#mob boss kill code

[sinclairmaxwellao3]

Upcoming Dousing Fires With Gasoline Sneak Peek!

Kill Code rumbled out an agreement and took his Dona tenderly in his arms, “I have more resources than I can ever use, mia karulo. They are yours, just as I am forever yours.”

They had chosen each other and that meant that, even though they were not yet married, what he owned was Sun’s too. His wealth, his resources, his connections, and his empire. He delighted in the sight of pink spreading across his love’s face.

“I…I don’t know. I-I didn’t earn any of that. I don’t know if I- if I deserve it…” The attendant whispered quietly. Kill Code had literally poured his blood, tears, and soul into making the Familio what it was today. He had worked his ass off to build his empire, rising from the bottom. Sure, it had involved a little murder, but Sun was happy not to think about that too hard.

“Deserve? Sunlumo…they are my gift to you. My promise to provide for you and your brother, to always see to your needs before my own. It is all my gift to you, mia koro.” The Don crooned softly, carrying him over to his closet to collect a new dress that he had bought to surprise him.

A lovely vintage black quarter sleeve dress with skirts decorated with light pink roses, a tulle layer underneath to add body, met his gaze in the closet. Kill Code gestured to the fine gown with a gentle kiss to Sun’s cheek, those blue optics looking at the lovely thing with awe.

“My gifts to you are my familio, my empire, my resources, and my heart, Sunrise Starr. If you will have me for your own.”

[sinclairmaxwellao3]

SCREAMING IS WHAT IM DOING RIGHT NOW. I am being so spoiled by all this amazing fanart!! :D

Actually lemme give this it’s own post so you can actually find it

Characters belong to @sinclairmaxwellao3 ‘s SAMS Mafia au! Please check out their work at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54344629?view_full_work=true

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part twenty-nine: blind spot

word count: 4.4k(?)

warnings: this chapter contains mentions of drugs, weaponry, and other illegal activities. reader discretion is advised.

twenty eight | twenty nine | thirty

He kept telling himself he was doing the right thing.

Give her space. Let her breathe, for fuck’s sake. Don’t make this about you.

But it was a joke, really. Because no matter how many times he told himself to back off, Lando couldn’t stop wondering what she was doing, how she was feeling, whether she’d eaten something that could actually be considered food. Whether she’d eaten the bread still warm from the bakery or left it to go stale on the table. Whether she cried when she was alone. Whether she cried at all.

He told himself to grow up. This wasn’t some teenage crush. He had blood on his ledger, weight on his name. He ran half the city’s undercurrent from behind the veil, stitched the streets together with money and fear and brute control.

So he acted like it.

Thursday came bitter and sharp, all wind slicing through his coat as he ducked down an alley off La Rousse and into the backroom of an old tailor’s shop – a legitimate front. It was run by an elderly man named Niki who had been running the business since back in the early 1980’s, long before Monaco ever gained their nefarious Reaper. 

Lando just happened to be a loyal business partner of his – a humble young man who paid a generous amount in exchange for exclusive access to the basement of the old property. Niki had the added bonus of being a man who knew how to mind his own business.

Lando liked that in a partner.

The real business was three floors beneath—cold, concrete, and buzzing with quiet tension. His people were already gathered around the long steel table: Max Fewtrell leaning back in a chair, Logan with his arms folded, Carlos hunched over some schematics.

“News?” Lando asked, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it onto the rack behind him.

Carlos looked up, tapping the paper with his knuckles. “Got movement near Mile End. New shipment of knockoff tech—headsets, tablets, black market shit. I say we intercept and flip it.”

Lando nodded. “Do it quiet. No fireworks. I don’t want more noise than necessary this week.”

That’s when Verstappen stepped up to inform him that the warehouse on the docks had been hit. Two of Lando’s runners had gotten picked up and one of them was singing like a songbird. To make matters worse, their local books weren’t clean— for that matter, nothing was clean— but it meant that some fool had tried to skim off the gambling profits again. 

Lando stood at the edge of the table, leaning forward on his fists as he surveyed the projected losses and the photograph evidence. With the way his sleeves were rolled up and his fists were clenched, Logan had to approach him, cutting off his train of thought.

“Mate, you have to take a breath, you're going to kill someone and then paperwork becomes my problem.”

“...Mate?”

“Boss. I meant boss. It’s, uh, a different way of pronouncing it. Yeah! Uh, French. Very French.”

The glare Lando shot him was so potent and so familiar that Logan didn’t need a language to understand it.

Shut up, Spin.

Logan sighed.

Why is it always me?

By noon, his phone buzzed with a familiar unknown number. There was no contact name, but the area code was French, and Lando was smart enough to know who would be so bold as to call him again.

Gasly.

The French always were so full of themselves.

It’d been a while since he’d heard from him. The Frenchman wasn’t one to just call up without a reason. And Lando had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat about old racing memories.

With a roll of his eyes, Lando finally answered the call, placing the call on speaker before leaning back in his chair. 

“Gasly,” Lando greeted succinctly, tone unreadable.

“Ah, now you pick up, huh? I have been trying to get your attention for some time now, Mr. Norris,” There was a slight chuckle, then a shift to seriousness. “Lando,” came the smooth, almost cocky voice on the other end. “You are busy?”

“Always,” Lando replied, his tone flat. “What do you need?”

“We should meet.”

He paused. The warehouse around him stilled.

“Where?”

“Neutral ground. Tomorrow night. Hmm, Le Voile d'Or? Not one of your places. Bring one of your own. Just one.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lando said, his voice low and cold. “But don’t think for a second I’m gonna let you walk all over me, Gasly.”

Gasly laughed, as if the challenge didn’t faze him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The line went dead before Lando could respond.

Bastard.

That night, Lando was back at the head of the intimate table setup in the meeting room, the dark mahogany reflecting the warm light of the ornate overhead chandelier. He folded his sleeves casually, rolling them to his elbows, his knuckles still raw but healing. Logan, Carlos, and Max Fewtrell sat with him, a fresh set of printed diagrams spread across the table—half club schematics, half distribution routes.

“He’s been running the street scene uptown with those modified imports and the fancy kid drivers,” Daniel added, leaning back. “Why would he want to fold into our operation now?”

“Because we’ve got infrastructure,” Lando said. “He’s got speed and no discipline. We’ve got routes, clean-ups, and an intel network he couldn’t build in a decade.”

Max tilted his head. “You thinking we bring him in for delivery work? Or enforcement?”

“Neither.” Lando’s jaw tightened. “We make him a runner. Use Gasly and his Garage to move product across districts fast. Street races’ll double as cover. We don’t touch the actual racin’—we let him handle that circus.”

Daniel let out a low whistle. “That’s pretty ambitious.”

“It’s efficient,” Lando muttered. “We’ve lost two outer routes in the last month. We need speed without, like, needin’ to rebuild everythin’ from scratch.”

Lando leaned forward, resting his forearms against the edge of the table, rings tapping a dull rhythm on the steel. “He said his crew is fast, low-profile, and looking for more work. But I think he wants protection—someone to watch his back if things go south.”

Carlos frowned. “Could be good.”

“Could be bait,” Logan muttered.

Lando considered both. In this life, everything came with a price. 

Trust, especially.

Still, he needed to keep moving. Staying still made him think too much—about her, about that night, about the blood on her hands and how small she’d looked on his bathroom floor, knees drawn to her chest, his name barely a whisper.

At least he could keep the rest of the world in order. That much, he could still control.

“He’s smart,” Max Fewtrell said, interrupting his thoughts, tracing a path from the docks through to the northern districts. “Gasly’s been running his racing ring lean. Tight crew. Fast drivers. They're ghosts, half’a the time.”

Carlos, leaning against the lockers, nodded in agreement. “They are a fast crew. Young. Aggressive, too. They know the roads better than most of our guys do. And the bikes they run with?” He let out a low whistle. “Custom-built, half of them. Perfect for the tight runs.”

“What, you trust ‘em?” Daniel half-laughed, skeptical.

“No,” Lando rolled his eyes, as if Daniel had asked some stupid, childish question. “But I don’t need to trust ‘em. I need him to know we could make each other very, very rich, ” he smiled smugly.

Logan looked up from the tablet. “Using his drivers as runners could cut our drop times in half…”

“And also draw heat,” Carlos pointed out. “They crash one car, we will lose the route and the product.”

Lando leaned back, eyes flicking over the blueprints again. 

Logan folded his arms. “ I dunno… could be useful. If we want to up our speed game, y’know.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Or it’s a setup. C’mon, I thought I was our car guy!”

Carlos only laughed.

Lando cracked his knuckles. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll hear him out. He wants to meet at a neutral place, suggested Le Voile d'Or. I want two exits, working comms, and I want eyes on the building an hour before Max n’ I even step foot in it. Logan and Oscar will go tonight and set up early. Got it?”

He could feel his heart rate pick up, the adrenaline that always came with making deals like this. But at the same time, he couldn’t escape the thought that kept gnawing at him—he wasn’t doing this to move forward anymore. He was doing it to outrun what was closing in behind him.

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, the shadow of the city growing darker behind him. Everything he was doing now was just a distraction. A way to ignore the fact that, no matter how many deals he made or how many punches he threw, it was never enough. 

Lando gritted his teeth. He didn’t have time to think about that. Not now.

Gasly had his attention, and that was enough for tonight.

“Yuki!” Pierre barked, stepping over a tangle of brake lines. “The NSX is still sputtering in third—didn’t I tell you to fix that two days ago?”

Yuki, crouched under the hood with grease smudged across his cheek, didn’t flinch. “Yeah, you did. And I am, but maybe if Esteban didn’t screw with the ECU mapping behind my back—”

“That was an improvement,” Esteban waved off, leaning against the wall with a bottle of water and a smug tilt to his mouth. “Unlike your tuning, which sounds like a dying blender.”

Pierre groaned, pacing past the two. “If you two can go thirty fucking seconds without pissing on each other, maybe we would have a car ready before Lando and his crew show tomorrow.”

Tucked into a half-abandoned industrial lot on the outskirts of the city, the place didn’t look like much from the outside. But inside, rows of souped-up cars lined the walls, glittering under harsh fluorescent lights. Toolboxes clanged, beats thudded from an old speaker rigged in the corner, and the murmur of French, Japanese, and the occasional curse in English hung low in the air.

The scent of gasoline and burnt rubber hung heavy in the air, thick with adrenaline and sweat. Neon light spilled from under the cracked roll-up doors of Gasly’s Garage, casting eerie pinks and greens over the collection of customized engines and half-assembled machines inside. It looked like chaos, but every screw, wire, and rev was calculated—Pierre wouldn’t allow otherwise.

This was Gasly’s world. And tonight, he was not fucking around.

“We need to look tight,” Pierre said sharply, pacing between two low-slung Hondas with custom body kits and matte finishes. “Like… we belong in that league, same as him.”

Yuki, now crouched under the open hood of a deep purple Acura NSX, didn’t even look up. “We do belong in the same league. You just want to look prettier.”

“Prettier gets us in the room,” Pierre snapped. “The rest comes after.”

From the far side of the garage, a socket wrench clattered to the floor. Esteban straightened up, rubbing his grease-stained hands on an already filthy rag.

“I thought the whole point of us was not needing his approval,” he said, too loud on purpose. “But sure. Let us beg for Norris’s scraps. I’m sure he’ll be flattered.”

Pierre’s jaw flexed. “It’s not begging. It is business.”

Esteban gave him a look. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, mon frère.”

Yuki rolled his eyes, muttering something in Japanese that probably wasn’t flattering.

“Putain,” Pierre swore under his breath, rubbing the side of his face. “Where the fuck is Jack? Tell me the rookie isn’t late. Again.”

“He’s not late,” came Yuki’s voice, straightening up to take a step back from the hood and check his work. He was still admiring his handiwork when he plainly told Pierre, “You are just anxious.”

Pierre shot him a look. Yuki didn’t flinch, just wiped his hands on a rag and dropped the hood with a satisfying thunk, before coming to stand beside Pierre.

“I’m not anxious,” Pierre said, voice low but clipped. “I’m focused. There’s a difference.”

“You are pacing like my grandmother used to before Sunday Mass,” Yuki deadpanned.

“Your grandmother also used to smuggle hash through airport security in her rosary beads,” Esteban muttered from the side, leaned against a stack of tires with a lazy smirk. “Ah, I know! Maybe she should be running this crew instead.”

Pierre turned his head sharply. “Say that again, Ocon. I dare you.”

Esteban lifted both hands in mock surrender. “I am just saying. If Lando Norris is coming all the way down from his big castle to check us out, maybe he’s expecting more than… this shit.”

Pierre stepped toward him. Yuki, with the patience of someone who’d seen this a hundred times before, simply pulled out his vape and took a long drag.

“You think you could run this place better?” Pierre asked tightly, jaw set. “Sois mon putain d'invité.”

“Je ne veux pas de ton travail, mon pote. I just want to survive the night without you starting a pissing contest in front of a guy who could bankroll half the East District.”

“Guys,” Yuki interrupted. “Maybe focus up? If we screw this up, we lose our only shot at this.”

The hangar doors creaked open with a mechanical groan before Pierre could respond. Jack Doohan rolled in then, stepping out with a backpack slung over one shoulder, hair damp like he’d just showered in a gas station sink. His car was flashy, over-tuned, too much chrome.

“You’re late,” Pierre snapped.

“Sorry,” Jack offered with a crooked smile, dropping the bag with a thud. “Cops shut down the shortcut. Had to take the long way ‘round.”

Pierre just glared. 

Jack raised both hands. “Hey, I’m here now. What’d I miss?”

Yuki stood up, wiping car grease off his hands. “Everything important. But mostly Pierre yelling.”

Pierre shot him a warning look, cutting them off. “We’re here to make this look good. Lando Norris isn’t just some suit with a penchant for fast cars. He’s a calculated bastard. He’ll smell desperation from a mile away, so get your heads on straight.”

A beat of silence passed. The only sound was the low hum of the cars still cooling and the faint beat of music shifting to something darker.

At the back of the garage, Jack stood quietly, knuckles skinned from a rushed brake swap, eyes wide as he tried to absorb everything. This was his third week with Gasly’s crew, and it felt like a masterclass in organized madness. Pierre didn’t trust easily, but Jack had shown he wasn’t just another rich kid with a turbo’d Civic and something to prove. He listened. He learned. And most importantly, he earned his bruises.

“Oi,” Pierre called to him. “Check the tire pressure on the GTR. If we’re gonna show Lando we can move fast, we need to look like we live at 300 kph.”

Jack nodded immediately, wiping his hands on his jeans before jogging over to the corner.

The Garage was more than just their base—it was sacred ground. A Frankenstein’s lab of torque and tension. The walls were lined with old race trophies and Polaroids: half the people in them long gone, half still hanging on by blood, rivalry, or debt.

“You have got two hours,” he said instead. “We meet Lando and his guy at midnight sharp, comprendre?”

Esteban crossed his arms. “And what do we do when Lando starts asking questions we can’t answer? You think he is just going to just hand over his distribution lines because we brought him pretty toys?”

“No,” Pierre said. “I think he’ll listen if we show him we’ve got speed, discipline, and something he doesn’t. He knows this city better than anyone — but we know the streets. Every alley, every cop rotation, every crew too young or too desperate to turn legit. That’s what we offer.”

Jack looked around, cracking his knuckles. “You, uh, think they’ll bring Spin?”

Yuki raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think so. Lando doesn’t let anyone talk for him.”

“Except the Fewtrell boy,” Pierre muttered. “That’s his second, from what I hear.”

Esteban snorted. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Yuki closed the RX-7’s hood with a clang. “Why are we even trying so hard with this guy? You know he doesn’t play well with others.”

Pierre shot him a look. “Because Lando Norris doesn’t just run a syndicate—he is the syndicate. We get this deal, we stop bleeding cash on side bets and finally start –how they say– playing in the big leagues.”

“And if he says no?” Esteban asked, too casually.

“Then we make him say yes.” Pierre’s voice was calm, too calm.

Yuki exhaled, long and low. “You always say that before something explodes.”

“That’s because something always does,” Pierre grinned, flashing gold where his canine used to be. “Now get the hell to work. Tomorrow’s not just a meeting. It’s our audition.”

With that, Pierre was already walking toward his own car — a sleek silver Nissan GT-R with a cobalt blue underglow, hood up, engine gutted and humming as his crew fine-tuned every detail. He stood there for a moment, one hand resting on the roof.

This had to go right.

Because Gasly’s Garage wasn’t just a bunch of kids racing for pink slips anymore – not since the money started moving, not since the bets turned serious. Not since the first time someone crashed, and the body disappeared before sunrise.

They were in it now. And Lando Norris — the Reaper himself — was the next step.

So yeah, they’d play nice. 

For now.

But only because they planned to run this city one day.

And when they did?

They’d remember exactly who looked down on them.

The chosen meeting, an unconstructed club called Le Voile d'Or was nothing more than a skeleton — steel beams, concrete floors, and open air where the ceiling should’ve been. No neon signs, no thumping bassline. Just construction tape fluttering in the breeze and the sound of sawdust spreading about. Lando liked it that way. No distractions. No corners to hide in.

The meet was set for midnight.

He arrived at 11:43, naturally. Max was already pacing near the car, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“They’re not here yet,” Max muttered, eyes scanning the lot. “You sure this isn’t a trap?”

“It’s always a trap,” Lando said evenly, pulling off his gloves as he stepped onto the gravel. “S’why we lay ours first.”

Oscar was already in position. Rooftop a block out, four floors up, a clean sightline, silencer on. One text and he could stop a heartbeat mid-sentence.

Logan had swept the perimeter earlier — camera blind spots mapped, back exits sealed, with Daniel and Verstappen posted by the service stairs. With Carlos positioned near the front entrance, nothing got in or out without them knowing.

Still, Lando’s eyes never stopped moving. Even in this hollow, half-built ruin, he was all edges. Sharp jaw, sharper gaze. His coat moved like a shadow when he walked, his boots steady and deliberate. You could tell just by looking at him: he wasn’t here to negotiate unless he wanted to.

11:56.

The hum of tuned engines echoed off the walls before the headlights appeared — three cars, low and fast, cutting through the dark. One was black with a burnt-pink stripe. The other, a silver Nissan, purred like a threat.

Gasly stepped out first. He didn’t hurry – he didn’t have to. He had that swagger particular to people who knew they were dangerous in ways others hadn’t even figured out yet. Yuki emerged just behind him — shorter, tenser, but clearly not a sidekick. Not with the way he scanned the site like he was already calculating escape routes.

Pierre approached with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, giving the Brit a once over. “Is that a gun? Or you are just happy to see me?”

Lando raised a brow. “Only as happy as you are,” he shot back, pointing his gaze to the handgun tucked into the band of Pierre’s baggy jeans.

Pierre chuckled. “Ah, touché.”

Max stayed silent behind Lando, eyes locked on Yuki, who looked like he might pull a knife just for fun. He made a point to stretch, the lifting of his jacket enough to show off the gun tucked in his own pocket, even if he couldn’t spot one on Pierre’s second. Tension crackled beneath the false politeness — a quiet understanding that everyone here had killed someone, directly or not.

Still, they went through the motions.

“Gasly,” Lando greeted.

“Norris.”

They shook hands — cool, quick, firm. No warmth.

“I hear you’re looking to expand,” Pierre said, tone smooth. “And I hear you’ve had trouble keeping up with demand lately.”

Lando didn’t react. “You offering t’help or just here to gloat?”

Pierre smiled. “Help, of course. I’ve got roads you don’t. Drivers you haven’t met. Eyes in places your boys would never pass unnoticed. You’re good at staying clean. I’m better at staying untraceable.”

Max Fewtrell looked over at Lando, unimpressed. Lando reflected that same look back to Gasly.

“Did you call me here just to make y’self feel nice, or do you actually have something f’me?

Gasly chuckled. “I have been thinking. You know how we used to roll together, back in the day? The racing, the high stakes? I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Lando unbuttoned the front of his suit, leaning against a makeshift table as he stared up at the Frenchman with a look that told to get on with it quickly. Lando Norris didn’t take kindly to have his time wasted, especially by posh wannabes looking to be somebodys.

“Go on.”

“I’ve got a network, a big one – street racers, quiter routes, plenty of guys who know not to play by the rules.” He glanced over at Yuki, who nodded, before he continued with his pitch. “We’ve got the runners, the cars, the cash flow, but we’re looking for someone who can push things, make it worth the risk. And you… well, you’ve got a reputation.”

Pierre had slowly been making his way closer to where the two Reaper boys were standing, and it was making Max antsy. Gasly saw Max’s hand twitch for his handgun and laughed, waving him off. “We are old friends here, non? No need for such things.” 

Within moments, Lando’s mind clicked over the options. This was exactly the kind of thing he’d been looking for: leverage, power, control. A street racing ring under his influence meant more money, more influence, more control of the territories he was still trying to solidify. Gasly could help him gain an edge over rival crews who were too weak to understand how to play the long game.

“I’m… listening,” Lando muttered carefully.

“There’s potential in this for both of us, Lando. We can talk the bigger numbers when you agree. But you and I, we’ve always worked well together. Let us make something bigger than just a few races, hmm? Let us make it profitable for both of us.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. He could hear the pitch—Gasly was selling the idea of partnership, but he was also a businessman. If Lando played his cards right, this could open doors for all sorts of opportunities. But he had to be careful. Gasly was clever, slippery. And Lando wasn’t sure he trusted the guy enough to dive in without a second thought.

“And in return? Somehow I get the feelin’ you’re not doin’ this out of the goodness of you heart,” Max asked.

“Product. Routes. A seat at the table. Not the whole table — I know who I’m talking to.” Pierre tilted his head, smiling. He took a step closer, his voice lowering. “But… perhaps a slice.”

Yuki stepped forward, holding out a tablet with a map — color-coded, clean, and too detailed for Lando’s liking. Lando didn’t touch it. He simply nodded for Max to take it.

“I’ll have someone vet it,” he said.

“Of course,” Pierre replied. “And if you don’t like what you see?”

Lando met his gaze. “I’m sure you’ll be the first to know.”

The air held its breath for a moment.

Then Pierre smiled again. “I always like a man who’s polite when he threatens me.”

“Oh no, I’m not threatening,” Lando said, his smile sickly sweet. “Yet.”

Pierre laughed. Yuki didn’t, his eyes flitting between the two Brit’s momentarily.

One mistake, and it could all fall apart.

They talked numbers next — shipments, timing, how many people were on Pierre’s crew, what kind of muscle they had, whether they had clean fronts or needed cover. Pierre answered everything easily, like he’d been rehearsing for this moment.

Lando noticed it,  clocked it, but didn’t call it out.

Pierre’s boys had made their pitch, and Lando—cool, unreadable, two steps ahead as always—had picked it apart and rebuilt it in his favor. On paper, they’d be allies. In reality, Gasly’s Garage would be working under him without realizing it. Lando had danced circles around sharper men. Pierre might’ve been slick, but Lando was surgical.

He slid his hands into his coat pockets, posture relaxed. Beside him, Max gave the faintest nod, as if to say we’ve got this. Across the concrete skeleton of the unfinished club, Pierre was still talking—something about logistics, runners, trust but Lando had mostly stopped listening by then.

They’d already won. His work here was done.

But he let Pierre talk anyway, because letting a man believe he’s in control is often the final stroke in tightening the noose.

By the time they finished, the night had shifted — the air less hostile, the power still clear but… tentative. Like everyone had shown their cards, but kept a few aces tucked into their sleeves.

Yuki appeared more closed off, standing more like a protective Doberman by Pierre’s side, while it was Pierre who approached so he and Lando could shake on it..

“Looking forward to working with you, Lando.”

“We’ll see,” Lando said. His designer shoe clacked against the concrete underneath as he too took a step closer, and then—

“Lando—”

Two clicks sounded before Oscar’s voice crackled to life in his ear – urgent and out of breath.

Why was he out of breath?

Lando barely had enough time to wonder when Max looked at him with a matching expression of realization.

“It’s an ambush! You guys need to get out, now!”

a/n: yippee! a new chapter, and some new (familiar) faces! what do we think?

[archangeldyke-all]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNdY1U9Cu/

This is so Sevika coded I had to show you

LMAOOOO

men and minors dni

your phone rings just as you're getting out of work. you smile down at your girlfriend's photo on your screen and answer the phone, smiling when she appears on the screen. "hey, baby."

"i'm about to give myself a stroke trying to figure out the fucking feng shui of my living room." sevika huffs, running a hand through her hair. you blink in confusion.

"the feng shui?"

"the flow, babe! the energy flow! look at this shit." sevika flips her camera around and flails a hand out to gesture at her furniture. she's changed the position of her couch and television stand, a pile of pillows and books in the middle of the room. "it looks horrible!"

you snort.

a few weeks ago, you'd asked sevika if she ever considered decorating her barren apartment. "y'know? some pillows? maybe some art on the walls? you could even buy yourself an actual bed-frame instead of just laying your mattress on the ground..." at the time she laughed and shook her head, but she clearly took your question to heart. for the past few weeks, sevika's been watching interior decorating shows and videos, buying frames for some of the drawings isha and jinx have given her over the years, rearranging her furniture and buying plants to liven up her space.

and now here she is, ranting about the feng shui of her home. "...but if i put it under the fucking window i worry that the plants won't get enough light--" sevika cuts herself off and flips the camera back around to face herself, glaring at you as you giggle. "what's so fuckin' funny?" she demands.

"nothing, i just can't believe this."

"baby, this is serious! there's something seriously energetically off about this fuckin' room and i can't figure out-- quit laughing!" sevika feigns winding up to punch the camera. you cackle and pretend to dodge her hit.

"i'm sorry i'm laughing, sevi-bear. you just crack me up. last time you called me so worked up it was because you needed me to talk you out of killing a guy; three months later you're callin' asking for decorating advice. you're adorable."

"i'm stressed out!" sevika whines. "and you're laughing at me!"

"why don't you ask silco, baby? he's way better with this stuff than i am."

"i'm already here." silco answers as sevika pans her camera over to her best friend, a studious look on his face and his chin between his fingers as he contemplates the room. you burst into fresh laughter as you watch the mob boss give his best henchman decorating advice. "i suggested a nice area rug to pull the space together. but it's much harder to get blood out of carpet than hardwood..."

you wipe your tears up from your cheeks, snorting as you try to catch your breath. "okay, alright, i'll come help you. give me twenty minutes to drive over." you giggle.

sevika smiles. "thank you baby. can you bring food?" she asks. you roll your eyes.

"whaddya want?"

"burgers?" she asks.

"ooh and a strawberry milkshake?" silco's voice chimes in. you cackle and shake your head, your fondness for sevika and her strange friends only growing.

"alright. any other requests, princess?"

"hey, don't make fun of me!" sevika protests. "i'm tryin' to be a real adult, with decor and shit!"

"you're adorable."

"i'm the scariest bitch in zaun!"

"yeah, and you're fuckin' adorable." you giggle as you walk toward your car. "you want bacon on your burger?"

"...yeah." sevika mumbles grumpily. you laugh and make a kissy face at your camera. sevika rolls her eyes, a shy, sweet smile taking over her features. "drive safe." she demands.

"alright. i'll see you soon." you giggle.

"we'll be outside when you get here. i need a fuckin' cigarette, this shit's stressin' me out."

kofi

taglist!

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taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @runawaybaby3 @vikasfemme @lesbones

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[yandereforme]

Yan! Mafia! Batfam AU Dynamics

Part 1

TW: Murder, violence mentioned, light mentions of assault, torture, kidnapping

Also, since ages are weird in DC canon (often conflicting) I’m assigning my own choices

Bruce

Like I mentioned in my earlier post, Bruce started working towards controlling crime at a young age. He first gets the idea after his parents died, and slowly over the years he starts cultivating skills that would later become useful(fighting, intimidation, deceptive things that you can do that aren’t exactly illegal, etc.)

He still takes that backpacking trip, and he still meets the league of assassins and has his affair with Talia. The reason he returns to Gotham isn’t a crime as vigilante. It’s to fight crime his own way.

He takes on a persona as the bat, no one knows his face or real name. He garners a lot of attention from criminals, and often steal men from people who he defeats to work lower level jobs(Think Red Hood’s system)

The rugs in the say, you are a mixture of actual criminals, and alternate mob bosses. However, Bruce still keeps the Bat and Bruce Wayne very separate, though he does not utilize a Brucie persona. Instead, he makes himself seem more quiet and soft-spoken so people tend to overlook him.(Bruce does not realize that his persona is someone that is one bad thing away from going full on crazy. Everyone in high society knows something is wrong with Bruce Wayne, and just does not comment on it.)

Bruce still has his no kill rule. That does not change, but any enemy of his will tell you that there are worse things than death.

He is 23 when he adopts 8 year old Dick Grayson.

Dick

Dick joins not long after he does in canon, or at least he tries to. After he figures everything out, he confronts Bruce and says that he wants to be a part of the business. He wants Zucco‘s head on a stick. Bruce gets him to compromise. They will capture Zucco and after a few years of training, Dick will be allowed to do what he wants and take on his own role. 

For a few years, he takes the role of Robin, a terrifying person who has seen as Batman‘s little shadow, constantly following him, and smiling brightly enough that people will forget about the blood covering his knuckles.( some believe he gives the smiles that Batman never has. Others believe he is the one thing that keeps the Bat from killing.)

As he grows, Robin’s persona of a vicious, smiling distraction slowly morphs into an amazing fighter who smiles unsettlingly and bends in a way that does not seem entirely human.(about 60% of Gotham’s criminals believe that the bat and robin and all of their associates are not human. Most of them of them think demons of some kind, though there is a smaller portion that believes that they are embodied souls coming back to enact justice)

Nightwing is not a reality in this world(since that is a story learned from Superman.) Instead, criminals learn to fear Nightingale, a distractingly, beautiful person whose voice tends to make you mesmerized so you don’t see the bloody intent behind it. The underground calls him a siren, and Dick is very good at making people tell him what he wants to hear.

In this AU, he switches to Nightingale after Tony Zucco is finally killed. Bruce had kept Zucco in a cell for years, until Dick was old enough to do what he originally wanted. Dick kills him in an act of final revenge, wearing his family’s colors. After the death, he decides he doesn’t want to dirty those colors anymore.

It becomes a commonly known fact that Robin doesn’t kill, and neither does the Bat. But once they get their own costume, you have to be cautious of the fact that some of them don’t have a no kill code.

Dick is 17 when 12 year old Jason is adopted

Jason

Instead of stealing from Batman, Jason is caught stealing tires of Bruce Wayne’s car. The rest of the interaction follows canon though.

Before Bruce formally adopts him, he tells Jason who is surprisingly okay with it.(Jason grew up in Crime alley. He knew what the Bat did with the worst of the worst, and how the Bat made life more live able.)

He and Dick don’t get along in the beginning, but after an attempted kidnapping at a gala, they get better.

The two incarnations of Robin are very different. Dick’s Robin was loud and haunting in his joy, beating people bloody with a smile. Jason’s Robin was softer in a sense, brash but polite. He was careful to only injure in places that they could recover from, and helped a lot of the victims(people whispered that he was the innocence that Nightingale had lost, that the Bat never had.)

The only people he didn’t care about hurting were the abusers and assaulters, men drunk on power. (More and more people started believing the re embodied souls theory with Jason. He seemed the most human of all the Bat family)

Then, when Jason was 15, he was kidnapped as Robin, and Gotham was never the same.

Note: Thank you all for being so interested in my writings. I don’t know if this is good or not, I’m sick at the moment and just wanted to finally write this. Let me know what you think!

[galaxythedragonshifter]

AKSJHDHDBDBBD IM CRYING 😭

THAT WOULD BE SO FUNNY IF THATS HOW IT WENT

herobrine enjoyers 🤝 DCA enjoyers

taking the weirdest little guy and barbiedolling him into a million different scenarios

[unholyhelbig]

request: oversight au, nat and reader run into reader’s ex or ronnie’s father who was abusive to them… how will mob nat react?

Title: Old Flames [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader has an unexpected run-in with an old flame and things go less than well, Natasha takes things into her own hands.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Talks of past domestic abuse, talks of abortion, buried alive references, broken glass, blood (always), Heights, threatening statements, non-consensual kiss, horrible grammar (aways).

[a/n: Okay, I had way too much fun with this. While I loved writing the main story, it's also super great to branch out into some more dynamics with Mob Boss Nat, because I haven't made her mean enough yet.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The apartment building on the corner of twelfth and Hawke was a large midcentury brick building that structure that stretched to the sky. A metal fire escape latticed up the side and stretched clotheslines dripping with shirts and pants connected it to the adjacent building that had long since been used for storage.

Up until this point, you had avoided this building. Luckily, the tenants were quite timely with their rent and left little need for an enforcer to knock door to door. But it was right after the holidays and things were tough. That much, you understood. But it didn’t’ change the fact that three units were more than two months behind on their rent.

Them, you could appeal to with hot chocolate and some gentle urging. But according to Clint, there was a particularly nasty group of people living on the top floor that had gotten multiple noise complaints thrown their way.

The address hadn’t seemed familiar until you stood at the entrance and got a good look at the golden door that contrasted the rest of the structure. You’d written the code to the door on your palm, and you were having trouble differentiating the last number. It was a zero, or it was an eight.

“Gross, you’re sweaty.” Kate had pulled your hand a small distance from her scrutinizing stare, trying to read the smeared purple markings. “I knew we should have used the napkin.”

The woman dropped your hand and stepped up to the small box on the side of the entryway. She hit every button known to man until the fragile voice cracked through the speaker. “Yeah, uh-huh, pizza. I have pizza. Pepperoni-“Her ramblings were cut off by the loud buzz in.

You were treated to an innocent smile as she wrenched open the door and allowed you to follow her in. She was innovative, annoyingly so. Most of the time it worked in your favor but sometimes you found her testing your temper just to prove a point. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed your hesitation.

It was coming back to you now; the large entryway that was lined with lock and key mail slots and a bolstered wooden staircase that was scarcely used compared to the elevator. Natasha kept good care of the place, had repainted and made sure every single lightbulb was humming in synch.

Some would say that she improved the neighborhood, block by block. But there were still those who liked the way things used to be; living paycheck to paycheck with an angry and withering stare being sent your way with each collection call.

“I’ve got Miss Henderson.”

“Oh, come on.” You protested “She sounds so cool.”

Miss Henderson was an older woman who lived on the fifth floor. Most of the time, her rent was late because it had simply slipped her mind. One look at Kate and she’d write a check before offering some of the sweetest cookies you’d ever tasted, often sending her back with a plateful.

From what you had heard, she used to travel with a circus as an acrobatic performer. Her act was death-defying; a performance that relied on her partners quick bladework. The Swordsman and his Enchantress. There were illustrations of their travels hung up around her unit- ones that you would kill to see.

“Too bad, next time.” Kate mock pouted at you before clapping you on the back. “Don’t make too much of a mess up on the top floor, alright? I don’t want to scrub carpets today.”

She took the stairs two at a time and left you alone in the lobby. A cool blast of wind hit your back as a tenant walked in with their dalmatian, pink tongue lolling to the side as his owner checked the mail, barely sparing you a glance.

The type of New York residents that occupied this space had changed greatly. The last time you’d been here was a walk of shame that left your feet raw and bleeding. You’d rushed from the apartment with so much fever that you never returned for your shoes, or your dignity, for that matter.

This time, you had shoes on, ones that you had scrubbed free of blood until they looked presentable. They were leaden on the stairs up to the top floor. Once you reached the fifth, you could hear Kate’s distinctive laugh behind the oak door. At least she was close.

The top floor was nearly silent. You could hear a television, a hockey game that you’d been listening to sparingly on the way over here. It sounded like Toronto was pulling through. The sound of a beer cracking pulled you away from the muffled announcers words.

A radio was resting in an upper window. You and Kate had heard it from the street below, a French Pop station that you could barely make out the words of. French was never your strong suite, one language requirement in high school was enough for you.

Silently, you prayed, that it was a coincidence. That the radio didn’t’ belong to the very men that you were meant to speak to. They were flighty, you told yourself. They weren’t ones to stay and if they chose to stick around after all these years- well, you’d be impressed.

You knocked twice on the center door, the deep forest-green paint threatening to chip under the elements. The music stopped abruptly, and while you could hear that someone was whispering quietly in French, you couldn’t make out the words.

The man that opened the door was too familiar for your liking; his pale waxy skin, his deep brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black, the tattoos that were smattered in different designs against his throat, down his collarbone. Pockmarked on his arms. His hair was longer than you remembered, greasier and tied up in a bun.

He took you in for a singular moment, shock reflecting in his stare, but before he moved to shut the door. You stopped the action with one strong hand, putting your boot between the frame and the wood for extra measure. “Don’t be like that, Kazi.”

“All these years, and now you’re coming back for child support?”

He raked his eyes up and down your body in a way that made you feel violated. You held your stance. He seemed impressed by the bout of strength.

You tsked “if I wanted child support, I would have gone after it by now. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

He scratched under the sleeve of his tank-top, considering you the same way you considered him. Eventually, he seemed to figure he had nothing to lose pulling the door back and letting you enter the apartment. Waves of memory washed over you.

Kazi still had the same futon covered in the same ratty blanket. There was a kitchen table that was stacked with different folders that he would never, in a million years, let you view. A blue funnel was drying on the dishrack, and countless liquor bottles that had been emptied and cleaned were lined up, ready to be filled with the slightest bit of homebrewed alcohol.

He was still running the same scam after all of these years. You remembered liking the danger about him, the way his stubble felt against you when you straddled him. He’d been so alluring to a good girl like you. He would street race at night with another guy you’d met a handful of times, Robbie Reyes.

God, you had been so naive back then. He was drawn in by your innocence and you were entrapped by his experience. If only you knew where you’d end up in seven years; with Kazi’s biological daughter being raised by the most powerful woman in the city.

The moment you told him you were pregnant, he told you bluntly to get rid of it. That same night, he’d thrown an empty liquor bottle at you, just barely missing your head. You’d refused outright and accepted his anger in turn. Glass shards cut into the soles of your feet, and stained the snow all the way back to your dorm room.

The way he stared at you now infuriated you. “What do you want, then?”

“You’re two months late on rent.”

“I figured you’d keep tabs. Most women do. But my rent? That’s a new one.”

You picked up a small paperweight that you remember being fond of when you returned to this apartment after a first date where Kazi was a perfect gentleman. He’d bought dinner, and walked you back to his place. The glass object was tinted yellow, a small mosquito suspended in the center. He must have gotten it in a museum gift shop.

“Truthfully, I’m shocked you still live here.” You tested the weight of the object. “Most landlords aren’t very lenient about tardiness.”

“Yeah, well. She’s not very attentive. What can I say?”

Oh, but Natasha was quite attentive in more than one aspect, at that. You couldn’t’ help the smile that spread against your lips. Kazi was growing agitated with your presence, always quick to temper.

With all the strength you could muster, you threw the paperweight at the wall directly behind him. In its innate cheapness, it shattered into a million pieces, littering the carpet and slicing little bites into his skin. Kazi flinched and covered his face with his arms.

“Fuck! Y/n, what the hell!” He screamed.

“You have two weeks to backdate the rent, Kazi. Another week to get us this month’s amount. That sounds reasonable to me. Attentive, even.”

He reached into the back of his sweatpants and pulled out a silver Kimber, pumping the top chamber and aiming it at you with a shaky hand. He was too lax with his hold. A pinprick of crimson was dripping from a cut on his cheek.

“Come on, Kazi. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure you can push some half-rate liquor. Sell a few of your gold fillings, and come up with the money my employer is required.”

“Employer? You work for that… monster?”

“Now, there’s a big word.” You closed the distance between the two of you, not giving him a moment to react before you wrenched the gun from his hand and threw it onto that ratty old blanket that adorned the futon he’d found on the side of the road. “So much horrible implication behind it too. You shouldn’t name call.”

Your boots crunched against the shattered glass. Kazi was barefoot, he flinched as flesh was dug into by uneven shards. You could smell the rancid coffee on his breath. He had a mole just on small of his nose.

“What happened to you?” he whispered, “Where’s that girl that stormed out of my apartment because she didn’t get her way?”

“A lot can change in seven years, Kaz.” You glanced around his apartment. “Well, most people change. Some people don’t go anywhere in life.”

Kazi pressed forward, his dry lips suddenly against yours. You froze in an instant, appalled by the acrid taste of cigarettes and stale morning coffee that he had no-doubt heated up in the microwave and drank black. The kiss was strong, rushed and painful in the way that his teeth knocked against yours.

It took less than a second for you to push him away. His head hit the cabinet behind it, rattling the glasses inside. Your hand was splayed out on his chest, nails digging into the stained tank-top he wore. He grinned wolfishly at you. Your teeth had dug so hard into his lip that it drew blood.

“I like this rough version of you, sweetheart. It’s hot.”

You reeled back and slapped him across the face with as much force as you could muster in your close proximity. The radio in the window seemed to flicker out of power at that moment, or maybe they had just run out of shitty pop music to play. Either way, the two of you were engulfed in silence.

“Shit, baby, hit me again!”

He had no idea how much you wanted to abide by that, though, you were quite positive that it would do nothing but spur on his arousal. This wasn’t going to work. If he kept pushing the way he was, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from pulling your own weapon.

It suddenly became too much, standing in the middle of this time-capsule of an apartment. The memories were too strong. When the two of you were together, everything you did was for his benefit. And while this had been fun at first, testing him like this, it was too much.

You grabbed the collar of his sweat-soiled shirt, wrapping it around your fingers with enough force to tear the fabric away. “Two weeks, you fucking asshole. If you don’t have the money by then, I’m sure the city will have a fun time scrubbing your brain matter from the sidewalk.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He sneered.

You pressed your booted foot down on the top of his, listening as the glass dug deeper into the soft skin. This time, he did cry out in pain, the grinding of pieces close to bone making his eyes water. You placed your hand over his mouth, muffling his protest. “I will make your miserable existence a living hell, with or without the money, for what you did to me. Do you understand?”

“You’re so full of shit-“ you pressed your full weight down and you squirmed under your hold. “Yes! Yes, I get it. Fuck!”

You pulled yourself away from Kazi entirely, straightening his shirt. He was slumped against the counter, staring at you with pure rage in his eyes. He shifted his full weight to his other foot, grimacing at the edged stain on the wooden floor.

“You should really clean that up.” You gritted, mouth still tasting of stale smoke. “Glass can be dangerous, Kazimirez.”

By the time you got to the car the only thing on your mind was taking the hottestshower possible. You’d pawed through Kate’s glovebox rather frantically and counted it a small blessing that that there was a single unwrapped piece of gum at the very bottom.

She cringed as you popped it in your mouth and let the minty dusty taste coat your tongue. If you could, without raising suspicion, you would have dumped solvent on it, just to take the taste of Kazi out of your mouth.

“I don’t know how long that’s been in there.” Kate said, watching you warily as you picked up her water bottle and downed half of that too. It seemed to take the rest of the rancid flavor away.

“I don’t care”

“You should care, I bought this car used.” She frowned, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Okay, I didn’t’ buy it. I bought the license plates though, that’s my civic duty.”

Her words were enough for you to roll your window down and toss the gum from it. Despite your profession, you weren’t a very good liar. Not when it came to Natasha. She’d ask you about your day like usual and you’d crumble under her seemingly innocent gaze.

Nothing Natasha did was innocent.

“What happened up there?” Kate asked.

The two of you were well out of the city by now, and still had about a half-hour until you got to the mansion. The family liked their privacy, and after a year of living there permanently, so did you.

When you didn’t answer right away, she kept going. “Because I got cookies. Nearly choked on one when Miss Henderson insisted on a private show. It’s seriously a wonder that a woman her age can still bend like that.”

“Katie,” You warned, “Gross.”

“Impressive actually. She kept her clothes on, which I am eternally grateful for. It looks like you had a more eventful visit with the French dudes upstairs.” She scoffed, “Who the fuck is French anymore?”

You rolled your eyes and slumped further into your seat. Kazi was French. You used to crumble when he gave you the choppiest lines that he could remember. According to him, the language is harder to speak than it is to read and write. You never questioned him, just like you didn’t question a lot of things.

“I have a… history with the man who rents 807.”

“A history, or a… history?”

“The first one. The second one. Shit- I don’t know, both! He’s Ronnie’s dad.”

Kate slammed on the brakes with enough force for a layer of rubber to be peeled from the tires of her mostly stolen care. The seatbelt cut into your neck and you figured yourself lucky that you’d taken a back road that was rarely used, god forbid she cause an accident.

“Dude!” You shouted as she put the car into park.

Kate twisted her entire body in the seat, placing her hand on the back of your seat. The motor was sputtering wildly, trying to compensate for her abrupt stop. Something had to be damaged, you thought, with her force on the pedal.

“Don’t dude me. Are you really that dense? If you haven’t noticed, Natasha is possessive over her things. And you? Well, you’re one of her favorite things. She’s not going to take this well in the slightest.”

“Kate, I think I know how to handle my girlfriend.”

“No, you know how to handle Natasha, the sweet, loving woman who would die for you and your child. Admirable, really. But you don’t know how to handle Miss Romanoff, mob boss extraordinaire.”

But you had seen Natasha in action before, countless times. She’d always kept this calm coolness about her that you were in awe of. Maybe Kate was right. You’d only seen a fraction of her jealous side at the first party you had ever attended in the house. That night she ripped the dress she’d picked out specifically for you to shreds.  

“I was dating a man named Eli when I was first taken in by the Romanoff’s, He turned out to be… not so favorable despite my constant reassurances. Natasha just knows. She had him dig a grave right off I-25 and then she made him lay in it.”

Your jaw threatened to drop at the simple fact. Kate removed her hand from the back of the seat and eased off the brake before she slowly got the two of you back up to an acceptable speed.

“All Eli did was cheat on me one night in a club. It wasn’t great, but I wasn’t sure if it warranted that kind of reaction. I never knew if she was proving a point to me, or to Eli. Either way, the smallest offense against any of us is met with archaic conviction.”

You didn’t respond to Kate, instead you stared at the trees that were whizzing by in a lush green wall of color. You’d decided that she was right- any type of reaction Natasha was going to have to Kazi would be severe.

“You’ll be fine.” Kate tapped her fingers nervously on the wheel, trying to backtrack her words. “As long as he didn’t’ touch you.”

It didn’t seem to matter how ferociously you scrubbed your skin with the honey scented soap you shared with Natasha, you swore you still smelled like smoke. It clung to your clothes, and lingered in the air after you’d shoved them to the bottom of the clothes basket.

The water was blazingly hot, filling the bathroom with a thick mist that made it slow to breathe. Natasha had chosen a dark blue tile that seemed to transport you into another world. Even without the scaring remembrance of Kazi’s lips against yours, his hands where you didn’t want them, you could stay here for hours.

Her hands were freezing cold and startling as they splayed against your naked stomach. You let out a small noise, going rigid before registering Natasha behind you. Her front was pressed against your back, and you’d know the curve of her body anywhere.

“Izvinite, moya lyubov', I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turned in her arms and took in the state of her. She’d stripped down just as you had, small drops of water littering her skin like a constellation in the sky. She’d been in the sun today, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose giving her away.

There was a bruise forming against the side of her jaw, one that you ran your waterlogged fingers over. Her eyes were an intoxicating shade of green, playing off the indigo tiles. You wanted to scold her for getting the bruise in the first place, but you were so entrapped by her simple presence, the way she fit so perfectly against you.

Natasha closed the distance between you both, pressing her lips against yours in a hurried kiss. You moaned into the embrace, allowing her tongue to find purchase in your mouth. God- you had missed her in the short few hours you’d been apart.

“Did you take up smoking?” she asked, barely pulling away, the words were spoken flushed to your lips. “It’s a terrible habit, darling.”

The glovebox gum hadn’t done its job, and apparently the swish of mouthwash and subsequent teeth brushing hadn’t done anything either. Of course, Natasha noticed. Of course. You weren’t going to try to hide it, though the thought did occur to you to save some heartache. But you were hoping you could placate her in a less slippery spot of the house when you were less naked and incredibly turned on by her presence.

A groan of a different cadence than she was used to escaped you as you dropped your head to her shoulder and clenched your eyes shut. “No, I didn’t take up smoking.”

“You taste like you have,” She gently led your eyes to hers. It was tender compared to the first time she had done so. “Licking ash trays again?”

“Gross, no.”

Natasha valued honesty above all. That much had been clear from the moment you met her. She’d nearly taken your head off in the gym when you repeated your one-night-stand with the enemy. The devil incarnate who happened to only be decent in bed. You remembered her hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to give her the answers she craved.

“What is it, pet? You can tell me.”

“Do you… I’ve been with men before.”

She let out a small chuckle that reverberated off the deep tile. “Yes, I know. I didn’t want to make assumptions, of course, but Ronnie does have a father.”

The way you stared at her in the silence that followed the statement made the smile on her face falter until it dropped entirely. She must have seen something behind your eyes, something that weighed the situation down more than she was intending on a typical Wednesday night.

“I’d completely blacked it out and didn’t realize it until I stepped foot into the lobby, but he still lives in the same apartment on the top floor. He thought I was after child support, or something but things sort of… escalated.”

You felt like a child, spilling your secrets about a vase you had broken. This time it was a cheap paperweight with a bug in the center that you frankly felt bad for. The words came out like emotional vomit, granted, Natasha had become used to your rapid admissions.

Her grip tightened against your chin, “Escalated how?”

“He kissed me, and I hit him hard enough to break his jaw.”

That same silence enveloped you again. The scalding water had lost its effect, numb and beating against your back. The two of you were still impossibly close and there wasn’t much escape for you in a shower this size. The glass door having fogged up and only giving you a stunted view of the large bathroom.

Natasha had an immeasurable rage behind her stare, her lidded expression ran as dark as old blood. It chilled you to your core. She reached beside you and shut off the constant flow of water. You’d been in here for about an hour now and the cold air that touched your skin felt like an assault of needles. You instinctively wrapped your arms around your center to preserve warmth.

“He laid his hands on you.”

“Yeah, Nat, he did.”

“He touched you.”

“I gave him hell for it, but it didn’t seem like it was enough.”

“Without permission.”

“He’ll never do it again.”

Whatever split-second decision she made; it was done without the usual calculation behind her eyes. She threw the door to the shower open and forcefully shoved a towel into your arms. While you revered in the warmth, you watched as she sauntered in her usual way out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom. She was dripping wet.

“Natty!” You stumbled over the partition and nearly slid on the bathroom floor. It was much colder outside of your cocoon of warmth and subsequent mist. She thankfully hadn’t left the room and was pawing through her side of the dresser. You nearly lost your footing once you reached hardwood. “Fuck,”

She seemed to find what she was looking for, a plain black tank top that hugged her sides and looked entirely uncomfortable to wiggle into while damp. You watched with baited breath in a sloping towel as she adorned herself with underwear and pants, before turning towards you.

“Get dressed.” She ordered in a dangerous tone.

Shit. She was going to make you dig your own grave. You’d just showered all of the grime from Kazi’s apartment off and in a matter of minutes you would have dirt up to your knees. Natasha may have let Eli live after his blunder, but maybe she’d cover you completely and let you suffocate in your own efforts.

Numbly, you put on a pair of sweatpants and the closest shirt you had. There was no need to get dressed for your own funeral, you supposed. The worms would chew through whatever you wore regardless.

Clint was stretched out on the chase in the foyer, a pair of thick-lensed glasses balancing on the tip of his nose. Regardless, he still squinted at the book in his hands. You wondered why he wasn’t in the living room, but caught a glimpse of a particularly intense game of twister between Ronnie, Yelena, and Kate.

Darcy held onto the board, flicking the small plastic needle and calling out the colors. When Kate clocked the anger in Natasha’s eyes, she dropped to her back, taking down Yelena and Ronnie with her.

She gave you a pleading look, but you were already too far gone to return anything other than a flushed expression. You followed obediently after Natasha. She opened the front door and watched you with a calculated expression before slamming the front door hard enough to shake the glass fronting.

“Get in the car.”

“Do you want me to grab a shovel?”

“What?”

She contemplated this for a minute, growling softly. The near silence was terrifying. Her arms crossed over her chest was terrifying. Your mouth with incredibly dry, and you wished that you were back under the constant stream of water.

“No. I don’t think we’ll need that. Get in the car.”

Numbly, you did as you were told, placing your hands in your lap. This was quite possibly the last time you would be sitting in any car, much less, next to Natasha. She reached across you and pulled your seatbelt into place, tugging on the upper portion until she was sure you weren’t going anywhere.

The tires picked up traction on the gravel and the drive that usually took an hour seemed to whiz by. Natasha was quiet, the route to the city more than familiar by now. She run her hands against the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. You could hear her breathing deeply, trying to ease her nerves. You didn’t dare say a word.

For a moment, you figured that she’d abandoned the idea of burying you alive and switched her ideals to something much more sinister and public. She pulled her car up to the front of the very building you had left a few hours ago, the sun just barely setting behind the skyline. You blinked at her, and then up at the very property that she owned.

“Come on.”

There was no room for discussion. The air here was clouded with the scent of smoke and the coolness of the cement structures around you. It was moments like these where you much preferred the country.

Of course, Natasha knew the code, she had recited it to you earlier as you and Kate ate lunch by the docks, stretched out on the hood of her car. It was wrong then and your nerves were too elevated to pay attention now. She got in without the theatrics.

There seemed to be more activity as the day for working folks began to wind down. Two people halted their conversation by the mail-slots, nodding solemnly at the woman. On the third floor, you caught a glimpse of a woman struggling to push her keys into the lock, juggling her gym bag. The sixth floor held a small boy who darted from one apartment to another, edging across the hall.

She kept climbing until that same irritating French pop filled your ears. He must keep it on at all hours of the day, just to drown out his own miserable thoughts. “What apartment?”

You lifted your chin slightly, hands shoved in the pockets of your sweatpants to ward off the biting chill. “807.”

“Spasibo, lyubimyy.”

Natasha’s booted foot connected with the center of the very door you had politely knocked on earlier in the day. You flinched, covering your face with a guarded arm. The wood of the doorframe seemed to splinter, slivers reigning across both sides of the entrance.

“What the fuck!”

Kazi was hunched over the kitchen table, the funnel that had been drying by the sink was positioned perfectly in the mouth of a soaked and peeled liquor bottle. He had a stack of his own labels ready to place evenly on the finished product. Both of his feet were haphazardly wrapped with gauze, small sprouts of blood worming through the soft material.

He’d taken care to clean up the glass, but with the way Natasha headed straight towards him, that didn’t matter much. More of it fell to the floor and shattered upon impact. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and started walking him backwards across the living room. Kazi seemed too stunned to speak, his words caught in his throat.

“I-I-I didn’t mean it! Please!”

“When you speak to me, you’ll do it clearly.” She gritted, shoving him towards the window. Somewhere in the scuffle, the radio had fallen from its perch on the cracked windowsill, crashing to the alleyway below with one last fizzled cry. “You had no trouble saying whatever you wanted earlier, did you?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I told that bitch I would have the rent!”

“Yeah? Was that before or after you shoved your tongue down her throat?”

Natasha bent Kazi’s torso fully over the screenless window. He grasped frantically at her hands, clawing at them as the balanced him over the long drop to the pavement below. His bare feet kicked, trying to throw her off her equilibrium, but he was much too weak for any type of damage.

“You walked out on them.”

“What? Oh, my god, what?! I told her to get rid of it- I didn’t walk out on anyone! You’re batshit lady!”

To you, it didn’t’ seem very wise to throw insults at the woman holding you above an eight-story drop, but Kazi never was known for his intelligence. His bravado, maybe, but never anything more. He looked so small compared to Natasha’s anger.

“She didn’t get rid of it, Kazi. She kept the kid that you couldn’t have bothered to give another thought to. She made a life for both of them. She fucking loves that kid enough to fill the absence you left.” Natasha let her hand slip, letting him waver in his height for a moment before pulling him back up. He was crying, sobbing for his life. “And you have the nerve, to touch her, to break her and then come rushing back when she was strong enough to pick up the pieces?”

“I wasn’t ready,” he moaned out “I couldn’t be a dad.”

“It seems like there are a lot of things you can’t do, doesn’t it? You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. A pathetic excuse for a human being and once we leave here- I never want to see your face in my city again. Am I clear?”

Kazi let out another course of intelligible, wet, words. His back was nearly breaking under the force of Natasha’s hold, her knee directly up against his crotch, pushing down with all the strength she could muster.

“Y/n, I think this is a teaching moment, don’t you?”

The softness of her words as she addressed you caught you off guard. There was no malice. In fact, she beckoned to you as if she was calling you into the living room to join her under the blankets for a movie. Your heart raced fast enough for your chest to ache as you closed the distance between you both.

“See, the trick is making them think that you’re going to let them go.”

She said this to you as if Kazi wasn’t a slobbering mess under her touch. He’d carved little half-moon marks against the tops of her hand, some of them starting to leak blood with the sheer force of his struggle.

“You have to get creative with the fear aspect. If they think they’re going to die, it tends to work in our favor. Doesn’t it, Kazi?”

“Please,” He whimpered, “I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry, y/n, I’m sorry.”

Natasha did the seemingly impossible, she pushed him further out the window, his calves struggling for purchase against the drywall. “Oh, now that simply won’t do. You must keep her name out of your mouth.”

“In situations like these, darling, it’s best to keep full control. If he was anything other than wretched, then maybe you’d have to worry about him fighting back. You’ll get some people like that, but that trick is having leverage, literal and physical in cases like this.”

“I see,” You let the words escape you in a single breath “and how long do we play this game?”

“Until they know it’s not one.”

It took little effort for Natasha to push Kazi the rest of the way out the window. In spite of his clinging grip, the force of gravity was enough to do the work for her. His cry stunted in his throat and it only took a few seconds for a dull thud to echo through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable sound of a car alarm going off.

With a small gasp, you leaned over the window yourself, staring down at the white Toyota that now had a sizeable dent in the top, the windshield spiderwebbing. Kazi let out a groan that you could hear from up here, blinking up at the sky with malice and shock in his eyes.

“Nat,” You breathed.

“Please, eight stories is survivable. Some people need to be taught a lesson.” She shrugged, pulling you back into the apartment by the sleeve of your shirt. “I’ll pay for the car repairs, if that makes you feel better, detka.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“Of course I did.” She reached forward and cupped both of your cheeks, forcing you to look at her. It was impossible to ignore the gesture, the words that she had said with so much blind passion. Tears threatened to overtake your waterline. “moya lyubov', he put his hands on you without permission and before that… before that he hurt you in ways unimaginable. I meant every word I said.”

You could hear sirens in the distance, a hazard of living in the city. They could be for Kazi, you supposed, something to take care of the surely broken ribs and the bruised ego. But, they could be for something more important.

You pushed forward and kissed Natasha delicately. You wanted to be impossibly close to her. Most gestures you had received in the past had come in the form of flowers, maybe the occasional box of chocolate from the drug store. Once again- Natasha had proved something to you.

Her chuckle vibrated into the kiss, “Mm, we should probably leave.”

You couldn’t agree more. You wanted to get out of this stupid apartment that was teeming with memories of your time with Kazi. The way he claimed his love for you, and forced you to make a horrible decision all in one exhale.

As the two of you walked down the long and winding steps, Natasha asked, “What was with the shovel thing?”

You laughed, suddenly feeling foolish for fearing Natasha in the first place. Her silence caused waves, and somehow, that was worse than if she’d threatened you outright, something that she never did with much heat.

“Kate, she told me about her ex-boyfriend, Eli, I think she said his name was.”

“Ah, Eli.” She frowned, “He cheated on her, and I only made him dig for an hour.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, as long as you never make me dig my own grave.”

 “I would never do that. There is no punishment in things you can’t control.” Natasha gave your hand a squeeze, her solemn words punctuated with a slowly creeping smile. “Besides, detka, that’s simply not my style. It was much too messy.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[multific]

It Started with Some Questions 

Simon Riley x Reader

Warnings: sexual innuendos, mention of blood, being shot

Summary: You were good at your job. Being a lawyer to an infamous mob boss had its ups and downs. Especially when you are being questioned by two very good-looking men. 

"We just have a couple of questions. So, where's your boss?" the one with the cute Scottish accent sat down across you.

You let out a sigh.

"I told you, I'm only his lawyer."

"Then where's your laptop?" he asked and you smirked.

"In my panties." 

After a few seconds of complete silence, he spoke up again.

"Look, Lady, we don't have any time to play games! Either you tell me, or he will take over." he pointed at the other man.

"Lady? I hoped you would call me your good girl..." the man in front of you punched the table before he left and his friend sat down. "Now, we are in business. I have a thing for masks."

"Tell me what we need to know or I will start breaking your fingers." his tone was serious but he didn't scare you.

"I have a better idea. I tell your friend when my laptop is, and while he is looking for it, we can have some fun alone." you smiled. Even if he was wearing a mask, you saw him frown.

"Stop messing with us! Tell us where he is."

"I don't know where he is. When he realized you guys were here, they hit me in the head, left me behind and fled. I'm not aware of any other safe-houses he has."

"Must be angry if they left you here."

"I am. I would give him to you on a silver plate, Handsome, but at the moment I'm too wet to think." he knotted his eyebrows and looked at your clothes. "Lower." you whispered and his eyes snapped down at your crossed, legs. "Bingo." when you said that he immediately looked away. 

"Fuckin' hell." you heard him say.

You looked at the one called Soap.

"The laptop is in the safe, the code is 789653210123, there is a gun in there if you open the safe, it will shoot you, but if you open it a little you will find a button, push the button and the gun won't fire. I'll give you the laptop password once you have it." you then looked back at the masked man. "I'm not giving up on the fact that you will bend me over this desk and fuck me until I can't even stand! But I need you to kill Mr Givonassi in my name." 

His friend soon came back with the laptop, you gave them the info and soon, they left, leaving you tied to the chair as you were before.

You tried to escape but the rope was too tight. Soon, a man arrived, said his name was Gaz.

He took you to a secret place. So secret, they covered your eyes.

Then, you were in a room, it had a bed, a table and an attached bathroom.

Like a prison cell.

You didn't had delusions of them letting you go.

Then a man entered.

It was your masked interrogator from before. This time, he only had a mask up until his nose. His eyes had dark make up around them and he had a hoodie on.

You sat on the bed and he sat on the chair.

"If you are here to scare me, I suggest you don't. Let's skip to the good part."

"Are you always like this? Is everything a joke to you?"

"Of course not. I would never joked about getting dicked down." your tone and face were so serious, he let out a sigh.

"We didn't find him. They blocked your access. You need to tell me what you know."

"Are there cameras in this room?" you asked and he shook his head.

"No."

"Shame... I guess your friends would have to see you naked, which is a win." 

"For fuck's sake!" Simon stood up to leave but you stopped him.

"He has a wife. He hid her very well, but I saw a paper of their marriage. It had an address." 

"What's the address?"

"Oh, that will take some... work to make me remember. I would say about... four orgasms... yeah that will work."

"I'm not going to touch you."

"You are no fun Mr Riley." you frowned, he quickly stood up and walked over to you, he grabbed your neck and pulled you up. "Chocking huh?"

"How the fuck do you know my name?!"

"I'm not stupid. Everyone thinks I'm some bimbo but I listen and learn!" you pushed him away from you and he let you go, standing in front of you. "This fucker knocked me out and left me behind, he thought I was... some dead-weight. But he is wrong. I might flirt, I might say inappropriate things, but one thing I am not, I'm not stupid, Simon. And now that I have your attention, I can give you all the info I know."

"What do you want in exchange?" you smirked. "Don't say my cock." it made you roll your eyes.

"You are no fun. Would your friend be interested in any? Or your Captain?" he was about to answer but you slapped him across the cheek. Simon was so stunned he looked back at you in disbelief. "DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME A SLUT!"

Then, suddenly, Simon understood.

He understood that this was your way of surviving for so long working for a man like that. Being vulgar and flirty made you survive and he saw it now.

He saw how scared you were, he saw the tears behind your eyes he saw the way your hand was shaking.

And Simon even saw himself in you. His childhood self, a scared little child. 

"Sorry." is what he said and you turned and went to the bathroom.

Five minutes passed, Simon just sat on the bed, looking at his hands when you exited and sat on the chair.

He saw the redness in your eyes. He saw the tears still in them.

"What do you want in exchange for the info?"

"Protection from him and his men. And I don't want some random man. I want you to protect me."

"I can't do that. I have a man to hunt down."

"I won't tell you anything then." you never once looked into his eyes, you looked, sad. 

You dropped the act.

"Then we just let you go and he finds you."

"You think pushing me into a corner is going to scare me? Givonassi is a powerful man. If he realizes I'm alive, he will send someone to kill me. I have some info on him so I can blackmail him, but again, he would just kill me."

"So?"

"So, I have nowhere to go. You pushed me into a corner."

"So, tell me what you know."

"I know about Tommy, Beth and Joseph. I also know about Captain Price's lovely wifey. I know about Kyle's husband and Johnny's little son." you saw his fist clench. "So, I suppose we have an agreement."

"How can you possibly know all this?"

"I listen. Unlike you Simon, I listen and remember everything I'm told. I told you, I want protection. Until the day I see Givonassi's head in a jar." 

Simon let out a long sigh. 

"Go talk with whoever you have to. Oh, and before you think you can just move all those people, family around... I know about the summer homes. I know about the safe-houses. I know about every trick. I give you Givonassi on a silver plate in exchange for you."

"Fair enough." he said before he stood up and left the room.

---

Simon was beginning to be a lot more fidgety. 

He couldn't sit still.

Knowing his team was hot in the tails of Givonassi, he wanted to be there... but he was stuck babysitting you.

And you could see his frustration.

He only spent a week with you and yet he was already ready to barge out of the apartment that was given to you for the time being.

"Am I really that bad of a roommate?" you asked and he looked at you from his phone. "You look desperate to run out of here."

"I want to help my Team." was his answer, simple, yet it was the truth.

"Go on then."

"What?"

"Go and help them." you said. 

"That wasn't the agreement."

"Fuck the agreement. I hate being in a room with someone who is basically waiting to barge out at any second. Go help your friends."

Simon hesitated. He wasn't sure if this was a game. But then he looked at you, really looked at you.

"Why?" he asked.

"You are just like them... you can leave me behind to save your ass. I'm not forcing you to stay any longer. I have been trying for a week to get closer to you, but I feel further and further away. Go."

You went into your room, all you heard was the front door closing.

When the information came about Givonassi's death, a team came over and told you that you can go back to your life now.

Little did they know, you had no life. 

But you did have an old apartment. So, you headed back there.

Even if Givonassi was dead, you still had this feeling, this uneasiness. 

You felt watched and followed.

And your suspicion soon became true.

You went out for groceries when you arrived back, your door was wide open with all of your things scattered.

But who could you call?! 

You wanted to run, but as you turned at the end of the hallway a man appeared. You moved just in time, but he did shoot you.

You laid on the ground as you heard him leave.

He hit your shoulder, the pain was terrible.

You started to pass out when another person arrived.

You were sure you wouldn't wake up ever again.

---

But you did. You woke up in a hospital room, the beeping of the machines made your head hurt.

"Don't move." said someone and when you looked, you saw Simon Riley. "You were shot, I found you and took you to the hospital."

Found you? He did? How?

"My head hurts."

"You lost a lot of blood. I'll call the doctor." but you grabbed his shirt, he couldn't leave, he looked at you.

"How did you find me?"

"When I got back from the mission, I was told that they let you go. I was mad because I knew even if Givonassi died, it didn't mean that you were safe. I was looking for you all this time and when I finally found you, I found you in a pool of blood, half dead. This is my fault. You told me you were in danger and yet I ignored you."

"I should say, I told you so, but I don't have any energy. Why are you here?"

"I told you-"

"I know, I mean why did you stay? Do you feel guilty? Don't. I told you to go, because you just couldn't sit still. I understood you had a job to do and I was holding you back. You don't have to feel guilty. You saved many people by getting to Givonassi."

"I still want to make it up to you somehow." you smirked and he rolled his eyes.

"How about coffee?" you said.

"I prefer tea."

"Fucking Britts." you said before the doctor entered the room to finally check on you.

You smiled at Simon as the doctor explained what happened and what they will do.

But at that moment all you could think about was what will happen with you and Simon.

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In case you want to help out a dreamer: patreon.com/multific  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[numberonesnarkfan]

so... my thoughts on chapter 4. (on release)

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!

sigh.

if I and the majority of the fandom are disappointed with the result, I can't imagine how heartbroken the writers must be.

I was immediately impressed with the significantly increased production value! During the beginning of the game, I was hyped! Mechanics were improved, the buildup was immersive. Everything that happened seemed like it had thought and care put into it.

I even thought the bit of Pianosaurus getting INSTANTLY ganked was cool. Like a fun wink-and-nudge from the devs. If Doey had been a more compelling character, it would've made for a memorable moment. Unfortunately...

Yeah. Doey is heavily DID coded.

And... He follows the same ableist stereotype as every other depiction of it: "a violent and abrasive alter takes over and ruins everything".

Thaaanks, Mob... I really appreciate this public announcement of how you perceive people like me.

(by the way, Doey's chase/battle REFUSED to run at ANYTHING above 13 FPS until I turned the game down to the LOWEST settings. I have a mid-range gaming PC. It can run AAA titles at max settings. Seriously? The entire rest of the game ran smoothly at max settings.)

Yarnaby's death scene was so underwhelming that I almost missed it by not turning around, assuming I was supposed to keep running.

By the end, I felt that the devs must have run out of time and budget pretty fast.

And, of course...

The Doctor.

Baldwin is such a talented voice actor. He deserved a better character than this.

The boss fight itself was so incredibly janky. I was able to cheese it without trying at all, because the robots just kept getting stuck on each other.

Sawyer's introduction and buildup were so good. The game made the player invested in the character, really really hoping that the final confrontation would be everything the trailers hyped us up for.

Every time we destroy different organ systems and he goes quiet for a while, making the player hold their breath, knowing that that can't be it, was SO well done.

Only for... That. A completely unoptimised final encounter followed by a disappointing death scene.

I figured we were going to kill him. But I figured at least that it would be like CatNap's death - compelling and thought-provoking, making you wonder about the setting and the characters.

I thought, at LEAST, there was going to be a compelling scene with The Prototype taking Sawyer like he did CatNap, perhaps more violently, with less warning. The Prototype taking advantage of him and then taking all that remains of him.

Or maybe a scene where his misdeeds catch up to him on his final breath in a moment of devastating terminal lucidity. Nope.

Just the "I was the scientist, the glory was supposed to be mine!" trope. I so badly wanted him to be more than a cartoon villain, man.

The fact that MOB set up this intrigue about his childhood and his origins so well in the ARG and then just... Didn't use it.. Is so disappointing.

Harley Sawyer as a character is a meditation on hubris. I've always said this. That still rings true now, but... There was no trace of that in his death scene. Which is the most disappointing thing. I genuinely think the chapter would've been a lot better in a lot of people's eyes if he had just died better. With some indignity, with some fervor, with anything to make the player feel something.

But hey.

Look. Huggy's back. The big money-making mascot is here.

It really does feel like Zach just said "hi, we here at MOB don't feel like giving our writers and designers and employees enough time or budget to make a good product. Sorry! Oh, and don't forget to buy the merch!"

[angofwords]

hello. Don't know if this feels weird..

Based on the post you reblogged about villains, would you expand on Dino Golzine from banana fish? Where does all the actions of his come from?

Hello! Thanks for such a great question!!

I've actually been intending to write an essay about Dino Golzine for YEARS, so thank you for giving me the excuse to get to it. <3

Because you referenced the post about villains, I figure I'll take each of that OP's observations point by point and apply my thoughts about Dino. Bear with me, because this might be long. Also, it should be emphasized that I DON'T, IN ANY WAY, SUPPORT DINO. This essay might sound sympathetic in places, but it is not. I'm just trying to look at things from his point of view.

"They Should Believe They're the Hero of Their Own Story"

Dino Golzine may not believe he's a hero in a traditional way--he knows he's committing crimes, but I don't think he necessarily thinks that he's wrong. What do I mean? Think about any real-life mob boss. They're the head of a business organization. A family business, at that. He doesn't have family in the traditional sense, but he's got everyone calling him "Papa," so I'm sure he imagines that his staff are some kind of found family where he's the patriarch. It's a warm feeling, knowing that people look up to you, that they rely on you for their livelihoods.

Sure, his business is on the wrong side of the law, but that's just semantics--what are laws but rules set in place by other men? If Golzine's work is an asset to the community--he provides people with things they want (drugs and sex) and undoubtedly funds plenty of political campaigns and public works--then surely something as petty as law shouldn't matter. Sure, his sex business is a bit niche, but there's clearly demand, right? He's making cash hand-over-fist, so he's filling what would otherwise be a void in the market. If he didn't sell cocaine and boys, someone else surely would, so it's not like these boys would have a better life if he obeyed the law.

Hero or not is debatable, but the fact is, Dino is successful. He's strong. He's respected. These are the only heroic qualities that interest him.

"Give Them a Personal Code of Ethics (Even if Twisted)"

Yeah, Dino's code is absolutely twisted, but you can see that he has one. First of all, it's clear that he values decorum. He doesn't like it when Ash is dirty or rowdy or uses bad language. He doesn't like it when things happen that make him look bad (like when the head of the Corsican group decides to replace him because Ash has made a fool out of him). These aren't quite ethics, but they are a standard of conduct. Golzine has a reputation to uphold, after all.

Until he gets angry, Dino tends to be respectful with his peers (the senators, Foxx, Blanca) and even those he thinks are a bit beneath him (Dr Mannerheim). You might ask about the boys at Club Cod, about Ash himself. How is that ethical? Frankly, I'm not sure he considers those boys as human beings. It's like what Ash said, he treated him like a doll, that it never occurred to him that he had feelings.

I think that changes over time, in regards to Ash. Once Ash is his assassin, he develops some level of respect for him--at least enough to see him as a human being. Dino's respect for strength and skill is obvious. I suspect it was Ash's determination not to break at Club Cod (as well as his beautiful face) that inspired Golzine to pull him out, to keep him as his own. And even when Ash became willful and unmanageable, Golzine never killed him (though he threatened a lot), instead giving him an expensive education.

He doesn't let Ash get dosed with banana fish in the mental health facility. He also doesn't let Foxx kill him. We can argue motivation for those actions, but it seems his sense of ethics are a bit warped around Ash. Whether he's protecting him or he wants to destroy Ash himself (I honestly think it's the former), there seems to be line there that he won't let anyone cross.

Also, he fulfills his obligations to Yut Lung. They made a deal and Golzine stands by his end of it, killing his brothers for him. As a businessman, Golzine can honor a contract.

So, while this isn't quite an ethical compass, it's that same kind of structure. Golzine rewards the traits he values, and he probably really thought he was elevating Ash into someone respectable.

"Their Motivation Should be Relatable (Even if Their Actions Aren't)"

Okay, so here's where Dino fails for me. I simply can't relate to the smooth running of a criminal empire, and I doubt most of the readers can, either. I guess it's understandable that he'd want to develop banana fish for the pure profit of it. Still, his motivation being almost 100% financial is a bit gross.

However, if you bear in mind that this manga was written in the 1980s, when "Greed is Good" was a literal bumper sticker slogan, that might be enough to fulfil this particular rule. The '80s were a very different time, ideologically. Being a cutthroat businessman wasn't really considered a character flaw yet.

Also, as far as motivations go, it's understandable that he'd want Ash to take over for him, as he has no heir (and I suspect he'd be grossed out trying to get one the traditional way) and the whole point of this sort of organization is to keep it in the family. I honestly believe that, if he put all the "good" he did for Ash (luxuries, food, nice clothes, a well-rounded education, "rescuing" him from Club Cod) on one end of a scale and the bad stuff (rapey things, mostly, because I'm sure he felt that making Ash into a killer was a good thing) on the other side, Dino probably thought that Ash should've been grateful. I know, it's horribly disgusting, but seriously, that's the only read I can get on him.

"Make Them Competent (Nothing's Scarier Than a Villain Who Actually Wins)"

I don't think this one takes much thought. Dino is scary as fuck. In the beginning of the series, Ash is cocky around him. He's rude and disrespectful and it's beautiful. But I think that's all for show, like the way a teenager might push his dad, but that doesn't mean he really thinks he could take him. Golzine scares the shit out of Ash. All those years, and Ash never left New York? He could get on a bus and make a new life in Chicago or California, but he doesn't. I assume this is because he knows how Golzine would react. He doesn't spend the whole series trying to break free from a guy like this if it wasn't hard as hell to actually do it.

Golzine orchestrates so much truly heinous shit, like the whole situation surrounding Shorter's death. He's quick to punish Ash for rebelling, like when he lets him think he's going to let Mannerheim dose him with banana fish, and when Ash consistently gets the better of him, he uses his resources to hire someone who really can punish him (Blanca and then Foxx). He's relentless, and that's terrifying.

"Don't Forget Their Human Side--What Do They Love? What Are They Afraid Of?"

Dino doesn't seem to be afraid of much, but he's afraid of failure. When Corsica tried to have him replaced, he floundered for a minute. He rallied, of course, and got his position back (partly by murdering the guy who was sent in to replace him), but it was touch-and-go for a minute there. His impotent rage was rather humanizing.

What does he love? I'm going to start with the less-controversial things--he loves order, and luxury. He loves power. He has cats--not an easy pet for people who need obedience, so I assume he has a soft spot for them, too. He loves to hob-nob with powerful men.

Now, for the more controversial. I honestly think he loves Ash. Not in any way that is normal or healthy or even recognizable to most people, but I do think it's love, in the only way Dino knows how to love. He treasures Ash as something he's created, something he owns. It's narcissistic and gross, but I think that Ash is the only person on earth that Golzine wants near him. He reiterates over and over that he owns Ash, even goes as far as saying he'll make a "good wife" out of him. Dino wants Ash in his life forever. Ash is literally his favorite thing.

Before I get attacked for this--OBVIOUSLY Ash deserves more than that. It's insulting and disgusting and horrible to think that any person should be forced to live the way Ash has lived with Golzine, especially under the guise of "love." But Ash is the only humanizing influence on Dino, even if all we see is negative emotions. Ash is able to push Dino's buttons, making him alternately blind with rage and furious with envy. But imagine how soft he might get if Ash tried, even for a second, to be nice to him. I think Ash could have Golzine eating out of his hand, if he wanted. (But obviously, Ash is far too traumatized and terrified of this man to even see this as an option, which is ultimately better for Ash, because such a path would undoubtably corrupt him).

Dino Golzine works because he's larger than life. Not only does he wield an enormous amount of power, he has power over Ash. Ash is a god in this manga--he's the prettiest, smartest, most talented, most capable boy who ever lived--and yet, Dino Golzine has made him desperate enough that he's willing to climb on top of a badly-veering truck for a chance to finally kill him. That's a terrible plan and he knows it, but at that moment, it's all he has, so he goes for it. Dino is a classic, well-constructed villain who gets the work done basically every time he's on the page.

Think about why the fandom hates Foxx--he's an evil caricature and he adds no depth at all to the story. Compare that to Dino Golzine--we hate him because he feels real.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - Week 11 - Mafia AU

I know I’m late today, sorry! So no fuss this week--our trope is: 

MAFIA AUS! 

I love mafia aus. I love the inherent danger of them, and the burn the world down for each other of them, and the sexiness of it all, and how they’re genuinely soft only for each other. Here’s some of my favorites. 

The Consultant by DC_Chan

Mafia AU. Life in the mafia is fairly simple, until something has scared two-thirds of the underground into tightening their defenses. Fury wants to know what has them on the run and how he can turn this to his advantage.

Tony "Iron Man" Stark just wants to get what's his after ten years of imprisonment: Revenge.

kings of the city by Areiton 

The Irish mob held Brooklyn.

The Spider held Queens.

And where Tony fits in the city has never been clear...

Sometimes though, he thinks he fits here--at Steve's side.

Patriarch by spqr for sweetafterdark

Steve ducks into the hall and comes back with a warm, freshly-laundered towel, which feels so good when he wraps it around Tony’s shoulders that he almost lets out a moan. “There we go,” Steve says. “Don’t want you to catch cold.”

“Thanks, daddy,” Tony quips, because he’s an idiot.

Except Steve’s close enough, his hands wrapped around Tony’s biceps through the towel, that Tony can feel his full-body shudder.

Danger Is Silent by jay_girl88

Tony is the front-running name in clean energy and defensive combat tech in the world, but what a lot of people forget, is that he was groomed for his whole life to be a weapons manufacturer. He grew up in war, around war, immersed in war, and somehow, people think that he did that without ever being part of it, but that’s not true. Weapons – whether it’s designing them, making them, or handling them – is practically coded into his DNA, but because he doesn't use that knowledge, it’s easy to assume that he doesn't have it.

But he does.

And just because he doesn’t use it, doesn’t mean he can’t or he won’t.

The most dangerous thing in the world, is the thing that people don’t see coming.

Completely Different Things by Faillen

Tony Stark was a genius. It was something he prided himself on. But being a genius didn’t mean that he always understood the effects of something beyond the tangible.

Exhibit A:

It was one thing to know that your boyfriend killed people.

It was another thing to see your boyfriend kill people.

It was a completely different, and far more alarming thing to know that your boyfriend would kill people for you.

The Unspoken Rule by MimmyWrites for Awmieksdead

It is an unspoken rule in the mafia to never fall for your boss' partner.

That genuinely shouldn't have been a problem for Tony. He's not interested in women, hasn't been for a while. But maybe he shouldn't have assumed his boss was straight.

start a fight ('cause i need to feel something) by Areiton 

Steve figures he’s been stateside a month, been out in the world for a week--it’s past time for things to go tits up. 

It goes like this: someone shoves a gun into his back when he unlocks Peggy’s car after spending a few hours not finding a job. 

“Look, man, I’m real sorry, but I need the car.” 

OR:

Steve has a never met a fight he didn't like, and it's awful for Tony's blood pressure.

[sinclairmaxwellao3]

Hello!! I’m doing research on mobs for my own projects and now I’m SUPER curious. In L&S, how involved is the celestial family, or any others like DJMM or the glamrocks, in law enforcement or politics? Are they paying police to look the other way, does law enforcement have any idea they even exist, do they have someone on the inside, etc?

On a similar note, I’m also kinda curious about the schematics side of things—KC was mentioned to be a businessman with military connections (or had them in the past) and you’ve established prostitution, fighting rings, and extortion rackets, but do you have any idea if there’s any legitimate covers for anything they do? For some reason the image of a legit daycare business being a cover for money laundering keeps coming to me when I think it over. I cannot for the life of me remember if the setting was American or not but I also wonder if you had any thoughts for how the heck people like Ruin report electronic transactions for hits on their taxes (I HC there to be offshore accounts involved.) Does he claim to be a very highly paid bouncer or something. that’d be hilarious

anywho that got long. Have a good day!!

Ruin, specifically, claims his official job title as 'Private Security'! Especially now that he almost solely works for the Don. :) Same for any of the other enforcers. Its never mentioned but I headcanon that the Familio actually runs a law firm, a security company, as well as other different businesses and public works that are so vital to the city's development and infrastructure that the people in charge know that getting rid of them would cause more harm than good so they just...kind of allow themselves to be paid off? A mix of greedy politicians and those who actually *care* about the city are what allow the Celestials to stay in power. KC has essentially used his influence and money to get his fingers into every essential pie he can so that removing him would send shockwaves through the city on a foundational level. He isn't just terrifying, he's smart. Law Enforcement DOES know they exist but I also headcanon that the Chief of Police is one of DJ's closest people and he takes his orders from DJ, using that connection to essentially steer law enforcement away from his allies and those that would bring him the most benefit. However, this is also a world where humans are kind of outgunned and outmatched by animatronics and numbers-wise it's 1:1 so the humans are leery of getting involved in animatronic politics and infighting. :)

[ariezthearies]

BABE, NEW MINECRAFT THEORY JUST DROPPED!

So as we all know, Mojang recently announced the Happy Ghast! And yes, I love them with all of my heart and will never kill a Ghast again, but we're all on the same page about that. I want to discuss something even BIGGER (literally)

So, I have this minecraft poster (exhibit A below) and I've had it for a while. It's an OG poster.

The thing about this poster is that it's full of all kinds of things, and many of which are within the game. Some nonsensical like wither skeletons surfing on lava and chickens swimming IN the lava, but that's all artistic liberty.. Or is it?

Look to Exhibit B as shown below.

In the VERY CENTER of the poster is Jens riding a Ghast. And, remind me what's in the newest Minecraft update? Oh right, RIDABLE GHASTS. I don't believe this is coincidence my dear reader. For now we must examine EXHIBIT C

BEHOLD, a long lost feature lingering DEEP within the games code, existing among the minds of players for OVER A DECADE:

THE GIANT

THAT'S RIGHT MOTHERF****R, A giant that only exists within the Nether. AND is featured on this VERY. SAME. POSTER. Maybe it's just an Easter egg, but all eggs must be cracked, and I believe I've cracked this one WIDE OPEN

My dear reader it is with absolute certainty that I predict within the next 5 years they will not only implement Giants into Minecraft, but that they will be lava stepping nether dwellers. Perhaps they are a new type of boss mob akin to the Warden or the Elder Guardian? Perhaps they simply wander around lava lakes looking for something or someone to feast upon?

May all of our fears and wishes come true, and stay cool dear readers 😌

[phatcatphergus]

Tubbo and Sunny in the prison is so mob boss and his darling daughter coded. Omfghg i need a mafia au right now.

Tubbo being rich as shit and one of the most respected mafia leaders who’s only care is for his beautiful baby girl that he has killed people for. Bodyguard Fit and Driver Pac are part of the mob family as well and the only people tubbo actually trusts to leave Sunny alone with.

[snivyartjpeg]

Rain Code x Fire Emblem

in which our amnesiac protagonist wakes up and is thrust into an all out war

i also commissioned @loremaster to draw this amazing yuma for the au!

Spoilers under the cut:

i'd like to imagine the final boss is the First Dragon's (Number One for short) Clone

additional lore:

makoto and the hommunculi were made by a dark cult called Amaterasu. they wanted to create an undead army through necromancy to take over the world or whatever. this is kind of the primary conflict of the game

shinigami is a death dragon. number one makes a pact with her because he aims to kill the immortal dragon clone of himself, and only something that specializes in death can do that

the book of death is a legendary dark tome that's relatively weak at first but its powers awaken late game

zombified hommunculi would be kind of the "mindless mob" enemy you see in the training levels. they'd be generic until late game where you get rematches with old bosses (as well as specific recruited characters should you have let them die)

i didnt draw them but the aetheria trio are like. definitely a pegasus knight trio that can do triangle attack

also yomi is a holy knight because of the irony (and his self righteousness). he's the main recurring "i must retreat!" antagonist for a while lol

yakou is your jaegen of the game that's powerful at first but falls off later. and then he dies for plot 😔 also his horse is named Ama, cause she's his pal <3

yes i designed number one's dragon from the flight rising coatl. it just kinda screams yuma to me

tbh i wrote like the entire plot on discord a while back but i aint writing allat again sorry. just know this au is rotating in my brain like crazy. i love you fire emblem

[thestalkerbunny]

Please tell us about 1920-30s mob culture. Spare not a single modicum of information. Infodump every little thing. I want to hear about your niche interests.

FINALLY a question WORTHY.

I'll take about what I think is most interesting, the PYRAMID OF MOBS.

-In the 1920s, Gangs went from local criminals being obnoxious to an actual organized structured business format. Albeit illegal in 90% of what they did; there was actually rhyme and reason to everything they did and a strict policy and code of conduct ranging from dress, to attendance to even treatment of women.

Mafia Families are traditionally structured like this.

An associate is someone that is well, associated with the mob. They may do a random off hand job, they're like the very fringe of a friend group in high school. You're not exactly IN with the group, but they may source you for a useful task or two. However-you don't GET the protection that being with the In Group Provides. Think about a Male Hyena entering a new pack. He is beaten, hazed, neglected and down right abused until someone higher up decides he's earned the RIGHT to gain entrance.

Soldiers are the meat of the organization, the worker bees. They do all the little jobs that you think of a mobster doing. Intimidating people, collecting debt money, managing casinos and brothels. They can't be killed off as easily as a Associate as often times-permission had to be granted by the victim's BOSS. (which may be granted if that person is troublesome.) just to avoid gang war.

Caporeigeme is what the title sounds like. Reigning Captain. If the Soldiers are worker bees-the Capos are the ones who manage them. They do much more delicate tasks that require a bit more of a gentle touch. They manage most of the money that channels from the bottom to the top and back down-but they also get in trouble if someone under them fucks up.

The Underboss is the guy essentially being groomed to be the next leader. They're like the vice president, the Deputy. They delegate instructions to the Capos direct from the Boss. They're usually immediate family, like a Son or a Nephew or a Cousin-but that's to assure unquestioning loyalty. If the Boss were to suddenly find himself in jail for some reason or incapacitated or even DEAD-the Underboss will assume power-temporarily or permanetly. This can be contested by a Capo-but they better have the support to back up a claim. Underbosses will often act as figureheads or the faces-Remember. Mob culture is a game of chess and you never put the King in danger if you can help it.

The Boss is the...well boss. Actually, they don't DO a lot. Like I just said-it's a game of chess and you don't jeopardize the King. They're usually very well dressed, classy, and keep out of trouble-but are capable of high violence when the demand comes to it. At all costs, the Boss has to be kept safe-and more importantly out of jail. Compromise of the boss can lead to in fighting, dissolving of the mob family or worse-absorption into a rival mob. All orders will come directly from the Boss and are gradually channeled down through the powers of command mentioned before.

Up there with the Boss-right next to him actually is the Consliegere. It's constantly unsure how much power the Conslierge actually weilds-but it is quite a bit to be equal to the boss. They are Human Reasources, Advisors, Lawyer and Politians all wrapped up in one. They're really the only one to tell the Boss that their ideas are stupid and bad and get away with it. They'll also take the stage if the GOVERMENT starts getting involved or an investigation happens. If the Boss is King-the Consliegere is the Royal Advisor and that is possibly the most powerful position you could have.