#hawks starvation

[immaculatasknight]

The New Carolingian World Order

[after-witch]

Biological Function [Yandere Knives x Reader]

Title: Biological Function [Yandere Knives x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period. At least it means you're getting enough to get. Trigun Maximum-verse.

Word count: 2082

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader gets their period, mentions of starvation and murder

The red smear on your underwear that greets you in the morning, a wisp of deep red against the simple white linen, is not entirely an unwelcome sight.

After all, on Gunsmoke, menstruation means that you’re actually getting enough food to eat. It wasn’t uncommon for women to skip periods or see them come and go so half-heartedly that they might as well have never been there. Deprivation does awful things to the body, and you--like most--had your fair share of it. 

Yet here it was now, in all its horrible glory. A sign that you were healthy enough to bleed, a sign that your body was functioning, a sign that you were functioning. 

Physically, at least. It seems your body did not account for the fact that you were only getting enough food to eat because of the inhuman being keeping you captive.

Being, yes, that’s what he was. Not a man, not a human; and if you ever said so, he might just kill you for it.

Should you tell him about this? The thought made you feel sick, on top of the low cramps aching in your guts. You didn’t tell him anything unless he asked--he rarely did--and even then, it wasn’t like you told him anything important. Anything personal. 

The redness in your underwear was definitely personal. It was your body, wasn’t it? You should be allowed to keep something to yourself, if you couldn’t have your freedom. 

The thought comes, unbidden: did your mother ever tell your father about her monthlies?

Perhaps he knew when she withdrew from him in bed. Your memories of them both are fuzzy, vague; he drank himself sick one night and never came home from the bar (a fight, your mother said, that ended with a gunshot) and she wasted away some years later from a disease no one bothered to diagnose.

You couldn’t afford a proper doctor, even if one might have helped, and the local woman called upon when people had fevers simply tsked and gave her something to sleep away the pain. 

But on the subject of periods, your mother hadn’t spoken much outside of that first frenzied conversation when you’d told her that something was wrong with you, you were bleeding, you were dying, you were--

And her eyebrows had raised and then a slow, dimpled smile had crossed her lips, and she pulled you aside for a conversation about how you were a woman now and what to do and how to ease the pain and how you must never ever let a man touch you unless he was your husband.

She didn’t say if that husband would share in the knowledge of this red secret between your thighs.

Not that Knives was your husband. Perish the thought. Or that he’d ever touched you like one, or touched you at all. Except when you were thrown over his shoulder like a sack of coveted flour or on the rare occasions that he gripped your wrist with an unrelenting strength and dragged you somewhere. 

He would probably find menstruation disgusting. He found anything human disgusting. It would be a sign of your base nature, or something as ridiculous as that. The thought of dealing with more insults made you want to curl up--perhaps that was the cramps, too--and so, yes. You would keep it a secret from him, then. For as long as you could, however you could. 

But you didn’t have much privacy, here or anywhere that he took you. The airships, the bases, the abandoned houses. Sometimes, they had to be emptied of any occupants first--it was worse, when they had to be emptied. 

Mornings are the exception, which is why it is an unwelcome surprise when Knives saunters into the sparse space serving as your bedroom, eyebrows furrowed, no doubt some command on his lips--

Only to spot you staring down at your underwear, nightgown hawked up above your thighs. Your eyes meet for a fraction before you yank the underwear up and shove your gown down, but it’s too late. He’s seen you--he’s seen the red mess--and something awful and static seems to hover between you.

A moment or two or three. Your fingers clench into the fabric of your night dress. Humiliation burns but dread burns hotter, and it’s dread that makes you tremble. 

“Clean yourself up,” he says, finally, with an air of quiet, low disdain.

He pivots, whatever he had come to say earlier forgotten or unimportant, and leaves the room.

The cramps in your stomach feel hollow. It could have gone worse. It could have gone better--if he hadn’t come in at all--but there’s no fixing it now.

Clean yourself up.

A command to be obeyed, but how? 

Easy enough to head into the bathroom and wash up for the moment. (Access to clean running water, to hot showers and baths, is another benefit of your captive life.) But afterwards? 

You don’t suppose he has any sanitary napkins on hand--or one of those complicated contraptions your mother wore now and then, with a belt to hold everything in place. It’s not something you’ll be asking him about. If you must--if the bleeding continues every month, well-fed captive that you are--you’ll ask the doctor that Knives has at his beck and call.  

For now, you’ll have to settle for finding some rags to stuff into your underwear and hope for the best.

--

Knives does not typically sit down for meals. Certainly not with you, although you sometimes wonder if he and the doctor drink wine and discuss the doctor’s findings together.

Yet here he is, sitting at the table in this abandoned house, drinking a glass of water and actually eating the simple meal the doctor prepared that afternoon. Some kind of meat, vegetables, grains, all mixed together for a fortifying meal that you might have eaten up heartily yesterday. 

But today it makes you feel sick. The smell, maybe, or just the fact that your insides felt like they were rearranging themselves in the most awful way.

Nausea claws its way up your throat, and you set the fork down. Another bite would be impossible.

“Finish your meal.” Knives speaks to you for the first time since this morning. It is no more pleasant than his earlier clipped command, and no less authoritative. 

Your hands instinctively pick up the fork--obedience has been drilled into you--but your stomach rebels. 

“I can’t,” you say, clearing your throat. “My stomach hurts.” 

No flicker of sympathy or understanding in his face, but it doesn’t surprise you. He had no sympathy for the countless people he’s killed, or had killed with a simple word, so why should something as miniscule as your stomach pains bother him? 

"Be grateful,” he says, low, “that you have something to eat at all.” 

“I am grateful,” you spit, and it’s the truth, however bitterly said. You hate being here, you hate him, but it’s been so long since you’ve been hungry that the memories of half-starvation are simply that--memories. The body appreciates what the mind doesn’t, at least. 

His eyebrows raise a bit at that and you regret speaking at all. A little too much honesty, from your end. You don’t want him to know that your mind sometimes fights over enjoying the comforts of your captivity. Food, water, knowing that bandits won’t come in the night to plunder, knowing you won’t wind up in some shootout at your lunch break at the bar. 

If only it didn’t take being the restricted--pet? Captive? Whatever you are to him--of a plant to get those things. 

But as quick as the moment comes, it’s over, and there’s no insight to be given on how he took your words. His gaze slides away from you, and he gestures his chin at Conrad. “She needs more iron,” he says, simply. “On account of her menstruation.”

You choke on your spit, and Conrad chokes on his meal.

Is it possible to die from embarrassment? 

“Do you have supplements?” Knives asks casually. 

Conrad swallows, clears his throat, and dabs at his mouth with a napkin with a delicate gesture. Before Knives had taken him, he’d been living a comfortable life in some mansion, squirreled away with trinkets and good food. Or so Elendira had told you, and you could never be sure if she was telling you the truth. 

“No,” Conrad says, slowly. “But they aren’t too difficult to come by. We can pick them up in the next city.”

The words come, muttered, without thought.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Knives doesn’t acknowledge it, nor does Conrad. Your part in the conversation is done.

"I'd also like you to monitor her menstrual periods," Knives continues, and if there was a way to sink into the floor, you would do it into a heartbeat. "To make sure they're regular."

Stomach rolling back and forth, you pick up a forkful of food and force it down. 

--

“I’ve had to delay my plans for an entire day.”

Curled up on your bed, a pillow shoved against your aching lower body, you don’t respond. You merely squeeze your eyes shut and will the pain--and Knives--away.

Neither leaves. 

“You’re incredibly inconvenient. A nuisance.”

Yes, yes, yes, I know, and I don’t give a damn. It takes every ounce of self-preservation left in your body not to snap these words at him. Your fingers dig hard into the pillow as another wave of cramps rolls through you. 

Dinner had been hastily shoved down to no avail; it was currently resting in the trash can of the bathroom. You had been on the toilet, willing your awful cramps to disappear, when the nausea came again with such force that you had no choice but to heave it all back up into the bin.

Now, the cramps throb and squeeze and you curl up tighter, but it doesn’t help.

Fuck. Were they always this bad?

They’re awful enough that you make a noise, despite Knives hovering next to your bed, admonishing you like a child for daring to be sick. A whimper, pitiful, low, stupid.

You hear him huff. You expect to hear the sound of him turning around, his boots against the hard floor as he leaves you to your mistery.

Instead--

His hand is on your stomach, slightly cool to the touch, and you jerk, eyes wide and afraid as the words stutter out--

“What are you--”

There’s no time to finish the words before a strange feeling surges through you. Something humming and light, almost like a low tickle. It’s--pleasant. A word you had never associated with Knives before, and certainly not a word you ever expected to associate with his touch. 

“I’m making you less of a burden,” he murmurs, and it’s a wonder venom doesn’t actually drip from his lips. “I won’t be delayed again tomorrow.”

If you were stronger, you might argue back. You might tell him that you’ll delay him as much as you want, that he can go fuck himself.

But you’re not any of those things. You’re bleeding and tired and the awful nausea-inducing cramps that were keeping you bedridden are gone, eased away by that blossoming feeling induced by his fingertips.

Is this what plants could do, when they weren’t trapped in those bulbs? Heal? (And hurt--and kill?) 

Knives’ hand is still resting on your stomach, pressing lightly into the flesh. When you glance up at him, he doesn’t match your gaze. Instead, he stares down at his hand, quiet, clearly thinking. But of what? 

It’s hard to care, now that you don’t feel like your body wants to tear itself apart from the inside. You could sleep, now. Rest easily and wake up ready to take on another day of this strange life you’ve been forced into; it’s enough to make you close your eyes, exhausted, fluttering.

Knives’ fingers remove themselves from your stomach slowly. He doesn’t leave yet. He’s still there, and part of you wants to open your eyes and take a guess at what he’s thinking; to see if he’s staring at you, or through you, or if he’s not even bothering to watch you curled up on the bed. The other part of you is terrified of finding out. 

Just when you might actually open your eyes, you hear him scoff. It’s a surprisingly comforting sound. Familiar territory once again. 

“Ungrateful,” he murmurs. “I should kill you to spare myself this annoyance.”

He could kill you. Easily. In a second. Without mercy or compassion or regret, you think, considering how many have fallen under his orders. 

Instead, he lets you fall asleep without another word.

You don’t hear him walk away before sleep takes you.

[bonefall]

i can’t help that feel like 350 calories per cat per day across 5 clans (150 some odd cats!!!) is more prey than there is! even with really generous cooking estimates you’d need to catch a rabbit or two or a large fish or something per clan every single day of the year. i feel like that would really mess up prey populations, wouldn’t it? i know animals have a lot of babies, but 3,650 rabbits’ worth of calories every year (not to mention what other predators like foxes, snakes, and hawks are eating) feels like too much for one territory. are we assuming that there’s more prey than there is or do i just not know how much offspring animals produce?

WELL, there's a lot of factors here, but you are actually organically figuring out something true and horrifying. BB!Cats are sapient, able to understand their impact on the environment and ergo manage it, but feral domestic cats are devastating to local ecosystems.

Not even because of caloric need btw just because of how much they hunt, and their odd behaviors.

The Bad

There is a reason why predator populations are so massively outnumbered by prey species. One rabbit would feed a single cat for days, but one colony is typically 3 - 15 cats. Most predators are solitary, or have "loose" social structures spread out over many partially overlapping territories covering miles (like alligators)! but something changed when cats were domesticated, and they now seek out dense social units unlike their wild ancestors.

That's why the only social wild cats are lions. Lion prides are extremely flexible, ranging from 3 to upwards of 30 members, and their populations are going to depend completely on how much prey they have access to. Even the shocking "infanticide" thing that male lions are notorious for serves an ecological purpose; less lions means more meat, so every cub that isn't yours is a future rival.

(tangent: the largest lion prides actually set up in major migration "hubs," where there is a constant influx of traveling animals. Not really an "ecosystem" where the pride can damage the population.)

But now domestic cats are doing this, in ecosystems that can't support them and never had predators that behave like them. They compete with the local mesopredators ("middle" hunters that hunt small game but are killed by larger predators. Ex: raptors, snakes, caniforms like foxes or raccoons, etc) and put extra pressure on prey populations.

But that's not the worst part.

In nature, there are Predator-Prey cycles. When there's too many predators, they decrease the prey population. When there's not enough prey, the predators starve and their population lowers. Here is a graph of this phenomenon;

In this way, starvation is required for an ecosystem to stay healthy. It's how nature regulates.

But human beings feed cat colonies.

So colonies end up hitting DOZENS of cats. Upwards of 30 in a tiny area. The sizes you see in canon WC and in BB are TWICE the size of what a feral cat colony typically reaches. In the real world, this is because humans feed them. They HAVE to starve to lower the population, and make no mistake, these are slow, painful deaths.

"But, if we feed the colony, then they're not hunting the local prey, right? Because they're not hungry?" INCORRECT. THEY ARE ANIMALS. Cats are not humans with our sense of morality and long-term consequences. Hunting is only partially driven by hunger, it's also driven by prey drive. Even an outdoor cat, who gets all their meals at home, is killing an average of 90 animals a year.

(note: you may hear the number "they kill 3.5 animals a day." That is a misreading of this study which says 3.5 animals a month based on owner reports; but better study shows they only bring about 18% of their kills home.)

I could get into why I'm actually not a big fan of TNR as a conservation strategy because of this, but in a nutshell, the best solution to feral cat population management overall is (expensive) high-intensity TNR (70% or more) PAIRED with (inexpensive) removal/euthanasia and other methods (like banning colony feeding). PURE high-intensity TNR takes up to 30 years to remove a cat colony in computer simulations. And they keep killing wild animals that whole time.

(tangent: you may come across articles that say that killing feral cats doesn't work. This is often based on this Tasmanian case study by Lazenby et all, where they trapped and removed cats, only to find an influx of subordinate "satellite" individuals that filled the vacuum that the previously established individuals left and increased the overall population. This is a well-documented phenomenon of predator control. They don't tell you that this is short-term and also happens with TNR, just over a longer timeline, as discussed in the above studies, and the solution is to mix methods and make sure that these programs are carried out systemically, NOT ONLY in one limited range.)

So... feral cat colonies with totally realistic needs are very harmful to local ecosystems. They are animals, and they are an invasive species. Keep your cats indoors please

The Good

But BB!Cats and Canon!Cats aren't just animals. These are cats with governments and religion. They do understand long-term consequences.

Even on the page in-canon, they show an understanding that prey comes from breeding (unlike, say, a medieval human who believed in spontaneous generation), WindClan doesn't disturb lapwings during their nesting season showing a basic understanding of ecology, and they even have a law against food waste. Like it or not, these aren't realistic cats. They are small humans with a fuzzy little kitty coat tossed over them.

So we can actually reasonably assume that Clan cats are modifying their behavior so they aren't the ecosystem-shredders that their real-world counterparts are, like;

Hunting over a wider area and having a large territory (so to address you directly anon, their territories are not as small as you might think they are)

Taking the pressure off specific areas by sending their hunting patrols to various parts of their territory

Avoiding hunting animals during their breeding and nesting seasons.

Not killing animals that are pregnant or nursing

Leaving baby animals alone so they grow into bigger food items

Not killing what they don't plan to eat

Intentionally varying their diet so they take a little from many populations.

Hunting animals that real cats don't usually target, like fawns, seagulls, and young boars.

Breeding their own prey, if you're willing to do a little domestication innovation

If you're VERY cool, give them fire. go on. do it. 20% to 50% caloric increase is prettyyy cooool~

But also, you may be underestimating just how many babies prey species produce. Let's use rabbits because these things are insane. They weren't lying, rabbits can breed like rabbits.

European rabbits (and all the domestic breeds they are descended from) have a double womb. That means that when they've given birth to their litter of 4 - 12 babies (usually 6), they can already be pregnant with the next. Gestation is a month. These babies are able to leave their mothers at 2 months and can breed by 4 months. They can have 10 litters a year.

So a SINGLE rabbit COULD have well over 100 bunnies a year... but rabbit warrens are usually 10 - 50, mostly females, plus a bunch of bucks who are more solitary and more likely to travel around. And you're gonna have multiple warrens on a territory.

Low litter estimate, small warren; 10 x 4 x 10 = 400 bunnies. Big litter estimate, big warren; 50 x 12 x 10 = 6,000 bunnies.

That said, most estimates say they functionally end up with 20 adult children a year, which then go on to breed at four months. That's still 200 rabbits a year coming out of that small warren ALONE, and isn't counting the fact that those children are also going to have children of their own.

(though, rabbits in particular are facing a massive crisis in england and even across europe because of two diseases that hit them one after another OTL but it's not related to predation.)

Don't forget that a territory also has more than just rabbits. This is also happening with mice, rats, ducks, sparrows, voles, etc. Like I said, if your cats just diversify the prey they hunt in response to population changes, they'll be golden. In BB I even have a role dedicated to this now; the Head of Hunting, who is tasked with assessing this sort of thing.

SO, to answer you directly;

Feral Cats Bad

WC characters have more in common with a small human than a cat

Pure carnivores are pretty demanding on their ecosystems

There is plenty an intelligent creature can do to reduce their impact on the ecosystem

Their territories could still support them along with the other predators

You did underestimate just how many babies prey animals have, though

Overall, they would be fine. You COULD overhunt a territory, but not with basic prey management practices.

[digenerate-trash]

Outta town freaks just as promised!!! Yandare head cannons. (Blackwolf and great hawk be harder to write for because animals are weird and obsessive anyway)

amab. again. Easier to write for

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Eden:

Eden is definitely one of those mother fuckers whose whole thing is "If I can't have you no one can".

big possessive man with an insecurity complex the size of the moon

but since no one can get to you Eden feels pretty secure in you loving him back eventually

if you're sold to him by Bailey a couple weeks in eden tells Bailey you died. You couldn't handle the cold out in the woods.

if he captures you there's no need for him to lie to anyone. He keeps you trapped in the cabin till you love him back.

prefers to use leashes cages and locks to keep you in place. He's very realistic about you not wanting to be there at first but he thinks with training and a strict routine you'll just fall in line. No matter how defiant.

will absolutely Break your leg to keep you in the cabin.

is fine with blood. But doesn't want to cut off your leg or arms to keep you in place because he's not confident you'll stay alive. He's a butcher, not a surgeon.

really wants you to fall in line. He gets desperate the more defiant you stay as the weeks go on. Harsher punishments, more broken bones. Starvation. Anything to keep you down and weak.

if you give In to the hunter immediately he's suspicious but happy. He watches you carefully. Every movement you make is watched carefully. You can tell he's studying you.

once Eden is fully comfortable with you being in his home he really starts to get possessive. Spouses are supposed to stay home after all. Take care of things for him while he works out in the dangerous woods

you're not allowed past the clearing. Even washing clothes in the spring isn't supposed to be done when Eden isn't home.

absolutely no going to town. The town is dangerous and dirty and gross. Freaks live there. Freaks that could hurt his spouse and it's his job to keep you safe.

he brings you gifts from the woods. Sometimes they're things that remind him of you and sometimes it's barries or flowers. Something he thinks you'll like. He never offers an explanation he just thrusts it in your hands.

when wolves (or even people) get too close to the cabin it's shoot first for Eden. He'll drag the carcass on the porch if you're still defiant when this happens. He might even brag about how he's a perfect shot. So it's just best for everyone if you listen.

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Remy:

Remy honestly would rather not have feelings for you but now they can't stop it. You're their favorite little riding student after all.

Remy is pretty body-focused and that's mainly what he likes about you. He thinks your body is perfect.

very touchy, Feels you up as he rides with you on horseback. He digs his nails into your wrist when you tell him you have to leave.

he's enamored with you. The only problem is when you start to talk with Alex you get it in your head that he's the enemy.

he knows he could just convince you otherwise but it's much more fun to watch you fight with him. (He knows you're not serious you're just playing)

talking with Remy is like talking to a brick folksy wall. Witty banter. Coy remarks. He takes all your insults with a smug grin.

getting on his bad side is a hell of its own making though because no questions asked you're going to the underground farm.

You are separate from the other animals though. Too precious to Remy to be with the others. But he makes sure you understand what kind of person he can be when you refuse to behave.

you will absolutely never meet harper even if Remey has subjected you to living as livestock. Remy knows how much of a freak that dude is.

he still loves you and your body even though the changes it goes through. When you can't speak words anymore he sees it as a win. He doesn't need to have an intelligent partner. He just needs you to be here. Under his control. That way he can at least convince himself that you're happy here.

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Alex:

He is mostly just a big puppy. He wants you around always and will never take no for an answer.

the only dude who's more family-focused than Alex is probably Kylar.

determined to breed you. Dude will never quit. Wants a picture-perfect household and a barefoot spouse to boot

wants to lay in bed all day with you but since he's got work to do he's dragging you along with him.

will never leave your side. He's keeping you company always. Dude is clingy.

obsessed with making you. Bites hickies bruises. Whatever he can get away with. Even when you tell him it's too much hell always say next time he'll be more careful. But he isn't.

it only gets bad when you say you don't love him or that you can't be with him. sends him into hysterics.

he says it's fine. It's not. The first few days apart from you are fine. But eventually, he gets too worked up.

hell track you down. Whether you are in serious danger or just returned to town. He'll tell you all about how he misses you and he can't take it and how his heart breaks when you're not there.

guilt trip to the extreme until you come back home with him.

if that doesn't work hell just overpower you. Hell, justify it by telling himself it's just a temporary measure. That you really want a life with him but other people are holding you back. And once you are back at the farm Alex is happy to dote on you again. More than before. He is extra sweet as well. Your favorite meals are served up he lets you take breaks from farm work when you like. He carves you little trinkets and gifts. Anything to make you forget about a life outside of him.

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Blackwolf:

an actual dog. Separation anxiety to the max.

bites, marks, saliva, blood, piss, he marks you with everything he can. He needs you to smell like him so much that you two are inseparable

not gonna tolerate you leaving. Grabs you by the scruff and drags you back to the cave.

hunts with Blackwolf are the most annoying because he's too focused on you staying safe than hunting and the pack blames you for Meger return and distracting the best hunter. (Blackwolf prefers you stay back in the cave anyway. Safer there)

has killed other wolves for sniffing around you.

will absolutely start fights for no reason if you've been away or not giving him enough attention.

will always bring you the best parts of the carcass for you to gnaw on. (He doesn't know or care if it's bad for people)

constantly licking you everywhere he can spend hours doing it.

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Great hawk:

is so spouse-focused but doesn't know what it means in human terms.

birds get jealous and crazy so easily so probably that as well.

puffs up feathers and chest when he sees a "threat" could be anything from a small animal to an actual monster.

will bite. Doesn't mean to hurt you it's just to get your attention

wants to make you happy performs mating dances then gets frustrated when you don't seem to reciprocate.

takes his time grabbing shiny things that you'll like. Gets way more frustrated and bird-like when you refuse his gifts.

prefers to hunt at dusk and dawn so that the days are spent nesting and the nights are spent sleeping

all food he brings you is either shredded terribly or is coughed up for you.

he's a little gross but he's got the spirit.

trying to escape Great Hawk is..... difficult. You'll need some help

[magicrainbowkitties]

Hyperfixations are insane bro.

Anyways here's my "MK1 Roster By How Good Of A Hugger They Are" tier list

Not Pictured:

Shang Tsung: A

Reiko: B

Explanations under the cut if you want them.

S tier:

Smoke/Tomas: Great arm strength, super sweet and cute in his intro dialogues, definitely goes for head pats. Also big ups for the smokey smell.

Scorpion/Kuai Liang: Arm strength, sensitive and protective in his dialogues, and very warmb. Perfection.

Johnny Cage: You cannot tell me this version of the guy is not absolutely INSANE at hugs. Arms, emotional sensitivity, words of affirmation if you need them, and LOVES giving them. CageCon attendees attest he hugs like a giant teddy bear.

Sindel: She doesn't give them often, but when she does it's the absolute Best. Mom hugs are best hugs, you can fight me on that. But her big up is the prehensile hair. Mom hug + more hug from hair? FUCK YES.

Reptile/Syzoth: I mean this for both reptilian and human form btw. Because in one case, gigantic croco-man being extra careful to not to nick you on claws and scales, and on the other, nuzzles and contact. BOTH have the ups of strength, dad hugs (his son may be dead but I will attest that no matter the status of the child, the ability to give dad hugs remains with the father in question) are also best hugs, and a tail. Also being cold-blooded he'll probably try to seek warmth from the person he's hugging. So more physical contact. Which is Amazing.

A Tier:

Raiden: Very sweet and kind, just BARELY didn't make S tier. Only because the lightning probably means he's got static everywhere and even if his amulet is turned off, he's still gonna accidentally shock you. Which for some people is negligible, but this is my list. Still great at hugs, but with a fatal flaw.

Liu Kang: Also a very near-miss for S tier. He's got a lot of the same ups as Kuai Liang, except he's a good deal less sensitive than the latter dialogue wise, and he strikes me as the kinda guy who feels a little awkward hugging people. Not bad in the slightest, but he prefers other methods of affection.

Kenshi: He's not a very physically affectionate person, before or after blindness, and probably has a few issues recognizing when it's necessary. However, when he does give hugs, (more likely that he's the one being given the hug), he's very sweet about it. Probably goes on for a while longer than originally intended, very good for touch starvation. Just don't expect it very often.

Kung Lao: Would be an S if he TOOK OFF THE FUCKING HAT. Look man, I'm tryna get physical affection, and you're real nice and sweet when you wanna be, but I am NOT tryna get decapitated by that fuckin table saw super-glued to your head! Good arms, tho.

Shao: Yeah this one surprised me too. But, big guy, leans down, and DEFINITELY a fan of head pats. But he's a near miss for B because of the fact that 1, definitely not a hugger, and 2, he's an asshole. He probably gives side hugs if absolutely necessary. Definitely hugged Reiko when he was a kid, tho.

Shang Tsung: OK HEAR ME OUT. Absolute BOTTOM of A tier, but DAMMIT that fucker is a convincing guy. He's spent years and years hawking fake cures and things, you think he doesn't know how to use physical means to make his sales pitch more convincing? He's actually very, very good at hugs and making people feel better about themselves, and that's part of what makes him so damn dangerous.

B Tier:

Kitana: People are gonna hate me for not putting her higher, huh? Well I speak naught but the truth. Bc my girl is NOT a hugger for anybody except her family. Just not really her thing. She prefers a handshake and good conversation from her friends and allies. She gives decent hugs when called for, and is a good person to hug in crisis, but she'd rather be there either in a group hug or on the side talking someone through it while one of the S or As handle the Actual Hugging Part.

Tanya: Same kinda deal as Kitana, but mostly for maintaining professionalism as an Umgadi. She's very sweet and understanding, but prefers to pat shoulders and give affection through presence unless you're very, VERY close to her (cough Mileena)

Ermac: Total wild card. Countless souls within the body mean countless possibilities for hug affinity or quality. So direct middle of B tier, just to be safe. Based on story mode, however, Jerrod is a solid S.

Ashrah: Again, not much of a hugger, but gives decent ones when necessary. Isn't used to physical affection in the slightest, but overtime may graduate to an A as she comes to understand touch as something that doesn't have to hurt.

Takeda: I... Really don't have an explanation for this one. I just. Very mid vibes.

Reiko: Affection is for weak losers, man up and get over it, why don't you? What do you mean touch doesn't have to be hostile, that's crazy talk, leave him alone. Nevermind the fact that he will probably break down sobbing if he gets a real hug he can't push away, and will probably come just this side of crushing the hugger's ribs in return, what? Didn't happen, if you speak of this, you lose your jaw. Why are you bringing the General into this?

C Tier:

Rain: Not a hugger, not good at it, doesn't want to be. Also VERY sweaty. Or maybe that's just his water magic. Either way not good. The only thing keeping him out of D tier is he's got a decent amount of strength to it.

Havik: Will absolutely detach his entire torso in the middle of a hug so the other person freaks the fuck out. He thinks this is funny. It's not.

Peacemaker: Cop mentality and insensitive. The ONLY reason he's not in D is because I am told John Cena is amazing at hugs, so he has some trickle-down skill from there.

Mileena: Was a solid A before getting Tarkat. Very sweet and physically affectionate, and one of the things she mourns the most from before the infection. She especially wishes she could hug Tanya and Kitana more often, but they're also the last people in the world she wants to get sick.

D Tier:

Sub-Zero/Bi-Han: Ew cold hands. Also believes that physical affection is a weakness and refuses to do it. How in the hell is he related to Kuai Liang???

Li Mei: Is a fucking cop. As a rule, cops are bad at hugs.

Quan Chi: Why would you ever want a hug from this fucker? Unless you're Shang Tsung. And even then it's probably not great just because he doesn't get the point.

Baraka: NOPE. Even if you don't care about Tarkat, he does, and will refuse hugs of any kind ever. Even if it wasn't contagious, he's very spiky and awkward with it. Ask Syzoth.

Omni-Man: Just as likely to crush your ribcage as to awkwardly pat the back, more either way depending. Best avoid this fashy fuck all together.

Geras: He is very sweet and a good emotional rock. But a hugger he is not. He refuses hugs with a similar fervency to Baraka, but without the urgency ofc. He hates hugs, and asks that you please respect his boundaries. Also he'd get sand all over your clothes.

Homelander: Do I even need to explain.

[ameliaenya707]

☆ Punishment ☆

Fem!reader

Piss

Abuse

Kidnapping implied

Yandere Hawks

Starvation used as punishment

Non-con

MDNI

Hawks isn't all that big on punishment to be honest. He much prefers spoiling you, like the princess you are. He swears he doesn't like punishing you. Atleast that's what he tells you when his hand comes down hard on your pussy, the smack and lewd squealching that accompanies it echoes throughout his bedroom. He has a few choice punishments. Spanking your ass, usally used for a minor offense. Spanking your pussy until it's red and puffy, usally used for a somewhat medium offence, you managed to piss him off.

Cage time. Cage time is the worst one. You're not allowed to leave the cage to relieve yourself. It's locked. You aren't allowed food and he'll often come in and eat in front of you before leaving. When you're allowed out finally your punishment is not nearly over. Depending on his mood he might piss on you, for the degrading aspect not because he's into it (he is), or maybe he'll tie you up and nick your flesh with the blade of his feathers. The entire time lecturing you. Cage time is rarely ever used. Cage time is only ever applied as a punishment if you try to escape. Escaping is the only offense he finds punishable by something so harsh.

♡ After punishment ♡

After punishments, Hawks isn't the type to hold it against you. Or dwell on it. He'll go back to normal, thumbing away your tears and cooeing at you. Cooking you a warm meal, bathing you, and cuddling. He can't fully break you. He'll most likely never bring it up again after punishment. It would be a waste of breath.

~ Afterall he knows you learned your lesson ~

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 19

MASTAPOST

Danny woke from his little cat nap soon after, stretching his tail out like a lounging snake. Damian sat next to him, characteristically unimpressed as the teenager cracked his knuckles and shook off the remaining grogginess.

“Are you done?” Damian asked.

Danny yawned again. “Yeah what time is it?”

“It has been about two hours. We are wasting time.”

Damian swam to Danny’s left side and nudged him with his head. Danny bonelessly flopped to the side without moving. “Dude, what’s the rush? I thought you liked animals.”

“The whales have been amenable company, but my father needs me back as soon as possible. In addition, we have entered a coral reef.”

Danny blinked, and got up. The boy leaned his head over the edge of the mother whale. Seemed Damian was right. The waterscape in front of them was filled with tall kelp forests in the distance. Below the, the sea floor housed miles of vibrant coral in all sorts of colours. Red, purple, yellow and green coral spiraled and twisted and grew from the rocks and sand, living alongside schools of big and small fish. Clownfish peeked in an out of anemones. Little critters like shrimps and lobsters crawled in and out of crevices, sheltered from predators.

Damian apparently thought he was taking too long. Danny belatedly realised his harness was untied, just as Damian rammed into his back and pushed him off the edge.

“We need to replenish our supplies.” Damian said. “Teach me how to gather forage and hunt.”

Well that was a slight issue. Being a modern American teenager with access to such things as fridges and a global supply chain meant that he was perhaps less suited to roughing it than the younger boy might have assumed. It was not like he never had to live off the land, but the less said about long swim home after Vlad happened, the better.

“Well?” Damian repeated, arms crossed, looking down Danny expectantly.

“Alright then. I’ll teach you silly human what it’s like to live off the land, like your ancestors long before you.” He said sagely.

The whale pod crooned a deep farewell as the continued on their journey. He and Damian waved them off, before returning to their own needs.

He led his young charge to perch atop a cliff overlooking the reef. The boys laid their fins flat so as to avoid drawing attention. Danny scanned the landscape, settling his eyes on a lobster hiding underneath a rock. Despite their reputation these days, lobsters did not look nearly as appetising raw and alive. From the bottom, they looked more like cockroaches than delicacies. Plus, they were literally the worst possible travelling food ever. No.

Instead, Danny caught sight of his real prize. Mussels!

“You good with shellfish?” He asked the younger boy. Damian turned up his nose, looking haughty like Sam’s parents were it not for the adorable pout he’d put on too.

“If the only other option is starvation.”

“We’ll keep an eye for more plants on the way.” Danny said, preparing to descend.

The thing about mussels was that you didn’t need to kill them to bring them along. They came with their own natural packaging, even if it was a bit heavy. Danny stuffed his pockets with a couple handfuls of the shellfish, leaving space for a more varied diet, and leaving the rest to stay and reproduce. He wasn’t greedy! Sam had taught him about these things. Mussels were very important to the environment. Evidently Damian was aware too. The boy nodded in approval as Danny continued his search.

Damian’s sword came in useful as well (he would’ve taken it away if he wasn’t sure that the kid would slash him for it) for harvesting kelp and seaweed. The pair snacked on kelp strips as Danny took them to their next prey.

However, Damian protested. “I do not wish to kill this one.”

The huge trout, easily as big as Damian, floated blissfully ignorant of the two predators eyeing it like hawks. Danny ‘s head spun as he tried to keep track of Damian’s seemingly endlessly shifting opinion towards eating fish or not. “That thing could feed us for like 300 miles.”

“The largest fish also reproduce the most. This one is a female.” Damian continued. Now that he thought of it, didn’t Sam make a whole protest about this in the beginning of summer? “Many oceans are in danger due to overfishing from humans. As a human myself, it is my responsibility to fish sustainably.”

The boy’s fins puffed with pride and conservationist fervor, a quiet determination that reminded him of Sam. Danny had some doubts. “If we eat the small fry, there won’t be many left to grow big and ‘reproduce’ as you say.”

This point seemed to put pause on Damian’s previous showboating. The boy gritted his teeth, looking for a comeback. “What about invasive species? Those that threaten the natural balance.”

Danny shrugged. That was a good point, except Danny didn’t know how to identify any of those.

“But you live in the ocean!” Damian protested when this point was brought up.

“Yeah. You live on land. Does that mean you know about every species that lives on Gotham?”

“Yes.” Well he kinda walked into that one, didn’t he?

“Well if you know so much about invasive species, why don’t you look for them?” Danny challenged. Animal hyperfixation or not, surely this kid couldn’t identify the hundreds of species that lived in this reef.

Damian’s ear fins tensed, something he’d noticed in himself whenever he was concentrating on something. The boy turned away from Danny and to the reef in front of them. Suddenly, the boy’s body slumped.

A smug grin split open Danny’s face.

Damian groaned, as if his next words were like Soviet torture. “There are no saltwater invasive fish near California, to my knowledge.”

“Hah! Suck on that, fishboy!”

Damian mewled angrily. His hand drifted down to the hilt of his sword. On dear.

“Alright, alright, alright. What about a compromise?” Danny waved his arms defensively.

“Speak.”

“We grab the fish that we were gonna grab before you interrupted.” Damian hissed at that. “BUUttt only one. And we fill our pockets with small fry. A balanced fishing diet. What do you say?”

The grumpy child pouted one more time for good measure, before sinking back to the floor. “Fine. You still need to teach me how to make a kill.”

“You sure you won’t get attached?”

“I can suppress my emotions to complete the mission.” It spoke something about Damian that Danny wasn’t even that phased this time. That being said please let that just be a boast with nothing to back that up.

Danny lay prone, fins flat, head down, like a tiger about to pounce. In the entire conversation they’d had, the trout had drifted about five inches from its previous position. Survival instincts this poor girl had not.

“All you need to do is shut your gills, like holding a breath. Just get closer… and closer… and POUNCE!”

Danny leapt at the trout, using his powers to accelerate into a blur. His hands pinned it down in an instant, the trout thrashing and slapping him, trying to escape. With a swift motion, Danny bit clean through its gills. The trout rapidly lost strength, slowly fading until it went still.

He held the trout up like a trophy. “Tada!”

Damian frowned deeply. “That was an unclean kill. It suffered immensely.”

“Ughh!” Danny groaned. “What do you want from me. I’m a siren not an assassin.”

Damian unsheathed his sword, looking about 50% more menacing as any other six-year-old Danny had ever met. “It seems I will have to show you, instead.”

Five minutes later, his idea of showing Danny how to kill resulted in a fresh bruise and a bent fin. The carp he had tried to pounce managed to escape with a shallow cut on its side.

“I’m very educated now, Damian. Thank you.” He snickered as Damian roared in anger.

“Shut your mouth! You have an unfair advantage, seeing as you can use your powers, while I am hampered by my body.”

“You’ll grow into them. I think. I dunno I haven’t met a lot of siren kids.”

“I am not a child!” Damian said, pouting very maturely.

The rest of the morning was spent like that, roaming the reef in search of food and bickering over this and that. At one point they debated over dolphins were whales or not (Danny personally thought whales were too nice to encompass dolphins under their umbrella).

Their food supplies replenished and energy still raring to go, the boys sealed their satchels shut, and continued south.

Meanwihle…

Hundreds of miles away in the ocean, Bruce stands at the helm of the Fenton Family SAV, its modified engines going at full throttle.

In a hidden compartment in his room, Tucker Foley slams into the firewall of the Fenton’s new database with everything he has. Schematics, blueprints, notes. He needs that data and he needs it now.

Sam Manson meditates on her bed, surrounded by candles. She recites warding spells, a staple for any young magician.

Skulker sits in his private yacht, bandaging his wounded leg, sliding the pieces for his next upgrade. Behind him, an ornate fish tank sits empty, awaiting its guest.

Agent K and Agent O monitor the news. The sonars around Amity. A report sits on the desk. The Fentons have just left town? That will be interesting… 

[theramseyloft]

I go you already have my apologies but can you re explain your ideal bird that you are breeding for. From the looks of your loft updates you prefer standard non exaggerated features and minimal muffs and normal length beaks

No worries. ^v^

I've been reworking a few things while we've been stuck on hiatus, so there have been some changes to the plans for the future, and I don't mind going over them.

I am trying to develop a unique breed specifically for therapy work.

As many of my long term followers know: A feral pigeon, found in a parking lot on the brink of starvation, taught himself to alert me for anxiety attacks of crippling severity.

If he could not alert me fast enough to prevent me going catatonic, he knew to go get my husband.

And he worked out a series of behaviors to draw me back out of that state if my husband was not with me.

He later developed an alert specific to blood sugar spikes.

That's far beyond the scope of an Emotional Support Animal!

And I believe that if a pigeon off the literal street was naturally inclined to develop these behaviors, then temperament traits conducive to such service work can be selected for.

I aim to do that by combining highly intelligent Performance breeds like Homers, Rollers, and Tumblers with structurally sound exhibition breeds possessing a demonstrably heritable mellow temperament.

And I want this breed to have a unique look that easily identifies it so that it will be hard for feather merchants to counterfeit. (Yes, that is a thing that happens.)

So, my favorite embellishments in the breeds we are already using are going to be enhanced by a few exhibition breeds who exemplify those traits, and one specifically for color.

To that end, we will be utilizing these performance breeds:

Feral

I can get into whether or not this is a breed in itself in another post. This is going to be a long one as it is.

There are several risks to working with ferals, absolutely.

You can pretty much guarantee that any you may find have lice, one or two species of worms, at least two protozoan parasites, and could potentially have a whole host of other bacterial or viral pathogens with out showing any outward sign.

Anyone who works with ferals as a first responder must be prepared to quarantine them carefully, vaccinate them, and test them to find out what all you will need to treat.

But there are three huge advantages for the Assistance Pigeon Project:

They are the epitome of structural soundness. That slight, agile little body has come to be through surviving generations of environmental pressures from having to travel long distances to find food to having to dodge a wide range of predators like cats and hawks.

There is no better source of intelligence than the descendent of birds that have survived for generations on their wits and luck alone.

And no better source of an excellent immune system than the result of generations living with the host of parasites and pathogens that they are so often loaded down with in the wild. There is a reason you won't see any outward sign that a feral has anything!

Once a feral's parasites and pathogens are cleaned out, they are incredibly sturdy!

Being a domesticated animal, the offspring of ferals in human care tend to focus all the inquisitive brightness that kept their line alive in the wild on bonding and communicating with their care taker.

Racing Homer

The thoroughbred of pigeons.

If you do not count Ferals as a breed, this is the most structurally sound and intelligent of all pure breeds.

Hands down the single most athletic!

They are stockier, more aerodynamic, and far more muscular than the average feral, because they were bred to be able to find their way home from drop points up to and over 500 miles away.

It takes not just fine tuned musculature and metabolism, but an excellent memory and keen intelligence to adapt on the literal fly to the changes in environment and predator populations over such distances.

Because of their exposure in races to hundreds or even thousands of other birds from lofts all across the country, Racers also have the strongest immune system of any purebred.

Birmingham Roller

This is not a breed that flies long distances like Racers or Ferals, but as a performer, it is still required to be structurally sound.

Performances consist of flying in a small flock called a Kit to perform a waterfall effect of staggered rolls where birds backflip 15-20 times in a row in midair, straighten from the roll, and rejoin the kit, one after another.

They are less flighty than Ferals and less independent than Racers, typically working much more closely with their trainer: keeping within sight of the loft and earshot of the person.

This makes them a little more human focused and naturally inclined to be biddable.

Though many traits vary wildly by line, these tend to be very small birds; energetic, jaunty, and playful.

Aside from adding that wonderful temperament, they will help keep the end result small.

Portuguese Tumbler

I waffled on these for quite a while, mostly because of their very small size and absolute breeding overdrive.

But they are excellent parents despite being the second smallest breed of pigeon in the world, and, unlike the Valencian Figurita, generally don't need one of their nestlings fostered.

And that speaks very highly of just how physically fit they are.

There are a few big breeds among the ones selected specifically for temperament, so Ports and Birms should help bring the size down and improve the parenting ability of the blend.

But the real push was just how Exuberantly friendly and playful this gleeful little breed is!

There are two performance breeds I have no hands on experience with yet that I would like to add:

Oriental Roller

This one is a dual purpose:

Once again, a structurally sound bird of moderate build, because it is still flown in competition.

But what interests me is the tail.

This breed is one of the major components of the Mindian (Miniature Indian) Fantail, Bred to Indian Fantails too small to compete with in order to improve the structural soundness and preserve the fan.

And as one of the embellishments I want in this breed is a slight fan, this body type is ideal to help display it comfortably.

Turkish Takla

The Takla is a Roller breed, still flown in competition, and becoming popular in the US for its docile, biddable temperament.

It comes with or without crest or muffs, and I very much like the grouse muffs of this breed.

We'll have to see what the temperament is really like, but the bird is gorgeous, and I expect it will blend well in terms of structure, temperament, and moderate embellishments that are still eye catching.

Breeds selected for temperament:

Show Line Danzig Highflier

This breed is the single best investment I have ever made towards the temperament of my breeding flock!

They are intensely friendly! Every bird I have raised with any amount of Danzig in them has gone on to be a beloved cuddle bug of a pet.

My Husband's ESA, Cotta, is the closest we have gotten so far to the behaviors we want in a bird bred for Service work.

Not only is he my Husband's devoted ESA, he also acts as mine when I need regulation, and even Cheeto's when he struggles with impulse control or obsessive behaviors.

Cotta is so intensely human focused that he has organized Cheeto and another bird who was only with us temporarily to provide me aid during a very severe episode of vertigo.

That temperament has passed so reliable through Satin's family that I would have to be an idiot not to incorporate this breed.

Frillback

A shockingly mellow breed!

And not just because they could only be less aerodynamic if you gave them parachutes..

A great test to rule out learned helplessness being the root of any big or showy breed's apparent mellowness is to cross them with a smaller breed that flies well so the offspring will be more maneuverable than the big or highly embellished parent.

If the offspring that can physically evade you is flighty and nervous by nature, then the "mellow docility" of the parent is just learned helplessness.

But if that more maneuverable offspring is just as docile and tractable as the parent, then you can be pretty well assured that that really is the parent's temperament.

Frillbacks fall so soundly into the "genuinely that sweet tempered" category that it has passed on into multiple generations of my flock.

I won't use this breed much, because the curls are a little much and it's hard to find clean legged birds or lines with only moderate muffs.

But their temperament is so fantastic that it would be remiss of me not to use them at all.

Lucerne

This elegant Swiss breed borders on too mellow for its own good.

There are lines with peeps so quiet that they fail to trigger the parent's feeding response. Paired with another breed, though, even completely oblivious Lucerne will respond correctly once they see their mate feeding.

My first pair, despite hating me with the fury of a thousand suns, were so perfectly tractable that working with them was a breeze.

Some of my most out going individuals are crossed with this breed.

I love their structure and their very moderate Grouse muffs.

They have a shorter beak than I like, but it's long enough to be functional, and the other breeds will keep the beak from getting too short.

Show Type Racing Homer

This is another show breed famed for their docility.

While it isn't as absolutely incredible as the breeds higher on the list, I will be incorporating them for their very simple, elegant structure, and bold, out going curiosity.

Classic Old Frill

This breed is somewhat of an indulgence, I admit.

Of the breeds included for temperament, this is the one most likely to be flighty or skittish.

But I have such a deep and abiding love for what they are: A return to form to the original standard of the Turkish Hunkari from the now beakless Modern and Oriental Frills.

Basically, the avian version of the Retromops (If you love Pugs, you should look this breed up. It's a return to the original standard: a pug with a muzzle, that can breathe normally and regulate its body temperature.)

This breed was my first love, and I want to continue to support the breeders that loved them enough to write preventative measures into the breed standard requiring that their beaks never get so short that they can't feed their peeps unaided.

There is one other breed I want to add for temperament entirely because of the temperament of mixed progeny I have purchased for the breeding program:

American Show Racer

Titan and her Mother, Ibis, take very strongly after their ASR Grandmother/Mother, respectively.

Ibis was so friendly and outgoing on arrival that I was sorely tempted to keep her as a personal pet instead of having her join the breeding flock.

Titan, despite being very defensive when she was little, grew up to be so much like her mother it takes my breath away.

I am curious to see if this breed is really that sweet tempered and it really passes so reliably, or if Ibis and her line inherited their temperament from the Lucerne side.

There are only two breeds added purely for their embellishments:

Old Dutch Capuchin

I love the Danzig's mane, and I think a little touch of ODC will add some luxury to it.

My experience with this breed was not the best temperament wise, but I have read that not to be the norm and hope to have better luck with a different line.

Garden Fantail

This is the most structurally sound of all fantails, able to fully close the fan when not displaying to fly and walk comfortably.

I do not want a full fan in this breed, but Fans seem to be a partial dominant with variable expression, if my two half fantails,

Sher and

Soiree, are any indication.

Not a necessity, by any stretch, but I really like the look of a moderate fan.

Finally, there is a single breed I plan to incorporate for color.

Archangel

There are exactly two traits I want from the Archangel:

The dominant half of its bronzing, which results in a robin like rusty breast in heterozygous form

And the intense sheen of its recessive grease quill.

With luck and patience, I hope for these nine breeds; six for performance, six for temperament, two for embellishments, and one for color...

Add up to a healthy, long lived Therapy breed whose intelligence is not blunted by their laid back mellow docility and whose unique look sacrifices none of their structural integrity.

The breeder cap will remain at ten pair, hatch controlled between evaluation periods.

Babies will be evaluated for six months.

If neither is an improvement over one or both parents, both will be classed as pets and adopted out.

If one is an improvement over which ever parent fits the program the least well, or better yet the ideal blend of their parents beneficial traits, then that one will stay, the parents will retire and go up for adoption as a bonded pair, and the sibling will be made available to the public.

New blood will come in to improve what ever trait is most lacking after each evaluation period.

Offspring we produce may become available at younger than six months once the temperament I want is reliably consistent.

But I expect that to take a fair few generations.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

My Hero Academy Masterlist

Be aware that these are fiction works made for entertainment purposes. It includes yandere behaviours and several triggers so make sure to READ THE WARNINGS at the beginning. 

I do not support any of these toxic behaviours. 

Some of the boys will be aged-up.

Reader is always female.

REACTIONS

▶ Toxic Relationship {Hawks, Dabi, Bakugo, Deku}

▶ Noncon {Hawks, Dabi, Bakugo}

Katsuki Bakugo

▶ Lover's Quarrel - You get away from Bakugo’s toxic clutches. But soon your peace comes to an end. (Toxic Relationship; minor Violence/Abuse)

Dabi

▶ Hunger - Leaving you with an empty stomach is the first step for Dabi’s plan to break you. (Implied Kidnapping; Starvation; Manipulation)

Hawks/Keigo Takami

▶ Can't Leave Me - Seeing a darker side of Keigo has you rethinking your entire relationship. But it’s not like Keigo is planning on letting you go.  (Murder; Kidnapping)

▶ Late Night - Keigo hates threatning you - only when necessary. ( Implied Kidnapping; Threats)

More characters

Shoto Todoroki ▶ You're a small villain

Mirio Togata ▶ Rejected Offer

[thatoneluckybee]

Literally all I ask for if the new arc must be traveling is that we get bloodshed. Please. Not even in an edgy way there's just so many background characters. Please kill off some of the cats. There's 40 or 50 cats in ThunderClan alone. Most of them don't do anything. Please Erins for the love of all things KILL SOME PEOPLE OFF. GET RID OF SOME CATS PLEASE.

This is literally the perfect opportunity. It's reminiscent of The New Prophecy. The territories are being destroyed by twolegs and cats are starving. KILL THEM. Let some of the new litters of kits or some elders starve. Let twoleg activity decimate herb stores so background cats die of disease or injury. Take some of the mains with them if it needs to be believeable. Let the twolegs capture some cats again! Have some cats refuse to leave and stay behind to an unknown fate to lower the number! Let some stay with the Tribe if we meet them! Have some go off to be kittypets or loners! Bring back the Sisters if you must and have them take some babies! Let traveling hazards take some lies and cause some chaos—monsters, hawks, starvation, storms, river crossings, dogs! Plot armor is fine and dandy but some of these kitties lost that armor YEARS ago. Some of them are grandparents and yet have three lines of dialogue in total!

PLEASE LET THEM DIE THERE'S SO MANY CATS PLEASE. IM BEGGING. KILL SOME PEOPLE.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 20 - Touch Starved

Evritt is @whumpr 's boy!! Thank you for letting me borrow him, you know I love a soft sweet golden boy elf c:< This is VERY early on in their relationship!

TWs: None!! Just some touch starvation and cuddling here

"This is okay? You're sure?"

Evritt's voice drew a laugh from Mariano, midway through tugging his shirt off. "I'm sure. I want you to sleep in my bed with me." His binder followed, then his jeans and he pulled one of Bastian's old tees on to cover his chest and boxers before turning back around to Evritt. "Are you okay with it?"

Evritt sat in the bed, shirtless and antsy, the blankets already pulled up to his hips. "I'm sure. I just don't want to make you feel obligated to do...anything."

"I don't." Mariano punctuated this by crawling into his bed and slipping under the blankets, settling in on his back with a sigh. "We're just sleeping, it's way too late for you to be on the road or in the skies."

"I know, I know. Thank you, by the way." Evritt leaned back into the pile of pillows and turned off the lamp, blanketing them in darkness before he rolled onto his side.

One muscular arm draped over Mariano's waist, and goosebumps ripped up Mariano's arms. He tensed, breath catching. Evritt's body pressed up against his side, and Mariano shuddered.

"...Mariano? Are you okay?" Evritt started to lift his arm up, and before Mariano realized what he was doing, his hand darted to grab Evritt's wrist.

"Yes." Mariano started, voice sounding strangled. "Don't, don't move please." He said, trying to catch his breath. "It's just been a...a very long time since anyone's done...this."

Evritt was quiet. "Since anyone's...held you?" His voice was low.

Mariano couldn't hear his tone past his own thundering heartbeat. It was impossible to breathe. His face heated up as he swallowed. "Yes." He said. "I don't want you to stop."

"Oh." Evritt's arm relaxed over Mariano, before tightening around him and pulling himself closer. One of Evritt's legs hooked over Mariano's, and his head came to rest on Mariano's shoulder. He wrapped himself around Mariano, snug and smelling like hawk feathers and sunlight and fresh air. "Okay."

Mariano felt the aches and stiffness melt from his muscles, slow and steady, melting into his own bed with every passing moment. Evritt's weight was heavenly, the breath on his shoulder and neck was more than Mariano had ever wanted. He was so warm. His hair was soft.

Held so securely in the arms of his favorite knight in the safety of his own room, Mariano wasn't awake for longer than a few more minutes.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper @bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125

[linnoya-writes]

Zutara Childhood-Friends-to-Lovers Alter-Egos Forbidden-Romance AU (part III)

If the plan had been to keep this stealthy hawk from making her annual trips to the Southern Water Tribe, Zuko would not have guessed it by the way his uncle did not seem to notice the bird's absence, or the little messages she carried in her wing. For six months out of the year, Caiduri found a home in the icy glaciers, staying warm under the furs and fireplaces brought by her co-master, Katara.

The messages were not anything discreet; they were simply folktales retold in writing... stories that Zuko and Katara had shared in bits and pieces during those lengthy summers together, when they would eat their fruit and pretend to be ancient warriors fighting monsters in the gardens. Zuko wrote about the crescent moon, how it was the archery bow of Yazmina... daughter of the Sun God... who defied her father one night and stole flames from the Sun, launching them into the night sky to give people the stars. Katara wrote about the crescent moon as well, how it was the famous fishing hook of Hirruk, a legendary hunter of the Southern tribes who'd been given this hook by the gods to ice-fish the impossible Humpback Trout and save his village from starvation.

With each letter, Katara signed The Painted Lady. Zuko, The Blue Spirit.

It was safer this way.

They could find their way into each others’ life through letters those first four years…  and with careful strategy as the Blue Spirit and Painted Lady... Zuko and Katara read between the lines in their folktales that both the Fire Nation and Water Tribes are hoping to gather in the Earth Kingdom Capital to continue their separate trade agreements with King Kuei. Zuko promises to his uncle that he will not step out of line, Katara promises to Sokka that she will wash his socks for a month if that's what it takes to go to Ba Sing Se.

And when they each step on their respective ships headed toward the neutral Earth Kingdom territory, Zuko can feel the eagerness in his shaking hands. Katara can barely hold herself together, too.

They'd written about meeting under a plum tree that first night, after dark... though neither of them knew if plum trees were even native to the Earth Kingdom. It didn't matter, Katara thought. She would search every tree around the palace to find him.

Dressed in black, Zuko didn't find a plum tree anywhere... but he found himself walking under vines of deep purple grapes lined under the pergola of the King's grand palace gardens. This is close, he thought, maybe she might... I should wait. He climbed onto the top of the pergola and laid himself down to hide. I'll wait.

Zuko waited the entire night, his eyes almost drifting to sleep. A ruffling sound of vines jolted him back to look at the intruder. The. girl was dressed in black, approaching the pergola so curiously and carefully... as she always did. When he caught the wavy brown hair of her tribal braid, his heart pummeled against his chest.

Katara.

At first, she was alarmed at the mentioning of her name, as using their real names had NOT been a part of their plan, but the rasp in his voice was too much. It brought a smile to her entire face, and then she saw his eyes resting on the pergola. Extending his hand among so many hanging bunches of grapes, Katara let her friend pull her up to where he was. And they held each other, their voices muffled in laughter, and little words, and tears, and kisses.

The only witness was a crescent moon.

[3rdeyeblaque]

On September 6th, we venerate Ancestor Tašhúŋka Witkó aka "Crazy Horse" on the 146th anniversary of his passing 🕊

[for our Hoodoos of First Nations descent]

Crazy Horse was the legendary Oglala Lakota Warrior who spearheaded the war against invading colonizers sweeping the land & recognized as a great leader committed to preserving the traditions and values of the Lakota ways of life.

Tašhúŋka Witkó was born into war; at a time when the European colonizer threat was growing, encroaching on sacred land & driving friction between Indian communities. Even as a boy, the warrior spirit was strong in him. He raided horses from Crow Nation at age 13. Once he came of age, he took up initiation through Vision Questing. Tašhúŋka Witkó fasted alone in the wilderness for four days and nights seeking guidance from Great Spirit. What he received from this monumental moment would chart his course through life as the greatest warrior his People had ever known. He earned his reputation among the Lakota, not only by skill, but also by his fierce determination to preserve the traditions of his people. He was known for refusing to be photographed, leading with the traditional belief that by doing so would capture an essence of his soul.

By his mid-teens, Tašhúŋka Witkó (by then Crazy Horse) was already a full-fledged warrior; known for his staggering bravery and prowess on the battlefield. He rode into battle with a hawk feather in his hair, a rock behind his ear, & a lightning bolt slashed across his face. The ancestral mysticism and rituals that went into preparing him for battle is what blessed him with the power & protection to succeed.

He led his first war party in Oglala Chief Red Cloud's war against the European colonizers invading lands Wyoming from 1865-1868. He met U.S. forces in open battle for the first time in 1876 after he became a resistance leader against the Lakota being forced onto reservations. He led a band of Lakota Warriors alongside Sitting Bull, the Cheynne, & other neighboring Tribes in counterattack in the Battle of Little Bighorn against Custer’s 7th U.S. Cavalry Battalion. Custer, 9 of his officers, & 280 soldiers, all lay dead in his wake. From then on, the U.S. Gov. targeted the Northern Plains tribes who resisted its encroachment. After a year of forcing the displacement of many Indigenous communities, slaughtering the Buffalo population, and driving their starvation into surrender, eventually the same fate fell upon the Olglala Band of Lakota Nation. In 1877, under a truce flag, Crazy Horse traveled to Fort Robinson to negotiate terms of mutual surrender.

Negotiations with U.S. Military leaders broke down, allegedly as a result of the translator's incorrectly translationof what Crazy Horse said, which spurred them to quickly imprison Crazy Horse. Once he realized their scheme, Crazy Horse broke free & drew his knife. A infantry guard made a successful lunge with a bayonet and mortally wounded him. Crazy Horse succumbed to his wound shortly thereafter once it became infected. After his death, his parents buried him at an undisclosed location near Wounded Knee, South Dakota. There he rests among with the Ancestors he venerate so deeply.

"[ “Where are your lands now?”] “My lands are where my dead lie buried.” - Crazy Horse's response to a U.S. Cavalry man's taunts at the Battle of Little Big Horn.

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his unbridled warrior spirit, his leadership, prowess, & for being a beacon of light leading all Indigenous American descendants back to our traditional ways of life.

Offering suggestions: prayers toward his elevation, libations of water, offerings of tobacco, & Oglala Lakota songs/prayers

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

[bonefall]

BB!Speckletail

[ID: Speckletail from WC. She is a light golden tabby with a fluffy 'cravat' mane and brown stripes. She also has brown flecks.]

Since she's been coming up a lot! The problematic bulldozer conqueror herself. The only apprentice to survive the Great Hunger, inheritor of Doestar's legacy, and girl with the coolest death in BB

Clanmew Name: Poeswash Tiny spots pattern (Poes) + Tail (Swash)

Alignment: ThunderClan, born and raised

Relationships: Parents - Stagleap & Mossheart Aunt - Doestar Mentor - Pinestar Apprentices - Halftail, Mousefur Children - Lionheart, Goldenflower, Mistleclaw, Snowkit Grandchildren - Cinderpelt, Brackenfur, Thornclaw, Brightheart, Swiftpaw, Lynxkit, Bramblestar, Tawnypelt Father-of-her-children (derogatory) - Smallear

A serious, relentless molly who pushes herself to the limits of her abilities, and one of ThunderClan's strongest warriors when she was in her prime. Always says what's on her mind, even if you didn't want to hear it, and would rather 'beg forgiveness' rather than ask permission.

She may be aggressive and critical, but it's easy to understand where it came from. Speckletail has has a rough life-- between losing family to starvation, her murderous son-in-law, and a hawk, she has a hard time catching a break.

Ideologically, she is an excellent example of a Hard Traditionalist. She believes strongly in the values of Clan Culture at the time of TPB, like purity, loyalty, and strength, and is one of Firepaw's 'lesser' antagonists well into his warriorhood.

After her death, Speckletail is invoked as a Patron of Disaster. When storms ravage territory, or when fire tears through the forest, she is prayed to for protection, and to forestall the destruction long enough for you to make an escape.

Jumbled trivia below the cut!

The 'creamy ruff' that Doestar has is a trait that follows down to Speckletail, and at least one of the Frostfour will end up getting it.

The 'boots' and spots are from her mother, Mossheart.

Speckletail is very religious. She prays to StarClan regularly, and would often consult the Clerics with things she'd perceived as signs. She doesn't have visions, but is still quite pious.

Featherwhisker was always so good at assuring her that her nightmares weren't signs... she misses him immensely. Though she got along just fine with Spottedleaf.

She was Pineheart's first apprentice, and just as he began training her, the Great Hunger began. It was a barren summer, and a frigid winter.

None of her siblings survived. None of the other apprentices, either. She even lost her father, Stagleap. A lot of cats died.

But Pineheart kept her alive, and taught her how to be resourceful.

To her dying day, Speckletail was 'thrifty...' and would yell at cats who she saw wasting food.

In general, she could be quite negative. She had a bad habit of imagining the worst case scenario and sticking to it.

But it also made her very brave. Her worst fear is the thought of missing her chance to save someone-- death has no power over her.

In spite of her critical and harsh personality, she was VERY close with all of her family. She regularly braided Goldenflower's mane for her, and spent lots of time with her grandchildren.

She was especially happy when Goldenflower chose Tigerclaw as a mate, she was always fond of the boy.

So, she was particularly shocked when his crimes came to light. Especially that he'd been working with ShadowClan, and they assassinated Lionheart for him.

Snowkit's death devastated her, when he pushed Tawnykit out of the way as the hawk bore down on them. In her prime, she could have made that leap, she'd killed large prey like hawks before... but she couldn't. She was too old, and the strength had left her body.

She didn't like the Elder's Den very much, and felt restless. She felt powerless all over again.

And speaking of elders, Smallear is the father of her kittens but they had a very volatile relationship. They're too much alike, and were constantly getting into fights and breaking off.

He was not involved with any of their three litters. Speckletail pointedly raised them alone, but it was known that Smallear was the father.

But this also meant she mourned them alone, when Mistleclaw died of plague, Lionheart was assassinated, and when she had no body of Snowkit's to bury.

She was finally at peace with it all, in the final days. Seeing her grandchildren become fine warriors, getting to watch her great-grandchild Whitepaw grow up.

But then the destruction of the forest began with a twoleg monster veering off the Thunderpath, rolling over the trees.

As the camp was evacuating in a panic, she called Thornclaw to her, and ran towards the danger.

She wouldn't let humans and their pets take more family from her... aaaand allowed some guy probably named Matthew to file the WILDEST workman's comp case in history.

While Speckletail just thought she was attacking another predator, little did she know she was making the news and setting off a cascade of events that would lead to a team of researchers getting funding. A miracle.

But the Clan cats don't know this... all they know is that when they pulled Speckletail out of the wreckage, her fur was shiny with the blood of the monster.

It was too noxious to clean off of her remains, so they buried her with a rainbow in her fur.

Speckletail immediately became popular across the Clans for this story, becoming a patron in record time.

[topguncortez]

Bad Medicine | Chapter 3

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

synopsis: A wealthy Italian mobster sets up his daughter to marry the head of one of the last remaining mafias in California. The union was supposed to create and heal the damage between two families, but all it does is cause more harm than good. MAJOR SLOW BURN (ENEMIES TO LOVERS)

word count: 3.2k

Warnings: death/murder, guns, violence, physical abuse, cursing, mentions of prostitution, mentions of murder, blood, nudity, mentions of drugs, mentions of a brothel, torture, stabbing, burning, gun shots

Jake was never really a fan of the club. He’d much rather go to the rings instead, but like the Joker, he felt the need to show up to his own club. He stood on the second floor, leaning against the railing, looking down at the packed dance floor. He eyed Rooster and his other close friend, Javy from his spot. Javy had some redhead pressed up against him, his hand on her hips, their lips locked, merely seconds away from fucking on the dance floor. Rooster was sandwiched in between a blonde woman and a tall muscular brunette man. Bob stood next to Jake, watching everything. Bob was like a hawk, his eyes searching for the enemy. Jake sometimes wonders if he made a mistake in choosing Rooster for head of security, but Bob had a hard time killing a spider. 

Jake raised his glass of dark bourbon to his lips, “How are things at the house?” He asked Bob. 

“So far silent,” Bob said, “Leo said she took a bath and locked herself in the bedroom. Emile went home for the night. That Payback guy asked if he could stand by since we were gone, and I said that’s okay.” 

“Do we trust him?” 

“No reason not to,” Bob shrugged, “He’d be a fucking idiot to go against Santiago and whisk his daughter off to some place.” 

Jake smirked and nodded. He had only met Gianni Santiago once, and from that brief meeting, he could tell what a sick person he was. Gianni had shown up to a meeting, hands still stained with blood, eyes still wide from the high. He had walked into the boardroom with a woman, bare and on a leash behind him. 

“Dead man fucking walking,” Bob said eyeing a new face on the dance floor. Jake stood up taller, watching as the man in question went over and threw his arm around Isabella, who Jake had been avoiding all night, “He’s on your girl.”

“He can have her,” Jake scoffed, and threw back the rest of his bourbon, “Let him have a little fun first. . . I want him in the Chamber on the pew at midnight.” 

“What about Y/N?” 

“What about her?” Bob opened his mouth like he was going to say something but Jake cut him off, “Business is not going to change just cause some bitch lives in my house now. Gomez, on the pew, at midnight.” 

Bob nodded his head, knowing better than to go against Jake’s order. Out of all of them, Bob still acted as though he was still in the ranks. Jake was his superior officer for all intents and purposes, and Bob was not going to disobey a superior’s order. Jake clapped his friend on the back before looking back over the crowd. His green eyes went back to watching the man, Jeffery Gomez, weasel his way into getting Isabella to dance with him. Isabella flashed a look up at Jake, who sent her a smug smile. Isabella was clueless and would do anything to make Jake jealous, even if that meant grinding up on a man who would be headless by the time the night is over. Bob threw his head back, drinking down the rest of his drink. That was probably the only thing that changed about Bob Floyd, he started drinking. 

“I’ll see you back at the house,” Bob said, patting Jake’s back, “I’ll go let the guys know so they can get ready.”

“Maze?” The maze was one of Rooster’s most prized possessions. He had built it underneath the garden, and could control the pathways with an ipad. Rooster put his prisoners in there and watched as they struggled to try and get out. . .no one ever made it out alive. They either were killed in the maze or died of starvation trying to get out. Sometimes he would make it a quick death, other times he liked to watch them suffer. 

“Nah,” Bob sighed, “I think he might take a page out of Gianni’s book. . . missing junk.”

“Bastard,” Jake smirked and shook his head, “Send me an update about our prisoner when you get home. Make sure she hasn’t flung herself off the balcony or slit her wrists in the tub yet.”

Bob nodded, retreating away with some guards on his footsteps. Jake leaned back over the railing, looking around, spotting a girl staring him up and down. Her tan legs were exposed as she sat on a leather couch. Her deep red manicured nails gently scratched her exposed thigh, and she tilted her head back, giving Jake a show. Jake licked his lips, setting his empty glass down on a ledge and walking over to her. Her friends squealed as Jake got close. He held his hand out to her, and she looked at her friends with a smile, before pushing up off her seat and following him. 

“Where are we going?” She asked him innocently. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake answered. He walked downstairs, her hand never leaving his. Jake pushed his way through the crowd, which really wasn’t that hard as everyone seemed to part like Moses and the Red Sea. Jake made his way over to Rooster, who was now kissing the blonde girl, while the man behind him kissed up and down his neck, “Hey, we got shit to do. The orgy can wait.” 

Rooster lifted his head up and Jake nodded his head to where he had spotted Jeffery earlier, “Ah, Jefe has entered the building?” 

“Falling into the fucking venus fly trap,” Jake said. 

“Gross man,” Rooster said, scrunching up his face in disgust. He kissed the blonde one more time, before detangling from the two of them, “Pretty sure Coyote went down to the lounges.” 

“And you’re calling me gross?” Jake joked. Rooster just shook his head and followed Jake down towards the private longues, “Oh this is. . . “ 

“Lily,” The girl answered. 

“I don’t like it. . . Cherry,” Jake said and the girl nodded. 

“You check her age?” Rooster whispered. 

“Does it matter?” Jake asked and then turned to the girl, “You’ll be a good girl for me, right?” The girl nodded wordlessly and Jake smirked. He walked over to the closed door of one of the private rooms, “Wrap that shit up kids, we got work.” Jake yelled knocking on the door. He could hear Javy groan and laughed at his friend telling whatever girl he was with to get off of him. 

“Couldn’t fucking wait?” Javy asked, opening the door half naked.

“I’ll let you blow your load all over Gomez’s face. Now come on,” Jake said and winked at the redhead who was behind Javy, “You,” Jake said turning to Cherry. He grabbed her face and placed a rough kiss on her lips, “Go with them.” 

“B-but I thought-” 

“No, you didn’t think anything,” He grabbed the girl's chin and looked into her blue eyes, “Do as you're told, go with them,” Jake demanded and the girl cowered away. Javy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to follow him, “Fucking women. They don’t make them like they used to.” 

“Aimless housewives?” Rooster asked. 

“Yeah. They all seem to have something to say now.” 

“Well, hate to break it to ya, don’t think your wife is going to listen much either,” Rooster said, patting his friends back before heading towards the SUV. 

“She’ll learn,” Jake muttered to himself, fixing his collar and walking towards the dark alley behind the club. Their driver was waiting for them, and opened the door for Jake to get in. He was thankful that they made the exit swiftly, he had enough of the paparazzi snapping pictures of him leaving the clubs with women lately. Bob sent Jake a text letting them now that Gomez had been captured and they were working on bringing him back to the compound. Jake locked his phone and made eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror and nodded. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

The night sky in San Diego was foggy, and cloud covered. Y/N looked up at the sky as she lounged in the infinity pool. She had snuck out of her room past her guards, leaving a trail of clothes in case they completely started shitting their pants at her disappearance. The water was cool as it relaxed her, but so did the wine she drank too. She had already been missing the Italian night sky, being able to see the constellations from her balcony. 

Y/N pushed off the ledge she was leaning against, and floated in the middle of the pool on her back. The night air was cool, and left goose bumps over her naked body. Her eyes searched for the different constellations in the sky, easily being able to point out Scorpius, her favorite one. She could remember the story of the cluster of stars from hearing her mother tell it over and over. 

She took a big breath and pushed herself underwater, letting her body float softly towards the bottom. She felt her back hit the bottom of the pool, she opened her eyes, seeing the distorted picture above her of the night sky. Y/N could feel her lungs and eyes start to burn as she counted the seconds that passed by. The burning of the chlorine was slightly inviting as she relaxed into the water, feeling her body being gently tugged by the water. 

She expelled all the air from her lungs, watching as the air bubbles floated to the surface. It was quiet, the only sound was the small buzz in her ears. The pounding in her head increased, so she pushed herself off the bottom and broke through the surface. She took a deep breath of fresh air, slicking her wet locks behind her. The night air was chilly, and sent goosebumps down her spine. Y/N dove back underwater quickly, when she broke the surface she was facing the back entrance to the house, and now noticed more lights on in the house. 

Swimming herself over to the side of the pool, she pushed herself out and grabbed her towel, drying her naked form off. She quickly slid on her robe and tied her wet hair in a bun. She grabbed the remnants of the wine bottle and glass, moving quickly back into the house. She didn’t want to piss off Jake or any of the boys. She hardly had any real interaction with the boys besides Jake, but she could see the same look in Rooster’s eyes that was in Gianni’s, wild and electric. There always had to be one torturer in the group. Y/N rinsed out her wine glass and corked the bottle putting it away. 

She was about to run back up the stairs when she heard a shrill scream. Her conscience told her to keep going up the stairs, but something in her told her to move towards the sound. She cursed herself, as her bare feet moved back down the glass staircase and towards the sounds of screaming. Y/N hadn’t really explored the house yet, so she was going off intuition and sound. Her feet brought her to a door that sat opposite of the office she was in earlier. She gently pushed the door open and found a single dark staircase that descended into more darkness. 

“You’re a real dumbass, Santiago,” Y/N whispered to herself as she quietly walked down wooden stairs. This part of the house must be part of the original. She had found the articual layout in a box in Jake’s office. She didn’t mean to find it. . . well, yes she did mean to find it. Most mobsters were paranoid, and she knew that there had to be tunnels or paths under the house, and she was right. There was a tunnel that led from Jake’s office to a train station. 

She walked as carefully and quietly as she could, but it was easy to move with the growing whimpers and screams from the basement. The basement looked like most did in slasher films and horror movies. It was dark, light by a couple bright light bulbs. It smelled of dirt and blood, and Y/N could see old blood splatters on the floor. There was also a wooden church bench in the middle of the room, which is what she assumed Jake meant when he said “the pew” earlier. She let out a gasp as she reached a level where she could see them, and some poor soul chained up by his wrists, dangling in front of them. 

Rooster was holding a lighter to the man’s skin, letting it sizzle. The smirk on his face made Y/N’s stomach churn, Rooster was enjoying what he was doing. The chained up man’s body was covered in burns, bruises and fresh scars, more than likely from Rooster. His once soft, inviting brown eyes were dark and cold. His body language was different, his frame seeming larger as he inflicted pain upon the man. 

Rooster removed the lighter from the man’s skin, setting it down, only to pick up a knife and run the blade down the freshly charred skin. The chained man let out a loud sob, as Jake held his hand up to stop Rooster. Jake stood with his arms crossed, eyeing the man chained in front of him. There was a man with gorgeous tan skin standing next to Jake, who had the same expression on his face, unreadable and ready to kill. Bob was the one who noticed Y/N, sending her a warning look and motioning softly for her to go back up the stairs before Jake noticed. Y/N shook her head, fear freezing her brain from making rational choices. 

“I’m going to ask you again,” Jake said, stepping forward. He held his hand out and Rooster placed a knife in his hand. Jake twirled the knife over in his hand, walking up to the chained man, “Who gave you the order to rough up one of my whores?” 

“N-No one!” The man yelled. Jake’s face rose into a sinister smirk as he took the knife and dug it straight into the man’s scrotum. The man yelled in pain, loud enough to make the walls vibrate. Bob turned his head, and looked at his shoes, while Rooster couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. Y/N couldn’t help but let out a small scream, covering her mouth quickly. 

Jake snapped his head over to the staircase. If his eyes weren’t ready to kill they certainly were now. Jake didn’t even say anything, but Y/N started walking over to him. Jake grabbed her body, pulling it flush against him, holding the same knife he just used against her throat. Jake ghosted his lips over her ear. Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the cool metal against her skin, and the drip of the chained man’s blood ran down her throat. 

“You tell me, or I'll slit her throat right here,” Jake said. His voice had seemed to drop an octave, sounding more intimidating. The unknown man, Bob and Rooster all shared a look, not sure of what Jake’s motive was. They all knew they couldn’t kill Y/N, as much as Jake probably wanted to, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t rough her up a bit to teach her a lesson. 

“Jake, just let her go-” Bob said, taking a step forward but Jake pressed the knife into her skin, making her let out a gasp. 

“Oh no, she decided to come down here and intervene. If this fucker,” Jake nodded towards the chained man, “Really values women as much as he claims too then he won’t let me kill her. So. . . who gave you the order!” His voice was loud and it made Y/N jump in his arms. He could feel her body start to tremble. 

“I said, I don’t know!” The man yelled, “Let me go! Let her go! Please!” 

Jake pressed the knife down harder, and Y/N gasped feeling the crushing weight of it. She felt her breathing becoming restricted and did her best to not move. Jake wrapped his hand tighter around her midsection to keep her standing. The blade made a slight cut against her tan skin, and she prayed that the poor bastard would confess before she ended up on the ground bleeding out. 

“Tell me!” Jake yelled, the veins in his throat popping out, “I swear to fucking god, I’ll kill her.” 

The unknown man moved next to Y/N, holding a gun against her temple, “We’re not fucking joking.” 

‘So much for possibly having an ally’ she thought to herself. 

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely. She had always been smart to stay away from Gianni’s torture room. It had taken years of therapy to get over what she had seen him do to Francisco and her own trauma she endured. She felt her body shaking in Jake’s grasp, as her breathing came few and far between. She felt like her body would collapse in dead weight if it wasn’t for Jake’s harsh grip on her body keeping her upright. 

“I-I don’t-” The man started as the unknown man cocked the gun, pulling a round into the chamber. He pressed it firmly against her head, as if he was trying to push the barrel into her skin, “F-Fine! It was Soto, Dante Soto! He wanted to get you back for cutting his gun stock and I-” 

The man couldn’t finish his sentence as the unknown man shot him in the head. Y/N screamed at the sound. Jake let her go and she collapsed on the ground. Bob moved over to help her, grabbing her arm to lift her up, but Jake held his hand up to stop him. 

“Leave her,” He said, wiping off his knife and setting it back on the table. 

“Jake-” 

“I said, leave her!” Jake yelled again and Bob stepped back from Y/N, “The whore’s gotta learn somehow. Get some guys to clean this shit up. Deliver him on Soto’s front door. Leave a nice little note too.” 

All four of them walked past Y/N as she pulled herself into the fetal position and cried. Jake watched her as she sobbed onto the ground, and smirked. He squatted down by her body and ran his hand over her back. The gesture would usually bring comfort to one person, but Y/N felt nothing but fear in it. Her body trembled as she pulled her knees closer to her chest. The smell of blood was starting to make her head spin. 

"You're gonna learn not to disobey me someday," Jake whispered to her. He pushed himself off from his squatting position, fixed his suit jacket before walking out of the chamber.

She heard the door slam shut and she couldn’t move. It was like she was reliving her worst nightmare all over again. Francisco was holding her to the ground, repeatedly punching her, kicking her, choking her until there were spots in her vision. Y/N let out a scream that echoed off the walls but fell on deaf ears.

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