explained, "I made a deal. He gave me his terms and I agreed to them." He almost faltered when his little brother remained cold and distant, but carried on. "The knife was an experiment." His hands tightened to signal he meant business. "We will be discussing it later."

Switching to Enochian, smile sweet and tone as dark as the day would be when Alastor inevitably broke his daughter's heart, Lucifer promised, "If he ever proves to be too much of a threat, I will end him."

The two fallen angels assessed each other. If it came down to it, Lucifer would leave with Alastor. The sinner would be safe in Pentagram City. The Pride Ring was Lucifer's territory and Lucifer's alone. None of the other sins would dare impede upon it if he ordered them to stay out.

Perhaps Asmodeus could see his resolve. The choice he had made. With a sigh, the sin allowed his mane to resume it's normal temperature, bringing his anger under control. He didn't look happy about it, but he was letting this go. For now, at least. "Lucy, this was not what I meant when I said you should give sinners a second chance."

It wasn't a joke. Not really. Lucifer took it as the olive branch it was. That crisis adverted, he turned his attentions to his other issue. Only to pause when he got a good look at Alastor.

Alastor's gaze was like molten lava, his hunger a living thing. He looked like he wanted to tear open Lucifer's rib cage and crawl inside it. Like he wanted to devour Lucifer bit by bit, taking his time as he savored every bite. He knew what Lucifer had done, what it had cost him and he was reveling in it.

Some part of Lucifer craved proof he was wanted. That people wanted him around and enjoyed his company.

This wasn't that. This wasn't anything healthy or good, but some part of him wanted this as well, whatever the hell this was.

He was glad he hadn't lowered his wings, yet.

Alastor tucked it all away as easily as he tucked away a large meal. When he stepped back, Lucifer let him go, lowering his wings and tucking them away into his back. The redhead considered him. "Would like to take a break from this conversation, your Majesty?" He gestured to the set up back across the room where Fizzarolli still stood. "There's some rather fine wine, if you're interested."

Lucifer shook his head. "No, it's fine." The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and he really just wanted to pretend this whole conversation never happened. "Go."

Hearing the dismissal, Alastor 'hmmed' to himself. Lucifer was relieved when he turned on his heel and headed back to the receiving area.

Lucifer watched him go, trying not to think about the look Asmodeus was giving him. More to fill the awkward silence, he said, "I'd still like you're help with the outfit."

Asmodeus clearly wanted to say something more, but blessedly didn't. Tapping his finger to his chin, his hand under his elbow, he gave Lucifer his own once over. Seemingly reaching an idea, he said, "I think I know just the thing."

tbc

Part 15

[eorziapple]

FFXIV Write Prompt #12: Dowdy

(Character: Pippena Pipp, Sprout safe)

Hilda was wearing a stylish black dress, Pipp kept forgetting that she actually was doing pretty well these days, though perhaps there just wasn't an opportunity to get out the fancy duds before the war ended. In any case, she looked -stunning- and Pipp felt pretty underdressed in her monk robes, probably the most formal wear she owned, sure, but she was beginning to worry she'd have to buy something.

"Look, Pipp, you're me plus one because I righ' legit hate a lot of the people in there and I figgured i'd have fun if you came. Aymeric was too busy with other muckety muckin' so I 'ave ta muckety muck it up fer this one."

"I mean, If it's a party you want I know what to do, but like, i've been almost executed like, 4 times in this city so..." Pipp countered.

"Like they're gonna try tha' with Ishgard's savior, you're kinda untouchable, you know? Now lets get going!" the raven haired woman pushed her out the door, the carriage already awaiting the pair.

Every. Single. Eye. Everyone was looking at her, in their fancy coats and jewels and the freakiest hats around. Like, everyone looked liked stuffed dodos and she was the one being gawked at? The band looked bored, the dancers looked bored. Hell, the food was off the hook and everyone was just like... standing around and chattering, and it seemed the topic was all on the weird lalafell and the half elezen.

Hmph... Hilda wanted to have fun, looked like ol' Pipp was gonna have to take things into her own hands! She grabbed Hilda's hand and dragged her to the dance floor. Time to work some magic!

*A half hour later*

Pipp did a headstand drink from the punch table, having long since been spiked with a myriad of flasks of the partygoers, making for a particularly potent and disgusting brew, which few of the soirée's attendee's cared about at this point. The band was carrying on an exciteable tune, with a heavy percussive backbone and big brassy solos. She finished off the bowl and backflipped into a crowd of onlookers, surfing through the crowd and delivered at the foot of her date.

She flashed a cocky grin up, and matched Hilda's jaunty dance, the two laughing amongst the formerly stuffy crowd. Coats and jackets hand been flung aside, uncomfortable shoes had been disgarded. The dancing was energetic and the crowd was drunker by the minute.

Now this was a party to remember! She assumed the knights would be by any minute to try to execute her again, though.

[sliptohk]

Prompt# 7: Noisome

Shezrah savored the almost musical notes the heavy barrel made when the rocking motion of her boot set it wobbling in circles on its base. Considerably more than the aromatic blend of offal packed loosely inside. The rank ambiance of that little package was a small price to pay for the glory it would bring her, mouth widening into a self-satisfied grin at the thought. And promptly losing it at the thought of the nearly physical presence of that meat wafting between her teeth.

Focus! A blade has no sense of smell!

The Spotted Badgers were far from an intimidating name, yet the accounts of the company's exploits could not be ignored. Neither man nor monster could stand against them, or so the stories had lead the woman to believe. And if even a fraction of them were rooted in truth, what a fine hunt they would be!

It was impossible to resist the allure of that clash, leading her to sweat and grunt as she bodily lifted those slaughterhouse castoffs up to the top of the nearest building, overlooking the admittedly excellent celebration taking place below. Though she had little experience with the customs of great Eorzea, she was fairly certain that this was some sort of bonding ceremony, and an elaborate one compared to the straightforward way she was accustomed.

Ask. Receive an answer. Slaughter some beast to feed the tribe. These people made things far more complex than they needed to be with fancy clothing and expansive tables filled with food and drink. It likely smelled considerably better than what she had close at foot, not that she could tell with that repellent bouquet so aggressively filling her nostrils.

No, it does not! A weapon is undeterred by scents fair or foul!

Shezrah waited. A painful thing when she wished to be in motion. Mayhem was sown, how could she sow with hands helplessly unused at her sides? One instigated conflict, it would not simply occur while she watched from a distance. A constant battle of limited willpower against time, before the long-awaited sound drew her eyes.

A chiming bell announced the completion of the service, twin roegadyn walking hand-in-hand together down the carpet they had rolled out before them. She was fairly certain the older fellow was the leader of the Badgers, the brawny man at his side their second-in-command.

Had their love bloomed on the battlefield?

It hardly mattered. Leaning forward, she sent the cask spinning off the edge to splatter both guests and honored hosts in a deluge of rot with a kick! The crash of wood, followed swiftly by the wet burst of those contents to coat fine clothes in far less fine substances. Raising both arms in a victorious pose, her voice lifted as well to be heard below.

"I am Shezrah Abadi, of th-"

There was no shocked silence. Which would have been fine, if it had instead been replaced with a murderous rush. No, the Badgers were laughing. Loudly. The interruption doing nothing to draw their ire as she had so wished. It was louder than she could manage, particularly when perched up as high as she had chosen to ascend. But she could hear the words of the commander, voice far more accustomed to carrying over a righteous din.

"Ho! We Badgers weren't never one for fancy duds and plucking up vittles with wee forks! To hells with all this shite! The smell of the battlefield is our home! So lets cast off this nonsense and get down to serious drinking and feasting like we know best!"

This was not how those other well-dressed people reacted when the warrior had peppered them with rotten vegetables. No, they had gasped indignantly and lifted silken kerchiefs to their noses. Or clutched their lapels as if she had committed some dreadful affront. This would require more consideration if the Badgers would be lured into battle. Though perhaps another time, as they were already ripping the lids off casks of spirits and dipping in bare hands to scoop up the first swallow.

A new tale was soon added to the legend of the Spotted Badgers - the bloodiest marriage ever seen in that region, especially notable when not even a single sole had raised fist or weapon against their fellow partygoers. A new formed tradition for the rest of their boisterous band.

[punkscowardschampions]

JC pt.1

Janis: [Okay, so sending him the pictures of your rental agreement and a key, it’s official vibes, because how else can I come at this to start with lol]

Casey: What your story’s for

Janis: Blow the cobwebs off my account and see if there’s any fans still waiting

Janis: You aren’t even going to throw a 👏 react my way then?

Casey: you ain’t even bought a drink first

Casey: no purchase, no customer service bollocks, mate

Janis: Oh that’s how it is now

Janis: time is money and you’ve none for us, I see

Casey: I’ve none to pat you on the head for pissing yours up the wall

Casey: posing like a massive dickhead could’ve bought all sorts else and that’s what you went with

Janis: Beats staying with my ma or your dad 

Janis: can’t all be cocaine and strippers, sadly

Casey: never had to be Dublin’s most boring semi

Janis: You’ll have to work on your customer service voice and live that penthouse fantasy for us both

Janis: we need the space

Casey: you’re alright, I’ve got plenty of space

Casey: tah for that

Janis: Come on, you can’t stay there

Casey: can be all coke and strippers now you lot have gone

Janis: At his age? Add CPR to the list

Casey: been on that course, like 

Janis: Tracks, me too but less for drug-induced heart attacks and more for how old so many of my clients are

Janis: You aren’t Bob’s age, we wouldn’t be treating you like you are

Casey: you said it, I’ve got no need to hide under the bed like I am

Janis: I know you ain’t scared of him, Jim’s the one who worries, not me

Janis: but why don’t you want to?

Casey: why would I want to leave my dad on his own

Casey: take a loads better offer than sod all you pair are

Janis: You could be off to Uni, you ain’t going to stay forever

Casey: bigger fantasy than a penthouse, that

Janis: Maybe not yet

Janis: when you’re older, it’s only the 18 year olds they want the grades from, life experience says more than any A* later on

Casey: mature students are on campus after the teenage girls when life experience has given them a crisis without the budget to stretch to a [whatever the cliche sports car of this era is]

Janis: And to be condescending twats about everything, sure

Janis: it’s just one possibility for your future

Casey: you’d know

Janis: Piss off, I just told you how unconcerned I am

Janis: you can look after yourself doesn’t mean you have to

Casey: don’t mean you have to if I can’t

Janis: It’s just a room

Janis: there may as well be a bed in it anyway

Casey: I’ve got a whole house to myself here

Janis: Yeah

Janis: I already don’t know what to do with the dining room and that’s the one room going spare, you’ll be lonely

Casey: can kip in it when he’s doing your head in

Janis: There’s your unclaimed room for that

Casey: start unpacking our kid’s boxes and you’ll soon run out of room

Janis: He’s a bit too old for a playroom

Janis: isn’t he? I don’t know, actually

Casey: I ain’t the one to ask either, babying him werent my idea of fun

Janis: He’s a kid, someone has to look after him

Casey: dad did before Jim muscled in ‘cause he’s got none to use no other way

Janis: Did he though

Casey: you heard

Janis: He’s been old enough to babysit from the day Bobby was born, you’re not far behind

Casey: babysitters give the kid back

Janis: Well, he hasn’t put up a fight now, when he easily could if he wanted

Casey: ‘course he don’t fancy it, dud prize ain’t worth fighting for

Janis: Top dad behaviour then

Casey: you said it x 2

Casey: they’ve been turned against each other from the off, top big brother behaviour

Janis: None of it’s untrue

Janis: nothing wrong with his vision, either

Casey: here’s your 👏

Casey: congrats on your his and hers vision of the future, I’m dead chuffed for you

Janis: What does that even mean, like?

Casey: if I wanted to talk to that knobhead I would

Janis: You want to stay where you are and we can’t fuck off soon enough, got it

Casey: you’re who’s buzzing to be out the door

Janis: It’s meant to be a good thing, getting your own place

Janis: it would be if you would just agree to spending some time over

Casey: he’s meant to pull his paying half, not chuck the dead weight of both his brothers into the boot and call it a day

Janis: Posing like a massive dickhead gave me a headstart

Janis: you aren’t deadweight, either of you

Casey: I ain’t coming to your housewarming never mind moving in, get over it

Janis: Fucking hell, fine

Janis: suppose I can’t make you

Casey: make your dining room into a gym, might calm you down

Janis: I’m perfectly calm, even with you being such a shit mate

Janis: but that’s not a bad idea

Casey: sort of mate I am, still chucking you decent ones even with all yours being proper shit

Janis: I didn’t buy the house, can’t call it a poor investment 

Casey: piss poor I’d call it

Janis: would you

Janis: and what would you have done if you were me?

Casey: how far back we going

Janis: You’ve saved up a back catalogue of mistakes for this moment, charming

Casey: gotta do something whenever I’m slow counting to 10, what else would I, have a look at my mistakes

Janis: [the school counsellor, by her name] should’ve been a lot firmer with you

Casey: gutted she never

Janis: 🤮🤮

Janis: Do some slow counting tah

Casey: nah, not fuming no more, feeling the love of [the school counsellor]’ll have that effect

Janis: Amount of chairs you chucked around would say otherwise

Janis: but I’d not count that as a mistake either so

Casey: you’ve lost count, more like

Janis: Didn’t realise we were keeping score, which is cheating, just FYI

Casey: So’s tapping out, what you’re doing legging it for [whatever dublin number this house is in or street or whatever]

Janis: Am not

Casey: are too

Janis: I’m trying to take you with me, that’s not legging it

Casey: take us off to some new life and bollocks future’s what you’re trying at, leave it out

Janis: If I were that good I’d have managed it for myself ages before I even met you

Janis: things aren’t going to be that different

Casey: no shit, dickhead

Casey: means I’d be legging it away from my dad for nowt

Janis: You really want to stay?

Casey: he’s my dad

Casey: what do you want us to run off for

Janis: I’ve said

Janis: even though running off is dramatic, it’s only [however many mins down the road we’re giving]

Casey: it’s only your box room

Janis: It’s [giving him the measurements because love that they get that specific when you move in somewhere like I must know exactly lol], thank you very much

Janis: Plenty of room for you

Casey: barely any for the lasses I’d have to sneak in

Janis: What kind of fat birds are you shifting

Casey: might be going for a record, you dunno

Janis: A boy has got to have his hobbies

Casey: too right, and he encourages us with ‘em

Janis: Is that your honest-to-God reason you want to stay?

Casey: I’ve said

Janis: Encourages is weird but that’s your business what you do in private, wherever the fuck you are

Casey: depends on the hobby, you’re making it weird

Janis: Right, the girls are just there to time your record attempt at [something ludicrous how they often are lol] 

Janis: definitely my mind that’s cracked

Casey: your mind’s on your paperwork and where you’re gonna hide your spare when it’s cut off that one, ain’t flattering myself 

Janis: Getting this place was the easy part

Janis: you don’t wanna hear the actual to-do list you’re not on

Casey: save it for him, kept woman he’ll turn into soon as you’re in

Janis: He had to do Uni, not like he’s been dossing about doing nothing

Casey: baby on his hip the whole time an’ all, if we’re gonna bother rewriting history to paint him as the hero instead of giving the box room a coat

Janis: If Bob counts as a baby, if not 🤮 will have the whole room covered in no time

Casey: you’re really selling the place

Janis: Be wasting my time wouldn’t I

Janis: not to mention never wanting to see an estate agent again in my life, never mind cosplaying as one of the cunts

Casey: [taking the piss by mentioning a specific modelling moment of hers where he’s saying she looked like one lol but the feelsy thing is that he can recall them all from memory, we know, and that’s always gonna be there hiding in these bants] was enough, I get it

Janis: Christ, that was a day

Janis: I’ll just keep telling myself that shit paid for this lovely, spacious room that precisely no one is going to use 

Casey: you’ll use the downstairs spare loads 🥊

Janis: Obviously

Janis: I might let you visit, to use the ‘gym’

Casey: only [however many minutes] down the road, you reckon

Janis: I’ve timed it

Casey: take me [not you halving the time like you’re that much faster than her haha] then

Janis: Another fantasy

Casey: there and back in the time it takes you, you can count it

Janis: Not even in your car

Casey: car won’t start, could’ve used some of your fortune for that

Janis: Buy your affection, how all the greats do it

Casey: dad will, more depressing countdown though

Janis: Do you want me to look at your car? 

Janis: Did that cliche shoot too so I’m basically qualified

Casey: if you nicked the outfit from the shoot we’ll talk, owt else’s a tease

Janis: It’d not fit you, as I had to tell Gracie many a time 💔

Casey: she’s stretched it, probably would

Janis: As if she’d dare to wear anything that butch

Casey: or putting the work in, princess or bust

Janis: You know you’re not allowed to crack onto my sister

Casey: if I fancied her she’d be in pieces by now

Janis: Just remember the rules

Casey: you don’t make ‘em under this roof no more

Janis: Alright, sound more like a kid

Janis: are we mates or not, dickhead

Casey: you started it, some adult you are, however hard you play house

Janis: Long as I’ve tricked the right people, what does it matter?

Casey: you’ve made your point I don’t

Janis: Fuck off with that

Casey: he’s crying, you’re not

Janis: I don’t

Janis: and it didn’t change your mind 

Casey: changing my mind would fuck it up for you with them right people, I don’t have it in us to trick no one how you are

Janis: They can’t take the kid away, Jesus, if they were bothering themselves with that they would have ages ago

Janis: but they wouldn’t, because of you, you know that, don’t you

Casey: none of ‘em doing their jobs ain’t counting as a win for us

Janis: You aren’t a danger to him, that’s the point

Casey: today maybe, but shit’s meant to be 🤏 different in your new house

Janis: You’ve never done anything to him, and shouting don’t count so you can go nuts

Casey: I’ve lost count of the times I’ve wanted to

Janis: But you haven’t

Janis: that makes you better than someone who’s never had the thought cross their mind

Casey: it makes me no better than dad and he’s why you’re off

Janis: He does it, only not to Bobby because he’s got fuck all to do with him

Janis: to you and Jim

Casey: Bob’s my exception an’ all, we’re the same and so’s the reason why

Janis: That ain’t the only reason

Casey: that don’t matter

Janis: That’s all that matters

Casey: who to

Janis: Me

Janis: everyone, it should to you, that you’re a decent person

Casey: I’m not, by anybody’s count I’m still far off it

Janis: Well most people are shit

Janis: I know you, my opinion is more relevant

Casey: we’re mates, you’re biased

Janis: I’m only mates with you because you aren’t shit like everyone else

Casey: I can’t be with them, play happy families like you want

Janis: *keep playing, you’ve been with them this whole time

Janis: I can talk to him, it’s normal you want space 

Janis: but can you try and stay out of Ian’s way so he doesn’t worry himself to death?

Casey: he’s had no cause to worry himself to death about us getting in each other’s way since I turned [however old we’re saying this boy was when he stood up to Ian]

Janis: Still

Janis: he feels guilty

Casey: any party’s a pity one when it’s his

Janis: You wouldn’t want him to stay, which is what he thinks he should do if you won’t go too

Casey: he’ll do what you tell him to

Janis: So I get to be the bad guy

Casey: you’ll be my hero, gaff to myself

Janis: Dunno if I feel like doing you any favours but alright

Casey: doing ‘em most for yourself, IRL doll’s house to piss about with

Janis: I’d be delighted if you were a bit happy for us

Casey: I’d be happy for you if you was doing it for you

Janis: Am I not going to benefit from it?

Casey: dunno, what benefits are there to living with them pair

Janis: You don’t wanna hear that

Casey: I’ve heard what a cockblock our kid is

Janis: What was I gonna do, leave him at yours?

Janis: He exists, you have to take people and their families, that’s how it is

Casey: you don’t wanna hear that

Janis: You know he wouldn’t stay, wherever Jimmy goes he follows

Casey: I know, used to be me following the twat ‘round

Janis: Can’t picture it

Casey: picture us [and recounting a time when he shamelessly followed her around in his hardcore crush era as if it’s remotely the same lol but we can and will pretend]

Janis: So chuffed you thought I was cooler more recently 🥇

Casey: steady on, been years from when you last dived into a pool or hung ‘round on the side with your tiny shorts on

Casey: don’t impress us these days 🥉

Janis: Wow, bitchy

Janis: I’m not trying to impress you, boy

Casey: lucky for you, girl

Janis: That is an outfit I still have somewhere, if you wanna borrow the tiny shorts

Casey: tah, ain’t gonna be long before the washing piles up

Janis: You’re going to start buying paper plates to eat off, go in being a grotty bachelor 

Casey: takeout rids us of the need, I’ll pin the menus up and chuck a dart to pick

Janis: Sounds like a laugh, to be fair

Casey: ain’t hard to not be a misery guts, your missus just makes it look dead easy

Janis: It’s just the stress of all this, he’ll be fine 

Casey: in 8 years minimum, but nah, he’s the clingy sort, our kid’ll be 40 and still living with you

Janis: He fucking won’t be

Janis: I’ll move myself into the nearest psych ward

Casey: I’ll bring you [her fave snacks] on a paper plate

Janis: My hero

Casey: and [hilarious outfits or pieces of outfits he’s combining together from various shoots just for the lols] ‘til you look the part

Janis: tah for not saying I already do

Janis: can’t wait to tell ‘em all I used to be famous, get the good drugs 

Casey: have to check yourself into [somewhere] they’ll reckon it’s bollocks you’re chatting unless they clock you on the side of [a building that’s nearby genuinely and could be seen, because it kills me that he knows which buildings she’s on the side of in this town]

Janis: You’ll still visit?

Casey: long as we’re mates still

Janis: ‘Course we are

Janis: not that offended you don’t want to pick out paint with me

Casey: ages ‘til Bob’s old and full time sponging is what I meant

Casey: but ‘course I’ll carry all that heavy paint about for you

Janis: Oh, yeah, can’t treat myself to a medical holiday quite yet

Janis: bounce a tin off your head in a minute

Casey: I’m saving for a working holiday in [wherever is the clerbing destination of this era] if you’re after the good drugs before then

Casey: be a shout when you do your back in decorating

Janis: I should make you swallow a condom full 

Casey: far as fantasies go, you’ve had loads worse

Janis: Don’t reckon customs would be a fantasy for you though

Janis: Who are you going with?

Casey: shame prisons don’t mix, I could scrap the letter writing and go right for cell sharing

Casey: depends who’s got the cash, how fast my mates spend it’ll be on my own

Janis: A cell will do but not my box room, right

Janis: you’ll still have fun, everyone’s your mate when you’re all that off your face

Casey: offer to move Debs in when she gets out and I’ll think about it

Janis: Is there any world in which her and your dad get back together?

Casey: safe bet she’s a bigger lezza than you by now

Janis: Wouldn’t be hard, twat

Casey: dad wouldn’t be if she’s butched up

Janis: the pills do the hard work for him, no effort required

Casey: he’ll have to sort his own, I’m only swallowing condoms full of gear on your asking

Janis: Why we’re best mates

Casey: [a paint colour but made up in the way they have silly af names, for fun]’s what I’d paint it, if you’re asking

Janis: What the fuck colour is that in English, can’t even make an educated guess 

Casey: [an even sillier made up one] for the gym

Janis: For fuck’s sake

Janis: such a pisstake, how about you help me paint for real

Casey: alright

Janis: This whole place needs doing, it’s going to take ages

Casey: [tell her when you’re working and not so she knows that it’s a serious offer to help her paint]

Janis: It’s not fair to ask you, you won’t get any benefit from it

Casey: how much are you seriously getting off on [another silly fake paint name]

Casey: fumes or what the room looks like done

Janis: My new persona, you gotta entertain yourself any way you can when you’re a stay-at-home wife or whatever the fuck label we’re putting to it 

Casey: I told you, he’s your stay at home wife, it’s your house

Janis: Nah, it’s for all of us

Janis: if it were just for me, I’d have picked something else

Casey: why I said I dunno how to be happy for you

Janis: I know

Janis: but him being happy is important too

Casey: 🤞 this’ll make him

Janis: What more could he need?

Casey: personality transplant

Casey: set of balls

Casey: just 2 off the top of my head

Janis: Casey

Janis: it’s going to be different, not just because of the new address

Casey: more you say it, more it sounds like you’re just saying it

Janis: He doesn’t have to see Ian and he got Bobby out, that’s 2 out of 3

Janis: and I know you’ll be okay, even if you won’t leave

Casey: 3/3 and he’d not crack a smile but whatever, your joint wake

Janis: I’ll show you

Casey: I’ll paint one on the wall, cheer the place up any road

Janis: Do what you want in your room

Casey: [tell her what Ian has so far bribed you with for your room here because obvs he’s overjoyed this boy isn’t going]

Janis: That’s sad

Janis: and how could I possibly compete 

Casey: without trying you can’t, like

Janis: You’re only trying to look after him

Casey: someone has to

Janis: So I’m not going to try

Janis: this must be right

Casey: and I’m not going to act hard done by, nowt I’ve not done before or loads younger

Casey: least I ain’t juggling ‘em both on an arm each how I used to when she was about

Janis: I’ll look after these two, that’s something you don’t need to worry about no more either

Casey: what we dunno can’t hurt us

Janis: I guess

Janis: am just saying that though

Casey: right know it all, you

Casey: probably won’t apply

Janis: Gift and a curse, more of the latter

Janis: but I’ve got to be the 😁 one now you’ve pissed off

Casey: I’m staying put, you who’s packing up and pissing off

Janis: You’re the one that gets to be free to do whatever you want 

Casey: you who shackled yourself, I’d let you do whatever with a smile on my face

Janis: Didn’t, you don’t have any say in the matter when it happens

Casey: you have say in everything as it’s happening and later on

Janis: Don’t make me be patronising about it

Casey: don’t make us paint you [an even sillier colour]

Janis: I’d turn you [make up your own now] before you could even get a single stroke on me

Casey: total fantasy

Janis: truth, you’ll be finding it on you for weeks

Casey: *you’ll

Janis: I don’t have to let you win, you’re not a kid

Casey: I’m not letting you even when you sulk like one

Janis: You must be thinking of someone else

Janis: can’t be a sore loser if I never lose

Casey: nah, remembering you having a strop when you did, to me

Janis: Oh no, you’re delusional with grief

Janis: I’m just ‘round the corner, remember

Casey: dry your eyes, I’m not a kid, gonna beat you as standard now I’m taller and stronger

Janis: I’m still smarter and faster

Casey: I can read you, fuck books

Janis: and I know you, however grown-up you reckon you are now

Casey: you ain’t slow, give you that

Janis: Can’t take it away, no one can

Casey: last thing I fancy is taking something off you

Casey: unless it’s [the colour of paint she said she was gonna paint him]

Janis: I think it would suit you

Janis: but I’ll get you fair and square, not a charity case

Casey: go on, what colour do you reckon it is

Janis: A dark red, in my head

Janis: what did you think?

Casey: dunno, lifeguard red maybe

Casey: might be I’ve just got stuck thinking about that

Janis: Close though

Janis: and no one can fault you, [her coworker boy lol] was so fit

Casey: you’re leaving out [the girl, who isn’t fit but we will say it rn to wind her up]

Janis: It’s your fantasy, you are

Casey: yours if I’m bent for [this boy]

Janis: as if I’d share, if this were my fantasy

Casey: how would I know, your head it’s going on in

Janis: said you can read me

Casey: back then I were a kid, read you wrong loads

Janis: I was fucking up plenty, be why

Janis: not much logic being applied to follow

Casey: same

Janis: We were all kids

Casey: seems ages or a bit ago, depending on the day

Janis: It feels like yesterday with the day today has been

Janis: like we are properly blagging it, that we’ll get caught out and have to go back

Casey: if you wanna come back, I’ll act [however old he was when they met] and rip up your paperwork, say the word

Janis: Dunno if that is legally binding

Janis: but thanks, you’re still sweet even at your big age

Casey: still miss you even though you’re a massive dickhead

Janis: I’m gonna miss you too

Janis: you’re the worst for not coming

Casey: *you’re, for making me fancy it when it’d never work

Casey: false hope’s worse than none

Janis: It could

Janis: but you need to stay with him

Casey: based off [however many she’s lived with them] years experience, it wouldn’t

Janis: We survived, no casualties, not big ones anyway

Casey: you’ll live without us as another roommate

Janis: Don’t mean I have to be happy about it

Casey: nor do I you’re leaving us to rot

Janis: There’s no way I can do this and make you happy

Janis: you don’t wanna be here, you don’t want me there

Casey: you don’t get to be nowhere just you

Janis: I’m not just leaving you

Janis: I’ll come see you every day, make you sick of the sight of me

Casey: I’m sick of the role reversal, he’s meant to be my dad

Casey: what am I tucking him in for

Janis: He’s sick, if we’re being kind

Janis: a sick he’s never going to try to be any better than though, especially not with you being there to do everything for him

Casey: he needs a bit of kindness, I know I can’t make him better but

Casey: don’t mean sitting back and watching him get worse, from down the road at yours

Janis: He didn’t fight for him

Janis: what that tells me is he’s happy how he is

Casey: he don’t have to, our kid’s got you dickheads in his corner

Casey: who’s Ian got, me or nobody

Janis: You said it, he’s meant to be the dad

Casey: you said it, he’s sick

Janis: what about you

Casey: he’s all I’ve got too, she won’t see us

Janis: That’s not true, your brothers care about you

Casey: I heard, that there’s Jim’s guilt speaking, nothing else

Janis: You don’t need to be best mates for it to be true

Janis: I only tolerate most of my siblings, my ma, it’s still real

Casey: I don’t need him wringing his hands at what a bloody lost cause I am, all it ever is

Janis: But you’re not

Casey: tell that twat

Janis: I do, obviously

Janis: he just doesn’t know what to do about your temper

Casey: soz he can’t photoshop it out of us, like

Janis: He’s the one that feels like a failure, that’s what I mean

Casey: ain’t his job to fucking fix me, the patronising prick

Janis: if he could though, would you not let him

Janis: to be able to control it?

Casey: if he had the power he should turn it on himself

Janis: That’s my job

Casey: bollocks is it

Janis: Yes it is

Janis: didn’t say I’ve the power either

Casey: didn’t have to, bighead

Janis: Hardly

Janis: is he fixed? Not yet

Casey: ‘cause that ain’t your job

Janis: One of

Casey: can read a wage packet, mate, and I’ve never seen you get one through

Janis: I’ll bring that up

Casey: have a word, you’d be in a detached if the bellend paid you to be his carer even half the hours you put in

Janis: Nah, I’d feel too much like my sister, whose gym isn’t where her dining table should be

Casey: maybe she’s onto something

Janis: You try it then, find a rich middle-aged woman

Casey: if I wanted my head kicked in by a fuming old man I’ve one at home, tah

Janis: Too soon, boy

Casey: nah, been ages, years

Janis: [the age he was], I remember

Janis: don’t mean it’s time to spoil for a fight now

Casey: never said I was

Janis: Promise

Janis: or we’ll be having one

Casey: with paint, I remember

Casey: it’s a date [the first time his schedule which he gave her allows]

Janis: [saying you can’t do this date but picking the next one after that]

Janis: sounds like a plan

Casey: [show her that you’ve marked it in your phone calendar, I like to think in a dark red like she said she was imagining because who is he if not that bitch]

Janis: Never get the deposit back anyway

Casey: how much is it

Janis: [tell him, idek but probably a fair amount for that place], RIP

Casey: I’ll get it for you in [this clerbing hol destination]

Janis: No you won’t, you’re going to enjoy every penny of it

Casey: I’d enjoy handing every penny over

Janis: I don’t need your money, I only want you to be happy

Casey: let me make you then

Janis: You do

Janis: shut up

Casey: you shut up, I don’t need the money, you’ve got proper grown up bills and that, rooms you ain’t worked out what to fill with

Janis: I weren’t relying on you paying rent to make it work, promise

Janis: you’ve earnt the money, it’s yours

Casey: not yet I’ve not, but I already want you to have it

Janis: Why?

Casey: ‘cause then I’m part of it, you’ll not just forget about us over here

Janis: I’m never going to forget about you, idiot

Janis: I want you to be a part of it, you don’t have to buy it

Casey: what else can I do

Janis: You’re going to help me paint, we’re going to buy furniture for the spare room, and you can come ‘round at least once a week to work out with me, yeah?

Janis: For starters

Casey: okay

Janis: and message me, whenever you want to talk

Casey: write you up a receipt charging myself by the minute, even with mates rates you’ll soon get your payday

Janis: It’s going to be really weird you not being close

Janis: I can’t get my head ‘round it

Casey: I am, we’ll run it, prove it

Janis: okay

Casey: it’ll be

Janis: Yeah, fuck getting all morbid, sorry

Casey: I get it, I’d rather you was on the other side of the wall

Casey: felt more than far enough

Janis: I knew you would, no need to explain

Janis: I liked living with you, even with all the other dickheads about

Casey: I reckoned we’d have longer, weren’t meant to be some fantasy

Janis: You know I want to take it back, even though I can’t and that’d be a stupid idea to anyone else

Casey: You know I weren’t joking about ripping your forms up

Janis: You would

Janis: if you’d have said you were happy, I’d have felt betrayed

Casey: and I could lob your key over next door’s, never find it in their unmowed grass

Janis: I’ll hide there too

Casey: I dunno about it being that tall

Casey: but you can hide under my bed and I won’t even take the piss

Janis: Probably leftovers I could live on, yeah

Janis: might be quite nice

Casey: I’ll drop [more of her food faves]

Janis: You always have been a soft touch with Twix

Casey: oi, most well trained bitch in all of Dublin, her

Janis: Not my best work but hey, you’re pretty well-behaved

Casey: stay with me then

Janis: I’m not leaving you

Janis: I’m not even leaving Ian, they have to but we’re not gone, I’m not

Casey: you’re gone from here, it won’t be the same

Casey: you said, you kept saying

Janis: We’ll be the same, no matter what else is fucked, we always are

Casey: I won’t be able to stand it otherwise

Janis: Neither could I

Casey: you’re my best human mate

Janis: I’ll take it, she’s pretty sound competition 

Casey: when are you taking her

Janis: You should keep her, that’s only fair

Casey: what about Bob

Janis: Do him good to come get her for walks, remind him he’s meant to

Casey: remind him he’s got 2 brothers, you mean

Janis: That too

Casey: [send her a picture of Twix that looks like she’s grinning how dogs do, like she’s buzzing to stay when we all know she rightly hates Ian forever and always, oh my heart, this doomed by the narrative diva]

Janis: 😍

Janis: Never get away with hiding with her about

Casey: [not you sending more disgustingly adorable content of you hiding this pup in your jacket or hoodie, this time a little vid cos she keeps peeping out licking his face as he tries to like yeah true, he’s here grinning and loling as the vid goes on like oh you tehe girl]

Janis: If I was any other girl 

Janis: might cry about that

Casey: you’d set her off

Janis: I’m closer than I was when we were first sharing walking her

Janis: [bus number] took much longer than [the time you’ve said it takes to get to theirs from your new place]

Janis: won’t need to miss her

Casey: I’ll pass that on when she’s doing my head in whinging for you in a bit

Janis: Get a grip, babe 

Casey: *baby

Casey: she said get it right, you’re the grown up bitch

Janis: She’ll do well to quit the language if she’s such a baby then

Casey: [a picture of Twix yawning like she’s calling Janis an old boring bitch]

Casey: what your first word weren’t the c one, could’ve sworn I heard that somewhere

Janis: Would’ve been if I’d have known what I was being brought into

Janis: but I will admit to not knowing everything the second I opened my eyes, alright

Casey: day you’ve had’s catching up to you, I get it

Janis: You wait 

Janis: you’re only doing the fun bits of adult life now

Casey: told you, can all be fun

Casey: you’re doing it wrong

Janis: Am I

Casey: yeah

Janis: I’m glad for you, how’s that?

Janis: slightly more sincere than pretending I am about you staying behind

Casey: how about you’re too young and fit to be this fucking old

Casey: I’m not gonna pretend that ain’t a waste

Janis: I’m not old

Casey: exactly

Janis: You know what I mean

Casey: you know what I do an’ all

Janis: This is what we chose

Casey: being backed into a corner’s how you get robbed of choices, not when you should make ‘em

Janis: I’ve got more choice than most

Janis: Years left of travelling the world and getting paid for it, if I want it

Casey: you’ve got more cash

Casey: ‘til you spunk most of your earnings on a trolley full of ikea’s finest

Janis: Just saying, making it sound like I’ve been locked up in the loft when I’m not often in the country ain’t gonna convince many of your point

Casey: I’d be chuffed if you was chained up in the loft, least that’d explain what you’re playing at

Janis: This is what people do

Janis: yeah, sooner than most but you know why that is

Casey: you’re not like them people

Janis: As a compliment or an insult?

Casey: you know what as

Janis: My teenage superiority complex was gonna run thin eventually

Janis: not that there’s many people to push away 

Casey: if you’re not bothered about packing it, leave it here with us

Janis: You’ve your own, hand me downs are for the kid

Casey: only fair you’ve your own shrine, he’s having one

Janis: You do have the room

Casey: I’ll build it in yours, save the [an approx measurements like she gave for the lols] going spare

Janis: Save some hair and nail clippings up for you

Casey: be some in the plug

Janis: Yeah, along with all of your gross boy body hair

Janis: dunno when the chore wheel last doled that job out, months worth down there

Casey: don’t worry, I’ll be able to tell the difference, just about

Janis: pube head is a very retro racial dig, so Ian

Casey: can have that one for free

Janis: I don’t pay to be humiliated, but my inbox is always full of requests to dole them out

Casey: he won’t have to pay for a round off the back of that, go down a treat with his mates

Janis: have to give me their names and I’ll tell you what mad shit they’ve sent us, attached to their name and face, old blokes never make a blank account

Casey: [do but we all know he’s giving hilarious fake ones like the paint colours, just being silly, it’s giving boaty mcboatface but with racist, sexist drunk old men vibes lol]

Janis: Flexing your creativity on ‘em, I see

Janis: so young, so talented

Casey: make us blush [the dark red paint colour] in a minute

Janis: [another made up colour that is giving light pink in our opinion] at best, not exactly competition down at [whatever sad old man pub Ian frequents]

Casey: never see the like of it unless they end up in the ladies

Janis: Probably not been fresh air flow through that room since the 90s

Janis: talk about a real waste of space

Casey: 90s is generous

Janis: True, the hairspray fumes would be lethal from the perms of memories past

Casey: you’d know, probably fresh as in yours 👩🏽‍🦳

Janis: Absolute cheek

Janis: why don’t you look closer to home 🐩

Casey: what home’s that

Janis: Are you going to keep guilt-tripping me forever

Casey: a bit much

Casey: ‘til the 90s come ‘round again maybe

Janis: Planning to be over it when you’re 👨🏻‍🦳

Casey: not planning on getting 👨🏻‍🦳

Casey: so in a way, yeah

Janis: in a fit forever way, yeah

Casey: in a I’d rather be dead one

Janis: Yeah wouldn’t we all but you’re not allowed, soz

Casey: do what I want now

Janis: no you don’t

Casey: what you gonna do, lock me in your loft

Casey: in your dreams, mate

Janis: If I have to

Casey: you and who

Janis: don’t need anyone else

Casey: you’re in a proper deep sleep if you reckon you won’t need a hand

Janis: Right, I am

Casey: wake up and get back to me

Janis: I’m tired, of it all

Casey: ‘course you are

Casey: no box of a decent size to pack up and shove in the furthest corner of the loft, takes the piss

Janis: Just because it’s the right thing to do, don’t make it the ideal

Janis: better choice, sure but I still haven’t got a clue what I’m doing, how am I meant to parent a kid the same age as my little sister?

Casey: tell me about it, dad weren’t my top pick roommate neither

Casey: you ain’t meant to, but bit late to stop

Janis: Only marginally better of one than he is a father, good for the rent at least

Janis: Jimmy would’ve done it without me

Casey: he’s got no choice, his little brother, you did, he’s not yours

Janis: Past tense is right

Casey: running was what you done, only on the spot now though

Casey: and Bob’ll go circles round the both of you

Janis: I could be sulky about it before, at a point I have to grow up and take things as they are

Casey: they won’t notice how gutted you are, too buzzing themselves, be alright

Janis: Oh yeah, really trust them pair to bring the party

Janis: now I know you’re chatting shit

Casey: you wouldn’t know a party if I brought you one on a paper plate so I dunno what you’re chatting about

Janis: Just ‘cos I don’t frequent [where he’s working rn] and buy your overpriced drinks

Casey: ‘cause you don’t go nowhere unless you’re paid to

Janis: Duh, don’t get out of bed either, the prerogative 

Casey: you wanna try getting a life before it’s all parents’ evenings and pocket money

Janis: And I’d take advice from a child on that

Janis: what do you do that’s actually so wildly different from me?

Casey: all the kids you’re chatting to ain’t none of my business 

Janis: piss off

Casey: you

Casey: your his and hers rut has got nothing to do with me

Janis: There’s no rut, the problem isn’t with us

Casey: 👌

Casey: blame the kid, you’re thinking like his mum already

Janis: Jesus, don’t

Casey: lad’s too big to shake again, however strong you reckon you are

Janis: Don’t compare me to your mother

Janis: you don’t think I feel guilty enough for not fully wanting to do this with him

Janis: that I have to keep that to myself or he won’t look at us the same

Casey: he don’t look at you anyway

Janis: fuck you

Casey: wake up

Janis: You’re biased

Casey: you’re gonna spend the rest of your fittest years with someone who don’t even see you, for what

Janis: ‘cos that ain’t all he cares about

Casey: he cares about saving Bob from us, job done, you might get a scrap of attention in a bit, yeah

Janis: From your dad

Janis: it can’t be you because he begged you to come too, remember

Casey: I am dad when it suits him

Casey: double save, he’ll be getting it up for that, not for you

Janis: God, you are bloody immature

Casey: he begged for his last chance to turn me into somebody else, like he has you

Janis: I’m who I’ve always been

Janis: him not wanting you to smack him rather than talk to him is hardly groundbreaking stuff, of course he wants to have a better relationship with you

Casey: nah, you’re his neutered bitch, buying him houses and raising kids who don’t belong to neither of you

Casey: I’d sooner turn into dad [however many idk I’m not an alcoholic man, a lot is the point] pints deep, at his worst, than that prick

Casey: he don’t talk, he fucking can’t

Janis: I’m well aware who you’ve more recently hero-worshipped 

Janis: Good luck with that task

Casey: yeah, you, that’s why it’s bollocks you’ve gone

Janis: why would you do a stupid thing like that

Casey: where am I meant to look now, a broke mirror

Casey: I needed you to be who you used to, not this

Janis: I can’t be all the people I’m needed to be

Casey: they don’t need you, they’ve got each other

Casey: I know you’ve felt as elbowed out as me

Janis: I’m not jealous of their relationship, that would be mental of me

Casey: who’s talking about jealousy

Casey: he wants you watered down as the measures at work

Janis: I’m a lot to handle

Casey: fuck that

Janis: It’s the truth, where the fuck are my mates that aren’t you

Casey: where would you find mates who ain’t cunty models, I told you, you don’t do owt

Janis: I didn’t have none before then either

Casey: at school, was a shithole, other than Gracie who did

Casey: look how that went

Janis: I’m not the one that’s bothered, you keeps banging on about me having no life

Casey: tell your face it’s not bothered, dickhead

Janis: 😁 there

Casey: you don’t fool me

Janis: You don’t know me if you think friends are what I need

Casey: you’re the one who brought mates up, I never

Janis: What do I need then

Casey: ain’t for no kid to tell you, what I heard

Janis: right

Casey: but running or going down the gym can’t be the only time the switch is flicked for you, that kills me

Janis: It is going to be different

Janis: the stress of this has been all he’s thought about 

Janis: but like you said, it’s done, we can both get back on track

Casey: what you keep banging on about

Janis: It’s true, but alright, I know you don’t wanna hear it

Casey: don’t go, that’s what I want, since you’re asking

Janis: How can I stay

Casey: he’s never touched him

Janis: I know

Janis: that ain’t enough when the kid is still scared shitless of him

Casey: he’s scared shitless of everything but Jim’s shadow, his own included

Janis: Not disagreeing 

Janis: letting a kid watch him smacking other people about is just as fucked though

Casey: no need to make it sound like we’re selling tickets

Casey: we don’t let him watch

Janis: He’s seen it, you know he has

Janis: the aftermath if nothing else

Casey: meaning the damage is done

Janis: I’ve signed the fucking paperwork

Janis: even if there was changing his mind of it, which there ain’t, it’s too late for me to back out

Casey: set it on fire, piss on it, use your imagination

Casey: Twix would eat it for you

Janis: No room for his shoes if she spoils her appetite like that

Janis: we have to do this, me and you

Casey: spoiled already by [something this dog absolutely should not have had, giving not even human food like when my chavy carer at uni’s dog had a chewed up tv remote in her bed], eating her feelings, her

Janis: Just like Gracie, shit perm an’ all

Casey: not as much of a slag down the park, something at least

Casey: might as well move her in otherwise, keep me company

Janis: Hope she’s not still slagging down the park, her big age

Janis: You wanted space, not company

Casey: you who said that’s what I wanted

Janis: I don’t want to leave you

Janis: I’ve told you that

Casey: and I can’t leave my dad to choke on his [however many I said before] pints when they come back up

Janis: No, I know

Casey: you don’t, it gets left to me

Janis: And he took on Bobby, you both got jobs

Casey: he took the job he had the stomach for

Janis: probably

Casey: no one draws you a picture to say tah for the shit I do, even you’ll piss on his grave when he’s in it

Janis: You have got to take this up with him, not me

Janis: I wasn’t there

Casey: I have, deaf ears all ‘round

Janis: When? 

Casey: what’s when matter

Casey: he don’t give a fuck what I’ve got to say

Janis: It matters

Janis: so does if you were having a row at the time

Casey: when are we not

Casey: raging’s all I ever am, gets to call what I’m telling him bollocks then

Janis: If you’ve got a point you’ve got a point

Casey: not to him

Janis: You need to make yourself heard and he needs to hear it

Casey: good one, mate

Janis: Feels like nothing but a joke at this point

Janis: I can’t be stuck in the middle of it, it doesn’t achieve sod all

Casey: something there about a punchline I can’t be bothered to pull out

Casey: and you won’t be no more, you’ve picked what side you’re on

Janis: No I haven’t, I’m not picking a fucking side

[retaillimited]

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[percontaion-points]

Heartless chapters 21 & 22

Today's review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 21

Like always, Jasmine had channeled Aladdin and transformed the room into Jasmine’s Cave.

Imagine sitting down to write. You can write literally anything imaginable. And you put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, and THIS is the line that you come up with. 

“Seems good to me!” you say to yourself. You feel no need to change this. Feel no embarrassment over what you’ve written. 

/I say about a series that’s 100% obviously fulfilling a kink for the author

“He’ll be okay,” Nadia whispered in my ear. “I can’t believe in a world where he finally finds love, and doesn’t get to experience it with you.”

I do. Mainly because I refuse that there’s a happy ending in this series where Vail rides off into the sunset with literally any of these men. Every single character in this series has been completely without redemption. 

Yes, even the random omegas, because they enable this shit behaviour and feed into the system that keeps them oppressed. 

It made me wonder about my cousins, Lucas and Elijah. Had they already been on this journey, and that was why they’d started a refuge? I brushed a finger over the round ears of the fallen panther. Could my cousins be different, too? Or had they just discovered the Skin King’s true legacy and decided they owed something to the lost and the broken? Mr. Wentworth, Theo and even Sin had called them dangerous, but I was learning that until I saw the truth with my own eyes, I couldn’t know anything for certain. 

At least she’s finally starting to think for herself.

I’ve also noticed that she’s started to grow a spine as well. 

Maybe there is hope for the ending. I doubt it, but you never know.

This time, he used his fist. And I didn’t feel a thing.

Chapter 21 summary: Vail asks Marnie what’s up between her and Reed. She’s drinking the Kool-Aid too much, because she’s completely and utterly forgiven him for the shit he did to her when he thought she was a dud. Kind of exactly like Vail’s relationships with every man. Marnie tries to apologise for having taken Reed away, when she knows that Jasper wanted to enter into a triad so that all three men could be with Vail. But that was back when Jasper thought that Vail had chosen Cal. 

They go to sleep, but Vail has a nightmare. She wakes up and goes to the front of the cave, where there are some ancient cave paintings. During her first trip to the cave, Pearl had pointed them out. Now, Vail has way more understanding of them, and takes a closer look. She sees details that don’t line up with the lies that Pearl was taught: they aren’t all werewolves. Vail now circles back to the whispered rumours of her cousins, who are supposed to have a “sanctuary for freaks and outcasts”. Everybody warned her against going to them, claiming that they were dangerous. Now, Vail is certain that this information was simply misguided because of xenophobia. 

Then, a powerful spell is put over her, and she’s helpless as she’s forced to march from the cave. It’s Cal, whom she recognises immediately because he “smells like a dirty spice rack”. She calls him out on his shit, saying that she told Jasper everything. However, without Jasper there to actually back her up, Cal doesn’t believe it. He beats her up. 

Chapter 22

But I’d barely taken two steps before his alpha power fell on me like an avalanche, and I slid slideways into a snowdrift. 

My main question is: if she isn’t actually a wolf, then why does the werewolf alpha power affect her SO much?

Follow up comment: if she really is half a wolf like people claim, wouldn’t the power affect her half as much as regularly? 

“Are you talking about the Alpha of the Hunter Moon Clan?” I demanded. 

“Ooh-la-la,” Dixon chortled. “We’re just simple mountain cats, V. We don’t go in for all the fancy titles and shit.”

The cats calling the wolves out on their titled shit is so goddamned funny. 

And if there was one thing Trey Barakat had taught me, it was that you couldn’t escape a predator who’d already tasted your blood.

Chapter 22 summary: Vail struggles and eventually gets out of Cal’s truck, only for him to use whatever BS power he has over her to make her pass out. When she wakes up, she’s in another car with Trey driving, and two randos from The Horn (her home) basically holding her in place. They say a lot of shit, but what it boils down to is that Trey is kidnapping Vail and forcing her into yet another unwanted relationship. Also, they used Cal to get to her right now… Which makes her angry, because Cal hit her so hard she blacked out for a second. 

He takes her up onto a hill, which he claims is “full of proof of shifter-leopards come summer”. Which is inherently meaningless in February. He then starts to use his own version of the alpha power on her, which makes her angry. The only reason why Cal blackmailed her is because Trey forced her to shift back when the Black Den enforcers were attacking the school. Trey says that after he’s mated to Vail, he’s going to murder Cal. Like literally kill him. 

But he goes on to say that biting Vail once wasn’t enough for them to be mated to each other; she needs to bite him back. Well, to let her panther decide to do it. And I’m seriously going to laugh if she shifts, and is like “Nah man, fuck you.” 

[aerospectrum]

"Well hey, it's no skin off my nose if you choose not to imbibe on this occasion, there's always room for a fancy cherry coke." he offered her a soft smile, using his elbow to motion to the soda as well. "And I happen to know the guy in charge of the maraschino cherries, so feel free to splurge." he teased jokingly.

"As for the sausage fest of guys lurking around the croc infested waters most of these bars are... I can't help you out too much." he dried another glass, shoving it back into its place alongside the rest. He wanted to ask why she had it out for men, but his better judgement told him to hold onto the inquiry for a bit. "Can't exactly say I'm a shining star among the duds either." he flashed her another smile.

Dean made a face at her reaction to downing the drink, holding back a soft laugh he took the cup and rinsed it before setting it in the busser with other dirty glasses. "Lemon water it is." he smirked, "So... you gotta name or are we just staying strangers?" he asked, holding out his hand across the bartop. "I'm Dean by the way."

Madison wasn’t used to this sort of place. Let alone this sort of charm.

Very carefully she used her manicure nails to pull out a piece of ice from the drink. She plopped it into her mouth.

“I’m starting to think there are no good men left in this swamp of a world.” Her eyes went to the whiskey. “I’m kinda a light weight.” She grabbed the glass & smelled it, trying not to make a face infront id the bartender. “Thanks…”

While staring down into the glass, she wished she could stop imagining the horror from that evening. She had come home early from work that day to find candles & music playing. The first thing she thought: ‘he’s finally going to propose’.

Madison rushed to the bedroom. Her bedroom. And there he was. Her ‘loving’ boyfriend of years, bending over some blonde she had never seen.

Her boyfriend. Her bedroom. Her apartment.

And the worst part? He had the nerve to look at her & say, “get out.”

She closed her eyes throwing her head back, & the drink in. Only the drink held more than her eyes first saw. Because she started to cough. “Ughh…” she shook her saying. “Nope, no, no… I’ll take my lemon water.”

[indignantlemur]

Emigre Art:

Shral: finished

Thelen: finished with detail shots

Miraal: in-progress update

Ambassador Thoris: finished (tentative)

Vrath: finished

'An Eventful Meeting' : finished

IndignantLemur's Very Serious & Accurate Antennae Expression Guide: here!

Dagmar's courting ring: here

Kelenthor the Clanless: here

Fancy Drinks and Fancy Duds: in-progress

Andorian Chitin Map Reference: Thelen, Thoris, Shral: here

IndignantLemur's Very Serious & Accurate Quad Marriage Diagram: here

Dagmar sketches: here

Thoris sketches: here

Shral sketches: here

Hallway Conversations: in-progress

Andorian Mermaids/Swimming with Dagmar: finished

Dagmar's Visor & Mask Design: here

Dagmar's Marshmallow Suit: here

Thoris' Weapon Collection: here

Winter Holiday Series: Dagmar/Shral 2023: finished Tariffs (& secret seasonal panel) 2024: here

Cozy Scenes: Dagmar & Thelen: here Dagmar & Shral: here

CANON Fan Art: Shran: here

Commissions/Gifts:

Serrin of Romulus: finished (@bigblissandlove1 commission)

S'Talon of Romulus: finished (@bigblissandlove1 commission)

Gift commission: finished (@the-lady-general commission)

Emperor Georgiou: finished (@the-lady-general commission)

Lt Hemmer: finished (@nichestartrekkie0-0 gift)

Cmdr Ophelia Zubira: finished (@unknownfacelessfanfictions)

RETURN TO THE DIRECTORY!

[two-red-lungs]

Could you write reader finding out food tlb liked from when they were human/their childhood and making it for them as a gift?

I know you wanted a fic but I have so so many thoughts about each of the boys that I'm gonna collect them all in this post!

The Lost Boys: Their Favorite Old-World Foods

Marko:

The little Italian stallion <3333

I HC him as growing up in inner Florence, Italy, during the artistic revolution. He was fairly elite/in high demand as a model

Basically, a brat with an ego

Still despite rubbing shoulders with the greats, he loved to come home to his family’s little city house and eat his mamma’s cooking

I think Marko’s favorite ‘old world’ dish is Garmugia: a simple springtime soup with cured pancetta, lima beans, scallions, and all sorts of other green veggies

It’s not fancy or especially delicious at all. But I think the smell, the taste, would make him freeze up, flooded with memories

and maybe for a second he’d stop being a feral, combative, snapping undead animal, and you’d catch a glimpse of the athletic young human from centuries ago

Dwayne: 

My personal HC for Dwayne is he got put in a residential school for native Americans at a young age, basically ripped away from his family

He probably escaped, hightailing it out at around 16, and then survived alone on the streets of early 1800s colonizer cities with the rest of the dredges of society 

(Which to me gives him a very strong “I fucking hate capitalism I truly hate this country and deep down I do genuinely want to see this broken system burnt to the ground, also FUCK cops” mentality)

I think Dwayne’s most memorable old-world food would be Gingerbread. Not the gingerbread we know: a soft, cake-like bread flavored with molasses, ground ginger, and cinnamon. Very dark and not very sweet

He worked odd (and illegal) jobs to stay alive and when winter rolled around street vendors would sell big hot slices of the stuff

Bringing him some real, legit circa-1810-gingerbread would probably make him remember the far-distant, little moments of actual joy he had in his human life

AND you’d probably be able to convince him to actually talk about his past for once

Paul:

Country boyyyy, I love youuuu

In my mind Paul is rural midwest, late 1800s when the industrial revolution was really kickin’ off and the cities were poppin (with drugs and alcohol lmao)

He was probably raised on a farm & did farmwork most of the time. Picture him in a low ponytail and work duds, pitching hay. That was probably for the best because that dude 100% has dyslexia and a math learning disability

But oooooh he was prettyyyyy and he knew it: I think Paul eventually ran away from his family’s farm and basically became a partyboy in a big city, like New York, and was changed there

I think Paul’s favorite old-world food is (brace for the cliche) Apple Pie!

Probably a rare treat his momma and sisters would cook up in the autumn and winter: smelling a good, home-style pie now makes him think of barefoot evening sitting on the farmyard porch, listening to cicadas

Unrelated, but I think Paul- that’s right, partyboy druggie bonerboy Paulie- still remembers how to tie a hog

David:

I have conflicting thoughts abt this motherfucker

His backstory HC for me is still a little elusive, but I have some basic details for him

He comes from a pretty fucked-up biological family (probably a crazy-abusive dad and absent mother), was 100% drafted in a war at some point (I suspect the civil war), and 100% deserted his station in that war. Out of cowardice, fear, or distain, I don’t know. 

I don’t think David really has a favorite food?? He’ll eat plain rice. Plain, oily noodles. Hard-tack biscuits. Literally anything like whatever it’s not his personal thing

David like drinking and smoking. I think David’s favorite old-world vice is Irish Whiskey. Again, not the drink we think of. A lot less refined, very rough and coarse: it was the most popular and easily-accessible spirit in the 1860s 

I think it reminds him of ‘simpler times’: just him, alone, human, in a dingy old bar, getting the cheapest drink he can get, ducking his head to avoid being seen by military officials and wondering where he can run away to next

Give him a straight shot of Irish whiskey in an old-style enameled bar glass and it’s one of the only times he won’t be full-on Mansplain Manipulate Manwh0re: he’ll probably sit on a beachside bench with you, drinking in silence, watching the waves crashing far away. Lost in thought. Looking as old as he really is.

[tumbledfreckles]

i’ll prompt you :) childhood friends run into each other after years (i’m assuming you were joking, but even if it’s in ten years, i’d love to see your take on this prompt)

Hahaha I never said I was kidding! I hope you like this anon, although I feel you’ve taken advantage of my request. You seem to excited to be the anon who challenged me. But this was a great prompt. 

Enjoy xx

Holy fuck he was fit. 

It wasn’t possible that someone could get more fit as they got older, was it? Particularly when they were already the fittest person you knew. Surely they wouldn’t get more fit over time. They would get less fit.

Definitely less. 

And yet, as Lily stole multiple glances across the crowded space, sneaking looks between murmurs and feinted nods of attentiveness at the woman before her, whose name she wished she could remember, she confirmed the truth of it. 

James Potter had gotten even fitter in the years since she’d seen him last. 

It wasn’t really fair, but of course, probably what could be expected. He’d grown a lot in their last years of secondary. He’d been lanky, towering above most of their class. Towering above her. Great face, of course, even better hair. She’d itched to run her fingers through it more than once when they’d been Head students together. But there had always been a boyish quality about him. Not quite grown into his own body, at times he’d resembled a gangly, Bambi-like fawn, all limbs. 

He was all man now. 

He’d spotted her too, Lily was sure. They’d caught eyes a couple of times across the room. She’d smiled, tipped her drink to him. James had winked in return. He was standing with his parents, who were standing with the hosts of the evening, the McKinnons. Marlene’s mum was lit up with pride, her eldest son getting married at last. They’d spared no expense on a beautiful rehearsal party. 

Lily hadn’t seen him with a date, but someone as fit as James Potter, did not turn up to a destination wedding without one. 

The same could not be said for Lily. 

With no one to rescue her until Marlene and Dorcas had completed the family rounds, Lily finally found herself a break in the conversation and excused herself. The poor woman didn’t look particularly happy to leave her anecdote unfinished. Just what she, a postman, and a possum had in common, Lily wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t hanging around to find out. 

She desperately needed another drink. 

“Champagne, please. Actually, give me two, I’ll drink one here and take one with me,” Lily grimaced a smile at the lovely girl behind the bar. Luckily, instead a judging look, the girl only laughed. 

“Hard night?” 

“I should know better than to come to these things stag.” 

“You stole my line, Evans.” 

Lily turned from where her elbows rested on the bar, a smile already turned up the corners of her lips. She knew that voice. All this time, it hadn’t lost its warmth. Its charm. “Potter, fancy seeing you here.” 

“Evans,” he bent to kiss her cheek, a hand on her waist. The touches lit her skin on fire instantly. “It’s so great to see you.” 

“You as well,” she just managed to plant her own kiss, feeling the scratch of a light stubble, before he straightened up. Her hand, used to brace herself on his shoulder, now trailed down his arm. It curved around his bicep, admiring the well developed muscle. It dragged along his forearm, exposed by the rolled sleeves of his linen shirt. It caught on his hand. 

Her heart skipped a beat when his fingers curled to link with hers, holding her in place. 

“Did I hear that right? You’re here alone?” James tilted his head. “That can not be true.” 

“And why’s that?” Lily tried not to let her cheeks redden at the way he was looking at her, but he was making it really difficult. 

“Because you look more bloody gorgeous than you did when you were seventeen, Evans. And boys are meant to get smarter when they become men. Someone must have snapped you by now.” 

“I’m not a fish, Potter,” Lily raised her chin tartly. “I don’t just jump on anyone’s line. And apparently you’re here alone, as well. I thought at least Sirius would be on your arm.” 

“He’s on Moony’s,” James nodded towards a corner of the room. Lily followed his sight to see that sure enough, Sirius and Remus sat at the table there, hands linked, heads bent together as they laughed at something Peter was saying. 

“Wow. I never thought they’d get it together.” 

“Two years now,” James smiled warmly as he watched his mates. 

“And what about you? No one special? You’re really here stag?” Lily was aware that the space between was not considered appropriate for someone you hadn’t seen in many years. Wasn’t appropriate for someone who you weren’t intimately involved with. They were so close she had to tip her head right back to be able to look up into James’ twinkling eyes. 

But James hadn’t moved back. Hadn’t shown he had any negative feelings toward her standing in his space. If anything, he appeared to be leaning further into her space. 

“I am, indeed, here alone,” James sighed dramatically. He reached forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Lily’s ear. “Sad, isn’t it?” 

“Someone as fit as you? An absolute tragedy.” 

Lily reached for the now filled glass of champagne from the bar, breaking eye contact with James only long enough to nod her thanks to the waitress. She took a slow sip, noting the way his eyes followed the movement of her lips. 

His tongue darted out to lick his own. 

“You know, Evans, you always were my one that got away. I guess I just never got over you.” 

She knew he was kidding, but no one had told her heart. It beat an up tempo drum in her chest. 

“Well, you should have asked me out, then.” 

“I did.” 

“When we were fifteen, Potter. You were a berk.” 

“And you were a heartbreaker.” 

“You should have asked me out, again,” Lily shook her head at his antics. “When we were seventeen. You were much better then.” 

James’ free hand had returned to her waist, fingers scrunching into the soft fabric of her dress. Pressing into the skin underneath. 

“What if I asked you out now?” his voice was low, huskier than she’d ever heard it. “What would you say?” 

“That depends,” Lily had returned her glass to the bar. Her unoccupied fingers landed on his chest, toying with one of the small white buttons on his shirt. 

“On what?” James’ head bent even closer, his breath mingling with hers. 

“On how well you kiss, of course,” Lily pushed up on her toes, steadying herself against him. “Wouldn’t want to find out you’re a dud after all these years.” 

“Now that really would be a tragedy, Evans.” 

James followed these words with a swift but soft claim on her lips, cancelling out any retort she might have made. From the way his hands moved to bury in her hair, tilt the angle of her head to gain better access to her mouth, pull her even closer against him, Lily was pretty sure he was going to get that date. 

He really was unfairly fit. 

[sporadicthingcollection]

Skin and Bones: Chapter 1/4 (Cad Bane x F!Reader)

Summary: While in the middle of a job, Cad Bane crosses paths with you once again. He proposes you help each other -- you'll both go away happy for once. But, as things usually do when you're involved, things quickly go pear-shaped and it's up to him to save both of your sorry asses. Sequel to "Business and Pleasure."

Pairing: Cad Bane/F!Reader

Rating: 🌶️ Explicit 🌶️

Warnings for this chapter: Murder, gambling

CHAPTER 1

Too high, can't come down It's in the air and it's all around Can you feel me now?

---

Cad Bane is not a happy man.

He hates getting mysterious coordinates that lead him to a backwater mining town with one saloon, he hates hearing from voices being coy about their identity, and he hates when they promise a big score. The last time that had happened, Count kriffin’ Dooku himself hired him to spring Moralo Eval from prison, run a gauntlet of death traps, and lead the kidnapping of the chancellor.

Which would have worked if someone hadn’t been playing dress up with Rako Hardeen’s face.

Yes, he was still mad about that.

As such, when he sees Marrok trot across the threshold with his master not far behind, he can’t help but let out a sigh.

Embo has similar feelings. 「We kidnapping the chancellor again?」 he quips as he sits on the stool next to him.

“Sure as shit hope not,” Bane mutters. He waves the bartender over and orders a drink for the other bounty hunter. He wouldn’t call him a friend, but they had a mutual respect for one another.

「Regardless, we check for Jedi this time.」 Embo lifts his mask slightly, just enough to take a quick swig. Bane tries to steal a peek at his... Do Kyuzo have mouths? But he lowers the mask before he can get a good look. 「Is it just us?」

“There’s one more, but he won’t be joining us in person.”

Bane turns to the bartender and realizes he’s looking at the owner of the mysterious voice. He’s a demure little fellow, a Human with blonde hair and holospecs. He looks between the two bounty hunters as he polishes a beer glass.

“Cynga Paol,” he says, answering the question on Bane’s lips. He smiles. “Pleasure to meet you. I have a proposal for the two of you.”

「If you’re kidnapping someone, I’m not interested,」 Embo says quickly. Marrok wuffs in agreement.

Paol just smiles. “No kidnapping today, gentlemen.”

He steps out from behind the bar and waves for them to follow him. Embo glances at Bane. He gives him a shrug. Worth hearing the man out.

They slide off their stools and follow Paol to a holotable in the corner. Bane brings his drink with him. It’s decent whiskey. Why waste it?

A few button presses later, and an image of a very large, very fancy, very Core World building appears.

“Apicay Coda. Finest casino on Coruscant,” Paol says. He smiles. “We, my friends, are going to rob it.”

---

A week later and Cad Bane is still not a happy man.

But he will be, in about an hour. That’s when Ike will patch the security feed of the vault and Embo will make a ruckus on the main floor of the casino. In the commotion, he can slip into the vault unseen and grab the cases of unmarked credits that arrived today.

Now, he just has to kill time.

He tugs at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves. The casino had a dress code that required him to give up his usual duds in exchange for something more “respectable,” as Cynga put it. He managed to keep his hat, at least -- after some threats and bargaining on his part.

Sitting at the bar, he nurses a whiskey. So many people in one place makes him nervous. He can’t scan for threats as effectively, can’t tell friend from foe. Not to mention the noise -- constant chatter, a whole band playing, and the clatter and clang of the machinery. How can anyone focus in here?

Sounds of an argument drift toward him, rapidly growing closer. A nasty one, it sounds like, though he can only hear one half of it. For lack of anything better to do, he drops a few eaves.

“I had it under control!” a man is saying. A woman replies, though he can’t make out what. “Everything woulda been fine, if you hadn’t--” More words he can’t make out. “Don’t-- Get back here!”

The stamp of heels approaches, and he glances up.

His heart nearly stops. There’s no karking way. It can’t be.

It is.

You come stomping by in all your finery. A fur stole draped across your shoulders, a floor-length dress with matching gloves, and a feathery fascinator pinned to your coiffed hair.

He hopes that it isn't you, but then you speak. “Shut your damn mouth, Ghoni. I don’t want to hear it.”

It’s definitely you. You don’t even notice him. That stings a bit more than he’d care to admit.

He wants to ignore you. He really does. He really should. But the barrel-chested man you’re arguing with reaches into his jacket as he follows you. Bane knows a holdout blaster when he sees one, and he’d be quite disappointed to see you shot in the back.

And because any other commotion besides Embo’s would ruin the plan, of course. Not because he’s actually worried.

The man follows you into the powder room. Bane waits a moment to enter. He sets the lock on the door behind him. Just in case. He peers around the corner.

You're powdering your face in the mirror and looking very angry about it. Ghoni looms over you, furious.

“I almost had it!” he’s saying. “I was this close! It was your dice that crapped out on me!”

You whirl on him. “My dice?!” You reach into your cleavage and pull out a trio of small cubes. “These are my dice!”

Ghoni’s expression drops as he realizes his mistake. But instead of owning up to it like a man, he just gets mad. “Why didn’t you tell me you switched them out?!”

“I tried to, but you were making eyes at that Theelin floozy,” you say. You replace the dice to continue powdering yourself. “She stole your wallet, by the way. Also tried to tell you that.”

Ghoni, now red in the face, grabs your shoulder and spins you around. “You don’t talk to me like that,” he growls. “I should kill you here and take your share for myself.”

You have your back to him, but Bane can imagine the defiance on your face. “Yeah, sure. Explain to our employer why you couldn’t pick those analog locks.”

Bane frowns. There was nothing in the blueprints about analog locks. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

His thoughts are interrupted by a sharp smack and a shriek. You clutch your face, eyes wide and watery. Another sharp smack and you go sprawling to the ground. You miss the edge of the counter, but your knees take the brunt of it. Ghoni approaches you, rolling up his sleeves.

Rage flares in Bane’s chest. Pulling out his own holdout blaster, he steps out from behind his corner and gives a quick whistle. Ghoni whirls around. His barrel chest makes him an easy target, and Bane has three shots off before he crumples into a lifeless heap.

“Ain’t no way to treat a lady,” he mutters. He gives him a prod with his foot. Satisfied with the lack of response, he turns to you.

You stare at him with a mix of relief and disbelief. You find your words eventually. “Why is it everywhere I go, you show up?”

“Yer welcome.” He grabs Ghoni’s collar and starts to pull him. “Ya gonna help me move dis lump or not?”

You climb shakily to your feet. Grabbing the dead man’s boots, you help drag him towards a closet. You’re stronger than you look, he observes.

“How’d you even know I was here?” you ask.

The closet is unlocked, and he heaves the body inside. “I didn’t ‘til yer boyfriend started makin’ a scene. Saw him reachin' for his holdout and thought ya might be in trouble.”

Your nose scrunches up. “‘Boyfriend’ is a strong word. He brought me on for a job,” you say with a curl of your lip. Suddenly, your expression goes neutral and you turn to him. “You want in?”

“On bein’ yer boyfriend? Or on the job?” You shoot him a withering look as he knocks down a few shelves of linen to disguise the body’s presence. “No t’ both. Already on a job o’ my own.”

“Then tell me what you’re after so we can stay out of each other’s way.”

Bane regards you with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t trust you. But you’re a sensible woman. You wouldn’t damn yourself just to rat him out.

“Credits from da vault,” he says. You smile, and he frowns. He levels his blaster at you. “Don’ tell me you’re goin’ after ‘em too.”

Still smiling, you shake your head. You remove a holopuck from your cleavage -- again with the cleavage! -- and switch it on. An image of a massive gem appears, hanging on a pendant with a number of other stones.

“Mighty big rock,” he drawls.

“The biggest,” you say, still smiling. Desire glitters in your eyes. “Two hundred carats of flawless pink amazptase. Last owner lost it in a sabacc tournament. My employer wants it, so here I am.”

Stars, you’re beautiful when you talk like that. “So how ya gettin' to it?”

"Special dice."

“Dey explosive?”

You laugh your chirpy little laugh as you deposit the puck back into your dress. “If you win enough, the pit boss has a little talk with you before she gives you your earnings. She lets you sweat it out before she comes to meet with you. Ghoni was supposed to cause a distraction out here to extend that time enough for me to get into the vault through her office, but...”

The light goes out of your eyes, and you cast a frustrated look towards the closet. You punch the panel to close the door. Wordlessly, you return to the mirror to continue powdering your face.

Bane pays you no mind. A plan is blooming. One he’s excited about. One that’s easier than the original plan, which involved shafts and laser cutters. This one would involve gambling, lockpicking... and you.

A vast improvement, in and of itself.

“I could give ya a bigger distraction,” he says.

You pause and look at him in the mirror. “Explain.”

“My associates and I had a similar plan,” he says, approaching you. He draws a finger across the nape of your neck, making you shiver and suck in a breath. “Let’s combine ‘em. I get my credits, ya get yer jewelry. We both go home happy fer once.”

You turn to eye him. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he says. He moves his hand to your collarbone, dragging his thumb along the ridges of your spine, all the way up to your pretty hair. It tickles as it brushes his knuckles.

Your mouth is parted slightly, revelling in his touch. You gaze at him, your eyes lidded, a little smirk on your face. “And if I politely decline?”

He can’t help but smile as he leans down, close enough to brush the shell of your ear with his lips. He tightens his grip on you. “Den I knock ya out and turn ya in fer da reward,” he purrs.

Bane wishes he could bottle your expression and keep it forever. Wear it as cologne. Bathe in it. Paint it on the nose of the Justifier. Lust evaporating into confusion, shock, anger -- it’s glorious. He considers himself blessed to have been able to see it.

“You wouldn’t,” you hiss.

“I would.” He straightens up. “So what’ll it be, li’l lady?”

You shove him away from you, scowling. “You’re not giving me much of a choice.”

He gives you a fangs-bared grin. “Finish yer face so we can get started.” He slips his comlink from its hiding spot. “Ike, come in.”

The com crackles to life. “What’s up, Cad?”

He bristles at the young man’s impudence. “Pull up da building blueprints. Tell me if dere’s anything about analog locks,” he says, “and don’t ever call me dat. Only people I like call me dat.”

“Must be a short list. And analog locks?” He scoffs. “No one uses analog locks. That’s ridiculous.”

“Can’t hack an analog lock. They wouldn’t be in the main blueprint,” you say. You put your powder puff back into its case and slip it into your cleavage -- how are you fitting all that stuff in there? “They’re in the encrypted layer.”

“Encrypted layer? There’s no--” A long, long pause. “Oh. How ‘bout that.”

Bane grits his teeth. He hates working with amateurs. “Just get it open and report back.” He stuffs the comlink back into his jacket. He looks at you. “Ready?”

You sigh dramatically. “As I’ll ever be.”

He unlocks the door. You step out first. After a few moments, he follows. He quickly catches up to you, draping an arm around your shoulders. Partly to keep you from scampering off, partly to make his hovering around you look natural.

You yip in surprise as he pulls you against him. He’s been close to you before -- very close, multiple times -- but he never noticed how warm you were. And how pretty you smelled. Like a flower shop.

“We got thirty minutes,” he says. “Where we makin’ dis bread?”

You toss your chin to the karconi tables. “Look for an Aqualish dealer with a cybernetic eye. Paid him to look the other way with the dice.”

The dealer is easy to spot. Bane ushers you over, and he slips the pair of you in alongside the other players. He puts some chips down as you bend over, seemingly to adjust your shoe, but he sees you slip the loaded dice from your bosom.

“Shaved?” he asks, voice low.

You shake your head. “Chemical reaction.”

Before you can elaborate, the dealer hooks the casino’s dice over to you. You scoop them up and, with a quick sleight of hand that he’d have missed if he wasn’t looking for it, swap them out for your trio of dice. You roll them around in your hand before presenting them to him.

“For luck?” you ask with a coy smile.

Oh, he still hates that smile. It still makes his stomach flip. And yet he can’t help but return with one of his own. Pursing his lips, he blows a little puff over the dice.

Your smile turns to a grin. You rattle the dice in your hand. “C’mon, a dress for Mama, a hat for Papa, and new shoes for the baby...!”

Your throw is stiff and the dice go soaring across the table before hitting the edge. It’s a throw made by someone who’s only gambled at tables and not rolled bones in dim alleys.

It’s no wonder you roll Gran eyes.

Your face slips into shock as the dealer hooks them over to the next player. “Looks like yer dice did crap out,” he quips quietly.

You shoot him a glare, only to do a double take. “Your damn tubes!” you hiss. “I bet those messed with it!”

You explain how the weighting works in a low voice -- something to do with exhaled carbon dioxide -- but he only half-listens. He watches the dice nervously as they go around the table, hoping it’s not too obvious that they’re doctored.

Fortunately, Lady Luck smiles upon him. The white-hatted Besalisk to his side rolls a 'Tooine queen and the dice move to Bane.

He places a few chips down before picking the dice up. He juggles them in the hollow of his palm, adjusting the numbers he wants face upwards. You eye him dangerously all the while. Just roll so I can have them, the look says.

He gives you a fangs-bared smile. He holds the dice up to your lips. “Give ‘em a blow, izrin.”

The slightest hint of confusion creases your brow, but it soon passes. Glowering at him, you give a curt puff.

With a practiced flourish, he tosses the dice across the table, giving his fingers a snap on the backswing and closing his eyes. Niner twelve, he silently prays. Niner twelve, niner twelve...

He’s not a religious man, but there are no atheists in casinos.

“Twelve,” the dealer says. The dice clack against the stick as he hooks them over. “Your roll again.”

Opening his eyes, Bane lets out the breath he was holding and glances at you. You look like you might faint from relief, based on your pallid cheeks and the way you’re white-knucking the edge of the table and slumping slightly--

Oh. Shit. You might actually be fainting.

Bane wraps an arm around you, hooking his arm around your torso. “Don’tchu fall,” he hisses.

“I won’t,” you croak. You clear your throat and straighten up to give his chest a pat. “Good roll. Think you can do it again?”

He scoops the dice up and gives them a heft, rotating the cubes to the numbers he wants. He holds them up to your mouth. “Depends. Ya feelin’ lucky?”

You give him another little smile. Your blow is more languid this time, circling your lips into a perfect ‘o’ and puffing your cheeks out.

For a brief moment, he’s reminded of your first encounter. How you wrapped your lips around his cock, your cheeks puffed out to accommodate his length...

What he wouldn’t give to see that again.

He tosses the dice, snapping on the backswing. Another twelve, as expected. He makes a triumphant fist and glances at you. You clap your hands together as you grin broadly, making little dimples on your cheeks.

Three more rolls gives him two twelves and a nine. He’s starting to amass quite the stack of chips, which you dutifully bet on his behalf.

As the dealer redistributes the chips and takes the bets of the other patrons, you wrap your arms around Bane’s waist, leaning into him. He lets you.

“For once, I’m glad I ran into you,” you say.

He has a wry response all ready to go when a hand grabs his ass and squeezes. He goes straight as a post, and an embarrassing noise almost escapes him. Almost. He’s able to bite his lip and swallow it before it gets out.

The hand squeezes again, and he looks down to see you looking at him with lidded eyes and a sultry smile. He rummages around in his brain for a reply, only to come up with nothing. For the first time in a long while, he’s at a loss for words.

He feels his comlink buzz in his jacket. There’s his out, thank the Maker.

“Gotta take dis,” he says, slipping from your grip and handing the dice to you. “Don’t ruin my streak.”

Your face falls slightly, but you nod. You give them a shake and toss them as he slips away. He doesn’t see what you roll, but based on the reactions of everyone else, it was a good one.

He slips into a small alcove. He pulls out the comlink. “Talk t’ me.”

“I got good news and bad news,” Ike says. “The good news is--”

Bane interrupts him. “Bad news first.”

“Analog lock on the vault doors.”

Of course. Bane clenches his jaw. When this is all said and done, he’s going to strangle this kid. “Good news?”

“...I got the blueprint decrypted.”

Nope. He’s not even going to waste his energy strangling him. Two shots to the head, quick and easy. “Fortunately fer you, I ran into an... associate who can take care of da locks. Yer splitting yer share with ‘er.”

“But--!”

A roar of cheers rises from the karconi table. He looks up to see the Besalisk wrap a pair of arms around you as you celebrate, one on your shoulder and one around your waist.

“Keep rolling like that, princess, and we’re all gettin’ well!” he booms.

You give him a dazzling smile, then glance over your shoulder at Bane. The smile stays, but your eyes narrow a bit. Hurry back or you might get replaced.

He knows you’re messing with him and he hates that it works. His blood boils.

“Make sure Embo keeps on schedule,” he growls into his comlink. Before Ike can reply, he stuffs it back into his jacket and makes his way back to the table.

You’re about to roll again, the Besalisk’s arms around you, but he interrupts before you toss the dice.

“Dis guy crowdin' ya?” Bane speaks slowly, pulling his lip back enough to show the man his fangs.

The Besalisk is smart. “Just thought I’d show my appreciation for your lucky charm,” he says. He withdraws his hands and, with a polite doff of his hat, steps back.

Bane squeezes in, snaking his arm around your waist and taking the dice from your hands. “Minx,” he hisses.

You stick your little pink tongue out at him. In retaliation, he intends to give your ass a pinch. Just a quick pinch, but as soon as he gets his hands on it, he changes his mind. Sweet Maker above, that’s a fine ass. Firm. Round. Shapely. Soft.

He digs his fingers in hard enough to bruise. You jump, knocking over your pile of chips. You give him a half-hearted glower as you gather them up. You place the bet down and, when he presents them to you, huff across the dice.

You’re cute when you’re mad. ---

⬅⬅⬅ | "Catch Us If You Can Masterpost" | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡ ---

Reader: *grabs Bane's ass* Bane: *cad.exe has stopped working*

Thank you for reading! Special thanks to Magoo and my bf for beta-ing.

[pascalispretty]

dial ‘n’ for narcos - one

The Colombian Correspondent

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Adult themes, references to death, references to violent crime, references to sex, swearing, smoking, drinking

Summary: A Narcos Film Noir AU. Javier Peña has returned to Colombia, and is determined to see justice handed down to the Godfathers of Cali. On his way, he meets a fresh-off-the-plane journalist with a tip burning her hole in her pocket that might just help him crack the Cali racket. (ao3)

¡Al Fin Cayó! The headline of El Tiempo declared, the blocky type seeping slightly into the thin paper where it had been exposed to the humidity. 

Or perhaps it had gotten damp in transit. The papers could take days to arrive at best; the Argentine headlines were almost always weeks out of date by the time they reached the office.

With a sigh, you spread out the paper on your narrow desk, trying not to smudge the ink any further. Below the headline, with all the subtlety and grace of a sledgehammer, was a photo of Escobar laid out on a slab, his mother at his head.

It was nice to know that the news game was a crass one wherever you were in the world.

The reports of Pablo Escobar’s death had crackled over the airwaves well over a week ago, though stories were conflicting.

The police shot him. An American did it. He shot himself.

Either way, Escobar was dead.

To your annoyance, the article was also scanty on the details, barely more than four paragraphs long. Even the cables that Sierra had managed to get through had been sparse, especially on what would happen now that he was dead.

You rapped your knuckles on the walnut wood of the desk before yanking the drawer open. There’s a mess of paper inside, scraps of telegrams and envelopes, unsent memos, and unused stamps.

Somewhere in there was your ticket out of here.

Buried somewhere in there is a letter from Sierra, prematurely aged by how often you’ve looked it over in the last few days.

You found it underneath a receipt for a cab and pored over it once more. Sierra Nimri had been The Telegraph’s Colombian correspondent ever since Pablo Escobar had become an international news story.

Now that he was dead, Teddy James wanted to pull her out of Colombia and rotate her into Cuba, to replace Harry Johnson there. Officially, Harry was getting bumped up to the Brussels gig; unofficially, the higher-ups were getting twitched about how much time he was spending with the commies.

Either way, Teddy James, Latin American Editor and nephew of the publisher, wanted Sierra in Cuba, and so she was going to Cuba. To his mind, her gig in Colombia was over.

You disagreed.

Sierra wrote to you from time to time, handwritten letters accompanying the typed manuscript pages of her latest article. Usually, it was just trivial; notes asking for more of an allowance for bribes or passing on gossip that didn’t have a place in the paper proper.

You’d been working for the Latin American desk of The Telegraph for almost two years now, and nothing had made you sit bolt upright in your rickety chair the way the last paragraph of Sierra’s last letter had.

At the start of the missive, she’d acknowledged Teddy’s request to ship her off to Cuba, but she was adamant that she be replaced in Colombia by another reporter.

Cocaine shipments were up, she argued. The Godfathers of Cali were the new big racket in town, and the paper needed a newshawk on the ground to keep an eye on things. 

There was also the sensational tip she had been given. 

She had been told by Andrés Pastrana that he had listened to a series of tapes that he called ‘narco-cassettes’. She had been told that what was on them was explosive. 

And then, before Pastrana could detonate whatever bombshell he had been about to drop, he’d vanished. 

His left index finger had washed up in the Cauca river, where the rest of him had doubtless been tossed. Now he was having his bones bleached by the water, his secret gone into the river along with him.

Still, it was the break you had been waiting for. You had spent years, first in school and then in various news offices, working your way up the totem pole. You were tired of covering congressional campaign breakfasts and pet pageants. 

Your time working the Latin American desk at The Telegraph had entailed little more than writing occasional updates on stories broken by the correspondents on the ground. From your tiny, cramped office by the stairs, you had read about assassinations and coups, about guerrillas in the jungles and juntas in the pampas. 

You were determined to get the Colombian gig, no matter what Teddy thought about it being a waste of money. 

With a long sigh, you ran your finger along the edge of the letter. Sierra’s writing looked like a spider had danced a jig in some ink, but you’re used to it by now. Holding the worn paper close to your heart, you pushed your chair back and stood up. 

Teddy usually strolled back in from his liquid lunch with the sports editor around two; it was ten past now, and the best time you could think of to argue your case. Hoping the alcohol has done its job on your boss, you took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped out of the office. 

Pastrana had been an important guy, a presidential candidate. Escobar was dead, and all of his men were either pinched or offed; it had to mean Pastrana had found out something serious about Cali. They were more or less the only narco game left in town, certainly the only ones with enough pull to murder a potential president.

There was a story in there somewhere, you could feel it. You needed to see for yourself if you could shake anything loose, and you were past positive that you could talk Teddy into letting you replace Sierra. 

You just had to hope you didn’t end up dumped in the river yourself for your troubles.  

* * * 

Javier Peña tugged at the collar of his shirt with one hand as he drove, trying to loosen it slightly. Before starting his new job as the DEA attaché in Colombia, he had bought fresh clothes. It had seemed like a gig that required a little more formality than his usual jeans and short-sleeved shirts offered. 

So, before he had left Laredo, he’d done a little shopping, feeling ridiculous as he trailed around the store and dodged men whose wives had clearly dragged them inside for fresh duds. 

Still, he was glad to be back in Colombia. The idea of a few weeks at home had seemed tempting at first, especially after his brush with the DEA brass. 

The wedding was what had made him come back to Colombia early. It had been a painfully awkward affair, people that Javi hadn’t seen in years rushing to shake his hand and call him a hero for helping win the War on Drugs. 

They’d been wrong on both counts.

It almost felt like a relief to pull into the parking lot of the grey hunk of concrete that housed the US Embassy in Bogotá, where people were a little more in touch with the reality of what the US was doing in Colombia.

Stoddard, his new deputy, met him at the door and quickly shattered any hope Javier had that his staff was savvier than the general public. It was like being right back at the wedding; people were practically lining up to shake his hand and ask him about Escobar.

He got rid of them as quickly as he could without being openly rude, sending the kid off to find the boxes of files kept on the Cali cartel. 

It was only when he was ensconced in his office, away from the whispers and stares of the new blood that had been rotated into his department, that he felt more at home. Once the door was closed, and the blinds were down, he was free to surround himself with paper, slip off his jacket, and settle down to work. 

The glass of scotch he’d liberally poured for himself helped too. 

From among the paper and photographs, a better image of the Cali cartel started to emerge. 

They were a bunch of slick bastards, with carefully maintained fronts. 

Gilberto and Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela were businessmen of renown in Cali, and Colombia more broadly. Gilberto had graduated from being chairman of the board for Banco de Trabajadores to setting up his own bank, First InterAmericas Bank. 

Together, they also ran a chain of drugstores, donated handsomely to their favourite football team, owned a phone company based out of Cali, and still found the time to run the largest drug cartel in history. 

They were slightly less brazen than Pablo Escobar had been; Pablo had claimed his immense wealth had originated in a firm that loaned out bicycles before he graduated up to a taxi firm. At least the brothers had more obvious sources of wealth

The brothers had two business partners; Chepe Santacruz Londoño, who handled New York operations, and Pacho Herrera, who officially helped run the drugstores, and unofficially ran security for the brothers. He also apparently owned nightclubs and bars all over, a gunsel who was drawn irrepressibly to the nightlife. 

There was an op running in Cali tonight; they’d found a brother of a cartel dealer who’d been willing to cut a deal. Two agents had fitted him up for surveillance and sent him in as a waiter to some shindig the cartel was throwing. 

It felt strange to Javier to not be there overseeing it personally. He was used to being on the ground, not up in some fancy, newly renovated office made almost entirely of glass. 

“Stoddard!” Javi called, rubbing his eyes. The words were starting to swim on the pages, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was down to the lateness of the hour or the amount of scotch he’d consumed. 

When there was no answer, he stood and pulled the glass door of his office open, the blinds swinging violently at the motion. 

“Stoddard?” He asked, but it was an empty gesture. The hallways beyond his office were dark; his staff had all left him for the night. 

With a look back over his shoulder, Javi decided to call it a night as well. His new office was a mess of paperwork and boxes already, and now that he was up and shaking the stiffness from his legs, he couldn’t imagine sitting at the low, unforgiving couch in his office again. He itched for a cigarette, but he did his best to fight the urge. 

Instead, he decided to indulge in his only remaining vice and headed for the nearest bar. 

Not far from the embassy was La Social, its name broadcast in bright neon blue above the door. It was a frequent haunt of embassy staff; Javi could remember many hours spent in here with Murphy, talking theories over a cold beer. 

Javier slipped the noose of the tie from around his throat as he walked in, and almost instantly wanted to walk back out. Clustered around a table by the window were his new team, Stoddard holding court at the head of the table. 

Before Javi could make good his escape, Stoddard noticed him, and the cute brunette Javi had clocked earlier. Time was, Javi would have tried to get her into bed. But he was older now, and his run-in with Lorraine in Laredo had thrown him off his game. 

Besides, too many of his mistakes in Colombia had been caused by his weakness for women. Better to avoid that temptation entirely than to risk another Helena, another Elisa, another Maritza. He didn’t need some pretty twist clouding his judgment this time around.

Instead, Javi shrugged his jacket off and took a seat at the bar. Whiskey would see him through, his most reliable partner.

“Hey, boss. Do you mind if we buy you a drink?” He offers, with an earnestness that Javi hasn’t seen in a long time. Was Murphy ever like that? Had Javi been, when he’d first stepped off the plane in Bogotá? The bartender set down the glass of whiskey Javi had ordered, and he took it gratefully. 

“No, thanks.” They’re all too green; he wondered what Ivy League criminology course the DEA had recruited Stoddard from. The kid seemed a little deflated by Javi’s rejection. Perhaps he had hoped for stories of dramatic gunfights with Escobar’s men, of foiled car bombings and cocaine raids. 

If Stoddard was going to survive down here, he had to get used to disappointment. 

Javi finished his first whiskey and ordered another. That itch to smoke was back; he’d spent so many nights in here, with Murphy or Carrillo, smoking until his throat hurt and talking about La Catedral or how to force Escobar out of his hole. 

Murphy was gone, playing happy families with Connie and Olivia in Miami. 

Carrillo was dead, his widow back in Madrid with her son. 

So Javier drank alone, and tried to ignore the desire for nicotine. A glance over his shoulder told him that the cute brunette from earlier was still sneaking peeks at him, and he tried to talk himself out of it. Sleeping with his staff would be a bad look for the new DEA attaché on his first day. 

Just as he was about to slip off his barstool and talk to her, he found the seat beside him being pulled out and occupied. 

Not by a cute brunette; by an overweight, balding man who looked fresh out of the jungle, still in khaki pants and heavy boots. 

“Pretty girl. Poor taste in men though.” Stechner said, making himself comfortable in the seat beside Javier. “It’s nice to see you back, Agent Peña.” Javi very much doubted that. Ever since Stechner’s appointment as the CIA station chief down here, he’d rubbed Javi up the wrong way, and the feeling had apparently been mutual. 

“Heard you signed off on me coming back.” Javi said, trying not to let his surprise show. It had taken him by surprise to hear it, especially after the CIA man had put the skids under Messina. Not that Javi had liked Messina, but there was something that rankled about the CIA being able to dispense with his former boss. 

“Did indeed. You’re no sap, Peña; you know what the deal is down here. You know Escobar wasn’t a win, no matter how much the brass back home said it was. The same, please.” Stechner ordered his drink with the same casual tone as he spoke to Javi. 

It was the tone of a man confident that he was always seven steps ahead of whoever he was talking to, and it made Javi grit his teeth.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Javi would get into incalculable trouble for starting a barfight with the CIA station chief, but it was an enjoyable thought nevertheless. His steady calm was in direct opposition to the rising annoyance that was trying to crawl its way up Javi’s throat.

He almost missed the days when Steve had been the loose cannon; it had forced him to be more measured. 

“What was accomplished, Javier? Thousands of Colombians died, and coke’s still flooding American streets by the ton.” Stechner took his drink from the bartender and took a slow sip. 

“Oh, come on. You don’t care about American streets or dead Colombians.” Point of fact, Javi doubted Stechner cared much about anything. At that, Stechner gave a mirthless little chuckle. 

“Point being, Peña, we can’t afford another bloodbath. No swallowing the spider to catch the fly this time. America has plans for Colombia; blood in the water will just gum up the works.” Stechner said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, that somehow Javier had been responsible for the bloodbath and it had now fallen to William J. Stechner to tidy up after him. 

“So what’s the play?” 

“Surrender. The negotiations are all silk so far, and has the seal of approval from those muckety-mucks in DC.” 

“And these fucking guys just breeze?” 

“After handing over the keys to the biggest coke racket in history. Hell, the biggest racked in history full stop. Far as I’m concerned, the DEA can even take the credit.” As gestures go, it’s as hollow as a log, and it’s all Javier can do to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“So what do you need me for?”

“The dashing DEA agent who took down Escobar? Helps to have a hero along for the ride. The godfathers’ will serve some time, most likely.” There was that word again, hero. Coming from Stechner, it just sounds like an insult, and Javi isn’t sure if that’s worse.

“And that’s enough for you? Sending them up the river for a spell?” 

“If there were any justice in this world, Javier, you’d be in jail. That op your guys are running in Cali tonight? It’ll come up snake eyes. All you’ll get for the trouble of going after Cali are more stiffs.” With that, Stechner drained what was left of his drink and left, with a pat of Javi’s shoulder that smacked with condescension. 

Javier had every intention of making tracks, the bar no longer feeling so welcoming. He truly meant to, finishing his own drink and tucking a few bills under the empty glass. But then, as he stood, he caught the eye of the cute brunette. 

Fuck. 

* * *

It had been a struggle for you not to press your nose up against the window of the cab as you were driven through Bogotá that first night that you arrived. On its high plateau in the Andes, Bogotá was cooler than you had anticipated, a look of rain in some of the clouds up above. 

Part of you wanted to send the cab ahead with your luggage so you could roam the streets for yourself. Neon lights glittered everywhere, people spilled out of bars and night markets and onto the pavements, the whole city so vibrantly alive in front of you. 

You had only read about it in Sierra’s dispatches; seeing it for yourself was another experience entirely, and you didn’t want to waste a single second of it. 

The car paused in traffic, and you stared out of your window at the bar directly across from you. A neon blue sign flickering above the door revealed it as La Social. You wanted to climb out, to go to the bar and order yourself a drink and start exploring immediately. 

But before you could work up the courage to jump out of the car, the traffic started moving again, carrying you closer to your destination. 

The Telegraph had leased an apartment for Sierra not far from the US Embassy, a two-bedroom affair that sounded far nicer than your own tiny apartment that you barely afforded on your meagre salary. Still, the paper was footing the bills, so you were happy to take advantage while you could. 

From the bag next to you, you pulled out the new leather notebook you had bought and squinted at the notes you had made in the light of the streetlamps you passed. 

What was on the tapes worth killing Pastrana for? 

Who has them now? 

Why?

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.

Taglist: @lannister-slings-and-arrows, @zeldasayer, @coffeeandtodd, @lokiaddicted, @yespolkadotkitty, @steeeeeeeviebb, @pascalisthepunkest​, @pascalesque​ . Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

[slashssunglasses]

Mafia Slash- “Craving” P1

okay so the concept of “mafia slash” is something my friend Lily introduced to our friend group and since then we’ve all been building off of this, Mafia Slash will most likely appear several times here so be read ;)

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

Slash: early 2000s end of snakepit- beginning of velvet remover Slash.

Backstory: (a/n I’ll do a full imagine solely on the origin story if y'all would like :}) 

Anywho, Slash was the most well known, ruthless, and feared mafia boss in the entire city- hell the entire state. His entire bloodline being gangster royalty. He never really wanted this life but after the tragic murder of his father his heart froze, a wave of pure power washing over him as he was forced to lead the “family business” at such a young age. You, see now you knew all about him, you’ve heard the stories, I mean cmon everyones heard the stories: the knives, the guns, the beatings…this guy enjoyed getting his hands dirty. It’d been rumored that Slash had been eyeing you but you never gave him attention, you didn't fear him. maybe it was because you knew he’d never hurt you. 

Unfortunately, your father-that bastard- used the common knowledge that Slash fancied you to his advantage when he found himself in some hot water with the Hudson family. It’s common knowledge that in the mafia life, fathers tend to offer their daughters as sort of “peace makers” the idea always disgusted you but you never thought that your father would be so quick to give you away like that, as if you were property. That fucking coward. But, a deals a deal, and growing up in this life you know that you never break deals, no matter how hard it’s gonna be or how much youre gonna suffer you never break a deal…especially with guys like Slash. It was done, as much as you hated it- you were now his. 

It’s been some time since you moved into the Hudson residence, Slash had been giving you your space because he understood how unfavorable it was for you to be forced into a relationship with someone you didn’t love but he was determined to make you fall for him and that you were. 

You’d never tell him of course.

 You slept in different rooms and you stayed away from his business even though you were quite used to it and even a little good at handling said business thanks to your father. You didn't think he noticed but he definitely did and it took every ounce of willpower to restrain himself from drooling right in front of you. Day and Night he fantasized about the business endeavors you’d go on, how good you were at talking your way out of things. Yet, you still had this sort of ‘dependance’ (?) on him, I mean you were one bad bitch- you did everything for yourself but you still found a way to make Slash feel like you needed his protecting or that you just needed him in general, no matter how hard you tried to push him away he still felt it, he felt that buzz in his tummy, he felt needed.

He thought you didn’t see him pulling knives and beating people up, he had this facade going on: the nice misunderstood gangster. 

Part of it was true-except the nice part, only towards you was he ever ‘soft’ and caring.  You were getting sick of him trying to act like he wasn’t evil, plus the months you’d gone without any contact other than your fingers and a few toys you’d manage to slip in. Boy oh boy, the more you were around him the more you wanted him, the more you fantasized about him using those same toys on you. It was becoming unbearable you held a grudge against him at this point. You didn’t want to want him! God it was just something abut the way he growled angrily through his teeth, laughed in the faces of petrified snitches, was just a scary guy but then would turn around and try not to stumble over his words when talking to you, he would rock on his heels nervously, he was a wreck! 

You enjoyed the power trip you got from having so much power over one of the scariest guys you’ve met. But you just wanted him to quit the act, show his true colors. What? Was he scared? Maybe then he’d know how it felt, you were scared a little at first too, living with a man in his 30′s while you were just starting to enjoy your 20′s. The hate bubbled into horniness but, you wouldn’t admit just how badly you wanted him, never! You did however watch from afar and look back on the memories your brain kept while you worked yourself on the silk sheets of the room you’d been living in. 

Riding the dildos suction cupped to the floor of the bathtub, spreading your legs under the faucet. like an animal in heat, you did anything and everything to get yourself off, the idea of it all being under Slash’s nose sent sparks of adrenaline through you. You smirked every time you two had a ‘lovers spat’ -as his men called it- because you saw his patience wear thinner and thinner each time, his desire to hide his nasty side evaporating. 

It was only a matter of time before one of you snapped 

You two had gone out for some business thing, you had no clue what it was for and frankly you didn’t care. All you knew was that you had to be done up real nice. You felt adventurous wanted to give yourself a little ‘foreplay’ beforehand by putting on the sluttiest lingerie set you owned. equipped with a garter belt, stockings, a g string, and transparent bra. It was beyond skimpy. You truly only wore it for yourself, and the idea that you’d have it on under whatever dress he bought for you for the night and he’d have no clue, was beyond thrilling. Gosh if he were to catch a glimpse what would happen? You didn’t even know. 

The night went by slowly so you decided to entertain yourself by actually speaking to the other people in attendance. A line of men drooling for you seemed to work. 

After finishing up another painfully boring conversation you slumped in your seat at the bar signaling for the bartender to bring you another whiskey. “On the rocks please” you sighed leaning on your elbow. “Whiskey? i’m sorry but you’re a woman?” a voice chuckled from behind you. 

You couldn't believe what you just heard. 

Turning your head around you scoffed, “and you’re clearly a misogynistic asshole. look at us both stating facts” you sarcastically smiled before turning back around

“No, I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that” the man chuckles awkwardly sitting next to you, “it was my lame attempt at a sarcastic joke” 

“Oh yes very lame” you giggle turning to face him, “sorry, usually I do see most of the women drinking the fruity cocktails” he awkwardly rubbed his neck, “it’s ok, don’t worry” you smile warmly. “Uh I'm Mike” he extended his hand out, “I’m y/n” you giggled. 

You two began chatting and hitting it off. 

He provided a tasteful change from all the boring drooling duds that usually attended these functions. You payed little to no attention to where Slash was and what he doing, you were too busy enjoying your time with your new friend Mike.  

“Who’s this honey?” You heard Slash’s voice perk up as you felt his arm snake around your shoulder. His touch burning your skin as you felt that thick sexual tension from these past few weeks resurface again. You tensed- an action that was supposed to keep you from melting under his rough touch. Clearly it didn't work since you could feel that familiar horny buzz in your panties. 

You looked at mike, absolute panic laced his face. 

“Oh uh, I’m sorry I didn't know I- uh ok” he scrambled away in pure fear. “Why would you do that” you jolted angrily out of his hold. Your arms crossed as you tried not to fall to your knees. God why was he appearing so sexy lately? “Why would you flirt with another man?” he snarled lowly, trying to contain his anger as to not set you off. He hated seeing you with another man, he wanted you to be his and only his. 

“I was not flirting” you scoffed, “oh yeah? I saw you, touching his arm and giggling. that man was drooling over you!” he whisper yelled, “he was?” you smirked, you did this as an attempt to make him rage, you were so tired of the fake face he put on, you wanted to see him get mad. He clenched his fists stretching his neck out, “what're you gonna do? you gonna beat him up?” you pouted, “no” he scoffed, “good. I didn't want him anyway, he was a coward. Pfft scared of you, scurrying away like a scared little mouse. I can’t with such wimps” you sighed walking away from him. 

You could feel his eyes burning into your back as you hips swayed, the clacking of your heels giving you a nice rhythm. 

Some time had passed and you were exhausted. You hadn't seen slash again for a while which normally wouldn't strike you as odd but for some reason you didn't feel okay about him being gone. On top of that you wanted to go home. Growling to yourself in annoyance you begin your trek to go look for him. 

Searching throughout the building, the front door, the bathrooms…nothing. 

Finally you exited through the back door thinking he probably stepped out for a cigarette or something. That’s when you were met with an angered Slash surrounded by his men. His fists flying up and down as he beat the absolute living shit out of some poor soul. His Blazer off, sleeves rolled up showing his tattoos, skin dewy with seat as he grunted between punches. Your brain managing to make the situation filthy.

It was then that you caught a glimpse of who he was destroying.

 Mike. 

“Slash!” you screamed and everyone’s heads shot towards yours. Mike was dropped onto the ground, his bloody face weakly crawling away. Slash stared at you, his chest rising and falling quickly as he panted. “I thought I told you to make sure she stayed inside” he grabbed one of his men by the collar

“Hey stop it!” you pushed him off, the men around you gasped quietly. “God you’re such an asshole!” you growled storming off towards the car. You didn't want him to beat someone who was innocent up, someone who didn't deserve it. You wanted him to be angry with you, that was the thrill you got, you enjoyed seeing him get angry at people who deserved it, although he was a scary guy he was also a just one. 

Slash couldn't help himself though, he wanted to make that guys face unrecognizable, he wanted him to be unable to attract anyone. 

He followed you towards the car. “Hey wait” he called out from behind you. Finally he grabbed hold of your arm right in front of the trunk of the limo you two had arrived in. “Don’t fucking touch me!” you ripped your arm from his, “I'm sorry okay, I don’t know what came over me” he sighed. The words flowed unnaturally from his lips, he was trying to keep the nice guy facade. 

“Oh my god give me a break already! Yes you do, you know exactly what came over you! Stop trying to act like this nice guy okay? Because I know you’re not” you yelled in frustration, all he did was shake his head. 

“Oh my god spare me please! I'm so sick of you acting like you’re this sweet guy. You’re a fucking pussy” you tugged on your hair. 

All of the sudden you were pushed against the car, Slash’s face close to yours, your noses touching as you felt the cool metal of his knife against your neck. “This is what you want? hm? you want me to hurt you?” he snarled tapping the cold blade around your skin. 

An orgasmic rush coursed through you as your adrenaline pumped, you could feel the blood speeding throughout your veins. Your breath shocks the flicked the knife back into the protecter. 

Once the blade was out of sight he pushed off of you. All you did was stare at him absolutely breathless. “Fuck you” you finally pushed him harshly, all he did was look back at you with that cocky grin of his, the one that would spread across his face when he knew he was winning. You didn't know what came over you but you grabbed him by his collar pulling him close to you as you leaned on the car. 

Your lips crashed in a desperate sloppy make out. You didn't care that you'd just caved, the way his hands explored your body overtop the tight black dress made your knees fall weak. 

You wanted him. 

You needed him.

 You craved him.

Your fingers tangled into his curls as you pushed his face closer to yours smushing your lips together as his tongue explored your mouth. Big ringed hands squeezing your lower back pressing you close to him. You could feel his hard pressing against your thigh. God you were soaked. The horniness taking over you, turning you into the filthiest woman he’s ever encountered. 

You pulled a hand away from his shoulders and palmed him through his pants. “This, this is what I do to huh?” you panted in between kisses as he groaned into your mouth. “Mm fuck” you whined as you felt him pulsate through his pants, “take me, take me home and do all the things you think about doing to me while you pump your cock, I want you be the big bad man you are” you whispered desperately in his ear as you stroked him through his pants. 

He looked at you with nearly blacked out eyes, full of lust, full of desire, he was like an animal in heat. “Take me home big guy” you giggled squeezing his muscles. 

“Fuck me” he growled grabbing you and throwing you in the car…

TO BE CONTINUED...

[cptn-briggsy-kratch]

“Well, I don’t have anythin’ solid, but I have a few ideas. Know of any good merchants? Maybe we can find some fancy new duds ‘ta surprise Yorgi wit’. Then after we can grab a bite and drink after.”

“Ready ‘ta go?”

*Briggsy approaches Billy, in a jacket he’s likely never seen him wear before. Its hem sits at Briggsy’s hips, made of black and white dyed leathers with buttons and designs etched into its surface. There are tassels along both arms that sway when he walks.*

*Of course, there is no shirt, but even his pants are in better condition than usual. Perhaps they’re new, too.*

@the-kutlass-kratch

*Billy is also dressed well. He’s wearing Yorgrim’s shirt under his trademark coat (which he hasn’t worn for a hot minute), comfortable trousers that fit perfectly, and a flat cap. Peeking out from under the hat are two hair clips; the lantern and the crossbones.*

“Ready as I’ll ever be. You look great.”

*He leans down to kiss him.*