#i get that you see that burner i used as a big risk but it wasnt going to start a housefire within ten minutes and i had my shit timed

[loudanqueer]

.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Outta left field.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The brick facade stares back at you. You have to keep from gaping in awe. You're not a sightseer, you're there to work. A job. Your first ever. A bit late, but better than never.

You stop at the gate and hike up your kit as you shove your hand in your pocket in a cramped search. You slide out the flip phone and pop the top, clicking through for the email. The cheap burner is all you could afford and you needed a cell to get any sort of employment. Even just to live, it seems.

You click on the agency's email. A concise list of instructions for your first day. Alone. Last week, you shadowed a woman named Florence as she took you through an east-side home, but this week, you're on your own and uptown. The property is much nicer than any you've been in before. The sort you gaze at longingly in passing. A true urban palace.

You follow the first point on the list, keying in the code awkwardly with spaced-out punches. The last beep triggers a buzz as the mechanism releases and you turn the haandle to let yourself through the iron gate. You close it, pushing it to make sure it catches. You look around at the greenery; expertly trimmed hedges and a stone bench, flowerbeds clustered artfully in all shades. A mini Versailles in the heart of the city. The owners must be very well-off.

You gulp as you follow the stonework of the winding path along the curved driveway. Your shoulder aches from the weight of your kit and your spine is still rigid from the tense bus ride. You approach the front door and stagger to an awkward halt as you check the screen again. In all caps; DO NOT USE THE FRONT DOOR. You peer up over the stone steps and give a nod. Of course the help should go through the back.

You circle around to the rear of the house, the scent of pollen and the freshly groomed hedges clouding around you. You find the door nestled beneath a net of ivy and key in the next code. The very modern security contrasts the antique veneer of the house. You step into the silence of the grand home and listen. You're not sure if you're alone. What do you do if you aren't? It might be awkward to wash someone's floor without an introduction.

You move to the next directive; cover shoes. You squint and suck your lower lip in. You see the small box on the corner table tucked beside the door. You stay on the mat as you pull on the plastic shoe covers. It makes sense. You don't want to track in another mess to clean.

Again, your breath flies away from you. Even just the back hallway is divine, or maybe you're just brutish. You're not very hard to impress with what you're used to. A job won't cure it, but it'll make it bearable.

The next point; gloves. Okay. At least it's straightforward. The owners must be very particular. Or germaphobic. You let your assumptions write a story as you advance into the house. The email directs you to a closet where you are permitted to hang your things and where a mop, broom, and vacuum await you amid other supplies too big for your bag. Next point…

You proceed inside, slowly. The instructions are written almost to guide your every step. You move down the hallway with duster, broom, vacuum, and finally the mop. You're sweating by the time you get to the first doorway. The kitchen. Despite your employ, the place is already near immaculate. The only sign of life is a single black mug beside the sink.

It's eerie as you cross the tile, investigating with your eyes, almost too afraid to touch. You're going to have to if you mean to do good work. You continue down the list, doing your best to be thorough. When you return to the hall you're caught in place by a thought. There are no family pictures. It adds to the emptiness of it all. There are portraits of famous landmarks and imitations of reknowned artworks, though you wouldn't be surprised if they were genuine. But no family.

Next point. A bathroom just diagonal from the kitchen, spacious with dark wood and shining gold. You leave it smelling with the sterile scent of the cleaner. Back in the hall, you pause to drink from the water bottle in your bag. You head back down the hall intent on your next task. An hour already.

Another large room; a dining room that opens into a sitting room with a large fireplace. It really is amazing. Your father won't believe how nice it is here. You don't have time to worry about convincing him as you dive into your work. It isn't difficult work but you want to do a good job. You get this knot in your stomach just think of your boss, Clara, telling you otherwise or going home with bad news.

You finish the sitting room and go back to get your water. You nearly finish it. You check the time again, then the list. You can refill before you continue. You go back to the kitchen and cross to the fridge, pressing your bottle to the lever beneath the filter. It'd be nice to have something like that at home. You listen the hum of the fridge as you fill your bottle.

"Ahem," the clearing of a throat startles you and you jump, splashing yourself with cold water as you spin to face a tall man. He stares at you imperiously from the doorway, his figure lithe as he holds his chin up in dissatisfaction. "And who said you could do that?"

"Um," you swallow and look at your water bottle, fingers numbed by the water, "sorry, sir, I ran out--"

"Clean up your mess and get back to work," his lilted accent slices into you.

"Sorry, sir--"

"Bullet number one, A," he says tersely.

You frown as you struggle to understand. You replace the cap on your bottle and fish in the pocket of your black pants. You take out the phone and check the email. 'Do not speak unless permitted.' Well, he spoke to you first. It's the only reason you said anything. You're not very chatty yourself.

You keep from repeating sorry again and dip your head down. You take the cloth tucked into your pocket and bend to sop up the water from the floor. You don't look at him as he looms and you exit the room, sidling past him in shame. Oh no, you hope he doesn't tell Clara.

You replace your bottle in your bag. You'll go without. You look at your phone again. You can do this. No more mistakes.

You march back down the hall and dare a glance into the kitchen as you pass. He's already gone. That must be Mr. Laufeyson, the owner noted in the job description. Is it just him? He doesn't seem very fond of others. Or just you. You're just a maid, after all.

🧹

Your father's apartment is in the south. The fence is crooked and missing slats and the grass is patchy and yellowed. The porch groans as you climb the steps and let yourself into his side of the duplex. Cigarette smoke greets you with a cough in your throat. You open the window he shut in your absence as the TV blares in the next room. He's on the couch, puffing tobacco into the air in gray swirls. The place is even grimmer after a day amid your client's spotless halls.

"Hey dad," you say as you stand just beside the couch, "how was your day?"

He grunts and offers nothing else. That's about what you get from him. The effort of just that noise sends him to hack and his wrist tangles in his oxygen tube as brings his hand up. He knocks ash from the end of his cigarette onto the floor.

"First day alone went well," you say as he settles, breathing loudly as he tries to steady his breaths. "Think I did pretty good."

"Oh, big whoop, got a job, at last," he sneers, "about time. What're you? Thirty-three?"

"Thirty," you correct him, but don't add that your birthday is coming up.

"Same difference," he croaks and sucks on the smoke until he's coughing once more.

You try not to let him defeat you. It's just the way he is. You brought home A's from school and he wondered why they weren't A+'s. And when you got accepted to college, he asked you who was gonna pay for it. And when you filled out an application at the drive-thru window, he asked you if you were going to be another deadbeat flipping burgers.

"What, they got you scrubbing floors?" He spits, "you don't do it for free or something?"

He looks around venomously. You do clean but you can't get the yellow stains out of the wall or the stench out of the carpet. You won't say so.

"Did you eat yet?"

"Can't be near the stove with this thing," he taps the top of the tank on the other side of the armrest. He's also not supposed to smoke near it. Or at all.

"I'll heat up the hamburger helper from last night."

"Fucking dog food," he barks.

You wince. You love your father but he's a very picky man. Things must be his way or no way at all.

"Might have a frozen pizza," you suggest.

"Cardboard," he mutters.

You stand, silent and helpless. There isn't much else left in the fridge.

"Could afford better if you'd got your ass up ten years ago," he buts out his smoke and just as quickly, opens the pack to slide out another.

"I tried..."

"Not hard enough, eh," He takes off the oxygen tube and leans away from the tank to light the next cigarette, "not hungry. All your talkin' spoiled my appetite."

You apologise and leave before you can annoy him further. You're not very hungry either. Just sore and tired. Your feet hurt from being on them all day and your eyelids droop lower with each blink. You climb the stairs and drag your feet into your bedroom and shut the door gently. Your father hates when you slam. You don't like it much yourself.

You fall into bed as the musty air clings in your nose. You close your eyes and roll onto your side. You sigh. You figure if you can handle your father, you can handle Mr. Laufeyson and his list.

🧹

Your next job is in the eastside. It's not as precise or overbearing. The instructions are standard; a list of the rooms that need cleaning and a tip left on the counter. The email says the family is out of town. How nice it must be to come home to a nice, clean house. You pad out the three-day week with two more home in the northwest suburbs. The money would be better if you could work a full week but so long on you're in your probation period, you only get part-time hours.

Your second week starts again in the north, outside the Laufeyson property. The codes are different but the list is the same. You begin your work diligently. This time, you ration your water, and pay special attention to each step. Once you're through this week, you get your first check. Dad should be happy about that.

As you get to the front room, a living room or what some might call den, you set first to dusting the ornaments on the high mantel. You find the more you do it, the work is almost soothing. It's simple and mindless. You admire the silver candlestick, careful not to loosen the tall candle placed in it.

"Shiny," the slither frightens you. You quickly replace the candlestick at the corner of the mantle and face that man; the presumed Mr. Laufeyson. "Somehow, I feel it wouldn't belong in wherever you call home."

You lower your eyes. Florence says most clients are friends but she warned you about these ones. Those who deride you and the work they don't want to do themselves.

"The previous one did think they were lovely," he muses as he struts forward, his long steps like a cat's, "too bad they were too big for her bag."

You flick your gaze back up and blanch. "Sir, I wouldn't--"

He tilts his head as his eyes flash dangerously. You snap your mouth shut and give an apologetic frown. You press a finger to your lips to say, I'll be quiet.

"She was chatty too. You girls always are."

You nod and listen. Your throat constricts as you wring the cloth in your hands. You think you might not be very forgiving if someone tried to steal from you either.

"But..." he looks at his watch, "you are quick."

The comment drips from his mouth as if it tastes bitter to him. It isn't quite praise, only a fact, but it isn't a reproach. He smirks and snickers.

"And you do look rather terrified. We're understood then."

You give another nod. You think you understand. You wouldn't think to steal but you can't blame him for putting down rules. You squint and your brow twitches as your ears tinge.

"Point one C," you whisper to yourself; 'Do not steal.'

He pauses as he goes to pivot on his heel. He lifts his chin and shifts as if he might look at you. He doesn't as he carries on to the door.

"You may refill your bottle once per shift," he pauses by the door, tapping the frame before he leaves you.

You stay stuck to the floor, wavering as you watch him go. He wasn't nice, but he didn't dismiss you either. You can stomach his disapproval if it means you still have work.

[girlleon]

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

leon kennedy x fem!reader.

warnings: emotional incest (daddy-daughter), dead parent, Leon’s ooc and kind of a pervert and a very unreliable narrator, reader is just a little bit too.

tumblr shadowbans posts that use nsfw tags, ergo the only tags I will use are in the post. content is below the read more and you’re responsible for your own media consumption. read at your own risk.

Your dad isn’t a bad guy. He’s, you know, inept in the way sitcom dads are. He has to ask you how the dishwasher runs when he sees you do it and it takes a couple times, but he figures it out in the end. Same thing with the washer and not having to separate out your reds and whites so you don’t make pink.

Leon’s just… he’s just a bit lonely. Mom died a decade back and now he walks around with half his heart in his hands and stares at you a little too long ‘cause you look just like her.

He tried dating but every woman he went out with could see his broken heart from a mile away and it was like seeing a dilapidated house, nobody wants a fixer-upper.

It’s no surprise to you when he starts hanging off you when you’re cooking for the two of you, big arms wrapped around your waist and cheek on your shoulder. Mom always said he was so clingy and would laugh every time she said that as he pressed his mouth to every place he could reach.

That was another thing too, she’d get playfully annoyed when she was wearing a strappy dress for some sort of work function and he’d damn near glue himself to her—body and mouth. She could never take it when he’d give her that kicked puppy look and reluctantly let go either.

Like mother, like daughter, you guess. You don’t shove him off or squirm free when he clings to you like a barnacle on a ship and you don’t complain because you damn well need the comfort too, even if you guys end up sharing a bed more often than not.

Your dad wasn’t very touchy when you were little, save for when you two were wrestling and he’d go a little too hard and wouldn’t let you up. You’d scream and cry when he wouldn’t let you out from under him and more often than not went crying to mom when she’d walk in.

But, anyway, he has that awkward demeanor of a guy who never got a hug from mommy when he was little. Hence why you never went to him when you wanted comfort, and mom was softer anyway, except for maybe a handful of times.

He told you once that he liked when you were sick because it meant you’d want his comfort, which stuck with you for a long while, but you’re past that, you’re a grown girl now.

Well, okay, it gets a little strange one day when he wraps himself around you like a vine from behind, fresh out of the shower. You get a whiff of him and pause, the wooden spatula freezing in the pan. He feels you stiffen up and lifts his head up, about to ask what’s wrong when you ask, “Is that my body wash?” sounding extremely scandalized and shocked.

Fuck, he never likes it when you’re shocked or angry or anything but happy with him. “Maybe.” Leon replies elusively, tightening his hold on you.

“Okay, what the fuck, dad?” You try to turn around but he holds tight. You stir faster, some rice slopping over the sides of the pan to burn on the electric burner. “Did you run out of yours, or something?”

“No.” Leon shakes his head, nose dragging across your clothed shoulder. “I just like the way yours smells.”

You make a face, unsure how to really respond to that. “Weirdo.” You decide after a while, shaking more soy sauce into the rice and stirring it around.

“Your mom never minded.” He huffs, pressing his nose to the crook of your neck and fighting a smile when your shoulders jump.

Your brows furrow and you turn off the burner with a click. “I’m not mom.” Comes out harsh, the spatula banging on the side of the pan to get the stray rice off.

Leon frowns, pressing his mouth to your shoulder for a moment. “I know, sweetheart.” He mumbles, straightening up and loosening his hold on you when you reach for the plates.

You frown too, lips pressing into a line as you dish out the food for yourself. He can damn well serve himself, he’s a grown ass man.

Dinner is a stiff affair, but he’s nice enough to do the damn dishes for his number one girl. “C’mere.” He tells you when he’s done, holding his arms out. You come over, of course, cheek squishing against his shoulder as you sag against him. You can never stay mad at that old oaf for long. “I miss her.” Dad murmurs by your ear, pretending not to notice the way your arms flare with goosebumps. Sensitive ears, you got that from him.

“I know, dad.” You mumble back, nose invaded by the orange scent of your body wash on him and his sharp-smelling aftershave. “I miss her too.” Enough time’s gone by that your voice doesn’t crack when you say that, but your throat aches all the same.

He squeezes you closer, resting his cheek on the top of your head, kissing it before laying his cheek back on your head.

Leon’s not a bad guy. You’re just the closest thing he’s got to a wife. And he really needs to get a fucking grip because he can’t keep walking around at half-mast because you called him dad. Like, what the hell else are you supposed to call him? Leon? Fuck no. You’re his kid and kids don’t call their parents by their first names, except for that creepy kid in The Ring, but that’s fake.

God, there’s something wrong with him, he’s got a couple screws loose or something that makes him react this way. He made you. He remembers going to all the ultrasound appointments and buying the prenatals and the damn cravings. He remembers holding you when your mother finally pushed you out, kissing her sweaty temple when you opened your little mouth and started crying because the world was too loud compared to the comfort of the womb.

And he remembers when little thirteen-year-old you dragged his sorry ass into the house after he collapsed on the lawn in a drunken stupor. He was in and out for a bit after you finally lugged him inside onto the couch and had to chase after the cat for good measure and bring her silly ass back in.

When he woke up, it was six in the morning and he had one of the worst hangovers of his life. There was already a little bowl on his blanketed lap in case he puked and you were curled up in a ball on the furthest side of the couch, snoozing away.

He let you stay home for the day and had an intervention with himself as you played nurse. Maybe that’s when shit got fucked up and lines got blurred. Somewhere along the way, some wires got crossed and you started sitting where your mom did, in addition to sleeping in their bed too.

He remains awake as you snore contentedly with your back to him, his chest firmly against your spine and hips against his. See, that’s another thing you got from him, those hips and perky ass. The more he thinks about it, you’re all him in all the best and worst ways.

Best ways: hips. Ass. Definitely legs too. You got his nose and his dimples and smile. And that little spring to your step that reminds him of the days before he transferred to the RCPD and came out of Raccoon City worse for wear. You make the same faces he does—got that nearly permanent furrow in your brow that he smooths out with his thumb and warns you that you’re too young for wrinkles. Sensitive ears too.

Worst ways: clingy. It was worse when you were young and always wanted to be around him. Jeez, he gets that you were a kid and all, but wow. Is it normal for kids to cling onto their dad’s calves and tell them not to go to work? Another thing, you’re so damn sensitive. Just one comment will throw you off and he’ll be begging for you to get back to normal. One time when you were twelve, he tried to spank you and he got the silent treatment for the rest of the night after you wiggled your way free, tears streaming down your little face. He slept on the couch because he felt so bad.

There is one thing though… Leon can pat himself on the back for making the perfect girl for him. You just share half his DNA, which makes things a little sticky.

You shift a little in your sleep, your ass pressing against his dick and he has to damn near bite his tongue bloody so he doesn’t make a noise because you’re asleep. More often than not, he has to go rub one out in the bathroom and feel guilty because all that can get him off is thoughts of you.

He tries out dating apps again a couple days after that. “Honey?” He calls out as you’re in the kitchen putting the dishes away.

“What?” Ugh, he hates that, you should just come over here when he calls out for you. When he doesn’t respond, you groan so loudly he can hear you from two rooms over, walking over to where he sits on the couch with those bifocals. “What, dad?”

“Can you help me set up my Tinder profile?” He has to hold in a smirk when you do a double take and shift your weight between your feet, gaze falling down to your bare legs because you decided to torment him and wear those stupid bike shorts before he trains his eyes back on your face.

“Aren’t you… aren’t you a little old for that?”

You don’t mean any harm, but he winces a little for show, his hand over his heart. “Ouch, honey, that hurts. I’m your old man, you should be nice to me.”

You huff at him and plop down next to him on the couch, leaning so close he can smell your coconut body butter you insist on slathering yourself in after a shower. Just take them a little colder, you don’t need to boil alive to get clean. “What do you have?” You ask him, scratching the tip of your nose.

He hands his phone over to you and you hold it carefully, swiping through his pictures catalogue before you look up at him, distinctly unimpressed in the way only hot college girls can be. He finds himself asking more than a little defensively, “What?”

“You need better pictures.” And to not set your age limits at a grandma’s age and a college girl’s age. “Hang on, I have some good ones of you.”

“Did your mom take them?” He leans over to watch you swipe through your gallery.

You shake your head, selecting a couple pictures from a folder named ‘dad’ and texting them to him. “No, I caught a couple candids of you maybe a couple weeks back. And Aunt Claire always sends some to me when all you older folk go out.”

Leon gasps in mock scandal, notching his sharp chin on your shoulder. “I could sue you for that. Unlawful surveillance. What are you doing taking pictures of me without my knowledge anyway?”

You freeze before you go back to selecting the right pictures for his Tinder carousel. “Scrapbooking.” You answer quietly after a long, uncomfortable pause, your eyes on his phone screen. “I don’t have much of mom, so I take as many of you as I can.”

Oh, sweetheart. He wraps an arm around you and squeezes you tight as you help him finish setting upon his profile. See, a couple good ones: him holding a bass as big as his arms put together, one of him smiling unguardedly with Auntie Claire’s German shepherd mix on his lap insisting on pets—he’s smiling so wide his dimples are showing, his fingers buried in the long fur—another of him taking a picture of you taking a picture of him, maybe he can add more when he feels like it.

He squints at the screen, maybe he should up his prescription, “What the hell’s a bio?”

You snort, halfway amused and halfway bewildered. “Like, biography, dad.”

“Why don’t they just say that?” He says to watch you turn to look at him, your noses just this far apart.

You turn back around, face warming. “Because it was meant to be shorthand.”

“Oh.”

You show the phone to him. It’s got his Zodiac—Scorpio—in a tab along with his height and weight, marital status, whether he drinks or smokes or is ‘420 friendly’—which you tell him means whether he’s okay with weed, he says no and you change that—whether he’s a cat or dog person, all the really important things to consider in a potential partner. He adds that he has you, then hedges on whether he should mention the dead wife.

You veto mentioning it, so he leaves it out, then saves his profile.

A bit after you help your dad set up his tinder profile—apparently, DILFs are in—you get asked out on a date. Which, normally, would be cause for celebration.

You just feel anxious at the thought of telling your dad that you’re going out. Like, how is he going to respond? He was never overprotective, and isn’t really now, but you really dislike the idea of leaving him alone for a while. You keep it a secret until you come downstairs and he’s making dinner. He turns around when he hears your feet on the creaky stairs, eyebrows raising as he lets out a low whistle at your outfit.

Your face warms all the way up to your ears.

“Where are you going?” He asks, managing to not sound sleazy as he turns back around to stir the sauce in the pot, the only thing betraying his true feelings being how jerky his movements are.

“Out on a date.” You reply reticently, shifting from foot to foot at the bottom of the stairs.

“Okay.” He says after a tense pause. Then he glances back over his shoulder, waggling his eyebrows at you. “Play safe.”

“Ew, dad.” You say as you go get your shoes and pull them on where you sit on the stairs. “Not happening.”

He hums, eyeing you surreptitiously. Aw, blue underpants this time, not red or black. “Good. At least wait until the third date.”

“I’m going now.” You tell him emphatically, wrapping your arms around him from behind before you walk out, keys in your bag. Leon’s stomach flips when your hand lands on his stomach, body betraying him once again. He curses under his breath and hangs his head, willing himself to calm down and kill that jealousy rising in the back of his throat as he watches you pull out of the driveway and go on your date.

Well, you come home thirty minutes later, guilt eating at you for daring to go out on a date. Nevermind the fact that you’re a fully grown adult and can do whatever you want because you’re young and hot.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He’s at the table, eating by himself and painting a very sad picture of bachelorhood. “Did it not go so well?”

“Yeah.” You lie, getting yourself a plate and serving yourself some spaghetti and meatballs. You didn’t even make it to the restaurant before you took a u-turn and went home, making up something about an emergency coming up. “Didn’t like the guy, gave me bad vibes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He gets up and scoops you into a hug, hiding his glee successfully. “Other fish in the sea.” He says blithely when you’re both sitting down.

You slurp up the last of your spaghetti before giving him a smile. “Yeah. Other fishes.”

Neither of you mean a word you say.

A month later, he gets to go out on a date with someone else. He tells you the day of, the very same way you did a month prior.

Turnabout’s fair play but your stomach still complains and you’re still jealous of this woman.

He tuts and flicks your nose when you’re silent for a little too long, grinning when you scowl at him and jab him in the stomach. He grunts and doubles over and gets you back, this little play-fight going on for a few minutes because neither of you matured past the age of twelve.

Eventually, you get away and watch him adjust his clothes that you helped pick him out, your arms folding as you pout and sulk on the inside. “Don’t pout at me, babygirl.” He tells you, giving you a wink that traitorously makes your stomach flip-flop. “I’ll be back around nine, you can bring the hammer down if I’m out past curfew.”

You still don’t smile, you feel a little like you’re being replaced. Then again, this mystery woman isn’t the one who gets to have him clinging onto her as she cooks or while you sleep in the same bed or on the couch watching a movie you picked out because Leon’s a big softie and can never say no to his favorite girl.

But she might, and you revolt at the thought of having a stepmother at your big age. You two made it a decade without a replacement, you certainly don’t need one, and lately, you’re not so sure dad needs one either. You’re a wife figure all on your own.

He leaves with a big hug and a kiss dropped on the top of your head, the door shutting behind him. You watch him reverse out of the driveway before you start on dinner and sulk the entire way through the oven cooking your chicken nuggets.

Leon comes home an hour later and scoops you into a hug, rousing you from sleep in your shared bed.

“What’s up, dad?” You sleepily nose at him, head tucked into his neck. “Did you not like her?”

“Nah. I didn’t even see her, I told her something came up.” He pets your head and you snuffle, one arm wrapping around his waist.

“How come?”

“Bad vibes.” He knows you know he’s lying. “Besides,” he shifts, scooping you onto his lap, “I’ve got my number one girl right here.”

[mulletmitsuya]

Sano Groupchat (and closely affiliated)

Warnings: swearing, suggestive, the word necrophilia is mentioned twice, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of drugging, also a "description" of a penis (it's not what it sounds like i swear)

Side note: i've realized that my warnings without context, make me look like a crazy person so please bear with me 😔🙏

Desc: Mikey gets kidnapped by a crazy fan and so forth (i'm so bad at these, might remove them 💀)

Shinichiro: Mikey, we're glad to have you back. i'll release a statement saying you need to recover from the traumatizing situation you've just been through. just rest up okay?

Emma: yeah, we're here if you need anything :((

Izana: you're alive, so

Emma: Izana ☹️

Izana: ...

Izana: we are here to support you through difficult times

Izana: as your "siblings" 🙂

Shinichiro: what are the quotation marks for bud 😞✊?

Izana: my hand slipped

Shinichiro: oh okay then!

Mikey: guys

Shinichiro: Draken, how's the arrest going?

Draken: the girls trial is in a few weeks from now and she can't afford bail so she's locked up

Mikey: guys it's not that deep

Mikey: like, it's not as big of a deal as you're making it out to be

Izana: see? he's fine

Emma: YOU WERE MISSING FOR 2 WEEKS

Emma: YOU WERE LITERALLY KIDNAPPED BY A CRAZY FAN. IT'S A BIG DEAL

Mikey: but they didn't hurt me?? they made all my favourite snacks and food and tucked me into bed every night. which maybe was a little weird but i still liked it. i had a very good time actually. so why are we arresting her? she's chill fr

Draken: that's all she did?

Baji: how do you know she didn't drug you in your sleep and do things to you 🤨

Mikey: bro?

Shinichiro: Keisuke, that's a very sensitive topic for some people, so let's not say it so casually okay?

Baji: what?

Baji: is it a long shot to say Mikey was touched or something?

Baji: i mean, what other motives did she have

Baji: and you guys saw her tweets right? she's obsessed with you

Baji: wasn't she the one who calculated the circumference, length, girth and colour of your penis??

Draken: no that's another one

Baji: nvm

Baji: that was Haruchiyo

Haruchiyo: fuck off

Mikey: Baji we literally go to onsens together with Haruchiyo. you've all seen my penis 😐

Baji: hard and soft are two different things

Baji: you pervert

Haruchiyo: it wasn't me, what the fuck?

Haruchiyo: i'm too famous to be risking my reputation like that

Haruchiyo: i'd need a burner account no one could access, which i don't have

Haruchiyo: so no Baji, i don't have a Mikey fanpage

Haruchiyo: that would be crazy and weird and bordeline insane

Baji: i didn't say any of that?

Baji: and you are all 3 of those things🤨

Mikey: well whatever cause everyone was wrong. it's small

Mikey: you know what it's not even small. it's average for my size, actually

Mikey: i mean i'm 5'3 yk. what did people expect

Mikey: like, it would look weird if i had a big one

Mikey: it would be disproportionate to have a big one

Mikey: i see people saying "i know it's big😍" or stuff like "i wanna gag on it"

Emma: gross

Emma: why are you telling us this 😟

Mikey: which i find really flattering

Draken: flattering isn't the word i'd use

Mikey: yeah thats cause you're a fucking prude, Ken-chin

Draken: it's cause i have a wife, jackass

Emma: 😊❤

Mikey: but seriously it wouldn't make sense for me to have a big penis

Baji: excuses excuses 🙄

Mikey: my penis is fine

Baji: they gave you dick dysmorphia

Mikey: whatever it's not like i'll use it anyway

Baji: bottom?

Mikey: i just don't like sex 😐

Izana: are we here to listen to Mikey talk about his small dick or what

Shinichiro: yeah maybe we should... not

Mikey: well, yours is skinny so whatever

Shinichiro: no it's not 😕

Shinichiro: i've had many people compliment me for my size, actually

Izana: "many"

Izana: "people"

Mikey: we know it's not girls, just say you fuck men (Wakasa) dude

Baji: no girl wants you bro

Baji: (isn't it Takeomi?)

Mikey: (Takeomi is violently homophobic)

Baji: (oh yeah)

Haruchiyo: what are you guys doing

Mikey: (whispering)

Haruchiyo: you guys are texting

Haruchiyo: we can all see this

Haruchiyo: are you fucking dumb

Haruchiyo: not you, Mikey

Mikey: thanks Haru 😋

Baji: he was doing it too???

Baji: i get why Takeomi was homophobic 😒

Baji: (when are you going to address his crush on you, Mikey)

Mikey: (it's not a crush, you ever heard of bff's, Keisuke🙄?)

Baji: (that's like saying me and Kazutora are bff's)

Mikey: (you are?)

Baji: (i'm in love with him)

Mikey: (oh yeah)

Mikey: (but Haru isn't in love with me)

Baji: (he probably creams his pants when you use that nickname)

Haruchiyo: i can see this

Haruchiyo: you aren't "whispering"

Haruchiyo: IT'S A FUCKING GROUPCHAT

Draken: does this matter?

Draken: we were talking about the fact that Mikey was kidnapped

Draken: Baji is right, something really bad could have happened if they have you longer

Draken: along with the statement, we need to talk to your fans man

Draken: this is a line crossed

Baji: no shit

Baji: also, why didn't you, i don't know, fight back and escape or something?

Mikey: i didn't want to hit a girl 😔

Mikey: like i said, i enjoyed my time there

Mikey: knew you guys would find me eventually so it was like, a side quest

Draken: of course you'd call a kidnapping a side quest

Emma: how'd she even kidnap you?

Mikey: she saw me at a convenience store and they'd run out of my favourite sweeties

Mikey: and i was whining about it to the cashier, so i guess she overheard

Mikey: and she said she had some in her car

Mikey: so i go there with her

Mikey: then she asked for an autograph

Mikey: then i'm pretty sure she drugged me with chloroform or something cause i was out

Emma: chloroform isn't like the movies. it takes a while to knock someone out, so that's not really likely unless you stood there and took it

Mikey: ...

Mikey: ok fine, do you want me to say i fell asleep in her car? huh?

Mikey: cause that's what i did

Izana: it's like you *want* to die or something

Izana: nvm

Baji: are you stupid or something

Draken: Mikey

Draken: you are 25 years old

Draken: and you're telling me

Draken: that you fell for the "hi kid, want some candy?" trick

Draken: are you fucking serious

Shinichiro: Mikey...

Shinichiro: you could have gone to another store 🙁

Shinichiro: i almost lost you

Shinichiro: because of jellybeans? really?

Mikey: they're my favourite sweet okay ☹️

Mikey: and i was lazy and tired

Mikey: hence, falling asleep

Baji: he has to have necrophilia or something

Shinichiro: i don't think that's the word buddy

zana: "necrophilia"

Izana: didn't you graduate?

Baji: working on it 💪

Izana: ah alright

Izana: what's your IQ?

Baji: below average

Mikey: Baji, don't tell people that ☠️

Izana: ...

Izana: wow he actually answered me

Emma: *sigh*

Draken: what's the point of tying out your physical actions

Emma: shut up a little babe

Draken: ok

Emma: what Baji meant, was necormancy

Draken: that's incorrect, babe

Emma: omg can we just wrap this up

Izana: both of you are wrong 💀

Izana: what is wrong with you people

Izana: necrophilia= sexual attraction to a dead body

Izana: necormancy= communication with dead people

Izana: narcolepsy= condition characterized by an extreme tendency to sleep

Izana: i'm assuming you guys meant to say the third one, for Mikey

Izana: holy shit

Emma: no need to be mean about it 😒

Baji: i'll add those to my "new words" list

Mikey: maybe i do have that

Mikey: i do fall asleep in very odd places

Emma: you know what we can talk about this tommorow. time out

*only admins can send messages*

[ohnococo]

Satoru Gojo SFW Alphabet

(under the cut for length)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Gojo is extremely affectionate. He craves affection, in fact. He’ll outright pout if he hasn’t been hugged when you see him. He’s absolutely that Kirby meme that’s like “I didn’t get no mfin forehead kiss 😡”

He just wants to hold your hand constantly, be draped off of you. He’s like this even as friends, so everyone around you will think nothing of it until they see him giving you a kiss - something he doesn’t mind doing in front of others.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Gojo is that friend that shows his love by hanging all over you and also by purposefully bugging you. He just loves a little playful banter and even if he didn’t he has zero boundaries when it comes to friendship.

He’s that friend who will come to your house and treat it like his own. He’s the friend that will be talking to you on the phone and then 10 mins into the conversation he’s like “hold on lemme flush” like excuse me???

It’s just that if you’ve gotten to the point of being his very best friend he’s got zero self-consciousness around you. You two are basically a living breathing unit now.

As for how that friendship starts… you can’t know how close you’ll become to Gojo. People certainly know when he doesn’t like them, but outside of that he’s so casual with everyone. So he’s also casual with you. Then you get to know each other, and he’s even more casual. Next thing you know he’s talking to someone and refers to you as his best friend. A good tell is if he lets you see him being serious, upset even. When he feels safe enough with you to let you see his less-than-pleasant emotions you know you two are close.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He’s a big cuddler. King of physical touch. If he lets himself get close enough he’ll actually complain about not being able to fall asleep when you two have to be apart. His cuddling is essentially acting like some kind of shawl draped across you, leaning into you, lying across your lap, acting like you’re some kind of living pillow. God help you in the summer, he’ll complain about being sweaty while he’s choosing to be stuck to you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

In canon? He doesn’t. His legacy is his students, his relationships are platonic, where there’s at least a small layer of separation. As for actually getting married or starting a family, he doesn’t want to actively bring someone into his world like that, and he doesn’t want to risk losing them. Even if they’re strong, he knows the expectations placed on him alone, and having someone he cares for like that is a risk that doesn’t line up with who he knows he has to be.

In a no curse AU though, absolutely. He loves intimacy, and closeness, and feeling like he has a unit. Settling down is a goal for him.

As for cooking and cleaning, in every universe this man is hopeless. A simple recipe works for him, but two burners on at once? Or a recipe where he needs to be occasionally stirring something between prepping other things? Nah stuff is getting forgotten, or burned, and the kitchen is going to be a mess afterwards. He just keeps using spoons then throwing them in the sink before he’s done. Stop it Gojo, stop using so many goddamn spoons now you have to wash one and the onions are burning.

Cleaning, he is perfectly capable of doing, but he hasn’t had to - going straight from having others to do it for him because it’s not something this chosen one was meant to worry about, to being able to pay people to handle it for him. I don’t blame him, no one wants to scrub a toilet, but he’s not what I’d call “domestic” and can tend to act like someone who’s never had to clean up after himself.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I’m so sorry y’all… this man would break up with you over a text… it’s not a short text, at least. It’s a long one he’s typed and typed and retyped 100 times, and might have had to take a break and go for a walk in between. But it’s a text nonetheless. It’s just that if he’s decided to break things off, he’s not in a place to be able to put his big boy panties on and deal with the messy emotions that might come up in a face to face breakup.

Besides, he doesn’t want to make it worse, and the first words that come to mind to whatever you say might not come across how he wants them to, he wants to be able to think and say the right things.

It feels cold, but that’s how he is on the outside when he’s ending things because he thinks he has to force himself to be.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I’ll go non curse au with this answer, for reasons stated above, but Gojo does know he wants commitment long term. He’s a weird one though, in that when he falls he’s absolutely head over heels in love. He wants to spend all of his time with you, drag you along on all of his whims, and he will even jokingly call you his husband/wife at a certain point and talk about being together long term while cuddling, but…

This man is gonna take fucking AGES to propose. He’ll take ages to even ask to move in together. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just that you guys are at each other’s houses so often that it’s like half of your stuff is split between the two places. And he loves you and thinks of you in terms of that long term commitment already, so the ring or the key just don’t come up in his mind.

He’s the type you have to drop hints to, maybe even outright say “my lease is up in spring, let’s move in together.”

It’s an enthusiastic yes from him. And when the proposal happens he’s the one grabbing your hand to show your ring to strangers and calling you his fiancée with a sparkly lilt in his voice, but damn Gojo just focus.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He can be gentle physically, tracing his fingers over your skin, rubbing his thumb against your hand while you’re holding hands. Sometimes when he’s cuddled up with his head resting in the crook of your neck he’ll blink against your skin, tickling you with his long lashes in a little butterfly kiss. But as gentle as he can be, he can also be one to roughhouse with you a bit (though always in a restrained way that doesn’t intend to hurt).

Hugging you tight and swinging you from side to side, tugging you along by your hand when he’s excited to show you something, tickling you til you’re squealing, he might even play wrestle a bit when he’s kissing you. The man contains multitudes.

Emotionally… he can be a bit clumsy. Sometimes he just doesn’t consider how his words or tone will come across before he’s speaking.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Gojo loves hugging. It’s like it clears his head, so he gives you long firm hugs often. He wraps his arms around you, putting his weight on your shoulders as you wrap your arms around his waist, and presses his face to the top of your head. He’ll rock you both side to side in the hug, and you have no choice but to go along with his movements because he’s got you so tightly pressed together. Always finishes the hugs with a big happy sigh.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

In canon, it’s hard to get out of him outright. It’s scary to give himself away just that much, knowing he can’t always protect everyone. Knowing you could very well go and get yourself hurt. You’ll know in other ways though.

In a no curse au, Gojo loves with no restraint. He’s saying it fast, too fast in some relationships. Almost casually. He feels so, so much, and doesn’t think twice before he speaks sometimes.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Gojo doesn’t get jealous. He’s too self-assured for that. And he doesn’t have any insecurities about you or your commitment, otherwise he wouldn’t be with you.

The closest to jealousy he gets is when he feels like he hasn’t had enough time with you. It’s not that he thinks anything is going on with you and whichever friends you’ve been spending time with, it’s just that he doesn’t understand why he can’t come along too.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Gojo’s kisses are slow and sweet - teasing even. His soft lips are gentle against yours, so light sometimes it tickles, and show any sign of enjoyment or even desperation, and he’s smiling into your kiss. He’s not using tongue at first, and if you try to initiate too soon he’ll pull back, brushing your noses together. When he finally does kiss you properly it’s gently, restrained, a crooked finger tilting your chin up for him, a thumb on your chin keeping your mouth softly open so he can beckon you to make a little noise for him. Once you’re making out the intensity ramps up considerably, then Gojo’s kisses are deep and wet and needy.

As for kisses elsewhere, Gojo loves a forehead kiss. Sometimes he’ll just bend his head down and point to his forehead, then once he gets that kiss he looks SO pleased with himself about it. As if you’d deny him… as if his pouty self would let you deny him! He loves giving those forehead kisses in return, or when you’re holding hands he’ll often bring your hand to his mouth to kiss.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Gojo is great with children. He’s rambunctious, matches their energy, and is great at saying silly things with a straight face that make them laugh. He’s one of those people that babies always smile and wave to, and comes across as a safe adult to children.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Getting out of bed is the first struggle for mornings with Gojo. A chronic “5 more minutes” type. Even if you get out of bed easily in the mornings, you won’t with him. He’s wrapping an arm and a leg around you and groggily pouting if you try to end your sleepy cuddle session. He just loves the closeness while everything is so quiet and still in the mornings.

His stomach beckons him out of bed eventually, though, and he’ll have the audacity to insist you get ready and go to a cafe for pastries even though you’re both starving after a solid hour and a half of cuddling in bed.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Gojo is one of those people that gets a second wind at night. He can tend to stay up late because of it. If you don’t mind, he’ll love to watch movies or play games with you until late into the night, head resting on your lap the whole time. Once you’re in bed is when the “would you love me if I was a worm” questions start though.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Gojo is one of those people that reveal things without revealing things. He’ll tell you something so earnest, embarrassing even, that would be a sign of closeness or vulnerability from other people - but for him it’s just his usual oversharing. The real things that matter to him he keeps close to his chest and reveal slowly and after a good while.

When he eventually says them he does so with that same casual tone he’s used to tell you about the time he laughed so hard he peed himself at the tender age of 23, but by then you’ll understand it means a lot that he’s being open about things he usually wouldn’t.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Gojo can almost be impossibly hard to anger, so if you’re the type to want an argument over something you’re going to be hard pressed to get it. He’s more the type to awkwardly laugh at the wrong time, which would just make someone already mad at him even more angry.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He doesn’t really let on how much he remembers, but he does. He’ll get you your exact order from a coffee shop, or buy you something you’d mentioned craving to someone else when he happened to be in the room, then if you ask how he knew he’ll just smile and say “lucky guess.”

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Gojo’s favourite moment is the first time you’d comforted him. He’ll never ask for that from anyone, and most of the time people assume he doesn’t need that assurance and comfort because he always seems so happy and unbothered by things that would worry most. But you notice, even if he’s acting perfectly normal, and offer to lend him an ear - even asking if he just wanted a hug. He does, and even if it was one of a hundred random kind gestures for you, it meant the world to him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He’s the type to protect from afar. He lets you handle things first, because he’s the type to have faith in you, but the minute you need help he’s there. Basically he’s always back up, but will never have you looking helpless.

He doesn’t want protection, to the point where it can feel like out of nowhere when he stops you from intervening or defending him. He just prefers to handle his own matters himself.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

This man makes AN EFFORT for special days. If grand gestures aren’t your thing, it might be a problem, but he’s the type to book the nicest restaurant in town, buy you loads of roses, commemorate anniversaries with pretty jewellery (matching, in a lot of cases).

Day to day though, he’s more lowkey. His love is shown in his physical affection, but the way he splashes out on birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentine’s Day more than accommodates that.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He’s got a few bad habits for sure, and they’ll take a lot of reminding (like years of it) to get him out of it. Leaving the toilet seat up, squeezing toothpaste from the middle, stealing bites of food off your plate, barging in when you’re on the toilet. Things that don’t bother some people, but can be annoying to others.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

His appearance means a lot to him, and he’s not ashamed of that fact. He’s always well groomed, and when out of school attire he wears expensive clothes that are carefully curated to his tastes. He takes care of himself: good skincare regimen, chooses outfits carefully, he even uses purple shampoo and hair treatments to keep his naturally white hair looking bright and soft.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely. If he’s not with you he’s thinking about you and wishing he was with you. If he has plans he wants you there, because everything will always be better if you’re there too.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

If you’re up to it, Gojo loves to be one of those couples with matching sets of things. Matching rings, him wearing a bracelet that’s from a set with your necklace, and if you’re down to be one of those especially obnoxious couples full on matching outfits when you go on dates. Not necessarily the same outfit, but coordinating colours or patterns. He has no qualms about being that couple that makes everyone cringe.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He has a few things he doesn’t love, and it’s honestly hard to pinpoint what set of things make someone a fit for him because it’s not obvious to even him.

He definitely isn’t a fan of his partner smoking cigarettes, refusing him affection or giving him the silent treatment as a “punishment” for arguments, or poor communication. The last one isn’t a deal breaker for him, but if you expect him to read your mind when you’re upset about something, you’re in for a lot of disappointment. He needs to be told things outright.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

The whole bed is his side of the bed. You’re also his side of the bed. He can start off contained, happily falling asleep as your big spoon (or little spoon depending on his mood), but soon enough he’s hogging the whole thing. A leg over your waist, his head on your pillow, his other leg half hanging off his side of the bed. Get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and you’ll come back to him sleeping with his limbs out like a starfish. Nudge him a bit and he’ll go back to barnacle mode without even waking up, pulling you in to be his little spoon again.

[ladytauria]

been sitting on this one for a bit, because i felt like it wasn’t finished, but i re-read it today &? it is. so enjoy this tiny bit of domesticity based around a headcanon i have~

under a cut even though it’s really short~

AO3

Tim doesn't cook much. It isn't that he *can't*—he’s more than capable of following a recipe. He used to do it all the time when he was younger, and burned through the meals Mrs. Mac brought. Now he just doesn't see the point. Why bother standing over a stove, prepping a meal for one, when he could spend his time better elsewhere?

Tonight, though... tonight is special.

Well—not really. It's just a Thursday. No significant holidays or anniversaries Tim is aware of. Just—a normal, boring day. But that’s the point. Jason is coming over, like he does so often now, and Tim is making him dinner. Because he can, and he wants to, and Jason deserves it. He’s always shoving food at Tim—over half of it homemade—and Tim… Tim wants to return the favor. Wants to express his appreciation, his affection, in the language Jason knows best.

So, here he is, standing at a stove in an empty apartment. For once, though, he isn't thinking of cold, empty halls or broken promises. Instead, he's smiling, humming off-key to himself as he stirs a pot of noodles.

He’d opted for something fairly simple. He doesn’t cook much, after all, and his skills are a bit rusty. Pasta is easy. Throw in tomato sauce, spinach and mushroom, breaded chicken, and parmesan—perfect.

He did buy boxed pasta, he’ll admit. And already seasoned breadcrumbs. But he made the sauce, chopped the vegetables, and grated the parmesan himself.

He’s draining the pasta when the door opens, and shuts again. Jason. He’s a little early, but that’s alright. He can hear him walking; the thud of heavy boots on hardwood. He knows it’s on purpose. Jason can be deathly silent if he wants to be. It makes Tim smile a little wider, that he isn’t.

“Somethin’ smells good, babybird. What’d you—“

Tim doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know Jason’s rounded the corner to stand near the island.

“You’re cooking,” he says. Tim can hear his surprise, and smiles to himself.

“I am,” he agrees, adding the pasta to the simmering sauce and stirring.

“Huh. Need a hand?”

“No. It’s just about done,” Tim says. He flicks off the burner, reaching for the plates he'd set out. He offers Jason one, and they serve themselves, one after the other. Tim pours sparkling juice. Wine would be better, but they have patrol soon, and it’s better not to risk it. Jason doesn’t waste time digging in, and he hums appreciatively around his first bite.

“Damn, Timmy. You’ve been holding out on us.”

Tim shrugs, feeling warm. “It’s— I’m not— It’s no big deal, really,” he says. He’s no chef, not really. He can get by in the kitchen well enough to make things taste good, which was really all he needed growing up.

Jason bumps shoulders with him. “Don’t. This— It’s nice, babybird. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Tim says, shaking his head. “I just—wanted to.”

Jason says nothing for several moments. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Tim sees him swallow. “…thanks,” he says, quietly.

“Anytime,” Tim says softly, sincerely.

[renx01]

Out of Sight - Part 3

General idea: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader  & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 1936

Masterlist

That evening you get home quite late, so you decide to text Jim a short update before immediately heading to bed. 

Everything’s going according to plan, Mr British government has already approached me. Both Holmes brothers are very much interested but do not suspect me in the slightest. -S

Wonderful. -JM

You slept for a couple of hours before waking up around five in the morning. Getting out quietly, you stretch your limbs before getting out your running gear. You put in your earbuds and turn on the music before heading out. The streets are quiet and there’s the faintest bit of rain falling from the sky. ‘Of course it’s raining.’ You whisper to yourself as you start your run. The route you’re running is about fifteen kilometres (just over 9 miles) through the streets and some nearby parks. Despite what some others may do, you have the intention of keeping up with your stamina and physical fitness. A morning run is the first step to that, and later this week you will be looking into places where you could possibly keep up with your fighting skills, preferably MMA. When you turn a corner in the park, you’re greeted by Sebastian’s face. He starts running with you as you continue. ‘Good morning to you.’ You slow your pace a bit so he can catch up. ‘What are you doing here Seb?’ Sebastian has, over the years, become a bit of a brotherly figure in your life. While you know it is not advantageous to care, you do care for him in a way. ‘Just checking whether you’ve settled down a bit. London’s a big city and while I know you’re used to it quite a bit, I just wanted to check.’ He smiles widely. ‘You’re taking quite a risk, mister.’ Turning serious, you stop in your tracks. ‘Does Jim know you’re here?’ He nods. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t do this if he didn’t think it were alright.’ This brings some relief. ‘Okay, good. I just wanted to check. We shouldn’t be taking too many risks.’ The two of you continue running together for a few kilometres before he tells you goodbye. ‘I’ll keep in touch, Jim gave me the number of your burner phone.’

When you get back to Baker Street, you hop into the shower before getting dressed for work. You just grab a granola bar, your briefcase, and leave to go to your work. The ride on the tube is quiet and you notice nothing out of the ordinary.  ‘Good morning Charlie.’ You’re greeted by Sally Donnovan. ‘Morning Sallie, had a good night yesterday?’ She’d been flirting with Anderson all day and they’d left work together. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Turning away, you ignore her blushing bashfully at your comments and pour yourself a cup of coffee. ‘Sure thing.’ You whisper. ‘So how’s London treating you?’ She’s obviously trying to change the subject, and you decide to go with it to make things easier. ‘It’s been good, though I haven’t seen much of the city yet. I arrived this past Sunday and worked most of yesterday. Went on a run this morning though, and the parks around here seem to be very nice.’ You smile at her before sipping your coffee. Greg walks up and joins the conversation. ‘You went on a run? This morning?’ You see him glance at the clock. It’s just before eight o’clock. ‘I did.’ They both seem quite shocked. ‘What time did you wake up?’ Sally asked, her voice making her shock quite obvious. ‘Around five.’ If it had been possible, their eyes would’ve become the size of saucers. ‘That early? Charlie, are you mad?’ Greg’s voice has a tone you haven’t heard much before, was it concern? ‘I’m not? I just wanted to go on a run and due to work that was the most convenient time to do so.’ They glance at each other briefly before Sally speaks again. ‘I suppose you are correct about that. Didn’t expect you to be such a morning person.’ She tries to sound cheery, but it’s obviously fake. ‘You aren’t?’ You look poignantly at her over your mug. ‘No, I’m not. I’m more of a night owl myself.’ Her smile looks a bit sheepish. All the mindless chatter annoys you to no end, but you know it’s required to participate in order to blend in. Hopefully the Holmes brothers will make up for it, though you assume for that to be the case when Jim’s assigned you to it. When you get back to your desk, you quickly send him a text from your burner phone.

This better get interesting quickly, these people at SY are boring me out of my mind. -S

It takes a while, but he does reply.

Oh it will, don’t worry. Just be patient. -JM

The rest of the morning runs smoothly. There’s been a homicide which seems to be linked to another one which was committed just over a month earlier. It isn’t too complex, both seem to be linked to a singular drug cartel which is at war with another one. You happen to know a lot more about the ins and outs of this one, but cannot show your hand to the police just yet. So, you’re carefullie piecing together the evidence they already have, so they can come to the correct conclusion themselves.  Around lunchtime, you’re approached by Lestrade, asking you to join him, Donnovan, and Anderson for a short walk. So, while a bit reluctantly, you do decide to join them. Throughout the affair, you mostly listen, only engaging in conversation when it seems necessary. Most of it was unimportant nonsense, but you do hear something about Sherlock snooping around at a suicide case. You assume, however, that it probably isn’t a suicide if Sherlock’s involved himself. What is clear to you, though, is that Jim isn’t directly involved. It’s probably one of his many pawns which are spread across the city.

That night when you arrive at your flat you see the light is on and the door is open to 221B. You hear Sherlock constantly talking to John. Something about a painting in a bank and a symbol that they’re trying to find. Deciding that it’s a good time for “bonding” with them, you walk up the stairs and knock on the already opened door.‘Evening gentlemen,’ John turns to face you and you flash a shy smile, ‘how’s it going?’ His eyes look a bit desperate. Desperate to escape from Sherlock, even if it’s just momentarily. ‘Evening Charlie. Well, I suppose we’re doing fine. Sherlock got a new case today, so that’s always good.’ He doesn’t sound too convinced. You slowly start walking in and see the pictures of a painting that has been spray-painted over. It’s a symbol you’d seen used by smugglers while you were in Hong Kong and China. ‘So, what’s all this?’ Your voice is soft, but does grab the detective’s attention. ‘It’s an ancient Chinese number. Fifteen to be precise.’ He looks at you briefly before returning his gaze to one of the many books that are scattered around the flat. ‘And what exactly do you need all these books for?’ You pick up one of the ones that he had discarded on the table and open it. It wasn’t anything special, and you are certain that he’s probably looking in the wrong direction in terms of books. Sure a book should bring the answer, but this novel isn’t going to give him any information. ‘I am looking for information on what the people behind this are trying to convey to the person that finds it.’ A snort escapes you unintentionally. I got that, I’m not a goldfish. ‘Well, based on the two people that have died, it’s probably a message.’ He picks up a book from one of the plastic bins. ‘It probably just tells them that they’ll die soon?’ Making it a question makes you sound uncertain and gives Sherlock the opportunity to tell you what he knows. He likes to show off after all. ‘While that is indeed the case, there’s a lot more behind it-’

Sherlock basically shared all the details he knew about the case with you that evening. Based on what he’s told you, it’s probably some sort of conflict within one of the criminal organisations of Chinese origin that operate in London. Towards the end of the night, you excuse yourself and head outside for a moment, greeting Mrs Hudson on the way. ‘Evening.’ You smile at her. ‘Evening dearie, how’re you doing?’ You tell her that you’re well and ask her about her day. After about five minutes of conversation, you’re finally able to step outside. The air outside is cold but your coat keeps you warm enough. Slipping your hand into your coat pocket, you grab your cigarette case and lighter. This is the one vice you hold onto. In a way, it helps you relax, but you haven’t made it a habit. You take a single one out of the case and light it, taking a drag almost immediately. As you look at the cars that are passing by, you start to disassociate. A message on your phone gets you out of this trance-like state. 

I thought you’d quit smoking Spikey. -JM

You chuckle as you take another drag.

Let me have my vice. It isn’t a habit anyway. -S

As long as it doesn’t affect your mind, I really don’t care. It might even attract Sherlock’s attention. Ask him about the 400+ kinds of ashes that exist. -JM

I’ll consider it. -S

You put away your phone quickly before the door behind you opens. By the sound of it, it’s Sherlock. You turn your head slightly so you can see him from the corner of your eye. Before he can say anything, you hold up a single cigarette for him to grab. He considers for a moment, but doesn’t grab it. Good, I suppose. He’s being entertained by the case. He’ll probably get bored after this one ends. ‘Didn’t know you smoked.’ He comments, it’s obviously a lie. ‘You definitely knew. You’re Sherlock Holmes.’ He lets out a quiet laugh. ‘Alright, I did know, though the signs were barely there. You aren’t a regular smoker, are you?’ ‘You’re correct about that.’ You muse quietly. ‘You met Mycroft, haven’t you.’ Taking another drag, you nod. ‘I have. Quite dramatic isn’t he?’ The faintest chuckle escapes him, again. He’s starting to like you and your personality, that’s good. A lot easier than you’d expected. ‘He is. Did you take the bribe?’ Ah, so he knows about his brother’s inquiries. ‘I did.’ ‘Good.’ He sounds somewhat happy about your choice. ‘The money is only useful, and he’ll know 95 percent of it already anyway. I suppose those extra five percent help my brother with his nerves.’ You smirk. ‘Didn’t expect you to be so accepting of your brother constantly spying on you.’ ‘I’m not, I’m just used to it.’ After taking one last drag, you throw the remainder of the cigarette onto the pavement and put it out with your foot. ‘Is that so? Well, I suppose I can understand if it’s a sibling. He probably means well.’ He scoffs. ‘I hardly think that’s the case. Mycroft isn’t one to care, he just wants to make sure I’m not a nuisance to him or his work.’ You turn to fully face him. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Sherlock.’ Giving him a wink, you go back inside and to your flat.

[greyghoulclub]

WIP WEDNESDAY

A snippet from an obikin fic im writing, based on Baby Driver

For all intents and purposes, Anakin didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just one small job to pay off his family’s debts, and he was a free man. All he had to do was wait in the car outside the bank, nice and simple. But trouble seemed to keep an eye out for one Anakin Skywalker, and trouble came in the form of a redheaded man with a gun, yelling at him to start driving. Who was Anakin to refuse?

He weaved through the twisting streets of Corsucant City, pushing the speed limit as far as he could. The man in the back muttered about 10,000 dollars in cash into what looked like a burner phone. Anakin knew to keep his nose out of it. He’d been burned before.

Sirens blared from behind them, giving them chase. The man in the back told Anakin to step on it, his tone warning as to what would happen if Anakin didn’t. White-knuckling the wheel, he pressed on the gas pedal as much as he could, the car engine roaring with pressure. Anakin could feel the other man keeping a close eye on where Anakin was turning to throw off the police’s trail. If Anakin did manage to create a diversion, he looked pleased, as if he was appraising Anakin’s skills. They were racing towards an interchange in the middle of Corsucant, one of the busiest roads in the city, and it was easy to lose someone. Anakin saw two cars on the road that looked very similar to the nondescript black car he was driving, the corner of his mouth pulled into a small smile as he pulled the manoeuvre to get the police car to follow one of the other cars as he took the way towards the western edge of the city. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to see if no one was following them. In the all clear. But curiously, the man in the back seemed to be proud of how Anakin managed to pull off that trick, and he vocalised that too. It made Anakin feel a small flutter in his stomach but he didn’t want to look into that now.

“You’ve done this kind of driving before, haven’t you?” his passenger asked. He was looking directly into Anakin’s eyes via the rearview mirror. The other man had this way of speaking, it was charming, amicable even, but his eyes were analysing every move or expression Anakin made.

“I used to,” Anakin answered curtly, keeping his face neutral to the best of his ability. But the man in the back seemed to be able to tell that Anakin wasn’t telling the entire truth. And maybe Anakin was being too naive but felt he could trust this man. And even so, he did owe Anakin big time for getting away from the cops.

“I don’t think you’re telling me everything but either way, you’re good. Could use someone like you on my team, if you’re interested in a job,” something was slipped into Anakin’s pocket, but his gut told him not to look at it. Watto would know and his mother would be disappointed that Anakin was still involved with not-so-legal activities.

“Look where can I drop you off? Can’t risk having you in here for too long,” Anakin sighed, knowing he was in deep shit either way.

“Urscu district. You know the Outlander Club yes?” Anakin nodded, he’d been a patron of that club a few times, when money allowed. Anakin took a sharp left at a junction between the COMPNOR building and the Corsucant public library, heading into the entertainment district. It wasn’t long before he found the Outlander. The outside of the club was dark, the neon lights dimmed in the daylight. It would be an eyesore of colour once nightfall hit.

“Thank you for your help,” a wad of 100 dollar bills was slapped onto Anakin’s lap, “If you reconsider, call the number on the card, and ask for Kenobi.” The door to the car closed and the man disappeared into the club, leaving Anakin staring at the wad of cash he was left with and wondering how the hell he would explain this to his mother.

[polyabathtub]

Apropos of absolutely nothing (my dash losing its collective shit about the Panthers victory celebrations, me repeatedly seeing videos and going “lol that man is most certainly not drunk”), here’s some info on how one might be able to tell that someone is taking MDMA (aka Molly, ecstasy). The common term for this is rolling*.

Disclaimer: I do not actually know what specific people may or may not have taken, I’m just providing some useful information for my fellow fic writers (fic stands for fiction!) should they decide to write fiction inspired by some of the amazing content we saw last week.

I have heart problems so have never been able to take it myself—but I’m friends with a lot of burners**, and have been blessed with the opportunity to participate in MDMA-fueled cuddle piles. It’s a good time but it can also be dangerous, and it doesn’t mix well with a lot of common medications (particularly antidepressants).

MDMA is a party drug. It makes things like pretty lights and textures more interesting. If you’ve seen “Someone Great” on Netflix, Jenny getting super into textures is a pretty good representation (it’s also one of my favorite movies, but be warned you WILL cry). I couldn’t find a gif within 0.2 seconds of searching so you don’t get one, sorry.

MDMA causes muscle clenching. Taking magnesium helps (magnesium threonate for the brain, magnesium glycinate or bisglycinate are also good for muscle spasms, not too tough on digestion and cheaper). It’s also rough on the brain. Taking something like NAC can reduce risk, but in general MDMA isn’t something that’s safe to do frequently, even if you have a good source and you’re testing your drugs before taking them. I’m not an expert on safe use so I’m not going to give specific recs here, but the people I know who take it research heavily and pregame with supplements.

The other thing that’s key—electrolytes. MDMA messes with electrolyte homeostasis, so it’s important to stay hydrated, and that hydration should be more than just water. If I were, say, a professional athlete celebrating a championship win with Molly, I would probably carry around a bottle of something like pedialyte to sip from (though my personal preference would be a sports-oriented sugar containing supplement like Skratch or LMNT).

MDMA removes your inhibitions to physical contact, particularly with people you’re already positively oriented towards. So, slow dancing with your teammates? Absently groping your teammate’s chest while half paying attention? Literally hanging off of whoever is next to you all night? Molly.

MDMA wrecks pupil reflexes, so anyone taking it who is outside of their natural environment (a dark room with interesting lights) is easily recognizable by their absolutely massive pupils. Or squinting like hell when they hit bright lights***.

MDMA keeps you from sleeping until it wears off. The high lasts 3-6 hours but it’ll probably keep you awake until the morning. Also, when it wears off it often causes molly blues, which might last for a few minutes or hours or sometimes up to a couple of days. Essentially, MDMA floods the brain with serotonin, and when it wears off, it can take some time for things to re-equilibrate.

My point here: I really think there’s a lot of fanfic potential in certain Panthers (Barky) trying this thing for the first time and having an amazing night and then suddenly feeling some big “oh god now that I’ve won it, who do I become?” feelings that <player of your choice> then helps them through.

*for an example of “rolling” in a sentence, see this quote from my recent fic wie viel:

Leon briefly regretted not wearing a hat, or maybe sunglasses, which were fairly effective as a disguise but tended to make people assume he was already rolling—the man wasn’t acting like he’d recognized him, though.

That fic relies on Leon showing up to a private party with a ton of cash (because he’s leaving open the option of buying drugs and also isn’t sure how expensive the party will be) and keeping his face bare (so people won’t assume he’s already set for the night). This conveniently enables the misunderstanding that drives the rest of the plot.

**burners: people who go to Burning Man. This is not a euphemism but it probably could be. If you aren’t sure if any of your friends are burners, don’t worry—they’ll tell you! (I say this with affection, but it is exactly like when your childhood friends got back from summer camp and wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks)

***yes I am thinking of a specific photo of a specific 2-way cat

[mysteriousanderfels]

They don't really care about us

On a normal morning day, Leon Kennedy is ambushed by a strange man in a suit...

Setting: Following RE8's epilogue.

***

“Hello?”

“Hi, mom. How are you?”

“Oh, hi, honey! I’m fine! How are you?”

“I’m fine, too.”

“Oh, it’s good thing you called, I’ve meaning to do so! Mike’s birthday is coming soon, you know! He’s planning this big party at home and I really want you to come! Don’t bring your swimsuit though, I’m planning to drain the pool, hah! He doesn’t want a chaperone around so I will not deal with the shenanigans of three dozen college students!”

“Hah, yeah… Mom, do you remember what we talked about in Switzerland?”

“… Oh. Yes…?”

“Good. Remember it well?”

“… Yes… So it’s that time, then…”

“Yes.”

“Aah… your brother will be so upset. He’s been planning this party since he became the star of his football team with that final touchdown or whatever. Do you know just how many cheerleaders will be here? And he also wanted you to be here so much.”

“I know, but would you rather have him get his birthday party or have him by your side for a few more decades?”

“… I know. I understand very well.”

“I’m sorry mom. To be honest I could have given you more leeway but then it was your birthday last week and I didn’t want to spoil your spa day with your girlfriends.”

“Oh honey. I see. Well, at least I have more than a day to work with.”

“I can talk with Mike if you want.”

“Oh please, I raised a little 007, I think I can handle your little brother.”

“Heh, I have no doubt. I’ll try to keep in touch but as you know, it won’t be as often from now.”

“I know. You just… watch over yourself. That’s all I want. You be careful. Very careful, alright?”

“I will. It’s all… been coming down to this moment.”

“Then that’s all I need to hear, I believe in you, Kólen’ka.”

“Love you, mom.”

The nickname is a slip up, he knows, but it’s fine. They’re already being extra careful with the burner phones and they’re about to set the plan into motion. It would too late for someone to do anything about it.

And anyway, it was nice hearing it. 

***

If one can take a full scope of DC, they will see millions of things happening at once on that indolent autumn morning of September, where the air is crisp, the weather clear and mostly sunny despite the few gray clouds shrouding the sky on that particular day.

What you’ll see is people wearing boxy suit jackets and women wearing sensible skirts, pantsuits and pumps, milling about fake flagstones and ads-ridden subways. Some are carrying suitcases filled with cunning lawyers-crafted contracts about to make someone’s life amazing or miserable, and others are rolling backpacks to fend off the evil of scoliosis enumerated by those same subway ads...

You’ll also see more armored barricades because of the increase in impromptu protesters. Their hoarse-voiced chants drown the perimeter but never carry far enough to the monster in power and its minions. It only hurt the ears of the police officers in body armors, underpaid to deal with the zeal of a bunch of college students pumped on kale juice and coffee shakes so early in the morning.

The whole show is overcast by oversized windows streaked with night rain, humidity and tears.

Yes, for millions of people, DC is the city of better opportunities. The city of powerful monuments that inspire more awe than contemplation. The city that doesn’t take any risks. The city where you can’t get lost in because there’s nothing to lose yourself in.

And as a man observed from outside one of those oversized windows fixes his sleeve garters, It’s been decided it should be in DC where they should finally meet – where everyone is the same kind of nasty: feds.

***

Leon yawns as he walks the shortcut path to his appartement – the one with the liquor store in the way - grocery plastic bag in hand. It was Sunday and blissfully, nothing came from his meeting with Hunnigan at the office. Well, mission-wise at least; but if you take into account the heavy, cranky conversations and meetings he’s started getting from DSO’s hierarchy, he won’t be too quick to stamp ‘blissfully’ on the day just yet.

Something shifty’s going on there. Something has them on edge for a long while now and they can’t seem to just cut the shit and spill it. Chewing the fat with a bunch of feds in suits has never been Leon’s favorite part of his job. Leon snorted to himself. He should be counting his favorite parts of his job - he’d be wrapped up quicker than the other way around.

All depression-induced thoughts aside, something’s not sitting well for a couple of years now and it just keeps on getting more and more fishy - like a decaying corpse about to get finally busted.

What if I’m the decayed corpse, though…

They’re sending him on confidential ops and mission but still want him to never stray too far. They want him to investigate things but also never ask too much questions. To sum it up, it comes back to what he hates to admit and what everybody who knows him is aware of : They want him on an even tighter leash.

Leon grits his teeth.

Well fuck them. Leon is also having his own fishy thoughts. Thoughts about the DSO’s secret dealings with shady agencies, about Blue Umbrella not so squeaky clean and about what he heard from a certain on-going mission in Europe.

He’s drawing his conclusions, he’s cross-referencing his clues and mapping out his exists on the big pinboard inside his mind where it’s safe—since he can’t hazard having one in the privacy of his own flat.

Privacy… is what a goldfish probably have more than him.

"My obsession is to break away from all of this."

It’s a confession he uttered in the dead of the night once.

Is this what’s rattling them? Do they suspect something? Did Leon let something slip up on his glassy façade?

He is so caught up in his train of thoughts, he doesn’t notice the figure standing still twelve feet away in the middle of his path.  

It’s man in a suit.

Leon halts, perplexed for a minute by the stock-still stance as he takes him in because the individual is looking straight at him.

The beginning of a frown mars Leon’s features because it’s getting weird, but still doesn’t open his mouth yet for some reason.

The man starts fucking blinking at last and with that comes a smile that slowly brings life to a static face.

 “Leon Scott Kennedy?”

“… Who’s asking?” Leon starts fully registering his surroundings now.

light blond hair pomaded back. Medium length. Symmetric complexion, high cheekbones, high nose. Light eyes, blue or green, can’t tell from the distance. But freaking pale he could feel the icicles dripping from them as they bore into Leon.

Black suit, red tie, dress shoes – disadvantage there – and… metallic briefcase in the right hand.

The man is capable of facial expression as his eyes crinkle with his smiling reply. “My name’s Nicholas Wentworth.”

“Rings no bell.”

He smiles again with soft huffs, this time showing off a perfect row of teeth. “It won’t.” His voice carries like the music of rills. “But you on the other hand, you’ve been ringing every bell in my life.”

Huh? “Excuse me, what?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just,” the stranger shakes his head, looking almost embarrassed as he smiles to himself in a way that looks so youthful, Leon remembers to ponder the age of this weird as hell bloke who seems to want something with him.

And what a mistake that is. The guy looks rather young which puzzles and rattles Leon even more for he can’t evaluate the situation to a perfect turn. He’s got a fluffy blond mane but slicked the way it is, he reminds Leon of all the pompous new-money his superiors love to invite annually for some more funds and tax-deductible donations.

Maybe he was trying to make himself look older with that hairstyle and that obsidian fabric so expensive it’s probably an offense to refer to it as a ‘black’ suit. Nevertheless, he clearly has some years under Leon – what’s with that clean-shaved, glowing skin even in the dim alley he seems to have oh-so-coincidentally stumbled across Leon in.

“Just so thrilled to finally meet you in person.” His grin is actually so freaking genuine Leon wants to recoil. Is this what celebrities feel when they come across a groupie? What’s the procedure in these kinds of situations? Leon can’t seem to recall a training for that.

But all of a sudden, all smiling lines drop and the pale eyes round into something akin to worry. “Oh, are you still favoring your left arm after that clean up job in the Bahamas?”

 Leon goes under water right then. His surroundings lose volume and his breath catches; he dares not glance down at his left hand holding the grocery bag—he dares not twitch.

Whoever this is, is officially a hazard.

And whoever this is, is not done being a hazard. “By the way, I’m sorry about Mathilda. I know you lost her on that last job. Such a shame. She went through quite some adventures with you.” The stranger talks as if he’s been chewing the fat with him for at least an hour!

“Who the fuck are you,” Leon demands with a flat tone.

The stranger gives him another one of his poised smiles as if everything is clear and simple and Leon is the dense one. “I’m your co-worker,” he allots with a dimpling smile, “we work in the same agency.”

At that moment, Leon doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or betrayed; all he knows is that he’s puzzling at breakneck speed. “Never seen you before.”  Of that he’s sure of. He’s always been good with faces - no way a quaint mug like this would slip past his attention.

“You wouldn’t,” the other confirms his doubts, “after all, only five people know of my existence there. Well, nine, if you count the people that know me without knowing what I do. The pilot, the janitor, Bobby from the cafeteria…”

“And what the hell do you do?” Leon cuts him off, unimpressed by the minute.

“You,” he says flippantly.

“What?”

“I do you.” He flashes his teeth again for a second, almost proud… Definitely proud.

What has he said again? He was thrilled to meet him? Yeah, he wasn’t lying about that bit. That’s ‘thrill’ if Leon’s ever seen it splattered on a face and it’s probably not the fun kind.

“I’m flattered but riddles don’t do it for me anymore. Try getting to the point and maybe you’ll get lucky.”

A small chuckle. “Too bad. I was being honest. You are… everything I do.”

Leon’s furrow deepens.

The stranger takes a visible inhale and close his eyes with it. When he opens them, a new expression is staring at Leon: firm, unsmiling, colder if that’s even possible by now. “I was hired to study you,” he states without preambles. “Every day for ten years I was served Leon Scott Kennedy for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” He tilts his head, narrow his eyes a smidgen and adds almost contemplatively. “I know everything about you.”

The phrase resonates inside the agent’s head like the vibrations of a bell.

Leon always thought nothing can shock or surprise him much anymore and yet, he never thought one sentence could hold its own weight against two decades of bioterror horrors.

“Who you are, what you are. How you fight, why you fight. How you walk, how you talk,” he raises an index finger to his temple, “how you think.” Then he shut his eyes and keeps on going as if in a recital. “I know about your missions, their wins and their casualties. I know what sets you off,” he opens back his sharp, pale eyes, “and what calms you down. I know your friends and your enemies and the ones in-between . I know the drinks you enjoy and the company you enjoy them with,” the man intimates with a cynical smile.

Leon is rooted to the spot with dread. A dread weighting cold in his gut and winding up around his esophagus, stealing away his repartee.

He stares at the man with wide eyes before finally uttering in one full breath, “You’re full of shit.”

“No, you’re full of shit,” the other man returns instantly and evenly, that cynical lip-quirk still plastered on his face like an animatronic on pause. “I can see the fear in your eyes but you know what real dread is, agent Kennedy? Real dread is knowing your thoughts lie to you even when you think you’re being honest. What you’re thinking right now, that this is bullshit, that I’m full of shit – it’s a lie and you’re slowly realizing it. No need to hide behind your own smokescreen, agent Kennedy.”

“I’m not hiding anywhere. You on the other hand, you look like you’ve been holed-up somewhere like a little stalking creep, doing your homework and waiting for the day you finally get to shine. Yeah, you look like you didn’t see a lot of sun. Were you kept in some crypt under a church or somethin’?”

The other man smiles and says with a lilt, “No, I was right under your nose. We actually crossed path once in the White House. It was during the thanksgiving celebration dinner when you were assigned to guard detail for the late President.” He scoffs. “That one didn’t turn so well, right? Don’t worry, I was there once and it was the only time I allowed myself to be that close to you. You looked… sulky.”

“You fucking creep…”  He doesn’t understand who or what the fuck is going on right now but Leon doesn’t even want to think about it; the only thing he knows for sure is that he’s going back from where he was coming from for some well-deserved answers.

“I get your anger. I’d be angry, too if I found out the very people I work and risk my life for pulled a clandestine operation behind my back. Then again, you never really trusted them either, did you? Why is that I wonder? Is it because they never stopped using you and abusing you like a fucking dog?”  

What did the Bible say again? The devil will look appealing to the eye; and in that moment, Leon has never been made more aware of that truth.

“And what does that make you? At least I wasn’t hired to spend years hiding somewhere, watching the life of someone else, if I even was to believe you. I think there’s a word the teens use for that: a nolife.”

“You’re wrong. I’m nothing like you. I know exactly what I’m doing while you never had a say in the matter.” His voice slowly takes a turn for the acerbic - still calm and composed but with an underlying venom that has always been there, waiting to be outright spewed. “Do you know what you’re called in the reports that aren’t meant for you? A great weapon. Or better yet, a pawn.” He shrugs as if to drive in the amount of disregard that last word carries on its own. “To be honest, I sympathized with your story. After all, you were literally kidnapped into this life? Your hand twisted by the president himself? And yet you never tried to jump ships?”

Leon balls his fists, nose flaring and feeling the red tendrils of rage overtake his senses.

“Ah, of course you couldn’t before because they had a bargaining chip over you head. But Sherry Birkin is all grown up now. An itsy-bitsy government agent herself. Hah, this life really does choose you and not the other way around. So what’s holding you? Do you like being their little pet so much? No, you wouldn’t be on SSRIs and Jack Daniel if you were. Or maybe… nothing’s holding you now and that’s why you’ve been snooping around and making calls here and there.”

When he finally stops talking, and Leon makes sure he’s really finished, he evenly snips. “What’s in the briefcase?”

The blond man narrows his eyes for a second as he scans Leon’s posture and shift a hand into his pants pocket. Leon carries but his gun is beneath his leather jacket zipped up to the neck. The man will beat him to it no matter what so Leon gets ready to dodge—only for it to be a pair of handcuffs, and Leon watches as he handcuffs the briefcase to his wrist before finally retorting, “None of your fucking business.”

And for once, Leon returns his scathing smile because that’s exactly what he wants to hear.

He just wants an excuse to lunge at this hazardous motherfucker.

To hell with methodical reasoning, he’ll deal with who and what the fuck this is later. For now—

He springs in with a readied punch that is instantly grabbed by one hand and knocked off with the other. Leon dodges the slap coming his way and goes for a knee in the crotch that is bluntly blocked, too. The blond man seizes the momentum of pushing away Leon and his knee by throwing two consecutive hooks, making Leon cross his arms over his face in the defensive.

The fucker is definitely a trained agent, Leon registers in the back of his head as he sustains the rapid onslaught of unrelating counterpunches. Finally, in a fresh impetus, the man swings and misses, making him slightly spin, which Leon immediately seizes up and drives for a kidney punch.

The wince he gets out of it is the best sound in the universe in that moment; Leon revels in it and follows instantly with his elbow dying to meet that smug face, too, but it’s caught before impact—so fast?! —and that bastard even dares to seize the opportunity of the hand clasping Leon’s forearm to try and toss Leon away.

But they seem to be of the same built and it turns into a deadlock of flailing limbs that has Leon aiming for a kick in the knee to throw off the man’s hold on him—kick that works in making the asshole hunch over but Leon doesn’t expect the retaliation to be so quick as he takes the – metallic – briefcase like an uppercut to the chin with enough force to make him spin.

That’s all the momentum the other man needs to effectively throw him off, this time with blunt kick to Leon’s small back, making the latter stumble away.

Mandible aching and ears ringing with adrenaline, Leon reaches for his zipper jacket—but the other man beats him to it as if not only in the business of meeting Leon even-steven but also in the business of reading his mind, and Leon is shocked with a bullet to the shoulder from behind, efficiently bringing him down.

 “Argh—” Leon jerks back, holding his bleeding shoulder.

“Go ahead, see how much time it’ll take you to zip down your jacket and take out your gun before I put at least four bullets in your head,” the man says with his silencer still pointed at Leon, his suit jacket open, now, revealing the holster’s strap across his white dress shirt and tie.

“Go ahead then. Have a feelin’ you could’ve done it many times before,” Leon huffs derisively, “but I guess the leash you have on is cut from the same cloth.”

“I’m nothing like you,” he replies back with a venomous smile. “How can I study you for ten years and make the same mistakes. No, you’re in this on your own. I’m just the one who’s about to put a real end to your streak of good luck.”

Leon glowers at the silencer, trying to keep his head high despite the bleeding pain and the stiffening fear.

Is that it? Is this how he’s going to die? As a fed killed by another asshole fed?  

Well shit.

The fucker returns his glower just as much, his smiling pretenses long gone. If Leon doesn’t have other urgent things to process, he’d notice how weird that is. Leon would’ve sworn he was the type to smile or laugh psychopathically in a moment like this. But this guy looks like he’s acting on a personal vendetta.

It’s slight but Leon can see the fingers actually trembling around the gun – as if he’s trying very hard to withhold himself.

Leon doesn’t understand.

“But I’m not supposed to do so; at least not right now. Right now… you seem like you could use a friend.” The gun stays pointed at him as the other hand fetches inside the suit jacket for a…is that a satellite phone?

“How about I call for one?” The man asks with a renewed smile and start taping numbers on the device. As long as the gun is pointed at him, Leon can’t do much but stare in stark confusion and put pressure on his bleeding wound.

The stranger put the phone to his ear and wait, his icy eyes gleaming knowingly.

Just what the actual fuck is goin—

“Hello? Is this Chris Redfield?”

Leon’s eyes all but fall out of their sockets.

“… Who is this?”

“Hi, my name’s Nicholas Wentworth. I'm really sorry to bother you but do you know a certain Leon Kennedy?”

“… Leon?”

“Yes, I believe he’s your friend?” the man asks with a sympathetic tone while his eyes are piercing through Leon like arctic winds, leaving Leon’s frozen in shock.

“How did you—what’s going on?”

“CHRIS!” Leon shouts out, snapping out of his stupor. He can’t hear Chris but he’ll be damned if this motherfucker is bluffing at this point. His voice downright cracks with the sheer ferocity of his distress. “DON’T TRUST A WORD OF THIS SONOVABITCH!”

The uproar doesn’t faze the man on the phone in the slightest as he continues, “I think he needs your help. He’s been badly wounded from a gunshot and I thought you’d be the best person to contact.”

“Leon?!” Chris startles as he hears the unmistakable deep tone of voice. “Who the fuck is this?! Put Leon on!”

“CHRIS, HANG UP!”

“Of course. Here you go.” And he tosses the phone right away, stopping short of Leon’s legs. He then withdraws his gun and give Leon an obscure smile. “You’re welcome,” he says before turning away and walking away!

Leon is left watching the straight back retreat with big, wide eyes as he finally hears Chris’ bellows from the satellite phone. Leon reaches out to cut the transmission but Chris’ distressed voice pulls at his heartstrings in the last moment.

He doesn’t have it in him to leave him out in the cold and so distressed like this.

Pain flares up inside him again from all the physical and mental turmoil he went through in the span of all thirty minutes and clicks on the speaker. “Chris…”

“Leon!”

“In the flesh,” he tries to sing-songs but it comes as just a pitiful groan. He starts to stand up to finally tend to his wound.

“Are you alright?! What the fuck is going on?! Talk to me!”

“’M talkin’. Don’t be a worrywart now. It’s in the shoulder, I know how to deal with it. Kinda having déjà vu, right now,” he says the last part as a grumble to himself.

“What? What’s in the shoulder?!”

“The bullet. Didn’t you hear anything that was said?”

“Don’t start with me, Leon, I’m completely out of my depth right now!”

Aw. Cute.

It may not be actually so bad to have Chris’ voice droning as background noise while he gives himself emergency first aids. 

“Okay, okay. Hold on a sec, lemme get—ugnh, comfortable.” He snatches his grocery bag and leans against the wall, hidden behind a dumpster.  

“Leon, call 911, get an ambulance!”

“No, it’s a bullet so they’ll want answers. That’ll bring me to the DSO and I can’t have that.” Speaking of, Leon asseses his wound and notices that the bullet is still inside. “Fuck—” he grits angrily. That’s going to be a bigger pain in the ass. He fetches the vodka from the bag, thanking the gods for swift openings. First, a big swig.

“What? Why? What’s going on with the DSO?”

The strong alcohol sets his nerves down at least. “You know we’re having this nice chitchat on that sonovabitch’s phone, right?” He opens his jacket and fetches his key chain first. It’s made of a pocket knife.

“The—is it a satellite phone?”

“Mm-hm.” They both know satellite phones are not full-proof either, not without the right precautions.

“Fuck, how did they know?!”

“He knows.” Leon corrects without delving too much, trying to focus on even breathings and tearing a good stripe of his henley with the blade.  

“Who is he?”

“No fuckin’ clue. I hope you’re packing from wherever you are right now. Tracking people down seems to be this fucker’s forte.” He can hear Chris’ famous unhappy grumbles and grouses made under his breath as he soaks the stripe of cloth in alcohol and close it on his wound.

The hiss he makes seems to tear Chris away from his barrage of questions. “Okay, Leon, listen to me, I don’t know who this bastard is or what’s his motive, but I’m gonna find a way to reach out—”

“Chris, no, you’ll compr—”

“No, listen to me, I’ll find a safe way. Then we’ll finish this conversation. Got it?”

“Ngh… Whatever you say, boss...”

“You see to your wound and heal yourself. That’s the most important right now. Understood?”

Leon can’t help but smile. Chris Redfield sure is a leader of troupes through and through. Somehow, even if Leon never likes being patronized around by hierarchy, it never feels the same way when it comes from Chris Redfield.

Yeah, ‘somehow’. Just say you’re fucking biased Kennedy because you fucked the man a few times and you liked it every time it happened.

But Chris’ care always feels overwhelmingly genuine – even when it’s only an inflection in a voice coming from a thousand miles away. He knows Chris cares about him. That’s his only certainty when it comes to their ‘situation’ after all.

And so Leon smiles despite the burning pain because the flutters in his gut is pretty hilarious giving his current situation. “Sir yes sir.” When nothing from the phone comes right away, he feels obliged to add more seriously—more softly, “Okay, don’t worry about me, you know I can handle this.”

Seems like that’s what the other end of the line was waiting to hear because a reply is finally heard. “Good. I know you can, Kennedy. Remember what you told me that time about your obsession?”

My obsession is to break away from all of this.

“Yeah.”

“Remember my answer?”

Well, I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.

“Yeah.”

“Kill this phone now, and stay sharp.”

“Roger.”

Leon can hear an intake of breath—shaky.

“Over and out.”

Leon turns off the satellite phone but keeps it close. He feels a sense of levity despite the sweat dripping off his forehead and he knows it’s all because he got to talk to Chris. Chris Redfield is everyone’s rock and he desperately needs something like that right now. He’s a man of his word, too and he’s alive – which is actually a deep-seated worry he’s been carrying within his bones for God knows how long.

So all must be good, right?

He’s not alone.

Leon bites another stripe of cotton and uses his knife to rip it from his poor, tattered shirt.

Scriitch.

He’s not fucking—

He rolls it on top of the first bandage to stop the bleeding and makes a tight knot using his teeth.

—Alone!

“Hah… Hah… Fuck.”

Leon knocks back another mouthful of vodka and gathers his stuff. He needs to get home now as quick as possible before the bandages lose their pressure. He also needs to wait for whatever Chris’ going to do and think things through and he can’t do the latter in the comfort of the cobblestones beneath his ass.

This ain’t over, motherfucker.

[spnexploration]

Collared part 27

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: The boys keep an eye on you.

Warnings: drug use, concerns about potential suicidal thoughts

Word count: 1.2k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 26 <- -> Part 28

“Ok, fine, if it’ll get you two off my back I’ll call 998.”

“It’s 988,” Sam said kindly.

“Whatever,” you sassed at him. “I’m not suidical, I don’t need some telephone shrink to tell me I am.”

“I am reasonably certain that that is not what they’re going to do. Just, tell them about the pills and what you were feeling at the time, and see what they say. See if they have ideas for next time you’re feeling that way.” You looked up into his big, puppy dog eyes, pleading with you.

“Fiiiiine. But I’m doing it alone!”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “Oh, for the love of God, you two and your looks! Ok, you can watch me dial, you can see them pick up, and then you are OUT!”

“Agreed,” Dean said, entering the conversation. He often seemed to make decisions for the two of them, you wondered if he knew that.

Sam handed you an old-looking phone. “It’s a burner, they can’t trace it here, and it’s not tied to any of our names. So if you do let anything slip that you didn’t want to, don’t worry about it. They won’t be knocking on the door.”

You keyed in the numbers. 9. 8. 8. You took a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

---

The brothers finally let you out of their sight after that, but you noticed that one of them would come check on you hourly. “Did you guys set up a schedule or something? Is there some kind of fucking sticker chart for who goes to visit the crazy chick the most?!” you yelled at Dean. He always did make you angriest.

“You know what, I would like a sticker chart, thanks for the idea,” he said sarcastically. “Here I was slumming it just doing things out of the goodness of my own heart when I could have had stickers!”

You glared at him. He glared back.

“Well, you’re clearly fine, screaming at me is your favourite fucking hobby,” he grumped, then stormed off down the corridor.

---

5 minutes before the next hour, you crept to the library. The brothers were in their usual spots, reading old books and searching the web. Your cushion was against the wall, now.

“I, um, I thought I’d save you the trip,” you said nervously as you entered. “And, um, I’m sorry I yelled at you, Dean. I do appreciate you two looking out for me.”

Dean smiled at you, a genuine, warm smile. “Apology accepted, swee- uh, Y/N.”

“What, um, what are you guys doing?”

Dean pursed his lips before answering. He said in a gentle voice, “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I appreciate the concern, Dean, but I’m not made of glass.”

“We’re trying to research about Azaneth.”

“Oh. I probably should’ve guessed that. Does that mean you’re going after him?”

“If you want us to, we will.”

You shivered. Could they really kill him? What if he got them first? “What- um- what if, he, umm- what if he- whatifhe-”

Dean glanced at Sam, who stood up and approached you. He walked towards you slowly with his hands open and non-threatening. He put his hands gently on your shoulders.

“You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to, Y/N,” Sam said.

“It’s ok, I just- I just can’t-”

Sam rubbed his hands up and down your upper arms. “Are you worried about him getting you again?”

You bit your lip. “No… I mean, yes, of course, but umm,” you paused, and then said in a rush, “Imworriedabouthimgettingyoutwo.”

“I didn’t quite understand that, I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam said earnestly.

“I’m worried that he’ll kill you two, and you shouldn’t risk your lives just because of me,” you mumbled, a little slower this time.

“Y/N, we care about you. We care about the other people that Azaneth is probably hurting, and even if it’s not like what he did to you, he’s a pretty big dickhead of a demon. We’re also not stupid, we don’t go into fights we don’t think we can get out of.”

“I guess…”

Dean stood up and came into your field of view again, no longer blocked by his brother, but he didn’t come too close. “Why shouldn’t we risk our lives for you?” he said quietly. “Why should we risk them for everyone else and not you?”

“I’m not worth it,” you muttered.

“The person who convinced you of that did you and everyone a massive disservice,” Dean replied, piercingly quiet. Like a teacher who could control a room with a whisper rather than a shout. It struck to your core, bringing up many, bewildering and painful emotions.

You fled to your room.

---

The brothers still took turns checking on you, but no one brought up Azaneth again. You all ate dinner on the cushions in the kitchen again, with the brothers carrying on a conversation and you not contributing. Still, it was nice to be included.

---

The next morning, Sam was putting away the clean dishes when you came into the kitchen.

“Guess I should learn where these go,” you joked weakly.

Sam chuckled, offering you a plate. “Goes in the bottom cupboard over there. Try not to drop it,” he teased.

“I didn’t actually think I’d drop them,” you said a little awkwardly. “But it was a possibility, so it wasn’t a lie. I just didn’t really want to do it that day.”

“It may surprise you to know this, but I was far more excited that you challenged me than if you’d helped me put away some dishes,” he said sincerely.

You nodded, then focused on the plate in your hand.

“Had you felt like there were things you didn’t want to do on other days?” he asked, then hastily added, “Sorry to pry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

You tipped your head slightly to the side as you thought. “In some ways, no. Not wanting to do something, and therefore not doing it, was a fairly foreign concept to me. There were things I was afraid of and dreaded, but I knew they’d happen anyway. Having something that I just didn’t want to do was... different.”

He nodded, having been focused on your face the whole time you were speaking.

“I- I don’t even quite know why I didn’t want to put the dishes away. I just suddenly realised in that moment that you asked me that I just, didn’t really feel like it. I didn’t feel like much that day.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. Apparently, the boys were doing a lot of that around you recently.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, you may as well say it,” you said to him.

“It’s just, I had a theory about what was going on for you that day. It took me a while to work it out but when I saw you in the evening it clicked. But I don’t want to mansplain you to you; I might be wrong.”

“Go ahead, I don’t know what I’m thinking half the time anyway.”

“You missed Dean,” he said quietly.

Oh.

Somehow, you hadn’t thought of that.

Was it true?

It felt a little bit true.

But that was ridiculous! If you missed him it was only because you missed the certainty of knowing what your master wanted, of the collar telling you what you had to do.

...Or was it?

.

.

.

Tag list:

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@stoneyggirl2

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@muhahaha303

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@where-the-river-bends

[captain-grammar]

My main take-aways from Zach and Keith's conversation on the latest TryPod episode, for anyone interested in one woman's Thoughts And Opinions:

I truly commend Zach, Keith and Miles for approaching the podcast with some level of humour; whether it's a case of "if we don't laugh, we'll cry" or after a month, they're ready to make jokes or they simply wanted to maintain a level of normalcy for us, the audience, I appreciate the levity of certain moments. Zach, for the love of God, get that dishwasher fixed!

The fact that Keith referred to the grieving process as being cyclical and he kept/keeps going through it... Man, I truly feel for him. I think the more time they have to process the various levels of Ned's actions, the more it'll happen. The whole process must traumatic to go through and I truly hope it'll get easier with time.

To hear Keith, Zach and Miles comment on how the stress of the situation has affected them was heartbreaking. Keith's anxiety about being in public and having to discuss it, Zach putting his self-care on the back burner, Miles losing weight... They don't deserve to be going through it like this, especially because they're not the ones in the wrong.

There was genuine concern from Keith and Zach (and we cn probably assume the same for Eugene) that any of their personal/side projects would take a knock-on hit as a result of this situation; it seems that not only were they worried that their own reputations would be tainted by association but Zach voiced that he was worried that a short film/writing project he had planned might not go ahead now as a result of having to take the time to address this matter instead. I cannot stress enough how selfish Ned's actions were; he put everyone else's career at risk as well as his own.

Given the way the entire podcast they seemed to be truly careful about what they said and how studious and meticulous it sounds like they've been throughout the entire process (farming out the HR review to a 3rd party, legal advice etc.), they must be genuinely concerned about legal repercussions and the potential for any lawsuit and claims against them. Whether that's because they really want to do this as by-the-book as they can or whether certain parties intimated that they might take legal action remains to be seen. I give the 2nd Try team full props for covering all their bases and protecting their brand and staff going forward.

The damned statements. Zach and Keith made it clear that while they let Ned see the public statement they posted to social media in advance, they never saw his. They also made it *very clear* what they thought might have been Ned's motivation behind making both their statements look as though they'd been created and posted in concert: they believe that it was a calculated move on Ned's part to give the subliminal impression that there was a level of synchronicity and support between the two parties where clearly none exists.

Zach states that what Ned did was a "workplace violation". From that, we can infer that there was definitely something in Ned's contract or in the company paperwork that told him that fraternising with any of the company's employees in a romantic way was a big no-no. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew what he was doing went against company policy. He knew he'd get fired. He did it anyway.

The announcement that Eugene will be taking a step back from the podcast wasn't a huge surprise. The guy is incredibly private and guarded and I always got the impression that being open and vulnerable in the podcasts was a little uncomfortable for him. I look forward to his guest appearances!

I'm glad they're not ruling out Ariel remaining on the You Can Sit With Us podcast and that they're more than happy for her to take as much time as she needs to heal and get into a better headspace; that the door is always open for her.

The not-so-casual shade Miles threw at "a certain employee who would always walk out" during the Advice That Will Go For Miles song was truly a thing of beauty and if you didn't stan him before, you should for that alone

This might not be the end of the situation - perhaps in the future when the dust settles and the legal side of things has been locked up, we'll get more information - but for now I'm glad that the boys have a chance to take a breath and move on. As a fan of the Guys, I'll still be watching and supporting them. They haven't lost an inch of ground with me and I cannot wait to see what the future holds.

[thebunniesgrim]

You know what? What if the reason we haven’t seen IMP do their job was because no one (excerpt for me I guess) liked the C.H.E.R.U.B. episode...  

Like think about it  

 everyone liked Murder Family everyone had a good time  

But C.H.E.R.U.B.? No!  

everyone said it was mid, no one liked it, and no one talks about it  

Maybe Viv saw that LooLoo Land and Spring Broken were more positively received and said ok if that’s what the public wants

Not to mention the episode Unhappy Campers where they did their job, For the first time in like 9-ish episodes, no one liked it because Moxxie was like, you know, the worst and the “teen problem” 

Possibly the reason we don’t see any episodes of the IMP doing their job (you know the main selling point of the show). Is probably because the others were so well liked, and it gave Viv permission form the loud majority of the fandom that they don’t want to see IMP do their job instead they want Stoliz  

Also, Viv likes Stoliz and she’s in charge of the show so whatever she wants goes at the end of the day   

Because let's be honest Blizto and Stolas' relationship took over the show and leave no room for anything else  

Not to forget the wiki and the IMBD page says the show is about:  

And when you watch the darn show, you only get 3 episodes that show what the show is about  

not to mention 

only one of them is good (Murder Family), one of them is ok (C.H.E.R.U.B.), and the other is just downright unwatchable (Unhappy Campers)  

Ok well technically there are 4 episodes of I.M.P. being I.M.P. if you count Spring broken. I don’t because yes, they're doing, their job in the technical since but in reality, I don’t think that parking space was that big a deal I don’t know why they couldn’t use a different parking space. It didn’t really affect their job, you know? And they still did their job it’s not like them not having they’re parking space put the business at risk it was just bilzto being dramatic and petty with an ex. They only did their job for like 3 minutes and it was mostly off screen and it took the back burner it wasn’t really tied into the story as well as it was in C.H.E.R.U.B. or Murder Family. Also, I don’t think they finished those jobs they stopped when the fish monster attacked and everyone who was there left and they ended up going home after blackmailing Verosika  

If most of the fandom didn’t like Stoliz do you think we would have gotten more IMP, as a business, episodes?  

And yes, I know Helluva Boss is free and doesn’t have a studio to help it  

But if you need a studio to write story consistency maybe you should wait and plan out the story first.

If you need a studio to help, make sure the story you’re telling makes since and that it’s about what you say it’s about maybe you need to slow down and take 5

  :/

Just saying

No hate

<3

[honeylikesyanderes]

this has been in my drafts since like february oml

anyways

i hope you enjoy!

18+ only. minors please dni

warning: contains yandere themes, socially unacceptable behaviours, a lil bit of mental health talk, slight/implied nsfw, gn reader, lowkey unfair power dynamics (typical honeylikesyanderes trope 🤌🏽)

yves' name is pronounced as eve

requests are open btw! ask anything or drop any thirsts/headcanons/ideas into my inbox and i’ll write asap :)

(y'all please reblog this, it isn't showing in the tags :(((( )

-------------------------------------------------------

yves falor

yves falor - the therapist.

age: 25

birthday: oct 23rd

physical attributes:

back length golden blonde hair

bright blue green eyes

6'3

very pale skin

slim build

is actually stronger than he looks

has a calm, yet deep voice

his tone is always cheeky/teasing

always smirking

personality traits:

is very cheeky

gentle yet rough around the edges

a great listener and very helpful

he has a calming personality; people naturally feel comfortable around him

he isnt super sensitive but some subjects are a bit touchy for him

is a risk taker

and he’s very emotional but he avoids showing it too much

bad at picking up social cues

meeting you:

after many months of battling your mental health and emotional turmoil, you decided it was time to seek help

fortunately, your friend bhodi had a brother who happened to be a therapist

you were a bit anxious about reaching out to make the appointment, so bhodi helped you out.

on the day of your appointment, you almost chickened out

you didn't want to go to a therapist because you were scared of being judged

plus you had read multiple horror stories of therapists that ended up traumatising their patients even more

bhodi was at work so he asked his partner to give you a ride

you ended up telling them about your fears and they reassured you that bhodi's brother was a professional and a good therapist

they dropped you off at the office and waited with you till it was time for you to go in, making sure to give you a big hug before leaving.

when you walked in, you were expecting to see a middle aged or older person, but you ended up seeing a young man that looked similar to bhodi

the only differences were that his hair was longer and he had more piercings than bhodi.

you felt more comfortable because he had a familiar face and aura, plus he was around your age, so hopefully he would understand you better right?

yves, on the other hand, was internally screaming

he finally gets to meet the person he'd heard so much about

the person that he's always fantasized of meeting

the person that stole his heart without speaking a word to him.

when bhodi mentioned that you needed a mental health professional, he jumped at the opportunity

he needed to get close to you

and this was the perfect chance.

are they aware that they are a yandere? are they bothered by it?

yves knows he's a yandere. and he knoss its not normal to be like this; but he doesn't want to change. he believes no one can love you as much as a yandere does, so why would he go out of his way to make himself love you less?

yandere tendencies:

yandere type: delusional/clingy/manipulative

to be fair, yves is a realistic yandere

he knows that he's weird and thia isn't normal

but he's delusional because he always has excuses made up or he always finds a way to justify his yandere behaviour

he's also very clingy and caring

he uses this care to worm his way into your heart

because, who doesn't want a caring man?

yves is also lowkey the stalker type

he'll make multiple burner accounts to follow your social media

and if you block one account, he'll use another

he has your post notifications on and will always be the first person to like any post you make.

in real life, yves will approach you romantically, but it will take some time

he wants to use his therapist position to get close to you, yes

but he actually wants to see you get better first and he actually cares about being a good therapist.

he'll tell bhodi about his feelings for you and will ask him for help

tbh, yves obsession with darling is really bhodi's fault

if bhodi didn't talk about you so often or didn't show him pictures of you all the time, then he wouldn't be yandere for you, now would he?

oh yeah btw, yves will manipulate you and/or any love interest you have, so the relationship will breakdown

whether its telling you thar they're bad for you or they're one of the root causes of your issues, he'll do it

yves would rather go down the mindfuck route rather than outright murder.

(he will commit murder tho)

when yves and darling start dating, yves' obsessive behaviour will increase but his outward expression of toxic yandere behaviour will decrease

yves is generally a sweet yandere and he actually would do anything for his darling and to make them happy

fun facts/trivia:

yves is a secretive person. he doesn't lay all his cards on the table with most people, but with family and close friends, he's very open

bhodi is his younger brother and he's close to his cousins angel and priest.

he and angel usually get tattooed together

he has 20/10 vision

yves has a degree in both psychology and neuroscience (double major)

yves is very popular with the ladies (and men and enbys) and has a lot of people interested in him romantically and sexually. (therefore you'll have a lot of love rivals 💀)

yves and bhodi used to look very similar when they were younger, and one time, yves cut his hair to look like bhodi and wrote multiple exams on his behalf.

unfortunately, after puberty, due to voice changes and physical build, they could easy be differentiated.

yves likes to write handwritten love letters to his darling and has a box full of the ones he's never sent to you

this will continue even after yall start dating.

he categorises them by content: yellow envelope for sweet and loving words, pink for compliment relays and red for spicy content.

there are so many red envelopes in his bottom left desk drawer

(if you wanna explore more yandere ocs, feel free to check out the masterlist!)

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT/FEDERATION MAGAZINE: May 2008

SMACKDOWN INTERVIEW

UNDER THE HOOD

Rey Mysterio sounds off about his nagging injuries, his finisher (which appeared on Heroes), his love of the King of the High Seas and the disappearance of his pyro-tastic pop-up entrance.

BY JEREMY BROWN

PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVE HILL

Recently, the injury Gods have not been kind to you. How are you handling the bicep tear?

It’s definitely put me on the back burner again, which I didn’t want. What happens now is that I have to suck it up and try not to think about things too much. I need to get the surgery done, go to rehab, be as strong as I can and then come back–just like I did from knee surgery.

When returning from an injury, do you ever feel 100 percent?

After knee surgery, I struggled at first. I don’t know if the fans noticed, but I definitely felt it, and I tried to improve my ring ability and focus on things I knew I could do. I tried to keep myself from putting too much weight on the knee, and sometimes I'd overcompensate and risk injuring the other knee. But no matter how much you want to change your style, it’s hard to because you’re so used to going out there and performing your best. I always say, “I’m not going to do this or that anymore because it’s hurting my knee,” then two weeks later, in the heat of the moment, there I go again.”

Does this mean no more “pop-up” ring entrances?

That doesn’t strain my knees as much as you’d think. There were some problems with the system that used to pop me up and they haven’t been able to replace it or come up with something similar. I don’t think my current entrance is the best. Don’t worry, we’re working on something.

[Manta-Rey.]

Since returning, you’ve sported increasingly elaborate ring gear. Is that part of this new Rey Mysterio?

I’ve always liked to be unique in my ring attire and stand out from everybody else. I think I picked that up from my uncle, because he always had the best costumes when he stepped into the ring. It’s something I learned early on, you know, to have good presence inside and outside of the ring.

We noticed at Armageddon that you began wearing a hood over your regular mask. What’s that about?

I’m a big fan of skeletons, and I incorporated the half-skeleton/half-mask, and added the rosary to the right side of the pants leg. [PULLS HOOD OUT OF HIS BAG] Before, I had the Aztec cross there. I wear a hoodie on top, which I take off and give to one of the little kids in the front row. I always like to be different. That makes Rey Mysterio, that;s who I am, and I think it keeps the fans always wondering, “What’s he gonna come out with next?”

At SummerSlam you rocked the Silver Surfer look. Before that, The Flash. Which comic book character will we see next?

I think my next one is Iron Man. Hey, I already have the mask!

Speaking of superheroes, on the NBC series Heroes, a character who has the power to mimic anything she sees performed the 619 after watching your match on TV. [REY’S EYES LIGHT UP] Did you know you were going to be featured so prominently on the show?

It caught me completely off guard. I didn’t realize I was going to be on the show. I actually got a kick out of it. You know, when Nacho Libre came out, the little [person] did the 619. And when the latest King Kong came out a few years ago, Kong did a version of the 619 when fighting the dinosaurs. I wonder if they picked that up from me, as well?

Of all the superheroes, whom do you hold in the highest esteem?

I love Aquaman. I haven’t got that outfit, but I need to. There was something about him that really stood out. 

Let’s look into the future: Your bicep is fully healed, and you’re rockin’ a totally sweet Aquaman outfit. Who’s the first Superstar you’d like to square off against, mano a mano?

Triple H. Believe it or not, we’ve never had a one-on-one match, and I think WWE fans would agree that that match would be very, very interesting.

[Uh, Rey, you’ve got something taped to the back of your head.]

[boredwritergirl]

Day 6 - Pocket Full of Posies

Day 6 - hey everyone, the write a short story every day in may challenge is going smoothly. I'm having fun with it and I hope you are too. It makes me happy to start seeing these posts get a little more attention and I hope that keeps on happening. Hope you like the story, have a nice day!

Trigger Warnings: Disease, Death & Child Death

Pocket Full of Posies

I have to do something! Thought Luna as she strolled around her dowry village. The streets were flooding with corpses yet again. Yet another day of people dumping their loved ones onto the street to be collected and burnt so the black death doesn’t spread. 

Luna had only just moved to this town. She had fled her homeland because her sister was burnt at the stake for “Witchcraft”. In truth, Luna studied medicine with her sister, and she knew she’d be next. She was initially met with warm reception from this new village, back when it was a prosperous town, destined to blossom into something truly grand and spectacular. But then the plague came, and the plague stayed, rupturing the population in its wake. 

In the mere few weeks since the black death claimed its first victim, the village had lost its busy, bustling and friendly spirit. Now there were more dead people outdoors than living ones in the safety of their own homes.

During this time, Luna had spent bunkered down at home, studying her notes on medicine, only occasionally venturing out of her cot after dark to collect plant samples. But finally, she thought she found an answer, a decoction that could potentially heal the sick and certainly stop them from falling to the illness again.

This was the first time Luna decided to walk out during the daytime, really seeing how bad the death toll was. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she saw the burning piles of rotting corpses right there on the cobblestone street for all to see.

 It’s not fair! Luna thought. I couldn’t save them in time… but, maybe I can save the others… No, No! I remember what they did to Cassandra… I’ll never forget that look in her eyes, how she cried, pleading for mercy, begging for my help, yet I was powerless. Surely the same would happen to me… But, this isn’t the same village. When I was a stranger, they treated me with kindness. They’re desperate, they probably wouldn’t see my medicine as witchcraft and let me help. It's not like God is going to step in and do anything… But, I don’t really have any proof they’ll react that way either. The only way to know for sure is to look for someone I can help. I need to show them that I can save them. That I must save them and repay them for their generosity.

Luna kept walking, finding more and more corpses, rundown homes and empty shops. The thriving town that should have become a bustling city had become hollow. She’d pass by the bodies of several people she had gotten to know, once kind hearts now just necrotic bodies laying on the ground, most of their clothes looted off of their beings, leaving the corpses undignified. 

Then finally, Luna heard someone alive, a woman crying, bawling her eyes out not too far from her.

As Luna followed the sound of the sobs, they led her to a home, a man holding a crying woman back from leaving the door frame, as two of their sons dumped their little brother off to be collected by the corpse burners. 

“Nooo! Bring Johnny back!!! He’ll wake up any minute now!” The woman yelled.

“How many times do we have to tell you he’s dead!? God took him from us, there’s no saving him. We can only pray for his eternal soul.” Her husband said, hugging her tightly, keeping her in place as she started crying into his shoulder.

Luna decided to approach the pair, gulping as she knew she was taking a big risk. “My condolences about Johnny. I’m so sorry for your-”

But before she could say anymore, not even being able to offer her help yet, the crying woman interrupted her with a deep, horse and venomous tone. “You!” she yelled, staring at Luna with a vengeful glare.

Luna was caught off guard, all her thoughts, her conviction to help, her internal monologue all going blank as she froze up.

The woman continued yelling at her. “Ever since you came to town, everyone’s been dropping like flies! This horrid curse started barely a week after you came to town! You used your witchcraft to doom us all!”

Luna gasped, standing in utter shock. “But- But I-”

The husband quickly punched Luna right in the head, knocking her unconscious.

As Luna woke, she found herself bound, tied to a stake with stacks of hay surrounding her… In the middle of the town square, where what little remained of the townsfolk were watching her.

The priest was saying his prayers, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done-” as he continued, the crowd booed and jeered at Luna, even the sounds of the rotten fruits they hurled at her was overshadowing the priest’s repeated praying.

Luna tried to scream, she wanted to scream harder than anyone before. I’m trying to save you! I made a cure! I can save all of us! But she was gagged, so her attempts were for nought. 

The villagers set fire to the haystack, flowing up the stake and burning Luna alive, slowly roasting her in front of the angry mob. She cried and cried, but the angry, desperate beasts that surrounded her were hungry for blood, an overwhelming desire to kill their scapegoat with nothing to stop them.

The villagers celebrated Luna’s death for a time, but it was short-lived. They grew to be paranoid of each other as their sacrifice did nothing to eliminate the black plague. 

Their hatred was the only thing they had left as the once prosperous town faded, the population continuing to bleed until the very end, until the village was ashes, ashes, and all fell down.