#kw: violence

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): crime scene clean-up, swearing, grief & difficult conversations, discussions around canon-typical violence, smoking, brief suggestive themes, brief drinking, angst

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part Twenty-Three of Ink & Needle

Price and Simon make a pact. Simon talks to Evie and Amelia. Walsh dispenses a clue.

Chapter Twenty-Two // Chapter Twenty-Four

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Come and find her. – KW.

Come and find her.

Come. And find her.

Find her.

Simon stares at the little piece of paper in his hands. It’s so small. Confetti in his palm. Something that could be easily overlooked like trash that collects near a storm drain.

But it’s not trash.

It’s a taunt. A warning.

And it’s all for Simon.

Instinct tells him to crumple the note in his fist—to dismantle by destroying. Burn it. Maybe. Shred it into even smaller pieces until it truly resembles confetti.

But what party would he throw to sprinkle the remains? There will be no cake or gifts. No sunshine or clear skies. It will be a funeral, and the shredded paper is the dirt tossed by the mourners.

Dust, really. Like the soul. Smaller than dust. Insignificant.

“You need to go home, Simon.”

Captain Price’s voice used to be a balm to Simon—a place of safety. The words from Price’s mouth do nothing but drag Simon back to reality even as Simon attempts to claw back to the darkness that are his thoughts.

“Go home and do what?” replies Simon, not looking in Price’s direction.

Come and find her.

“It’s not healthy to stay here,” sighs Price.

Simon snorts. “What part of my life as ever been healthy.”

Price flinches, and Simon immediately regrets his words. Captain knows every horrific detail, every open hand and closed fist, of the fangs and masks and gore and screams that are Simon’s history.

It is ugly and foul.

Price used to fuss over it, trying to drive Simon to talk to someone about it all. He did—once. More than once, but it didn’t do much but reaffirm everything Simon already knew.

That life can be cruel, and we are only defined by our choices.

And Simon has always chosen to be different.

“Staring at that note won’t help things. It won’t help us find her faster,” says Price, his voice low and soothing like it always is when he’s trying to be gentle.

Simon takes a deep inhalation, calming the raging desperation thudding around in his chest.

It’s a torrent. A downpour.

“I want to help,” is all Simon says in reply.

Price takes a step closer, and leans in a bit, lowering his voice. “I know you do, Simon. And I value that help. But trying to figure shit out here isn’t the place.”

Simon stares into Price’s face, frowning. He lingers there a moment before glancing over Price’s shoulder.

There are new people in the room. Price called them up after Johnny found the note and presented it to Simon. They move about the space like phantoms, their eyes cast downward, minds geared toward the task of cleaning up the mess that is Evie’s home.

Evie, who came to Simon’s door rain-drenched and desperate. Simon is glad she didn’t try to seek out the authorities. What the fuck are police going to do about this? Nothing. That’s what.

But Price will do something. And so will Johnny and Kyle.

They have his back. They fucking care about you because they care about Simon. He has people in his corner.

“Excuse me.”

Simon and Price glance toward the man addressing the two of them. He’s a little younger than Simon. In his hands are a broom and dustpan. Beside him stands another man holding a trash bag. Simon scowls and the man blanches slightly.

“The glass,” he mutters, nodding at Simon’s feet.

The glass. The broken patio door. Blood.

Simon clears his throat and steps back, glass crunching under his boots even as he and Price move to a different part of the room. The two men start sweeping it up while two others lift and deposit the bodies of the estate agent and her assistant into body bags.

All the color from their faces have melted away, leaving behind a grayness that only comes when there is nothing left to salvage. While neither of the women currently being placed in body bags are you, Simon is grateful that you’re not one of them. That is enough to hope even if everything inside him doubts.

Positivity isn’t Simon’s thing. But the fact that you’re not here could only mean that Walsh wants you elsewhere. He wants Simon to come seeking. He wants Simon to have hope, and for that reason alone, Simon still clings to the idea that you’re not gone.

But maybe you are.

Time is crucial. It is scare and fleeting and slipping away as the seconds tick by.

“This is my fault.”

“Simon,” chides Price, ready to defend him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” growls Simon. “Walsh is after me, and I know that. I kept—” Simon stops, his unoccupied hand forming a fist.

Price frowns. “You kept what?”

Instead of shutting down, Simon trudges forward. “I kept seeing him. Or thought I did.” He glances down at the note and then at the darkening pool of drying blood. “Should have trusted my gut.”

“You can’t linger in the past, Simon. It happened. You made choices. Walsh made choices. That control is gone. We can only move forward.”

Simon remains silent. Price is right, even if Simon doesn’t want to admit it out loud. Shit happens. Plans go wrong. You can’t always predict what the enemy will do or how they might deviate from the information you have. You have to go in with the knowledge that things might change at the last second.

Adjustment is crucial.

Adjust and survive or stay stagnant and die.

“By moving forward, that means I go home,” says Simon slowly.

Price inclines his head. “It is.”

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t accept it.”

“And what will you do, Simon? Search every building in the country? And what will you do after? Head for the continent?”

“I’d destroy everything and everyone if that means I get her back safely.”

Price’s jaw twitches. “Or you might just get her killed.”

Simon’s head snaps in Price’s direction, venom on his tongue, but it’s Price’s glare that stays his harshness. Even though he’s no longer under Price’s command, the training doesn’t leave. Instead of lashing out, Simon takes a calming breath, but it does little except settle the sharpness that wants to emerge from his lips.

“I’m helping with this. I won’t budge,” affirms Simon.

Price nods. “I know, Simon. Didn’t say you wouldn’t be.”

Simon turns toward him fully, lowering his voice. “You told me to go home.”

“For now,” corrects Price. “We need to clean up here, and then we can talk. This isn’t the place.” Price shrugs. “Not like I have all the information in front of me.”

True, but Simon isn’t happy. His body desires movement. It desires action. The storm inside him wants to be released, and its target is Walsh.

“I have to talk to Evie,” murmurs Simon, almost absently.

Price clasps Simon’s shoulder. “Want someone to go with you?”

“I can.” Simon and Price glance up as Johnny comes to a stop in front of them. “I’ll go with you, Lt.”

Simon nods as Kyle approaches with a couple of binders. “She might want this. It’s all paperwork.”

Kyle holds the stack out to Simon but Price reaches for it. “We should make copies. Take a look just in case.”

“I’ll do that now,” nods Kyle. He turns toward Simon and lightly punches his arm. “We’ll find her. Bring her home.”

Kyle departs with a brief nod toward Johnny.

Price clears his throat. “Go home. Take Soap with you. I’ll call when we’re ready to meet.”

“You got it, Captain,” says Johnny, all confidence.

Simon appreciates it. He does, but his heart is close to exploding—a volcano in his chest that he isn’t sure is heartburn or an incoming heart attack.

Price says goodbye by giving Simon’s shoulder another squeeze before walking away to chat quietly with the woman supervising the cleanup.

“Come on, Lt.”

Simon used to correct Johnny after retirement, but he no longer has the heart to. It almost feels normal—like Simon is back in the field and not a tattoo artist with awards and accolades. It is a strange sensation, and Simon is surprised by how his mind and body are at odds with the feeling.

They step around shattered glass and overturned furniture. They walk around the darkening blood that’s starting to congeal. Simon doesn’t even glance at the hammer or the gloved hand that lifts it from the floor.

And it’s not Simon who drives. All the control he likes to have his gone, and it is Johnny that takes the wheel, guiding them back to London as if they’re just two mates on a weekend holiday.

It’s not until Simon is stepping into his flat and Bravo greets him that reality comes crashing into him like a hollow point on impact.

Johnny sighs heavily and drops onto the sofa. Bravo doesn’t go to jump into Johnny’s lap or to seek belly rubs. The German Shepard takes up post next to Simon. He sits rigidly, one paw tapping at Simon’s thigh as the dog tries to get his attention.

“I’m ace, Bravo,” he murmurs, reaching out to scratch between Bravo’s ears.

The dog whines softly but he drops his paw, accepting the scratches before padding over to Johnny. He jumps onto the couch and starts stomping all over Soap until Johnny is laughing and aggressively rubbing Bravo’s belly.

As Bravo settles, Johnny turns his attention to Simon. “You good, Lt?”

Simon shifts in Soap’s direction. He glances around, realizing that he hasn’t moved away from the door. He lingers like a ghost who can see everyone but no one sees them.

“Yeah. I’m good,” coughs Simon, his legs moving mechanically. He plops down onto the sofa next to Johnny and then sighs heavily. “I need a smoke.”

“Have some sitting around?” asks Johnny.

“Nope.”

Soap nods. Keeps nodding. “I’ll go grab some. There a shop around here?”

“On the corner,” answers Simon, eyes closed as his head tips back to rest against the top of the sofa.

“Up for a walk, Bravo?” asks Johnny.

Bravo barks and then jumps out of Soap’s lap, padding over to his leash.

When Johnny returns, the two of them sit on Simon’s balcony facing the back street between the buildings. Bravo is below them, sniffing the little stretch of grass there. He’s a dark spot amongst the green, moving back and forth as if he smells something interesting.

Johnny bought enough packs to give them both lung cancer. Soap isn’t one for smoking, but he joins Simon in it anyway. The two of them sit in the cold silence, the chilly air unable to penetrate the inferno that burns within Simon.

“When do you want to talk to the friend?” asks Johnny, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Tomorrow,” sighs Simon.

He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to say to Evie. Looking her in the face is going to be difficult enough, but explain? No. Fucking no. That shit is a mess.

Johnny’s foot taps absently like he’s listening to a song in his head. “You want me to talk? Or you want to do it?”

“I’ll do it,” replies Simon immediately.

This is his mess. You are his woman. And you are Evie’s friend. This has to come from Simon or no one at all.

Johnny inclines his head and takes another drag on his cigarette. He grimaces. “These are fucking nasty, Lt. How do you do it?”

“Rage,” replies Simon dryly.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow and then bursts out laughing, falling onto his back as he clutches his stomach. The corner of Simon’s mouth twitches with amusement.

Coughing, Johnny turns on his side in Simon’s direction. Bravo comes to a stop in the grass, his noise pushed into the dirt like he’s stumbled upon a scent.

“What is it, Johnny?” asks Simon as Soap stares at him but doesn’t speak.

“She cute?”

Simon blinks. “Who?”

“The friend.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I’m only asking,” replies Johnny, all innocence.

Simon shakes his head, this time smiling naturally. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You know I like a pretty face,” says Johnny, ashing his cigarette.

“Don’t make me blush, Johnny,” teases Simon.

The fire beneath his skin dims from an inferno to a small campfire. This banter is comforting to him—a reminder that there are people out there who care for Simon as more than just a previous coworker. Johnny cares. Kyle cares. And fuck—Price cares to the point that sometimes Simon thinks he has a loving father.

“Oh, aye, Lt. Been lusting after you for ages.” Simon glances at Johnny before snatching his cigarette from his fingers. “I’m smoking that!”

“You hate cigarettes, Johnny,” chides Simon, taking a long drag and finishing it off. “And you’ll have it off with anything that moves.”

“Not anything,” mutters Soap, sitting up fully.

Simon puts out the cigarette and takes another from the pack. “When did you last get your dick wet?”

Johnny’s lips purse, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Johnny,” says Simon, almost sing-song.

Soap mutters something and Simon punches him in the arm.

“Fuck, Lt. Yesterday.”

Simon shrugs. “Knew it.”

“If you’re gonna fucking ask about it, you’ll listen.”

“I’m good, Johnny,” replies Simon, holding up a hand for silence as he goes to light the new cigarette.

“Kyle and I were—”

“Not interested.”

“This beautiful blonde cornered me and I couldn’t say no. Lips like that—”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

“She pushed me up against the wall. Dropped to her knees—”

“Johnny—”

“Never finished so fast in my—fucking hell Simon!”

Johnny clutches the back of his head where Simon lightly swatted him. “Said I didn’t want to know.”

“Then why’d you bloody ask!” exclaims Johnny, this time grabbing Simon’s cigarette from his fingers. He tries to puff on it but promptly grimaces, offering it right back to Simon.

“Absolute wanker,” mutters Simon.

“Favorite wanker, Lt.”

Simon snorts and reaches behind him, grabbing the whiskey bottle and setting it down between them. There are no glasses, but it’s not necessary. Johnny grabs the bottle and removes the screw lid, taking a swig directly from the bottle before holding it out to Simon. He takes the offered whiskey and Simon gulps down more than he should in one go.

He offers it back to Johnny. “Don’t fucking flirt with the friend, Johnny.”

Soap inclines his head and raises the bottle in salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Simon.”

The two of them sit on the balcony until the whiskey is gone and the sun has long since dipped below the horizon. Bravo stays in the living room, curling up on the sofa with Johnny.

Simon stares at his empty bed. It’s still unmade from when he hastily got out and answered the door.

Sighing, Simon heads into the bathroom, turning on the shower. He cranks it until it’s scalding. The heat is a nice distraction, and for a while, Simon pretends that you’re not gone. That you’re with him underneath the spray.

From memory, Simon plucks out his favorite moments, lingering in your sweetness. It’s not just the physical Simon smolders in. Everything about you is like a drop of lifeblood. Simon lingers on your smile, and on the calmness you bring him when you’re nearby. He dreams of your touch and the way you wrap your arms around him. The scent of your shampoo fills his nostrils.

That only leads to lustier thoughts, and Simon has to pull back before he goes too far.

When the water grows cold, and your hands are not there to warm his skin, that is when Simon breaks.

Everything is a flood. Everything fractures.

What are dying stars but beautiful confetti. Dust. Specks bursting outward to settle in forgotten places.

Simon is dust.

No—less than dust.

Atoms.

But lesser than that.

Nothing.

Infinite nothing.

His tears become one with the cold water. His shaking becomes one with the icy chill that makes his skin shiver. Simon’s nails dig into his skin. Blood blossoms in the moons. Drip onto the tile.

Simon sits on the floor of the shower until every tear is down the drain.

He doesn’t recall falling into bed. Or when he drifts to sleep.

It isn’t until Simon wakes that he’s realized he slept at all.

There were no dreams. Just blackness. Hardness.

But he hears Johnny, and Bravo’s nails against the wood floor.

It is reluctant duty that drags Simon from bed.

“Made breakfast. And tea. And coffee,” shrugs Johnny, offering a greasy piece of bacon to Bravo.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that,” sighs Simon, loading his plate with a little bit of everything.

Johnny ignores Simon and talks to Bravo like the dog is human baby. Bravo eats it up like it’s the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Simon drops into a chair. His stomach grumbles and then he’s eating. The eggs are still warm, and the coffee is still hot. He zones out, grabbing seconds and then thirds.

“Have appointments today?” asks Johnny.

Simon shakes his head. “I rescheduled everything back a week. Wasn’t sure how long I’d be gone.”

Usually, Simon hates leaving his shop and moving bookings around, but it can’t be helped.

Johnny nods and inspects the empty skillet that held scrambled eggs. “Still planning on chatting with the friend today?”

Simon swallows down a half-chewed piece of toast. “That’s what I said.”

“Just checking, Lt.”

Simon’s fork pauses. His tone was harsh. “You still coming with me?” asks Simon, softening his tone this time.

“Aye. I’ve got your back.”

Simon clears his plate and finishes off the last of the coffee before he and Johnny head over to Amelia’s. They decide to walk, bringing Bravo with them. Simon fiddles with a cigarette the entire way but never lights it.

“You still want to do this today?” asks Johnny, lingering at Amelia’s door.

No. He’d rather turn tail. Be a coward in this.

Instead of answering Johnny’s question verbally, Simon knocks three times on the door. It’s mid-morning, and Evie’s daughter should hopefully be up by now.

For a moment, there is no sound on the other side, but then Simon hears footsteps—then the turning of a deadbolt.

The door opens, and Simon’s heart falls into his stomach.

Evie stands there, Lillian in her arms. When she sees Simon, her expression changes from neutrality to hopefulness. Her gaze lingers on Simon before shifting to Johnny. That brightness—that joy—fades as time passes.

She is looking for you. And you are not there.

The whites of Evie’s eyes redden, and Simon knows what comes next. As if sensing her mother’s changing mood, Lillian begins to squirm, her own tiny face bunching with a coming tantrum.

“Oh shit,” mutters Johnny, reaching for the baby just as fat tears begin to slide down Evie’s face.

Evie surrenders Lillian to Soap immediately as if all the wind has been knocked from her lungs. She deflates, one hand grasping the doorframe like she’s about to faint. The baby starts to whine, and Johnny panics, holding the infant out before him like he’s never held one before.

“Fucking hell, Johnny. Support the head,” mutters Simon as Evie takes a step back, her other hand pressing to her chest.

“Evie?”

It’s Amelia. She comes rushing forward, grasping the woman’s shoulders. She glances at Simon. Then Johnny. Then little Lillian.

“Give her here,” instructs Amelia, reaching for the infant.

Johnny passes Lillian off and sighs with relief. Amelia cradles the child in one arm and uses the other to support Evie.

Evie is gasping for breath. Chest heaving. Nearing a panic attack.

“Is she…” but Amelia trails off.

Simon understands.

“We don’t know,” replies Simon, because it’s true. And the truth is best, even if it cuts deep like sharpened steel.

Evie chokes and Simon continues on, wanting to crush the rising panic on Evie’s face. “She wasn’t there. Which means that she’s probably still alive.”

Evie is shaking her head. Amelia’s face reveals nothing.

“Go on,” prompts Amelia.

Lillian still wiggles and whines but she’s not nearly so loud now.

“Your estate agent and her assistant are dead. Nothing appears stolen.”

Except you.

“But she’s gone?” asks Evie. Her voice is so strained Simon is surprised the woman can talk at all.

Yes, is what Simon wants to say. It’s what he should say. But all of his words are stuck in his throat.

“Yes,” answers Johnny for him, and Simon could sigh with relief on not having to say the words out loud. “But we’re looking for her.”

“She’s alive?” asks Amelia. She places a hand on Evie’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Until we know otherwise,” replies Johnny. “Yes.”

Amelia and Evie both relax even if the tears remain. Johnny was always better at talking to people than him. It’s why Simon rarely did it. He was either too blunt or didn’t know how to comfort. Johnny knew how. He always has.

“We should tell them,” murmurs Amelia to Evie.

“Tell us what?” asks Simon, curious.

Evie shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Then I will.” Amelia steps back and gestures for them to come inside.

Bravo stays next to Evie’s side all the way to the couch. When the woman sinks down on it, Bravo rests his head on her knee. Soap remains standing, as does Simon.

“British Intelligence came,” begins Amelia, and Soap’s eyes widen.

Simon doesn’t look at Johnny, but from his peripheral, he notices the slight turn of Johnny’s head as his friend glances at him. Price has to know by now. Simon didn’t tell him, but he’s likely putting all the pieces together once he looks at the documents Kyle is making copies of. Archie’s name is probably all over them.

There isn’t any hiding now.

Amelia sighs. “They were asking about Archibald. The circumstances around his death.”

“When did they arrive?” asks Simon.

Johnny remains quiet, his gaze still darting between Simon and Amelia.

“Yesterday,” answers Amelia.

Evie slouches forward, dropping her head into her hands.

“Is that it?” asks Simon, cautiously.

Amelia glances at Evie, her mouth turned downward into a frown. It’s not one of disappoint. It’s stress that’s creeping into her features. With a sigh, Amelia places Lillian into a rocker. Amelia grabs the edge and lightly presses down, the contraption moving in a slow bounce that quickly soothes Lillian’s irritation.

“Asked about potential enemies.” This time, Amelia’s sigh is much deeper. “It’s a strange question. Archie is incredibly kind. There isn’t anyone I know of that holds any ill will toward him. Everyone liked him. Everyone admired him.”

She chews on her lip. “I don’t understand.”

Evie sniffles. Rubs her hands over her face. Glances up. “Why her?” she rasps. “What did she ever do to anyone?”

She didn’t. It’s all me.

The muscles in Simon’s shoulder tense. Walsh likely killed Archie because it suited his goals. If anything, Walsh executed him and moved on without another thought to the bloke. Walsh might have no idea that you are Evie’s friend or that Evie is Archie’s widow. The connection might not be there for Walsh at all.

The only person Walsh cares about is himself. The man has goals, and he fulfills them to whatever ends necessary. If that means taking out one or many, Walsh will do it without thinking twice. Evie might not even be on his radar.

But you?

You are.

All because of Simon. Not because of Archie and his connection to Evie. Walsh wants revenge. He wants Simon to suffer.

It is Simon that betrayed Walsh. Because of Simon’s actions—because of everything he did to take the man down—Walsh only wants you to for the simple goal of getting back at Simon.

When Johnny says nothing, and Simon remains silent, fresh tears fall from Evie’s eyes. “Maybe we should call the police, Amelia. We can’t handle this.”

“The police—” interjects Johnny but Evie continues on like he didn’t say anything at all.

“Thank you, Simon. Thank you for going. But we need to get the authorities involved.” Her hands are shaking even though she tries to hide it.

“No,” says Johnny sharply, one hand slightly raised.

Amelia and Evie both jump, turning toward him.

Johnny closes his eyes and sighs, dropping his hand. When he opens them again, his tone is softer. “Simon called the right people to handle this. Local police can’t do anything.”

Both women frown, but Johnny continues.

“Simon,” begins Johnny, lingering for a moment before continuing, “used to be military.”

Amelia nods. “I’m aware. Known for years.”

Johnny frowns. “Do you know what he did?”

Amelia blinks. Shrugs. “A bit.”

She doesn’t know much. In fact, Amelia knows very little. What she does know is that Simon sustained a bad enough injury for them to force his retirement. Amelia doesn’t know why or how.

“Johnny here used to be on the same team as me. We were sent all over the world on international missions. Our targets weren’t grunts on the ground. We went after those who wanted to do terrible things to a lot of people in the worst ways possible.”

Simon doesn’t elaborate. Amelia and Evie don’t ask for clarification.

“I’m no longer in, but Johnny is. I called our captain, and he’s the one handling this.”

“Why?” asks Evie. “Why would you need to call someone like that for this?”

“Does this have to do with Archibald?” asks Amelia.

“No,” says Simon sharply before Johnny can answer.

He has to put this right. He needs to speak the truth even if it pains him. “It’s someone from my past. Someone I made an enemy of.” And then, quietly, “I’m sorry.”

An apology is all Simon can offer. He has no comforting words for them because he has none for himself.

Evie glances away, her hand a fist that she presses against her mouth. There are no words spoken after that. She places her head on Amelia’s shoulder and the four of them lapse into silence.

It is Johnny that eventually wanders into the kitchen. He makes tea—poorly—but Simon accepts it anyway. He sits in an armchair, staring out the window as Bravo comforts Evie.

The two women don’t ask or tell Simon and Johnny to leave. Simon doesn’t know if Evie blames him. He wouldn’t mind. It’s deserved. But Amelia? That might hurt. Simon is loath to ask so he stays quiet.

Johnny carries the conversation. He speaks quietly to Evie and Amelia, asking them all sorts of questions that he’ll take back to Captain Price. Simon wants to suck it all in, to absorb the questions and trauma and hold it in his stomach to digest.

He’s seen worse. Done worse.

It is late by the time Simon and Johnny depart. It’s not true night but the sun is lowering, the sky awash with a reddish-purply glow. The walk back is utterly silent. Johnny and Simon linger with the sounds of passing cars and the occasional bark of a nearby dog.

Simon’s thoughts are elsewhere. Everywhere but his own head. His mind is there—processing, but there are no connections. It’s spinning static.

But Johnny is present. He is a solid presence beside Simon.

And it is Johnny that grabs Simon’s upper arm, bringing him to a halt before they reach the exterior door to Simon’s building.

Frowning, Simon glances up, scanning the street, muscles poised for action. He expects someone to fall from the sky or for Walsh to appear with weapon in hand. Simon will take that if it means getting you back.

“Stay here, Lt,” murmurs Johnny from the corner of his mouth.

The crease in Simon’s brow deepens but Johnny is already moving, leaving Simon on the pavement as he approaches the door. Simon’s gaze follows every step, and when Johnny reaches out to grab something white off the door, Simon doesn’t know he’s moving until Johnny turns toward him, a bit startled.

“I told you to stay,” snaps Johnny but there’s no venom in it. Only concern. Pity. And Simon hates that.

Simon’s response is not to speak but to snatch the thing out of Soap’s fist.

It’s another envelope. White like the last one. No postage like the last one. And there on the front in handwritten scrawl is Simon’s full name.

It’s exactly the same. A twin from the one found at Evie’s home.

Was Walsh here? Has he been watching Simon all this time? Is he here even now, lingering in a nearby building to watch Simon’s reaction to whatever is inside?

“Simon,” warns Johnny, but he’s not listening.

He needs to know—to fucking know.

Simon tears open the envelope and withdraws the small piece of paper.

It is thin. Wispy. Almost translucent.

The words are even thinner—as if the paper was kissed by smoke.

There are seeds that cannot sprout unless they are burned first. A friend told me that.

Simon told Walsh that—when Walsh thought Simon was an ally and not an enemy. When Simon was a plant and gaining information that would turn Walsh’s entire operation upside down.

I think of it often. I think of you. Isn’t it interesting that some living things must first burn before they can grow? What a gift that friend gave me. What a garden you and I are.

“Simon,” comes Johnny’s voice, but he’s not listening.

Everything is narrowing down to a point. He is fracturing all over again.

It rained that night. I burned like the seed. The sky watered my skin. I germinated. I flowered. I grew. What a gift. We are gardens now. The two of us.

“Call Price,” whispers Simon.

“Lt?”

“Call Price, Johnny.”

Simon knows.

He knows.

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[tackyink]

This was supposed to be for @asususasa but in the middle of writing I thought this could be useful for someone else, so here's Tacky's general list of otome recs. It took me over an hour to write so I'm not proofreading it.

DS

Not much to say here because back in those days otome games didn't get localized. The stand outs are Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side 1st Love Plus and Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side 2nd Season, who have English fan translations. Slice of life games where you play as the protagonist through her three years of high school. And if you feel like a student-teacher romance that would make Sakura Kinomoto's mom proud, these are your games.

PSP

Still well into the no localizations era with one exception: Hakuouki Demon of the Fleeting Blossom. Not recommending it on PSP because there are better versions. Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side 3rd Story Premium also has a fan translation and should be played over its DS counterpart because it has added functionalities. Sadly this time around the teacher is a secret character and a shota.

3DS

There's Hakuoki Memories of the Shinsengumi. Still not recommended because we can do better.

PS3

Hakuouki Stories of the Shinsengumi includes the original game and the fandisk with some neat animations added. This is the version to play if you want the original experience. If you want even more routes, go for another version.

Vita

Hakuoki Kyoto Winds and Edo Blossoms, Collar x Malice and Amnesia are the best games you can get for the Vita imo. Some people dig a lot the Psychedelica of the Ashen Hawk and Psychedelica of the Black Butterfly (I've only played BB, it was good but wasn't the best; wouldn't rate it as high as the others). There's Code Realize and its two fandisks (Future Blessings and Wintertide Miracles) and many people swear by them, but while I liked the common route in the first game, the rest didn't do it for me. You can find all of these except CxM and the CRs on Steam, and the Hakuoki games get dirst cheap on sale. Best bang for your buck of the saga. The CR games have PS4 ports and CxM has a Switch one, which you already know.

Switch

*rolls up sleeves* LET'S GO.

To get it out of the way: Hakuouki KW and EB are getting a Switch rerelease and a new translation and will be released as a single game, Hakuoki Chonicles of Wind and Blossom, on August 1st.

Collar x Malice fucking nails the mystery and lowkey horror vibes with and excellent plot that's interconnected in every route. CxM Unlimited is its fandisk and only recommended if you really have the CxM itch, because it's mostly fluff and the little plot there is is at most functional. It has a route where Ichika joins Adonis and you get to see its inner workings though. That was very interesting.

Bustafellows is 100% found family vibes with a very assertive protagonist. It's a mystery/action story and the team dynamics are sort of Ocean's 11-ish. Hilarious, heartbreaking at times, I've never felt more dread in a game than heading towards the basement in a certain's guy's route. There are two unlockable stories after you finish the routes of the guys, one of which I thought was glorious, another which sets up a sequel and is a big downer but I also really liked. It gets heavy at times with murder, suicide, sexual assault, human trafficking, among other kinds of violence, but despite it, it's generally a very funny and upbeat game. We're getting the sequel next year. Also available on PC.

Café Enchanté baits you with the premise of being a girl who manages a coffee shop patronized by handsome supernatural beings, so it's a real surprise when the cannibalism shows up. Anyway. Great game, but I'm afraid saying more would kind of defeat the point. Reminds me of Megami Tensei games, so if coffee shop AUs with supernatural world-ending threats are your thing, go for it. Just be warned that the fandom has kind of collectively agreed that poster boy's route never happened.

Birushana is a hidden gem that goes on sale super cheap and is also probably a hit or miss thing. You play as the legendary Yoshitsune, who in this game is a girl disguising her gender, but she's an amazing warrior as in history. It has the best otome couple I've ever seen, bar none, with Yoshitsune and Noritsune. The game is worth the price just to see them fall in love on the battlefield and watch Noritsune chug down Respect Women Juice all the way through it. The thing is... the rest of routes aren't great. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed how utterly unhinged they got at times, but the plot got worse as it deepened. Still. Noritsune. And I loved that most of the guys respected her as a warrior and were aware she was as capable or a better warrior than them and she didn't need a man to protect her. Very refreshing. One of my faves got done dirty by the translation because they started pulling lines out of thin air to make him creepier. Just him. Why. It's not like he needed the help.

Virche Evermore Error Salvation is also a good one if you can handle continuous drama and see egregiously bad science and say, "You know what? It's magic. Humans in this world are just built different." The worldbuilding is really interesting and the characters very enjoyable, though they don't feature a lot in each other's routes or aren't that friendly with each other. The continuous tragedy may tire you out, or maybe it'll work and emotionally destroy you. It didn't get any emotional reaction out of me until a certain point near the end, but I enjoyed the game a lot, nevertheless. We're getting the sequel this November and I'm really looking forward to it.

Variable Barricade: a fun romp where a young heiress has to chose a fiancé among the four disaster bachelors her grandpa has selected. It's not really similar to Ouran, but it reminded me a little of it at times. It's a pretty light game. The BFF is a gothic lolita otaku who has the time of her life shipping you with the guys, and the butler... oh boy the butler.

Amnesia, as I mentioned earlier, has a PC port as well as the Vita version, as well as two localized fandisks for the Switch (Amnesia x Crowd) that I can't speak of because I haven't played them yet. The protagonist has supernatural amnesia and must piece together her life while avoiding that other people realize she's lost her memory. It's a super intriguing game the first time you play, really nailed the being completely and utterly lost in the protagonist's shoes. A required play to get in on the cage jokes. It's sort of a rite of passage for otome gamers.

Jack Jeanne has probably the best group dynamics of any otome I've seen. I think some people have issues with the protagonist because they find her passive, but to me she felt the complete opposite. Everybody is adorable. A sentimental story of hard work, being young and and fighting for your dreams, 10/10, no notes. I lied, there's a note: Tanakamigi deserved a route! Where is our Tanakamigi route! щ(゜ロ゜щ)

Last but not least at all, the two Piofiores. Mafia games where all trigger warnings you can think of apply. Well, maybe not the cannibalism, that's still Café Enchanté's crowning glory. Fated Memories, the first one, has its ups and downs, but has very enjoyable characters, rock-solid worldbuilding, an amazing atmosphere set in 1920s Italy with a jazzy soundtrack that ends up living rent free in your brain. The last routes of the first game, Gil's and Finale, are worth the full price of the game alone. Piofiore Episodio 1926 is a masterpiece of the otome genre. It doesn't have a single boring route, and the final stretch (Advent Calendar-Alternativa-Secret Character route) has the best writing I've seen in an otome. Lots of points of view and situations interconnecting, an excellent final couple, top notch interactions between the main characters. Just the best.

[zalrb]

Scream VI Review (since anon asked)

OK. So, the thing about the original Scream movies is that the meta isn’t contained to a couple of info dump scenes where someone explains the rules of the movie they’re in and rattles on about the wider trends in media.

It’s inherent in the dialogue and in the choices the movies make. Billy is pressuring Sidney to have sex and says that they’re “edited for TV”

and uses film ratings to describe his frustration

then when Sidney decides to do something risque, we don’t see it because Scream is “editing their relationship for TV”

when they discuss who the killer could be, Tatum uses Basic Instinct as an example of how a woman can be a killer

it’s in the fabric of the movies.

this scene

is like any other scene in a horror movie, it doesn’t have the irony of a scene like this

because this scene is simultaneously making fun of and paying homage to horror movie tropes with the added layer of Jamie Kennedy going “Jamie watch out” when yelling at the TV because it’s Jamie Lee Curtis onscreen.

Having a shrine with evidence from the other movies in a movie theatre with dialogue like this

isn’t enough.

Playing Red Right Hand at the end when it played at the beginning of the first movie while the mask burns onscreen isn’t really much of anything, like I think the shot and the callback is great

especially because it’s as if Richie directed the movie of his sociopathic family dying at the hands of their victims who are the children of Billy, like I get all of that but it didn’t really stay with me because for the most part, Scream VI is a generic horror movie that isn’t funny, which is another problem. The original scream trilogy was also funny.

Like, if you’re talking about things are bigger in a franchise, in keeping with the spirit of Scream, that should be made fun of in this movie, where things get progressively more ridiculous and outrageous and bloody that I laugh out loud,

Because throughout the first three Screams (maybe even the fourth too) there were so many meta jokes that contributed to the irony and the breaking of the fourth wall. Besides Tori Spelling playing Sidney

after Sidney made a crack about it

while the clip of Stab makes fun of the choices made in the first Scream movie, thereby poking fun at Tori Spelling as well as at themselves

with LUKE WILSON playing Billy??

There are also things like, at the time, David Arquette (who plays Dewey) and Courtney Cox were together so having him say this line referencing David Schwimmer who is Courtney’s onscreen brother in Friends is like haha

The thesis of this installment is character assassination

and it’s done in such a generic way and it would’ve been more interesting to really lean into how serial killers are immortalized and glamorized in society and the victims have to fight to be heard but ANYWAY when Scream 2 wanted to make a commentary on being desensitized to real world violence because of film, and the way reality and fiction bleed together, it does it in a very ham-handed way but it’s outrageous and entertaining and still rooted in film

and the debate happens in the first 20 minutes

the debate about sequels doesn’t stay within the confines of the Scream/Stab universe

they actually pay homage to other movies as characters

and I think the fact that the Scream franchise was also a franchise in love with movies, which made it fun and witty and smart got lost when KW stopped writing for the movies, which is why I’m always “meh” about them now. Like the villains of this one are a family of serial killers and NO ONE is going to mention Texas Chainsaw Massacre??

Man, I miss my meta.

[tozettastone]

Thinking about populations in Thedas and specifically in Ferelden for a little story I'm thinking about. Long self indulgent thoughts extrapolating from what we know about thedosian cities, real life medieval castles, current small towns, etc. beneath the cut.

Denerim having around 70,000 people in 9:30 (presumably before the archdemon, which is I think either 9:30 or 9:31?) is a statistc people cite coming from Searle, Mike. "Traveler's Guide: Ferelden Details", Dragon Age: Origins Collector's Edition: Prima Official Game Guide. I don't have that but I also don't have any reason to think that those people are making this citation up. It's the biggest city in Ferelden.

The same Prima Official Game Guide is the citation used for Redcliffe village having 200-odd people in it. I think that number has to be separate and distinct from the castle, and that together the village and the castle should be at least (at least) 300 people, but probably more.

Even the amount of castle you see in inquisition and origins could support a staff so large that there'd be nobody to actually run or support the other stuff.

In the village, they've got the pub (Village Tavern, in origins, which is I assume the Gull and Lantern in Inquisition—unless they're separate, because I guess the map expands in Inquisition..? Let's assume they're the same for now), the chantry, the big mill, a general goods store, a blacksmith and a bunch of salespeople like that dwarven bookseller in the village.

By comparison, there's a 150 person modern town in Australia in my mind right now. It had one cop, one nurse and two teachers for a primary school that served about ten kids. You got all your goods at the same place, from tyres to fuel to fresh produce to frozen meats shipped from another state. It had a hotel, but pretty much only because it's often the last tourist stop before people hit their "outback adventure". And that's with the tourism floating it, and all sorts of modern engineering. (Wikipedia says it has an 80 kW geothermal power station as of 2012, the only one of its type in Australia. Who knew.)

Castles are designed to be able to garrison men at arms, and Redcliffe Castle has been a key part of Ferelden's defences for a long time, as well as being considered pretty formidable, which is something you talk about in both DAI and DAO. It's on the route through the frostback mountains and down past Lake Calenhad to the rest of the country: an Orlesian army comes down out of the mountains, hit the plains, and now has to either deal with Redcliffe or leave a live, fortified and angry enemy behind them, right?

A skeleton staff in a large fortified castle might be enough men at arms and whoever their military leader in residence is to just operate the place: raise and lower the bridges, open the gates, defend the place from looters. This did happen in medieval castles when nobody important was in residence and when no violence was expected, is my understanding. The opposite is when the family was at home, and violence was expected, which meant they'd cram hundreds and hundreds of combatants into a castle. Even in peace time, a family in residence also needed servants because every task was done laboriously and by hand.

Numbers for this kind of thing given by English Heritage (a conservation non-profit which looks after many historical castles and buildings in the UK) range from "140 knights and perhaps a thousand fully equipped soldiers" at Dover Castle in 1216, to "in peacetime, a small castle might have a garrison of only a dozen soldiers." One of the owners of Goodrich Castle is said to have "nearly 100 servants" when they were in residence.

I don't think there are in excess of 1200 people at Redcliffe Castle, either, to be honest. But they did have Dennet working there with "his herd" the whole of his life, so I think we can assume that there were enough men and horses there to require dedicated servants and facilities at all times.

It sounds like the Arl is kind of a homebody from the games, though—he's usually found there, except when Alexius (and Fiona I guess) kick him out of the place, or some massive drama is going on and he has to go to his Denerim estate. As far as I can tell, Redcliffe is a prosperous but pretty small area to govern, and there are definitely forts and manors but nothing to rival Redcliffe Castle.

(Aside: I think Redcliffe Castle, being the home of relatively wealthy nobility, might have *some* advantages over regular medieval castles in terms of work, because they're also between Orzammar and Denerim and on that trade route, and near the Circle at Kinloch: they'd have access to whatever enchantments could make their lives easier, which could definitely help with the labour of servants if they took advantage of it—frost runes, for example, could take a lot of the worry out of preserving the harvest for those late winter and early spring months.)

So on this basis, I think there's probably at *least* a hundred or so extra people living in Redcliffe Castle itself, and probably more depending on how that generation feels about Orlais. (The Ferelden rebellion was only like a generation ago though, like, Loghain is still alive and in active service, so... yeah. Probably more.)

So, options:

Redcliffe village itself has less than a hundred people and the population is counted with the castle's, but there's a lot of labour happening in its very immediate surrounds that is technically not defined as "the village"

Redcliffe village itself has 200 people and the castle's population is counted separately

I think option 2 is more likely, so now that I've worked that out for myself, I have a better basis to think about what kind of population the greater Redcliffe area, and the Hinterlands agricultural regions, are supporting—and how much grain, meat, wool, skin and other produce it takes to do that, and how much havoc the Blight wreaked upon their manpower, and if famine immediately followed, or if the population was depleted enough for that to be less of a problem...

Having done all that work thinking about Redcliffe, I'm just slapping an arbitrary 40,000 people in Amaranthine. It's smaller than Denerim, it's larger than Highever. But it's where the Chant was revealed and it's a large port city in Ferelden, and frequently a last stop before goods (or refugees lbr) sail to the Free Marches. 40k in 9:31 Dragon, done, and whether or not it's still that big by 9:41 Dragon depends entirely on if I decide to let the Warden Commander leave it for the darkspawn during their civil war. Bangs gavel.

(You may be able to tell, but the thing I was working on is set in and around Redcliffe, and only briefly touches on Amaranthine and Denerim.)

[papirouge]

it's interesting how radfem do understand that despite having a few redeemable qualities, reddit is still a shitty, porn enabling website whose refugees aren't not welcome here

but when Kiwifarm was put on blast because a trans individual went on a cruisade against it, radfem collectively started whiteknighting this website like there was no tomorrow 🤔

I legit had whitefem clowning me for reminding that Kiwifarm was ultimately as breeding ground for trolls throwing the n word and calling Jews "glowies" and that it was stupid to white knight it just because a trans individual declared war on it and that sometimes we didn't have to pick a side when both of them were full of shit.

Sorry radfem but if you can acknowledge that KW still had redeeming qualities (exposing a handful of online predators) to the point of defending it that hard (despite the website being its in vast majority a shithole of despicable scrotes who wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire), why don't you have the same energy to do that with Reddit, that ALSO helped amplify the voice of actual whistleblowers acting for a positive change in society (never forget that pizzagate took off on reddit before being censored.... which radfem cheered upon bc mUh rIgHt wIng cOnsPirAcY fRoM aNti hIlarY hAteRs. Funny how cool radfem are with censorship depending on whether it benefits them) ?

ah yes, because they think misogyny overrides any other form of discrimination 🙃

Wanna reduce Reddit to its disgusting pages featuring female violence & porn that it won't take down ? Absolutely fair. But be consistent and keep that same energy for Kiwifarm that, for 2 or 3 threads they have exposing predators, have 5 times more dedicated to mock people of color and clown / dox harmless online personalities.

I'll beat that horse til I die: that's precisely why radfem were so pissed at the Karen meme ; because they had no way to counter argue other women calling them (white women) out on their racism. They misogyny joker card was absolutely useless there. So they instead gaslighted us saying we were male identified, anti white woman, internalized misogyny, etc.

I know how you move ladies, and you are far from being as smart or sleek as you think you are lmao

[irvinenewshq]

Arlington NAACP vice chairman shot and killed whereas vacationing in Turks & Caicos in assault police say

CNN  —  Kent Carter, vice chairman of the NAACP’s Arlington, Virginia, department, was shot and killed Sunday whereas vacationing in Turks & Caicos to rejoice his fortieth birthday, in accordance with statements from the NAACP and the Royal Turks and Caicos Islands Police Power. Two folks have been murdered in a focused assault on their car, which contained vacationers and employees from a neighborhood enterprise, the police stated. The car was taking the vacationers again to their resorts after an tour, in accordance with the assertion from Chief of Police Trevor Botting. It’s not clear what number of shooters have been concerned, however Botting stated the photographs have been fired from one other car. Botting stated he believes the assault was focused and that it was carried out by gang members who “haven’t any regard for all times and who’re hell-bent on inflicting indiscriminate hurt and distress throughout the TCI.” “The violence is linked to medication provide and is fueled by revenge, turf wars and retribution,” Botting stated. Three different folks have been injured within the capturing, police stated, together with one other vacationer. The second particular person shot and killed was from a neighborhood enterprise, police stated. Julius Spain, Sr., president of the NAACP’s department in Arlington, Virginia, spoke with CNN on Friday and described Kent Carter as a delicate big who was extremely regarded all through the group. The 2 males met in Arlington shortly after Carter completed up his service as a army police officer within the Military, and bonded over their upbringings and army ties, Spain stated. Carter labored as a civilian particular agent throughout a number of federal businesses earlier than beginning his profession as an actual property dealer with Keller Williams Realty in Arlington, Virginia. CNN has reached out to KW Realty for remark. After becoming a member of the NAACP, Carter led the Arlington department’s legal justice committee, the place he labored with state and native leaders on legislation enforcement reform amongst different civil rights points, Spain stated. “Kent … set the instance for others to emulate in life as a kind-hearted, respectable particular person, and it went each methods,” Spain stated. “NAACP Nationwide Board Members for Area 7 are astonished and deeply saddened to listen to of the unlucky dying of Mr. Kent Carter, one of many youngest upcoming leaders in our affiliation,” in accordance with the assertion from the NAACP, which famous Carter was in his fourth yr as the primary vice chairman of the civil rights group’s Arlington Department. “He was chairman of the legal justice committee the place he was instrumental in advocating as a member of the nation’s police practices working group that established a police accountability evaluation board with subpoena energy,” the NAACP added. Spain stated the mindless gun violence liable for Carter’s dying shook the Arlington group, as “everybody is aware of Kent.” “He’s going to be dearly missed. You’ll be able to’t simply change an individual like that,” Spain stated. “He was like my little brother, I miss him.” Spain stated Carter’s dying goes to uplift the group as persons are already asking how they are often extra like Carter in his legal justice reform efforts. “This week has been certainly one of ache, but in addition certainly one of reflection,” Spain stated. “Reflection upon the enormity of fine work that an individual like Kent can do and the affect it has made on the group.” Spain stated as soon as Carter’s physique is returned from Turks & Caicos he will likely be introduced again to his native Tennessee the place he’ll be buried in a army cemetery. Originally published at Irvine News HQ

[cos-wow]

Fallacy of the Fallen

“You're mine, you know.” Her fingers paused on the spine of a large leather-wrapped tome, and she allowed herself a small smile before continuing the lazy walk of slender digits over the hardened spines of several other tomes, seeking out a single weakness in the otherwise tightly packed shelf. The words lingered in her mind, bidden there by the unseen desire to hear a voice that had been too many days absent. Again, her lips twisted in that little quirk of amusement before parting to release a breath of triumph. Her hand pushed, spreading the gap between two thick books wider, just enough for her to slip in the slender book cast in black demon-skin. Some wrapped their gifts in colored paper and bows; Xaedryx took instead the more amusing route of a special brand of irony. There were several such books hidden throughout the personal library she was in. Each was warded by her own skill, a skill that could never be contested except by the most powerful of those among the Kirin Tor. It was lucky then, that no such people were among her close friends. She hated turning a friend into an enemy, though she knew that some could never help what had been drilled into their minds by the past. Standing atop the delicate footstool that she had pulled up along the bookshelf, she cast her silver gaze to the others. To her sight, the books blazed as though light was contained within each of them, a little gnomish light bulb caught between pages just waiting to be found.

These were gifts, slipped into the masses of knowledge that the owner of the study had to call his own. They were histories that none could hope to experience, studies that only the most hardened would be able to observe. They were her private wealth, ten thousand and more years of life crammed into countless journals that she had only just begun to open again and condense into these little slices of her long and tiring life. There were few who would understand what lay between them, countless who would be driven mad by the scribblings within. She should have bought him a hound for the season of giving, but hounds were hard to give a man who could snap his fingers and have all that he wanted.

Knowledge, however... there were things within these slender tomes that not even the dragons would dare to peek at. Personal experiences laid raw and bare, anatomy of living creatures as they lived, and as they died. Details that none could even hope to imagine about things that had been gone from the world, or thought long gone. When you had nothing to give, you gave what was left of yourself. Xaedryx had come to realize this and embrace it as best she could, but she wondered sometimes if the credit she gave the man was sometimes too much. Were he any lesser man, the books would remain blank. Seven demon-skin novels, all useless beneath the eyes of those too weak. Not him. Bracing a hand against one of the shelves, she eased herself off the footstool silently, only the whisk of her gown sliding over the rich fabrics and wood heard to anyone who might have been listening. In truth, her discovery there might have lead to her death. It would have been a poor one; there were none but one who knew that she could not truly die. One of Nathrezim blood did not simply die. Banishment was a simple possibility, but among the humans who made up the court she lingered in, her very existence was more deadly than that of the warlocks that toyed with magic they could never hope to understand. But a Nathrezim was never so foolish as to wander unhidden. Oh, demons were brazen and haughty, she knew. Of all those who existed and were known, the blood of the most cunning of them all ran thick in her veins. This, though she had fought for centuries to disguise it, was known. Only a few knew, but the minds of humans were easy to crack, and the minds of elves were prone to selfish behaviors. In a court, her very existence could have been used to throw a meager peasant into the highest of nobility. Her head would have fetched thousands of gold, her blood even more. Humans were so fickle with their short-sightedness. Yet... … all of her current kindness was for one of them. Not all human, true. Not at all simple and daft as she considered many of them to be. No, this one was capable of being just as cunning as she, and he was the only one who could bring true fear from her. What had she, this lovely mix of chaos and nature, to fear from anyone mortal? Nothing, but he was no mere mortal. A shiver chased itself up her spine, and her lips parted once more to expel a soft sound of discomfort as she padded across the thick carpeting, the sound of her leash brushing against itself echoing in the otherwise silent chamber. Foolishness had leaked itself into her illusion of life. A year ago, she was nothing more than a ghost among the shadows, some nameless priestess who was dead in the annals that listed those who had fallen in the battle against Archimonde. A year ago, there were none who knew her or wanted to. Those who had glimpsed her saw nothing more than the absolute average of women. It had been enough, for all those years. But time had continued, as it was prone to doing. Time had passed, and a year had whittled itself to half of that, and someone had seen things that she had struggled to hide. Goldshire flitted through her mind like a butterfly over a field of flowers, and she shook her head, moving a hand to catch the silver and mithril-twined chain that comprised her leash and shifted it behind her as she walked around the room to replace the books that she had taken to read to herself the last few days that she had made this chamber her own. She had been there in that hive of filth looking for prey; someone who would be easily missed, and easily used to sate her lust for pleasure and knowledge. They had bored her, all of them. She supposed that her boredom acted like a shield for them. They had gone home safe, all because of one little distraction. It amused her how quickly he came to her mind, when she had once filled it with everything but the opposite gender. Until he had come into her closed off world, side-stepping all her barriers and showing her what it was like to laugh again. The thought was sweet enough to make her groan, almost sickeningly so. He might laugh, if he could ever hear the thoughts that danced within her mind, but they were not so tightly bound. She had become weak, she thought as she grabbed a book from his desk and stacked it upon the others in her arms, its corners pushing painfully into her breast. Standing before another of the large cases, she found herself harboring loss and frustration. The two seemed to travel hand in hand as of late with her, and she knew the cause. Perhaps, she considered as she put away the first of the books, it was merely a desire to be fully mortal that left her with such foolish fancies in her mind. Ah, but he was quite the man to wish to be mortal for. Another book was tucked away, and she slipped to another bookcase, the chain attached to the collar around her neck whisking against the desk legs as she moved further from it. Not for the first time, she glanced to the doors that led out from the study, barely visible in the glow of candles she had lit when she had first slipped into the room. Now, the candles had burned low, and he had still not returned. How many days had it been? Something tightened around her heart, a sense of foreboding that she couldn't quite shake. What if his time was now? The wind outside shifted, setting the rain she had forgotten was even falling tapping against the glass window. Her eyes watched droplets hit and vanish, until she could no longer take the dread feeling within her mind. He was fine, she told herself. It mattered so much to her that those words be true, and there was no one she could tell them to except her mind. A mind that had only just begun to realize that hope could be used for more than just hoping that her prey would scream just a few more times before the last of their blood stained the floor. Disgruntled, Xaedryx shoved the last of the books where it belonged before moving to the window, her arms crossed over her chest. One more night, was her self-aimed reprimand. She would wait one more night for him, and then she would leave and seek out yet more knowledge. Her body cried out for more than just a touch, now. It wanted blood and pain, it wanted screams and bliss. One more night, she would wait, and then it would become too much for her to hold back. Above all things, though he knew so much she had hidden from others, she refused to show him that side of her. Especially if he would be the one that all control was lost on. A sigh left her, staining the chilled window with a mist that spread in miniscule designs, broken only by the graze of her fingertips when she sat on the window seat. Her head propped against the cold stone, and she let her eyes drift closed, allowing herself to linger on the brink of waking and slumber, soon succumbing to the second as rain pelted a soft lullaby against the window. The click of the latch roused her, the sound of the door a forgotten memory in some wayward dream that had quickly set itself up to be a nightmare. Her eyes remained half-lidded, a natural desire to remain undetected hindering rationality in a room that was by now dark. Darksight was one of the very few gifts that she had not inherited from her mixed blood, but she had always had Shadyx for that. Her long ears twitched just once, the only movement she allowed herself so as to not betray her presence in case the one who had entered would not take kindly to her presence. Her blood rushed in her veins, pushing a greater urge forward and making her even breathing stagger for just a moment. Control was becoming harder, and though her eyes closed against the darkness, she could feel the heartbeat of the one in the room, could smell his scent as if he sat with her where she was. The seared circle of skin around her throat began to itch in response to the sudden warmth that flooded her, and she let her eyes go to where she knew the desk was as a weight fell into the chair that matched it. She knew, as she stood in one graceful motion from the window's ledge, that he had seen her. There was a chance that he had seen her when he had closed the door behind him. As the clouds parted enough to let the light of one moon filter through the window, she saw his lips pull into the near-feline smirk she had become so used to. While he made no motion to beckon her forwards, she moved in time with the thundering heartbeat in her ears, until her fingers touched the wood of his desk. It was a motion she had practiced, though she'd never tell him that herself. Her hand reached, pushing the pile of papers he had brought with him into the room aside. The weight of it made other papers, no less important, fall to the ground with a faint noise that was disguised as she slid herself into the vacated place, casually looking him over. She did not move as his hand lifted, tangling in the chain she had so frequently moved out of her way the last few days and pulling until she was bent near double. Her eyes never left his, meeting arrogance with arrogance as his fingers touched along the silver collar. “I never put this on you.” His voice was a dangerous whisper, as chilly as his fingers that touched her skin beneath the metal. “I also warned you the last time you touched my papers. Your punishment will be most fierce.” A mischievous grin formed on her lips, long ears twitching as she made her reply. “Were there someone who wandered into your sanctum while you were absent, I would rather have them believe you were keeping some craven slut tied as she should be, than have them believe you allow some strange woman to read your books. I also remember, keenly, telling you that you could do your worst when you made that threat.” “That you did, and that I will.” He jerked the chain, and was rewarded with the faintest gasp and her hands breaking their stoic rest on the top of the desk to grip the side in an attempt to stay seated where she was. He released the chain and slid his hand downwards, ghosting over the silken fabric that comprised the long robe she wore. She offered no resistance as he slipped his fingers into the folds, pushing it roughly down and off her shoulders while he stroked his palm over the swell of her breasts. Xaedryx bit back a moan, but did not stop herself from pressing herself into his palm. She was content to let him explore, usually, but this time was going to be different. Apologies swam in her mind, unspoken as she reached out her own hands and pushed the heavy traveling cloak off of his shoulders, perhaps more roughly than she had truly meant to. Perhaps. It was more surprising that she nearly tore the laces of his tunic from the fabric, an action that she covered beneath a veneer of concern when she pressed her lips to his collar. His skin was like ice beneath her lips and fingers, and her warmth sent goosebumps over the flesh as she fell forward, guided by gravity and his hands that had found their way beneath the robe to grab her ass and pull her to him. To say she landed gently would have been a lie; the only thing that was soft was the silver-blue sheer silk robe falling over her parted thighs as she straddled him, nestling his still covered and hardening cock between her bare folds. Her hands raised, cupping his face while she tilted his head back, spying eagerness within eyes of green. Eagerness, and so much more. Need was no longer in question. Whatever had been need was now a requirement, and her fingers brushed through his hair to dispose of what ties might have been there, slender blue fingers of one hand coursing through ash-blonde locks as she pulled herself closer to him with the support of her other hand on the back of the chair, crushing her breasts against his chest while she ground her hips against his, coaxing him to full mast with only his leggings to constrain him. “You're cold,” she whispered, looking down at him from where she was. His words came with the sudden squeeze of her hips, far beyond a gentle touch and well into the realm of bruising, his grip brought fire and pain as he forced her down as his own hips lifted, his mouth opening only to close on her neck. “Then warm me.” The roughness of his leggings ground at her sensitive mound, bringing forth shuddering gasps that he felt in his mouth while his tongue traveled over skin that was clasped between his teeth. He played with that breathing of hers, making it stagger into plaintive mewls when he clamped hard enough to leave marks over her flesh, releasing it only to nip and bite at the lobe of her ear, drag his teeth along her jaw and then settle on her shoulder. There, he did break her skin with his bite, and she did little more than revel in the pain that it brought her, shuddering against and then unleashing her own brutality upon him. She saw the world as nothing more than a glimmer of silver fire and his eyes, moonlight shedding light over skin that was becoming warm and receptive, sweat beginning to glisten. Her own nails dragged from the back of the chair, scoring the hard plane of his shoulder and around until she eased at his naval. Blood touched her senses, his and hers mixing like a perverted wine that made her mind spin. She braced her knees, lifting herself and hissing when he tried to stop her, his nails tearing shallow gashes into her hips. His leggings stood as much a chance as his tunic had beneath her fingers, and she tore what she could before roughly shoving the rest away until her hand could grasp what she hungered for. Their moans entwined; hers muffled against his temple while deft fingers slid around his shaft and her thumb skated over the crown already wet with his precum, his own from her breast where he teased a stiffened nipple with the tips of his canines. She played with that moment, the cliff edge where she faced throwing herself into the unknown from the cave that had protected her all these long years. Once more, she yielded to want and desire, and threw herself into the utter unknown that was him. When he tired of her games, of her firm yet gentle stroking despite his biting, and slipped three fingers into her, she mewled. When he curled those fingers, she shuddered. And when he pulled them towards him, mashing that sensitive bundle of nerves roughly, she screamed her climax into his shoulder, muffling it beneath his flesh as she bit him until skin broke and she tasted his blood along her tongue. Her mind blanked, body moving on instinct to obey that silent command of the pull, anything to stop the overpowering mix of pain and pleasure that made her writhe and whimper, gasping against his skin. Her hand flattened, using the heel of it to guide his cock towards her slit, and when his hand did not move despite that obedience she showed, she coaxed it past the top of his hand, sliding it along his middle finger until he was sheathed halfway within her, only his fingers keeping him from easily hilting. For a blissful moment, she allowed herself to revel in the feeling of him within her, stretching her with both cock and fingers. Her breathing was ragged in his ear, and she knew the moment that she felt his arm move around to brace at the small of her back that she had let herself fade too far. His hips gave one swift lurch upwards, and then it was her lip that was bleeding, her pain-laced scream of pleasure bitten back into a mangled whimper that ceased to die as he lifted his hand and she followed only to keep his palm from ravaging her clit when he gave no sign of easing. His other hand slid down her back and into the cleft of her ass, dancing playfully over the tightly clenched ring there before continuing on and forcing his fingers into her already painfully stretched folds. He lingered there, soaking his fingers in her arousal while she grabbed at his arms and shoulders, trembling fingers tearing new lines of red down his pale shoulders while her voice hitched in its begging. Oh, how she begged. As her hips rolled and she felt him stretch her painfully open, she whispered pleas into his ear that he simply chuckled at, his breath hitting against her neck in staggered waves as she rocked and ground herself onto him despite the pain she felt. It was a drug, that requirement taking what he wrought on her and turning it into the sustenance that she required. When he at last removed the fingers that had sent her into such a state, it was only to trace them back to her ass, deftly pushing the slick digits past the ring that tightened briefly to warn him away only to fail. Her body fell against his, a hand curling around the back of his neck while the other splayed over the back of the chair. “Are you so easily worn out,” he teased below his breath, twisting another helpless moan from her as his fingers delved deeper into her ass and pushed against the wall that divided his hands from each other, “that you would take only for yourself? Selfish. I thought better of the one I chose as mine. You are mine, you know.” His lips dragged over her skin as she shivered and whimpered, trying her best to clear her mind of his physical, and now mental, assault. “Mine, to do all that I desire with. Mine, to serve me. Mine, as was our agreement.” “Yours,” she murmured beneath another mewling moan, rolling the word over her tongue as she threw her head back and began to ride him, long rolls of her hips that made it easier to take his treatment and brought great groans and praises from deep in his chest. Her hand left him, sliding down his chest to fall slack at her side while the other remained coiled around the back of his neck, fingers tangled in ash-blond tresses. Though slow, the strokes were strong, with both of them panting before too long. His were muffled against her breast, where he left marks from his bites that would stay for days on her skin if she allowed it. She would, as she always did. A part of her believed he liked to see the marks of his conquest on her skin. For him, she let them stay. His name tangled itself on her tongue, spilling forth at last as her body tensed atop his, their breath escaping them in sharp hisses as both finally released; her with spasms that massaged his cock within her, milking his length with every stroke until she dropped herself hard and caught her heels beneath the seat of the chair, locking him within her as they rode out their climaxes together. She was loathe to dismount from him, relishing his warmth as he panted against her breast, parted lips wrapped loosely around her nipple. When he began to soften, she tempted fate by moving, a murmured moan leaving her as she stood and he fell from her completely. The silk robe she wore, bloodied now with red that contrasted darkly against the pale silver-blue material, slid back around her legs, and already she felt his seed leaking from within her. Her steps took her away from the desk, and she began to tie her hair back from her face. Began, but did not finish as she felt something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand, and a shudder ran up her spine before utter hate spilled into her veins. When she turned, it was to lunge at the newest figure, summoned by the will of the one she held dear. The Felguard watched her with amusement; it knew the outcome of this as much as she did, and it enjoyed what came next. When the Kaldorei half-breed flew at him in the rage he had come to associate with her, he was ready. Her outstretched arms were grabbed, twisted until she yelped in pain and went rigid as he spun her and tossed her down to the ground. When she rolled to recover, he stepped on the trailing hem of her robe, and knew he had won. Tangled, Xaedryx could do little more than hiss her displeasure, biting at the demon's hands as it pulled at her. For a moment, she was a hellion on her own, and made triumph a difficult task indeed, but within minutes, the Felguard had worked the half-breed to her knees, her robe torn to shreds. Her breasts ground into the fibers of the carpet, her breathing ragged as she looked up at her lover with pain and fear in her eyes. He smiled, that wicked smile that made her heart leap and her stomach burn, and yet terrified her all the same. “I did tell you, pet. You were to be punished.” “Anything but this,” her mind begged as the Felguard yanked her hair back with one hand until her mouth fell open, and he crammed a balled up piece of silk into her mouth. She bit him, and he did little more than laugh before pushing her torso down until her ass was high in the air. Her eyes never left those of her love, silently pleading, and she felt shame touch her cheeks as tears formed in her eyes. The Felguard was massive, and not gentle. The heavy clink of it's armor dropping away heralded the first brunt of pain as the demon took hold of her hips with one hand while he held her neck with the other, and thrust into her slit with one rough stroke that buried himself and set pain through her as he brutally hit her most inner wall. It's thrusts were rough and quick, forcing her to cry out in sharp pain against the makeshift gag in her mouth. More pain, as the force with which it penetrated her pushed her across the carpet, burning the skin that had been so recently marked. Her whimpers were ignored, even mocked as the demon spoke to her in a tongue she knew well, and hated. “Whore,” it called her as she seethed with rage, “filthy demon slut. Half-breed toy.” It hammered at her mind while raving her cunt, it's pace only becoming quicker as it neared it's own release. She squirmed as she felt the telltale shudder within the demon that foretold of it's pleasure mounting, and as she fought, it only gripped her harder, only thrust faster, until she was not only pushed across the carpet but very nearly lifted from it, too. Her sobs were constant, her face hidden beneath a wash of azure hair as she screamed her hate into the gag, and her anguish as the demon released within her, flooding her with it's seed. She felt it twitch within her, spasming wildly as it pumped itself empty inside of her, making her whimper with discomfort at the sting it caused her brutalized folds. When it withdrew, it shoved her forward, and she collapsed, completely uncaring to the world. The pain of it's rutting dulled somewhat, but she was keenly aware of the demon still lingering near her. With a soft groan, she attempted to move, but gave up and lay unmoving for long minutes that were finally broken by a soft rush of chiming metal, and the gentle tug of the collar around her neck. Her eyes opened, her head tilting to follow the chain, which she found coiled in the fingers of her lover. His grin was not gone, and he gave the leash another tug that made her moan as the simple motion seemed to travel through her entire body. It came again, and she struggled to her hands and knees as his little tugs became one constant, his hand winding the delicate chain around and around. She paused, bracing herself back, and he languidly used the force to pull himself to his feet, watching her follow that incessant tug once more, crawling ever towards him. Her eyes held pain and hurt within them, but deeper still there was the raw want and need that always lay there, no matter how he hurt her. Oh, how he loved to hurt her in all the best of ways, and how she loved to please him in every way they could find together. She sat before him, not unlike a dog before its master, on her spread knees with hands braced in front of her, her eyes meeting his for moments. Without words, she bent and crawled the last foot forward, her lips pressing to the inside of his knee in a reverent kiss that continued up until his sack brushed her brow, and only then did she let her lips leave his flesh. Her hands slid up and around his legs, nails combing fine white lines along his skin until she flattened her palms over the back of his thighs and grabbed, pulling herself upwards and into his groin while her lips parted, grazing over sensitive skin. Her temple rested on his inner thigh as she simply breathed him in, taking in the scent of them before she let her tongue slip over the root of his shaft, her breath warm on slickened skin. Silver eyes flicked up, watching him while she let her lips travel over the entirety of his shaft, finally parting to take in just the tip of his manhood. The fingers of his free hand twisted in her hair and she sat up straighter, coaxing his length into her mouth until her lips pressed against his pelvis. She swallowed, the only way that ever felt comfortable when he was so deep within her throat, and held herself there until her chest burned and she had no choice but to pull off of him, a thick stream of saliva left to bind his tip to her lips as she panted before him. When she took him in again, her hands moved from his ass around his hips and to his stomach, leaving the same fine lines. When his other hand clasped in her hair, she yielded to his force and let him buck into her, sheathing himself repeatedly within her throat. Saliva wet her lips, then dripped to spill from her chin onto heavy breasts, soon thickened with his pre-cum. His hand went to her throat, tightening dangerously above the collar that she had placed on herself, and she released a soft mewl as he ravaged her throat. A sound of distress that became more audible, became more a sob, when the Felguard once more approached and pulled her by her hips, leveraging her into a more suitable position. Just once, he thrust into her folds, allowing his cock to become slick with what had already been spilled and her arousal from her lover's treatment, and then she felt the demon's tip push at entrance to her ass, and she groaned around her lovers cock as the demon thrust, swiftly hilting itself within. Her yelp as it struck the swell of her ass with a gauntlet-covered hand was muffled, and almost choked, by the warlock's cock, and he no more relented than the demon did as it found a pace of it's own. Her hands lifted, and one reached back to grab her ass, spreading her cheeks for the demon while the other curled around the warlock's shaft, and kept time with her mouth as she could, milking his length in fluid motions that made him groan and pant his pleasure as much as she was doing herself. When the demon speared her folds with one thick finger, she staggered and choked on her lover's cock, somehow regaining herself as their pace quickened. Xaedryx lost herself as orgasms wracked her frame, making her burn until she had become lost on the waves of pleasure, becoming little more than a toy for the desires of those who rutted her. The demon gripped her breasts painfully, pulling her back against itself as it released and filled her ass with enough seed that it dripped from around its length as it pulled free of her and vanished, the pulse of fel energy acting as herald to the warlock's own climax. His hands fisted in her hair, he held her in place as he came, his cock twitching in her throat until he pulled back and allowed her to milk the last of it from him, letting it splash on her cheeks and chin, dripping on her breasts. His hands unwound, untangling from her azure hair and the delicate chain only to return as he gave a gentle touch to her skin, combing fingers through her hair while her lips grazed over his skin, whispering words of prayer that mended the scratches she had laid upon him. More than the scratches, as what aches he had faded under her tender care. “You're - ...” “ - yours. I know.” She looked up at him, the need that had filled her something like a memory as weakness set in, leaving her trembling. “I'm many things, but above all of them, I am yours.” Her fingers touched at the collar around her neck, a quiet word unclasping it to have it fall into her hand. Slowly, she stood and set the silver item onto his desk, her legs trembling beneath her weight. He held out his hand for her, and she took it, following him willingly into the darkness, trusting. For she had no other choice.

[saintsurvivors]

can’t stop thinking about one sided macdoc and a protective Jack. There isn’t a better dynamic change my mind (loved your answer to my other ask! Creepy spy parent James is great)

(anon, my love, my life, the blood that carries oxygen around my body, you are my hero and i love the entire energy of this ask)

I’m really glad that you enjoyed the macdoc ask, though it definitely didb’t go as I was imagining it going, why do all my characters not do what i say or plan ugh

(also, creepy spy parent james is my favourite and i need to incorporate it more i have so many ideas, james ur a creep goddamnit no wonder ur kids as fucked up as he is tho lbr that entire family is an entire fucking shitshow)

also, anon, literally, friend, buddy, old pal, one sided macdoc and protective jack just going absolutely fucking feral when mac gets this strangely flirtatious and incredibly creepy and definitely possessive text from murdoc complete with winky face emoji because murdoc is definitely that Extra(tm)

just dropping to say hello angus! you so rudely didn’t respond to the little present i gifted to you the other day, and i know someone didn’t murder you, mostly because i haven’t had to kill anyone lately! - god, mac thinks, murdoc talks so fucking much - and i thought i’d have to drop another for you on your bed. think of me when you open it, darling ;)

mac would dearly love an hour and a half chemical shower and to maybe burn down his house because the last present murdoc gave him was a pig heart in a valentines day heart box with chocolate and whilst mac doesn’t have much experience or taste in this, even he knows that’s a little gauche but, he’s not the serial killer here so what does he know, really?

jack who hides his serial killer crazy a little better than most though that tends to break when his team and especially mac are in trouble, almost actually breaks mac’s phone with how quick he grabs it. mac sincerely hopes he doesn’t shoot it like he did the last one, because that was not fun explaining to the insurance company phoenix foundation is attached to.

“i’m gonna kill him,” jack snarls, and that’s definitely his favourite go to threat whenever murdoc crawls out of whatever hole he’d stashed himself into.  mac watches in vague interest as a furious shade of red blanches jack’s cheek, that cannot be good for his blood pressure. “I’m gonna shove my foot so far up his ass he’s gonna be spitting leather and shoelaces for months, i’m gonna carve his spine out with my bare hands and beat him to death with them, i’m gonna rip his fucking lungs out-”

it’s always nice to have goals, mac thinks faintly over jack’s heavy growling.

[killian-whump]

OUAT 2x14: Rewatch Blog

Hey everybody! Here I am, once again, with a liveblog post for a Once Upon a Time episode! This one’s called “Manhattan” - which strangely enough, I had to look up to make sure of, because I could’ve sworn that 2x15 was the one called “Manhattan”, but when pressed to remember what 2x14′s name was... I could only come up “Also Manhattan...?” which seemed wrong.

Anyway! Let’s settle in and watch Manhattan Part 1...

Hmmm.  Okay, so Rumple’s all “I wanna fight!” and Milah’s like “Oh, no, the war” and this just seems weird to me, all of it. I’m making that Fry face at my screen right now. Not sure if full of shit or full of shit...

Emma asking, “Is this the right place?” AND HE SAID YES. Like, how does he know?! That globe was a hell of a lot more useful here than it was in Neverland. Or did they just toss the globe overboard when they went through the portal? “Welp, we don’t need this plot device anymore.”

Hahaha, Emma. “Well, who doesn’t love a surprise?” Should I start the list, or is someone else gonna do it? Rumple’s face is hilarious. He looks like he’s thinking, “Me, actually. I don’t like a surprise...”

That’s a really boring title card, Once. Really boring.

“Back? From where?” OH MY BABY. Incidentally, I forget he’s in this scene every single time I see this scene, and then I hear his voice and I’m like “OH, MY BABY” like, you know, what literally just happened 2 sentences ago.

Aww... You vengeance-hopped-up bondage bunny, listen to your Dommes and be a good boy <3

CHASE SCENE, IT’S A CHASE SCENE

RUN, EMMA, RUN

CRASH!!!!!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH PLOT TWIST

I always did like that plot twist. One of the better ones, I thought.

“I am the only one allowed to be angry here!” Yeah, you tell him, Emma.

This face is great:

Kinda sums up the entire scene, doesn’t it?

I love the subtle AND COMPLETELY OBVIOUS change in Gold and Henry’s interactions now that the audience is thinking, “Oh, wait... If his dad is... and his son is... OH MY GOD.” A gentle approach as always, show.

WHY WOULD HE NEED AN ENTIRE TYPEWRITER IN A FANCY WOODEN BOX WITH A SINGLE SHEET OF PAPER THAT SAYS “I KNOW YOU’RE BAELFIRE” ON IT? HOW FUCKING EXTRA CAN YOU BE?!

Pictured Above: THE LITERAL HEIGHT OF FUCKING EXTRANESS

“...because Pinocchio told you to?!?!” One of the best lines ever XD

Oh, come on, Neal. Man up for once and just talk to your father. Geez.

Like, I know he’s pissed that his dad didn’t follow him into the portal, but all of this hiding and nonsense? Acting like he’s terrified of the man? Like, did I miss the part where Rumple EVER presented an actual threat to Baelfire? Because I don’t remember that. Honestly, if I’m forgetting something from S1 where Rumple threatened or harmed his son, someone please remind me. Shitty dad? Sure. Dropped the ball? Definitely. Worth running and hiding from for fucking centuries? You’re a goddamn pansy, Neal.

“Rumplestiltskin...” Oh, that’s not a creepy voice at all.

Oh, that’s not a creepy girl at all.

Oh, that wasn’t a creepy scene at all.

Can I go home now?

“The truth about your parents - Emma, you of all people should know how important that is.” Umm... yeah. That’s a really good point.

“Are you sure this is about protecting Henry... and not yourself?” Aw, Snow... Such good advice in this phone call. Also, nice sweater. Very soft.

Ahhh... And good acting by Jen in here, too.

AW, GEEZ, EMMA, SNOW JUST GAVE YOU SOME GREAT ADVICE AND NOW YOU’RE JUST GONNA IGNORE IT ALL. GOSH DARN IT.

Oh, look. It’s the mild-mannered mayor here to visit the amnesia-stricken woman in the hospital. There’s no way this could go badly!

Umm... Regina, I love you and I love your magical ways, but you could’ve just, like, rifled through her purse. “Magic always comes with a price” but apparently not if you just want to wave some objects through the air instead of, like, reaching in and moving shit around like a normal person. That shit’s free.

Like, there is just no reason for this. It’s pointless. It’s weird.

Library scene. One of my favorites :D Well, not this one. The next one.

Hahaha, this “touching” mother daughter moment is so weird and dysfunctional and borderline creepy. I love it.

Seriously, Hook, you’re so fucking impatient. Just cool your heels, bro.

Hey, Gold, here’s an idea. Maybe when you’re hiding your dagger somewhere, and your arch nemesis is a pirate, maybe don’t leave a pirate map to where it’s hidden for that pirate to find and follow. I mean, you might as well have left it in a toolbox in the garden she- Nevermind. Let’s not talk about this.

Emma: Don’t do this. There are things called laws. Henry: I’ll be lookout. :D

“I don’t think he’s listening.” Henry is brilliant in this episode.

YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, NEAL. You finally manned up. Must've found some balls in the alley and tried ‘em on for size.

Aw, geez. I’m just... Wow. I really shouldn’t say anything about this whole scene, but... Yeah. Wow. I honestly can’t like Milah after some of the stuff she says in this scene. Sorry, guys. Like, she is literally telling her husband and the father of her child that the kid would’ve been better off if he was dead - and not just once, but, like... It’s like she’s engaging in a single-person competition to see who can find as many different ways as possible to say the same terrible thing over and over again, and it somehow manages to sound worse every time.

AHHHHH HIGH DRAMA!!!

I really do like everything about this scene with Emma and Neal and Gold and Henry and everyone trying to figure things out and/or hide things and/or... Oops, now it’s all out in the open and we’re all a big happy family fucked.

Ugh. Now it’s Greg. I really, really don’t care about Greg. At all.

Regina, goddammit, I told you to just rifle through that purse like a normal person. SEE what happens when you don’t listen to me?!

Actually, I totally forgot about this moment entirely, and now I’m laughing... Leave it to the show to put a “Why the fuck would you do this in this way?” moment into the show... that turns into a convoluted plot twist.

Son, I am disappoint totally not surprised, actually.

That map really DOES look like a child’s scribbles, though.

HOOK, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO DO WITH THAT... keyring? scissors? dohickey? I don’t know. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, it’s time for one of my favorite things ever!!!!

SUPER CASUAL VIOLENCE!!!

They’re both just so... so casual... and so flippant... and so... oh gosh, hahaha. He’s all upset and angry and foaming at the mouth, and Cora’s just like ~fling~! and LOOK AT THAT FUCKER FLY The violence is so ultra super casual and amazing, hahaha. And then they just walk off like Mean Girls: Storybrooke Edition and I fucking love them and I’d better rewind and watch it again. Hold on a second, guys.

ARE THOSE FUCKING TONGS, THOUGH?! why?

The books falling over like dominoes, haha, they always make me laugh. Better rewind again. I love this shit so much.

Old-fashioned compass, I guess? Some kind of... dohickey? I’m gonna go with dohickey, guys. I mean, it looks like a dohickey to me. Still, like, dafuq you think you’re going to do with that dohickey against two ladies with magic, boo? You adorable fucking idiot. IT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A SHARP EDGE.

WHOOP, THERE HE GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOES

See, there. Bae had no fucking reason to be running and hiding from Rumple for fucking centuries. He just handled him just fine right there. 

“Or what you did to me.” Valid point, Emma. Well made and- ARE YOU FUCKING LAUGHING, YOU LITTLE SHIT?!? Where’d that fucking dohickey go?! YOU ARE SO GETTING RUBBED, YOUNG MAN.

Well, what do you know? The seer who said the future was hard to discern clearly has now given you her powers... AND YOU’VE LEARNED THAT THE FUTURE IS HARD TO DISCERN CLEARLY. Shocked. I am shocked.

PLOT TWIST. The boy will be his undoing!!! Except... umm... I mean... he kinda never was, though? So, I mean, I don’t... uh...

Aw, fuck it. Let’s rewind and watch the super casual violence again.

WHEEEEEEEEE LOOKIT HIM FLY!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D

[slvtbible]

G O L D

chapter one

summary: [y/n is a young stripper who is adored by many men. harry styles is a man who loves to carry danger with him]

word count: 4222

pairing: stripper!y/n and gangleader!harry

warnings: violence, vulgar language, sexual acts, alcohol and drug

to be honest, i was a little hesitant to post it here and i don’t know if this story will blow up on tumblr or get many notes but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. i just want to share what i’ve been working on that kept you guys waiting for almost a year lol sorry about that. But yes, she’s finally here!! I posted first on wattpad before i put it here, I felt like the only way to reach out more people to read it it’s through that. And also, i decided to use a name on wattpad but I’d use the term ‘y/n’ on tumblr. Enjoy it all my loves! Give me feedbacks!💜

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Harry fixes the collar of his sheer black shirt before tucking it neatly inside the black trousers he's currently wearing. He normally goes something more extravagant for going out. His closet is filled with colourful ruffles and Hawaiian shirts along with 'more than one colour' suits. However tonight, he needs to lay low for a bit. Especially when he's about to step into one of the most famous strip clubs in New York in an hour to meet up with the manager.

He's very much aware of the reputation he has put on himself out there. Though there's no use of camouflage and hiding, he still doesn't want a cause a scene,

Yet.

His hand lifts a bottle of Tom Ford from the dresser before spraying it twice on his neck. Stepping away from the full length mirror, he grabs his cross necklace from the bed before putting the accessory around his neck as he walks out of the room.

"Talk to me Reece" his heavy accent echoes the hallway as he walks downstairs, watching his few men pocketing their weapons,

Reece, the brown skinned man with tattoos nods. "He's there. Just got a word from Bianco. He appears isn't expecting you, Boss. However I do believe he knows you're coming soon. The club is far too crowded than usual but Bianco is taking care of that right now." He informs, showing him the message on the phone,

Harry can only scoff, nodding at him as a thank you. "That son of a bitch should've. Owes me more than fucking money." He mutters, inserting the .45 ACP inside his gun holster. "The car's ready?"

Nodding, Reece leads Harry down towards the basement. "As requested. Lamborghini Murcielago in blue hera. Pack with 640 PS and 471 kW, rules around 213 mph if you consider on hit and run. Still, I pack a standard Aeropack wing if you wanna go slow tonight. The windows? Bulletproof. In case anyone tries to kill you." Harry knows he's only joking about the last part. No one dares try to kill him before he does it. It's a pattern that everyone knows by now.

Harry lets out a low whistle, softly shaking his head as the machine beauty appears. Tracing lightly with his ring cladded fingers along the hood of the car. "Not planning to hit and run tonight, Reece. Not even thinking about racing down the street with my weapon outside the window. You don't have anything more. . . Less attractive?" He questions, still staring at the gorgeous car ahead of him,

"You know I don't do less, boss." Reece winks playfully, laughing to himself as he watches Harry roll his eyes. "Besides. Who knows you'll get yourself a bird tonight, eh? Take her out on a stroll before bringing her home to your place. Women love fast cars." He comments, pressing the button on the keys as the door opens,

Humming as a response, Harry walks towards the driver's seat, "I don't date anymore, thought my right hand man knew tha' " He speaks, words laced with seriousness while grabbing the keys from Reece's fingers,

He can only sigh and nod his head. "Understood. Yet, Kendra is like what? Two years ago? Gotta get yourself something better, boss. You deserve it. So do it tonight." He suggests, watching him going inside the car before shutting the door,

Harry smiles a bit, inserting the keys inside the ignition before starting the car. "Noted."

The dark haired man steps away from the car. Giving Harry a salute. "I'll be right behind you. See you there."

*

*

*

Y/N Y/L/N stands in front of the mirror as she applies another layer of red lipstick on her plump lips. Securing the tube back as she puckers her mouth to see if it fits the colour for tonight. She twirls, watching carefully how the gold lingerie clads perfectly around her breasts and down to her curvy hips and thick thighs.

She stops once her plump ass is facing the mirror, admiring how beautiful and big her bum is in the lingerie. It's a compliment really. She loves working out to give her bum a bit bigger. It's not that she hopes she'll gain attention from people, she just loves her body. She worships every piece of it despite what other people think of it. Insecurity was her biggest enemy but not anymore. After reading lots of books and poems about self love she learns that there's nothing she should be ashamed of.

Grabbing a bottle of lotion from her table, she squeezes the bottle into her hand before rubbing her bum with the cold cream, rubbing it neatly to make sure she doesn't miss a spot.

Another thing, she loves moisturizing her plump flesh before the show. It's sexy

"Joe is asking for you." She hears a voice coming from behind, craning her neck to see her closest co-worker Violet, already in her usual purple wig and attire as she stands beside Angelina. "I love working as a stripper but he really needs to learn to be patient and. . . shut up, i guess?"

Y/N releases a small laugh, moving her long dark wavy hair to rest on her chest. "I know, I know. Jesus, I've told him fifteen minutes prior that I'll take longer than usual." She slips on her gold heels and turns to face Violet, who's biting her lip as she stares at Angelina's body up and down. "Okay, how do i look?"

Violet raises her eyebrow, as if it's something her friend shouldn't be asking. "You kidding? You look like a sex goddess. Gonna get all the men on their knees for you, girl"

Scoffing, she shoots her a wink and a flirtatious smile. "Old men with beer bellies? No thanks. I'd rather make out with Gordon." She replies, seemingly disgusted about the thought of grinding on an old man's lap tonight.

"Is that a bet I hear?" Violet questions, leaning towards her a bit as she waits for her friend’s response. "Please tell me that it is so I can earn extra cash tonight."

Gordon is a perverted bartender that always keeps his eye on Y/N throughout her routine. He's 40 and is always asking Angelina on a 'date' and by date, he means her ass on his lap. Clearly something Y/N isn't too fond of. Him specifically. Violet and Y/N have always made a joke about him, something they could make a playful banter in every chance they get.

Plus, she heard he's married. Isn't he supposed to find another job rather than here? If his wife found out what kind of a sleaze bag she married, she would be crushed,

Rolling her eyes, Y/N shoves her playfully by the arm. "Ha ha, very funny" she answers, resuming to untangle her hair from knots.

Violet laughs, pinching her on the hip as she lets outa small squeal. "Just messing with you, baby. Good luck out there. Put the rest of us to shame tonight. . . Like any other night"

Y/N flips her off, yet knowing it's the truth. She's not trying to sound like a condescending bitch here but none of the girls here are actually capable to do what Y/N does. That's what makes men attracted to her. She knows what she's doing. She knows how to make a man hard.

"By the way, you heard what Joe's talking about earlier?" Violet asks, toeing off her heels as she exhales a relief sigh. "Damn those heels are killing me" She mumbles,

"No... What's about?" She turns her head to face Violet for her to explain, causing her to shrug her shoulders,

"Don't know much about it. . . But i hear Harry Styles is coming here to meet up with him. Something about transaction or shit" She waves it off, whispering it to Y/N, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping,

She almost chokes on her saliva after hearing Violet says the name. "Harry Styles?! The. . . mafia boss of New York..?" Her eyes widen at the possibility of the most dangerous man in the city paying a visit to the place she works at,

Nodding, Violet answers, "Yup. That Harry Styles. He's the devil. Let's hope this place doesn't turn into a war zone."

Y/N has heard about this Harry guy. The most feared man of New York. She does know a little bit of the relations between Joe and Mr. Styles. Almost every night she could hear Joe freaking out about this man. She may not know him that close, hell she had never even met him in person but people talk. One thing she learned about hearing his reputation, you don't ever want to mess with this guy.

Violet snaps her fingers to snap Y/N out of her thoughts. "Less worrying, girl. Come on, you got a show to put on yes?"

"Y-yeah. Fuck. . . now i'm scared" She breathes out, looking at her reflection in the mirror one last time. Calming down her mind.

After giving Violet a kiss on a cheek and receiving a tap on her ass, she takes a deep breath as she opens the beaded curtain and walk out to the club. Jhene Aiko is playing through the speakers, thanks to her who chose the music for tonight. She can already feel all eyes on her as she struts down confidently, putting on a smirk and winking at couple of men here and there. As much as it disgusts her, she grazes her hand along a man's arm who's biting his lip and looking at her up and down.

'What the fuck did i do to deserve this?' she thinks to herself, staring at the man in front of her who's probably the same age as her father. The thought of it makes her gag,

She gives the man a wink before getting up on the stage, hearing a few hollers from behind. reaching out to wrap her hand around the silver pole and her leg hooking up to support her body. Slowly twirling with her head thrown back and closes her eyes with money being toss at her direction before letting go and crutching down on her knees, moving close towards the same man earlier. He slips in a couple of hundred dollar bills inside her panties, causing the others to do the same.

This may be not how she pictures her success but damn, by the end of the week, her bank account can go from three to six digits.

She's definitely gonna hold on to that,

*

*

*

It takes Harry close to thirty minutes to get here. He blames it all on the traffic, cursing to himself every time he stops at red lights. He parks his car close to the entry before he exits from the vehicle. He looks over his shoulder to find a familiar black car driving towards her, noting to himself it's Reece's. Seeing him wave his hand to make sure he's coming in later.

He clears his throat, clenching his jaw as he walks into the club. Reece wasn't lying, the club is too packed for tonight. As if God knew what is about to get down tonight and isn't going to let him get away with witnesses. He really needs to play safe for a while tonight.

As he strides through the room to find a table he has reserved for, a few half naked girls walk right pass him, stroking his exposed chest and grabbing his shoulders. Most of them are gorgeous and he's tempted to touch their soft skin yet he has to hold it. Not that he isn't interested because he's definitely taking someone back to his place tonight--fucking Reece had to be right-- but he needs to get his head in the game for at least an hour before planning to do so.

Gently, he pulls back a chair for him to sit. He specifically asks for the furthest table so no one can figure out what he's about to do tonight. A glass of whiskey has been set on his table before he got here, waiting for Joe's arrival. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reece and Bianco walking over to his table. One of them gives him a nod to acknowledge his presence.

Harry lifts the glass up to his lips and take a sip of it. Honestly, he hates doing all of this dirty work. Sure, he's the boss. But he despises complicated things. He should've known not to trust Joe about anything, yet when he begged on his knees with a gun knocked against his head as he spat out a bunch of threats to the weakened man, he thought why not? If Joe didn't get to fulfill his demands, he gets to kill him either way. It's always a pleasure for him to do so.

"Mr. Styles! Ay, i'm so happy to see you. You look a lot cleaner than i saw you the last time, eh?" Joe's voice causes Harry's green eyes averts from the scene on the crowd. His eyebrows are knitted, jaw tightened as he taps his fingers against the table, causing the rings he's wearing to knock.

He owes him money worth $50,000. And this man had the nerve to walk in and act like nothing happened.

He is definitely going to kill him.

"Stop with all that shit and sit the fuck down. You owe me something Joe." Harry warns, pointing at him as Harry's men forces the dark haired male to sit down making him gulp. "You owe me 50 grand for that package you piece of shit."

Joe couldn't feel more terrified as he catches a glimpse of Harry's gun on the table, facing towards him. "I know Harry, I know. I didn't forget, okay? It's just the money is tight right now. The girls aren't getting the amount of money they used to be getting." Joe tries to reason but Harry isn't having any of it,

"Stop being a fucking pussy and blame your girls for the money you've lost. I'm running out of patience here, Joe. If you don't give me the money by the end of the week, you're a dead man. I still have one body bag left in my car and I wouldn't mind writing your name on it." Harry grits his teeth, looking at him with a dark look in his eyes. Hand gripping tightly around the glass

"No man, I need more than that. Please, I'll do whatever you ask me to. You will have your money man I promised." Joe begs, looking at Harry with hopeful eyes.

Harry finds it quite disgusting to see someone like him beg for mercy-- for the second time--or anything at all to be honest. He find that gesture is weak and vulnerable which makes him very easy to manipulate over. "I don't give out second chances."

Joe hears a gun clicks behind, he doesn't need to know what's going on. He knows one of the two men behind him is ready to blow his brains out. "Harry man. . . One more. . . Give me one more"

Harry isn't a patient man. He doesn't want people beg. He doesn't want him to beg. But he finds it interesting to see how it goes, playing along this little game of his.

"Fine. you give me your best girl and i'll give you two months." Harry offers, cocking his eyebrow as he leans back to relax himself. "No more than that."

Joe's eyes widen at Harry's demand. It's impossible to collect a 50 grand in two months, especially when he's short on it. He needs more than that. Still, he thinks two months is better than nothing. "Okay. . . Agreed. Just tell me which girl you want or-or i could bring one or two here, man. Take your pick."

Harry can only hum in response, scanning his eyes over the scene. Dozens of girls dancing on stage, few of them even has their bras taken off. It seems to him, none of these girls on the room is his type.

Until his green eyes fall on a certain slightly curvy woman with her leg wrapped around the pole.

Her long dark hair brushing lightly against the floor as she bend her back a bit. He observes the way her body move so dirty yet gracefully around the pole,  the way she bites onto her pink glossed lips and how her brown eyes manage to flirt with the crowd and had them lure into her eyes including himself. He swears this girl just steps out of his daydreams. She looks perfect.

He admires how she circle her hips painfully slow, jealous how he isn't close enough to watch her plump flesh near his strong figure.

"Her. I want her" Harry points at the girl he can't take his eyes off. His voice sounds too possessive but he doesn't care if he does. He's too enhanced with the way she moves on that stage and he loves how she swats those dirty hands who seems desperate to cope a feel with a dirty look on her face.

'Seems like a fighter' he thinks to himself

"Y/N? You want her?" Joe asks after he realises who Harry's pointing at.

"Y/N? That's a gorgeous name. She's not taken is she? Not that i care anyway. She's a dime from what i can see here." He says, not tearing his eyes off of her while he sips on his drink. "You're gonna give me her to me aren't you?" Harry asks, his eyes are threatening enough for Joe so he nods his head as a response.

"Yes. Of course. If that's what you want."

"Fuck yes i do. Bring me to one of your rooms. I want a private from her" He demands before gulping down his drink, standing up to head over to the back. Not before glancing at the gorgeous woman one last time who stuffs a few dollar bills in her panties.

*

*

After what it feels like forever dancing on stage and have men whistling at her to go over and give them more, she finally sit herself down on a chair in her dressing room and take a deep breath. Moaning in relief as she pulls her heels off while setting her timer on because she only has thirty minutes to rest before going back out there again. She leans back against the chair, sighing in a pure bliss.

She can hear a few girls talking and laughing while preparing themselves for their performance tonight, wishing she could just join in because Violet informs her earlier there's some juicy gossip she needs to talk about but she cant take it. She's too tired.

She has only closes her eyes for 10 minutes until a familiar voice speaks out,

"Where's Y/N?"

She groans internally. Can never mistake that voice soon as she hears it. Her manager, who sounds like he's panting, voice firm as if is an emergency to call her out like that. Y/N still has her eyes shut as she raises her hand up, not having the energy to respond.

"Okay, good. Y/N. You don't need to go back out there again. There's a special guest I need you to entertain. He's already waiting in the red room."

She nods and hum, only to realize what he means as her eyes bugs out.

Wait, what?

She's quick to turn around, brows furrows and mouth hangs open, not believing what she has just heard. "Pardon?"

"There's a man. A guy who I work with, waiting in one of the rooms. He specifically asked for you. I need you to at least give him an hour." Joe notifies, running his hand over his face as if he's stressed about something,

"You want me to give a lap dance to your co-worker?" She raises her eyebrow, not believing what he just asked her

Joe sighs angrily, "it's technically not--Y/N... please. No more questions, just go over there."

"Who's the guy?" she ignores his orders as she stands, crossing her arms across her chest. "Jesus, fuck. I really need my hair to breath" she mutters, brushing down her long dark brown hair,

"Harry Styles."

Y/N freezes in an instant. Looking up to stare at Joe in the eye to see if he's joking, he can only nod his head to confirm her questioning look. " you're shitting me."

"I'm not," Joe replies, walking over to her, not wanting the other girls to hear. "Y/N, I owe him money. I haven't got them yet and--"

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and continue messing with her hair a bit more. "Not my problem."

He reaches out to grab her elbow, pulling her harshly causing her to stumble a bit. "Y/N, please... He wanted to kill me out there earlier. The guy brought a gun for God's sake. He gave me a month but until then... he wants you."

"You know i'm not a hooker" Y/N defeatedly sighs. She wants to help him, she does but it sounds like he's selling her off for a month to this notorious and dangerous guy who is named to be the deadliest man alive by the people of New York.

She loves money but no fucking way she's willing to die for it.

"I didn't say you were" He roughly says, hand gripping tightly on her arm. "Just... do it" He let her go, tired of the waiting because he doesn't want to make Harry pissed off now,

The girl sighs angrily, squeezing her eyes shut as she hesitates for a while. What the fuck did she get herself into?

"Fine. just give me a moment."

Giving her a smile, Joe thanks her by giving her a kiss on the cheek, telling her the door number Harry is in before walking out of the room. Soon after he walks out, she feels sick in her stomach. How could she ever go face to face with a man with blood in his hands? She's about to give this man a lap dance. Who knew he might've ask for more?

So now, as she finishes re-applying a layer of red lipstick, she heads out. Walking to the back of the room in a slow pace. Heart beating loud and fast as she's about to come face to face with this man. Still, she needs to play it cool. God really fucking hates her,

If he really does exists.

She takes a deep breath before opening the brown door carefully, pushing it open. Her knees almost buckle at the sight of Harry Styles, lounging on the leather couch. A cigarette squeeze between his fingers. legs spread open as if it's an invitation already made for her. His head turns towards the door, a smirk graces upon his face.

She's not going to lie. He is indeed dashingly handsome. With his arms resting on the back of the couch making his biceps look a bit bigger. He's got killer looks too. she studies. Sexy smile, and stubble which creates a sexier look on his face. She catches a glimpse of a silver cross necklace resting against his broad chest. His eyes are sharp. Looking at her up and down with his bottom lip bitten between his teeth.

"My, my" he lowly whistles, watching her every move as she enters the room. Locking the door behind her. "I wasn't wrong. You are a fucking dime."

Y/N giggles-- though feeling scared shitless-- and run her hands over her hair as she struts her way towards his figure. Purposely swaying her ass side to side a bit to tease him. "Mr.Harry Styles. . . I heard a lot about you. Word on the street is that you're a man that likes to carry a danger" she smirks seductively as she stands in between his open legs, dragging her finger slowly down her chest.

Her angelic voice is like music to his ears,

"Yeah?" he smirks, eyes falling to the curve of her breasts. "Hope that doesn't scare you, doll. All i want is a dance from you, that's all. I also heard that you are their favourite girl. After seeing you danced on that stage, I now know why."

Again, she giggles. A small blush creeping on her cheeks, hopefully he doesn't see it. "You're a flirt aren't you, Harry? You do this to every girl?"

He places his hands slowly on her plump ass, he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch but he doesn't give a shit. She seems isn't bothered by it. He wants this girl and he wants her now.

"Only to those who i find interesting, baby. Now, are you going to show me what you got?" He asks, looking up to meet her brown eyes as he squeezes her flesh.

With a devilish smirk, she slowly sets herself down on his lap which causes him to let out a soft groan. She runs her hands down to his tattooed chest and toys with his cross necklace for a bit before whispering in his ear, "sit tight and relax, Mr. Styles. I'll be your good girl for tonight"

next chapter

*

i really don’t want to write a super long chapter, because i’m afraid it’ll bore you guys so maybe--i hope-- this is enough. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this first chapter, let me know if you guys hate it or love it! I’ll appreciate it. love you guys!

[xokiddo]

Hammer

Porco Galliard/Reader. Rated E for explicit sexual content and canon-typical violence.

Synopsis:

You were nothing. A nobody.

Until the Tybur family found you - the long lost, bastard child of the former Head of the Tybur Family, making you the next heir of the War Hammer Titan.

They planned to declare a war with you as their first line of offense and defense. Their plan begins with you infiltrating the Warrior Unit, when you accidentally fall for the Jaw Titan. Little does he k kw - you’re the bait intended to draw the Devils of Paradis out from the shadows and into the fray of battle.

those who asked to be tagged from this post: @6oldie ♥︎

[thebakingqueen5]

KW 2021: Tease

Day 6 for Kataang Week 2021 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Tease!

I might have stuffed up the use of this word and its definition in context but shhhh it’s fine and this is cute.

Links: FF.net | AO3

Summary: Another year, another summer, another week of prompts celebrating our favorite couple. Kataang Week 2021 Day 6. Tease (verb): gently pull or comb (tangled wool, hair, etc.) into separate strands. Aka the take on the “tease” prompt that no one (not even me) expected.

Word Count: 1.8K

It had been a tiring, tension-filled day.

The war ended five, maybe six months prior, and the four nations were still partaking in the grueling process of learning to work together after a century’s worth of fighting. Considering that a group of teenagers were the reason there was any hope of amity in the first place, it came as little surprise that most of the pressure to arrange and facilitate treaties and peace talks fell on the Gaang, much to their chagrin.

And so here they were, utterly exhausted after a long day of trying to convince the Earth King and Zuko that violence was, in fact, bad, and stressed out of their minds, aching for a distraction.

It certainly didn’t help that tonight, of all nights, Katara’s long, dark hair was refusing to cooperate despite her having just stepped out of the shower a mere 10 minutes past. No matter how many times she ran the whalebone comb through her thick locks, nothing seemed to help, and her patience was quickly dissipating.

“Spirits, Zuko and Kuei are going to drive me absolutely crazy, sweetie.” Aang ranted as he entered her room, closing the door shut behind him as he made wild gestures with his hands.

“They’re both so… stubborn! And self-righteous and it’s getting us nowhere!” he huffed in frustration. “I wish they could just- oh.”

The airbender immediately faltered, finally noticing the appearance, or rather the clothing, of his girlfriend seated in front of a square mirror, nightgown riding quite high up her thigh.

“Sorry,” he blushed, eyes darting around the room to look anywhere, absolutely anywhere except at her to keep what little modesty they had left between them. “I didn’t know you had already showered and changed- I really should have knocked.”

Katara rolled her eyes, a slight pink tint rising to her cheeks as she returned to the task at hand: attempting to tame the lion’s mane she called her hair resting atop her head at that very moment.

“It’s fine, Aang,” she laughed, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “No need to be embarrassed, really. Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t already seen.”

The waterbender snuck a quick glance at her boyfriend, and, quite frankly, she wasn’t sure he could get any redder if he tried. A tomato would have been jealous of the vibrant hue of Aang’s face, and he couldn’t stop staring at the floor, gaze entirely focused on the wooden boards beneath him.

The boy remained silent, and guilt began to fill Katara’s stomach.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she frowned, standing up. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I can go change if you want-”

Aang instantly looked up from the ground, quick to clarify his thoughts. “No, sweetie. It’s not that! It’s just- you look absolutely beautiful, and I don’t want me subconsciously staring at you to make you feel uncomfortable or uneasy around me.”

Katara’s eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise, and she patted a spot on the edge of the mattress, beckoning for him to come sit near her before turning back and glaring at herself in the mirror.

“Believe me, sweetie, there is very little you can do to make me feel uncomfortable around you. Honestly, it’s a bit of a compliment knowing that’s how I seem in your eyes,” she said shyly.

The airbender grinned and walked up to her. Feeling a little emboldened, he tenderly wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek, chin barely reaching an inch above her shoulder.

“You could be wearing a potato sack and you’d still be the most beautiful woman in the world to me,” he murmured as his stormy eyes met her cerulean ones through the mirror.

“Really?” she raised an eyebrow and gestured to the mess on her head. “Even with this bird’s nest?”

“Always,” Aang smiled earnestly. “Speaking of, though, do you need some help with that?”

“I appreciate the offer, Aang, but I’ve been trying for the last half hour now and you aren’t exactly the most experienced with hair.”

“Well, maybe a new perspective is just what you need.”

He gently pulled her back towards the mattress a few feet away from the dresser with the mirror and sat her down in front of him. Rolling her eyes, the waterbender handed him her comb, but he simply cast it aside, instead using his nimble fingers to work through the knots and tangles in her hair.

Katara was right- he did have minimal experience with hair, not having much of his own, but he often played with hers when they spent time together. He knew what relaxed her and what didn't, which gave him the perfect means to seize this opportunity and prove her wrong, while also, of course, helping the two unwind and spend some time with one another.

The waterbender had already been quite frustrated when she had started working through her hair, and her movements had reflected that. She was stressed and antsy, and she combed harshly and roughly, only compressing the knotted hair to the end of the strand and making it harder to get out. Between that and the day she had, she had been close to tears and Aang’s gentle touch was just what she needed.

Much of Aang’s stress had been alleviated when he had entered the room earlier in simply being able to see and embrace his girlfriend. Because of this, he was able to take his time and the change of pace was nice for the both of them.

He worked slowly and methodically, fingers lightly massaging the top of her scalp before moving down to dampen and separate her wavy tresses into individual strips of hair with the help of some waterbending. He took care to not tug too hard on any one strand, having heard many a horror story from Katara in the past with her unable to tolerate anyone else handling her sensitive locks. The airbender was determined to make it a pleasant experience for the both of them, and it was.

In fact, Katara had been mildly shocked by the sheer love and effort she felt Aang direct into detangling her hair. It was sweet seeing him put so much energy towards trying something new just to help her, and the tension in her mind that had been knotted up began to unravel as well.

“Halfway,” Aang whispered, breaking her out of her thoughts. His gaze was still intense and focused on her unruly strands as she sighed softly and leaned ever so slightly back into him.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” she murmured back. She closed her eyes as Aang’s rhythmic yet feathery touches to her scalp soothed her and then gave herself a quick look in the mirror through her peripheral vision- her hair was already looking a lot better and far more tame than it had been 15 minutes ago.

“That’s alright, just have a little more faith in your amazing boyfriend next time, yeah?” he winked with a smile, hands moving the hair he had untangled to the front as he directed his concentration to the last section.

This section was by far going to be the hardest-  most of the strands were embedded into a few large and messy knots creating quite a complex network. Nevertheless, Aang was up to the challenge. He began humming an old Air Nomad folk tune, one of the many they’d perform at Yangchen’s Festival, causing Katara to hum along with him as he spread apart the last few unruly waves of hair.

After finishing, he steadily ran his fingers through her hair like a comb, taking extra care to caress the nape of her neck and back of her head as she sighed happily, and gave it one last sweep with the whale-bone comb.

“All done,” he said, tucking a lock behind her ear when she turned around to face him.

The waterbender beamed before lightly pushing him down on the bed as they both sank into the mattress.

“I take it you enjoyed it?” Aang laughed, looking up at her.

“Very much so,” Katara responded. She then carefully angled herself so that she was lying pressed up against Aang’s side, head resting in the crook of his neck.

“It was pretty relaxing for me too,” Aang blushed. “You know I love playing with your hair and this just kinda took it to another level. I’d be happy to do it for you in the future if you ever find yourself fighting with that comb again, that is.”

“I’d like that, Aang. A lot,” she smiled shyly. “It was great to just… unwind. Have you there with me and just relax. I was basically about to cry when you came in and you just melted all my worries away with those magical hands of yours.”

The airbender chuckled, snaking his arm around her shoulders and leaning his head against hers. “Glad to hear it, sweetie. It’s getting late though, and we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Time for some rest?”

Katara wordlessly nodded, sighing and closing her eyes as Aang did the same and blew out the candles lighting up the room.

“Thank you for this, sweetie. I love you.”

“I love you too, Tara. Good night.”

The two were taken away into the dream realm, but an unspoken custom was crafted that night. It became a ritual, a way for both of them to calm down and escape the high stress levels of their everyday lives.

When Katara found her dad kissing Malina and it felt like her whole world was crumbling down around her, Aang had snuck into her room that night and combed and plaited her hair until they drifted off into each other’s arms.

When Aang had confided in the waterbender about feeling anxious and insecure about becoming a new father after she had informed him of her pregnancy, Katara had shown up to the stables with a comb and some apples for Appa in tow. The two ended up assuaging each other’s concerns while leaning back against the fluffy bison, much to their attention-seeking flying lemur’s annoyance.

Whether they were stressing over not being able to find an old book from the Southern Water Tribe after moving to Air Temple Island or had just come home after a near-death experience with the most dangerous bloodbender in the world, one of the two would always sit the stressed one down and grab a comb.

It never became a chore or something they dreaded; it was almost a secret love language for the couple. It was a way of reminding each other that no matter what was going on in their lives, they would always find time for each other and help one another. It pulled Aang and Katara out of some of their lowest, darkest moments, and it only accentuated their highs.

Such a simple, pure act born out of nothing but love and a desire to help- it should’ve been insignificant, a one-time thing, but it became so much more. To Katara and Aang, it meant the world.

[jaejoongs-nipple-piercing]

You don't have to think that victims should be believed first, but "him, his family or his lawyer admitting that he is guilty" shows how dumb your logic is. How often do you see rapists admit to it? Even if the evidence is overwhelming? And who are you to decide what evidence is legit? You're just saying this, so you can cry later about fake evidence if KW ends up in prison. We didn't see much evidence against Seungri, but you're not defending that douchebag. D e l u l u.

So being skeptical of incidents involving Kpop idols makes me delusional? Or me not defending someone cruel and stupid like Seungri makes me delusional?

If Kris did actually do something, don't you think he would admit it? Because some people who commit crimes do feel guilty and confess their wrongdoings. A lot of them don't, but some do. Also if the laws in China are so strict that what he's accused of doing would get him a possible death sentence, do you think anyone who's logical and not weird in the head would do a thing that could cause them to end up dead? Like "ah, yes. I think I'll go commit crimes that will sign my death certificate early." Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. Wonderful way to ruin your life and end it early at the same time. If Kris Wu only gets a 10 year jail sentence (or whatever it was), then fine. At least he would be accepting the fact that he did something wrong and obeying the laws put in place. People where I live usually either get away with their crimes or they kill themselves so that they don't have to admit they broke a law.

And to answer your questions:

I've never seen a rapist admit anything because I've never been around one and I don't watch the news often. If I ever did see anything, I wouldn't remember because it was probably years ago and I have a very busy, stressful life.

I am not saying that any evidence that may have already been obtained is not legitimate, all I'm saying is that evidence can be faked. Witnesses can be paid off or convinced to lie/stand up for them. I've seen plenty of court shows/crime shows, and while they're just staged for the most part some of them do have interesting things involved in the writing or filming that are based loosely or completely on facts or laws.

Not that anyone here would care, but in 2015, my family and I were almost killed by my mother's now ex-husband, our father, because he got mad that we found out he was cheating on my mom, and had been for basically the whole 23 years they were married. Every time we called the sheriff (because we live outside of town, so that's what we get), WE were the ones who had to leave our home. Never the one who actually caused trouble. Not the idiot who would hit, kick, threaten, and throw things at us or my mom. He had a gun and he almost used it on us. If I wouldn't have had the phone number of a women's crisis line and given it to her we'd be dead. We were the victims, and nobody believed us. Not the sheriffs, not the judge, for a while not even our own family, and we had to essentially hide out at their place for 6 months. If we had died because he got his way, it would have been just another typical domestic violence case, wouldn't it?

Then I wouldn't be arguing with you would I?

Domestic violence is different from rape and assaults, I know. But just because something happened to you doesn't mean everyone is going to believe you.

Say, for example, that Kris is actually innocent. People would most likely refuse to believe it, and accuse him again and again of multiple other things and form an alliance over something that didn't happen. Kris could make statements about how he's innocent until he's blue in the face, but he would be wasting his time and energy talking to a brick wall.

Like what happened with Woojin. He and his company said he was innocent and people just kept making things up about how he was at that bar and he did it and what-not, and it was all because he left Stray Kids and people decided to hate on him.

Bullying idols is what causes them stress and if they keep getting bullied and it doesn't stop, then they do. I don't want to see another idol die.

If Kris is guilty and he goes to jail, ok. As long as he doesn't get the death sentence I've heard China gives out for things like that. If he's innocent, I don't want to see anyone sending hate messages to my inbox because I won't answer them. I am allowed to have an opinion. Just because mine is different from yours, doesn't mean you get to send me Internet Crap. That belongs in the Internet Toilet.

[aviss]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth Additional Tags: Canon - Book, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Direwolves (A Song of Ice and Fire), not friendly ones I'm afraid, Pre-Relationship Summary:

On the way to King's Landing, Brienne takes them to some woods to evade some pursuers. These are some very quiet woods. And they don't feel friendly.

This was my KW for the @jaime-brienne-fic-exchange, I jumped at the chance to write this when I saw the prompts by @captainelliecomb which were all excellent, and had a great time writing this. 

[letterboxd]

Deep End.

The filmmakers behind heart-shattering Netflix hit Pieces of a Woman give Ella Kemp a glimpse into the mechanics of their most talked-about scene, the physicality of grief and the magic smell of apples.

When Martin Scorsese first watched Pieces of a Woman, he described it as more of an experience than a movie. It’s hard to disagree: the film’s visceral 22-minute opening scene, a one-take shot of Vanessa Kirby’s character Martha giving birth, quietly knocks the wind out of you.

Made by husband and wife Kornél Mundruczó (on directing duties) and Kata Wéber (on script), Pieces of a Woman offers unrelenting emotion as Martha processes an unspeakable loss and tries to piece herself back together. Kirby is impossibly good: raw and aching, unpredictable and tender all at once.

Following the recent allegations of sexual and domestic violence against her co-star Shia LaBeouf from his former romantic partner FKA Twigs, fraught scenes between the pair—LaBeouf plays Martha’s partner, Sean—are supremely difficult to watch. Netflix has since removed all mentions of LaBeouf from their website and awards campaigns, and a legal case is ongoing. Cast members worthy of mention include Oscar winner Ellen Burstyn as Martha’s mother, Elizabeth, comedian Iliza Shlesinger as her sister, Anita, and Uncut Gems director Benny Safdie as her brother-in-law.

Kornél Mundruczó and Vanessa Kirby on the set of ‘Pieces of a Woman’.

I wonder what it must be like to see Pieces of a Woman on the big screen, or on the stage for that matter (it began life as a play, also written by Wéber and directed by Mundruczó, who are well-known in their native Hungary for their theatrical and film work). The film premiered, miraculously, at the 2020 Venice International Film Festival, where Kirby won the award for Best Actress. Subsequent screenings at the Toronto International Film Festival (where it was one of our top picks) took place virtually, and now with a Netflix release and yet more pandemic-enforced lockdowns around the world, few cinemas will be projecting this volcanic drama.

Still, Pieces of a Woman envelops you in Martha’s headspace wherever you’re watching. There is hope that by finding it on Netflix, the film will reach a broad, worldwide audience, who will see themselves in the love and loss that propels the film, and recognize the hope and heartbreak of their own lives.

Why did you start the film with a shot of Sean, not Martha? Kornél Mundruczó: It was important to start on the bridge with Sean, as we later finish on the bridge with Martha. It creates a sense of curiosity and suspense. Who is Martha? And I love the sentence there that Sean says when he goes, “Martha is always fine”.

Kata Wéber: I really wanted to start with that line in the script, because then you’ll see that Martha isn’t actually always fine. It’s asking what she has to live up to, the picture of perfect Martha. Later on, you understand why it’s so important what she has to go through.

Iliza Shlesinger, Ellen Burstyn and Sarah Snook in ‘Pieces of a Woman’.

Martha has to go through so much in that incredible 22-minute take of her giving birth. How did that scene come to be, and which of you came up with the idea first? KM: It was my idea, but it was not a quick idea. When you read 35 pages about birth—an experience which is amazingly personal and shows a variety of emotions—you wonder how you can do that. The main thing was wondering about using a handheld camera because it gives a lot of opportunity, but at the same time I found it to be too personal, and it’s very much like dogma filmmaking. And then a distant camera felt too manipulative and cold, so we found a tool called a gimbal, which is not really a filmmaking tool. It’s used more for sports and music videos. But we felt it was very spiritual, which helped us represent the spirit which needed to be there. Like an unseen spirit, which is always inside births.

I have real problems with cutting, and telling the time of a fourteen-hour story. It didn’t feel like the right choice, because we’re not a documentary, but it didn’t feel like you had Martha’s physical presence if you were cutting it. So, how could we grow her physical presence? So we expanded the film time, and we compressed into that expanded film time a compressed real time. And then it works. It felt like a manifesto for me, like a monolith. It represents Martha’s inner journey but also every single person can feel connected to that. It was a long research process to find the perfect form, but then we shot it on the first day.

Was there anything you were worried about for the viewer, when deciding to begin the film with that scene? KM: I decided to start the film with that scene because I was worried about the whole movie! I felt that you can’t play it without this kind of experience. I never really felt that I wanted to do a movie, I was trying to say without words that I wanted to create more of an experience, an emotional journey. And later, when Martin Scorsese became a producer, he was the one who called me after watching it for the first time and said, “This is not a movie, it’s an experience”. I’d never named it before then, but had always wanted to do that. So it was important to just jump into the deepest point of the emotional journey.

Vanessa Kirby as Martha in ‘Pieces of a Woman’.

Vanessa Kirby has said the film responds to the fact that we’re so used to seeing death in cinema, and yet we capture birth on film so little. Was that something you were conscious about when making the film, or was your story always more personal? KW: Because it was first a play, there was already the question about how you’d do a birth scene on stage, which is even trickier than on film. But if you don’t do it, the whole story doesn’t make sense because you don’t establish this loving relationship—not just within the couple, but towards the baby. So I really wanted to stand for this scene. I wrote it long, because when you give birth there is this huge beauty and grace and love, and a certain kind of horror too. It’s uncontrolled and so spiritual.

KM: When I read the script it was shockingly personal, but also I thought that this really isn’t an academic movie. The structure is very special, it’s really not a dogmatic arthouse approach, which I did quite a few of! It’s not commercial either, so we thought, what is this? I didn’t know, but knew that I wanted to tell this story. Am I able to create a birth scene, which is kind of a taboo? Am I able to create a very emotional movie in a realistic sense? Which also feels like a form of taboo. I like the experience of exploring new fields and giving an audience something that is not just a movie.

What were your different reference points for Martha’s different chapters in the film? Her journey is so unconventional and Vanessa’s performance feels like it taps into so many different emotions. KW: It’s about the inner journey of someone, so you want to make sure she knows all the aspects of this state of mind. We talked about bereavement processes where grief doesn’t go through the typical five stages, but it’s just stuck somewhere. What is grieving? If you talk to a psychiatrist they could often say that there is no recipe. It could be you waking up at four in the morning wanting to bake a cake. That’s grieving. We tried to establish it as authentic as possible.

KM: There’s a hundred layers to Martha. Even in the birth, there’s thirty stages that she has to go through.

KW: And she had to understand how physical it is. Giving birth is so physical, but also grieving is not intellectual. You cannot figure out how to do it.

KM: It’s also our personal experience, as we had a miscarriage. But when I read the script, I still didn’t know grief was so physical. It’s such a special perspective, because if you are not in it, you have the pain but you don’t have this kind of physical longing. That’s why we talked to Vanessa so much about her silence and her body as being way more important than any acting skills. The most important thing was to feel it. In her nail polish, her body language, her walking, how she smokes. That was so much more important for me as a director than the big speech. And of course the big speech matters, but all the other details are the character.

I want to talk about the significance of the apples. Martha says it’s the way baby Yvette smells when she was born, and there’s a lot of symbolism in the idea of a growing seed. But does that fruit in particular have any significance for you? KW: I was trying to find something expressing her longing and love to her baby. I didn’t know what it could be at first, but when my baby was born, she smelled like an apple and it was so surprising. It’s so weird and beautiful and nice, and I’ll never forget it. It’s so hard to express the inner journey and the longing and the love without words—I really wanted to try and convey that.

Benny Safdie as Chris in ‘Pieces of a Woman’.

What do you think Letterboxd members should watch after Pieces of a Woman? KM: I’m a fan of early Michelangelo Antonioni movies, like Red Desert or La Notte. I think those intellectual melodramas are very healing.

What is a film that always breaks your heart? KM: Ali: Fear Eats the Soul, by Rainer Werner Fassbinder.

KW: A Woman Under the Influence for me. It’s close to something we’re trying to understand here.

And what about when you want to piece it back together? KM: For me it’s Late Spring by Yasujirō Ozu.

KW: I was just thinking the same! Someone peels an apple in that movie…

Finally, what films made you want to be filmmakers? KM: I grew up in the Soviet area watching a lot of movies in my childhood by Elem Klimov, Aleksey German, Andrei Tarkovsky. These movies are socially reflective but also very emotional and spiritual, very transcendental. And those transcendental acts feel almost forgotten now, and that’s a bit painful. Even contemporary Russian movies are not so deeply transcendental. The images from those movies really stayed with me—I mean, I’m from the East!

KW: For me it’s The Graduate. It’s just so much about life. It’s funny and witty, I just love it. I could watch it 100 times and I would never get bored.

Related content

Written by Women: Aobh’s extensive list of scripts penned by women

Andrew Sztehlo’s extensive list of Hungarian Cinema

Awards Season 2020-2021: Letterboxd’s annual list tracking the major feature and documentary winners

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

‘Pieces of a Woman’ is now on Netflix.

[yeocult]

i just saw that thing abt mingi apologizing and :( ateez work so hard constantly, they stay so enthusiastic in spite of their exhaustion and mingi has especially looked very tired this comeback. i’m more than confident that ateez has gone beyond what they had to in terms of providing for us. people seriously need to learn that there’s a boundary between friend and fan that shouldn’t be crossed,, and mingi,, the purest and most precious bean had to apologize because some jerk overstepped their limitations. fans srsly need to be kinder and more empathetic :// mingi deserved better and ateez deserves better. #kw anon!

mingi (or any of the members) don’t need to act a certain way for ppl to like them or not be ‘boring’ :// he’s just being himself, he just wants to come on vlive talk to us, isn’t that enough? but n e ways if this happens again,, i’m simply choosing violence😐😐