#near-midnight posting gang

[thewandererh]

Decided to render one of my soul designs from a bit ago in a sketchy messy style :]. Meet ToyTie ⚓️🔱!

[crispy0nion]

if you pay attention to non-voiced dialogue, side quests and drip marketing posts you might've realized already, but

Billy Kid used to be a member of the Sons of Calydon.

it's not like it has been outright stated but with the amount of hints the game has given, i think it's a safe bet. we don't know the implications of this connection as of now considering how little we know about SoC, but i think we'll get more info in 1.3, along with Caesar's release. with that being said, let's get into it.

starting easy, Billy's jacket. red, and with a boar. need i say more?

not exactly the same, but definitely close enough to have a connection.

moving on, most of the hints can be found in Billy's trust quests. they are triggered randomly (and I assume some of them are only available at a certain trust level) but I think as long as you level up his trust you are bound to get the ones I will be talking about.

first off is the Sixth Street Motor Legend one. you meet Billy on one end of Sixth Street, near the Workshop, and he tells you about this legendary biker who drives his super fast motorbike by Sixth Street at midnight every night. he compares it to the bikes of the Outer Ring, which is where SoC - which we know to be bikers - reside. when questioned on his interest, he mentions how he was just interested in seeing the legendary bike since he himself used to own and ride a bike when he lived and worked in the Outer Ring.

in the second part of this event, he goes to question Enzo, convinced that the legendary biker is him. as Billy described the SSML to him, he uses the words "crimson nightmare" (because the bike is red), which seem to remind Enzo of something. he denies being the biker, but brings up an old customer of his who "fits that description". he describes this guy: member of an OR biker gang, pretty well known in his circle, had white hair and a red scarf. and his name was "Starlight Knight". as soon as he says that, Billy says "that's my name!" which is odd even for a diehard fanboy. he quickly accepts Enzo's words, as if wanting to dismiss the topic, and the Proxy brings up how he seems to be acting suspicious. And then Billy just hurries off. Which is suspicious. If you try interacting with him after the quest is over, he says "Maybe... the Sixth Street Motor Legend should remain a mystery, after all."

in another trust event, he tells the Proxy he used to live in a big truck a long time ago, and he seems to know a lot about cars. both are things that are typically associated with the SoC, iirc.

lastly, there's the Hollow Zero quest. Billy asks the Proxy to bring him to explore the Hollow, and after starting the exploration, you run into some bandits. nothing of note happens in the dialogue before the fight, aside from the leader of the bandits mentioning how Billy looks familiar. in the dialogue after the fight though, some stuff comes up. the leader starts noticing more things about Billy: the white hair is brought up again, and he seems to recognize the red jacket as well. he says "Could it be that you're the legendary-" but Billy interrupts him. and as soon as he's done talking, the leader yells "Run! We don't wanna mess with this guy!" and leaves in a hurry. following that you can question Billy, who seems to be hiding something. his answer convinced me for good that something's up. he says "everyone has a past. you're no different, right? you can't change the past, which is what makes the present and the future far more important." the game wants you to know there's more to his character.

to those who might be wondering why i would bring up the bandits recognizing Billy when it's likely that they simply know him for being a Cunning Hare, let me tell you: that's probably not it. The Cunning Hares aren't famous, they're broke and underground, and would definitely not strike that much fear into Hollow Raiders. the Sons of Calydon though... they might. and as a cherry on top, I doubt "Billy Kid of the Cunning Hares" is even close to being a legendary figure.

i was going to make this post sooner, but I was worried it wouldn't be enough to prove my point. then Caesar was drip marketed today, and...

you don't call the leader of the SoC "Big Sis" if you don't have a past with her, or the entire faction.

maybe there's more stuff i missed. maybe i'm being delusional. but I still invite you to join the "1.3 Billy Kid lore drop" prayer circle. anyways thanks for reading my ramble I just really like it when the silly robot guy with guns has a Past.

[tsumuhours]

AMERICAN JESUS PAIRING: suna rintarō x fem!reader TAGS: alternate universe – gang world, smut, oral, flirty suna WORD COUNT: 10k

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Whether it be in the form of finding an injured member of a notorious gang near your apartment, or trading silence for safety, or how he pulls you into a complicated relationship which goes against integrity and... possibly laws.

mature content !

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Not to say you haven't deserved half of the mandated karma – you haven't always been the best person, given the borderline psychopathic attempt of climbing to the top – but a break, or a nice surprise would be a great change in routines.

Whoever said success is a lonely road was, painfully, correct. To think that you spent your high school years working hard to get into an ivy league, spent those four years working at internships to make those desired connections people dream of!

Only to get out at the age of twenty-two and spend the next year as some glorified, under-paid, under appreciated, assistant. And no, that's not what the job description is supposed to entail, you're meant to be an associate – associates are not supposed to run around getting coffee – with the main purpose of developing your career and hopefully making partner in seven to ten years time.

Not to mention, since the city has unbelievable prices of living, you had to move to a neighbouring borough just for the possibility of having a studio apartment that isn't the size of a closet for the same price. Is it the most convenient?

No, not really, considering the fact the commute is over thirty-minutes and you have to go back and forth from work at unreasonable hours because your boss insists on bringing you to every little, insignificant meeting, or post-work drinks at nine at night – which is an excuse for the woman to spiral further into alcoholism – where you will inevitably end up carrying your boss back to her penthouse on the upper east side.

And no, it doesn't get better, because afterwards, after spending two hours at an expensive bar with the drunken, divorced, mess of a boss you have by the time she gets home safe, you're expected to deal with the city's delayed – and inconsistent – subway times at this ungodly hour and spend the next thirty-minutes in a train with rando's and sketchies.

Oh! No, that's not where it ends, because by the time you get off the subway, it's almost midnight, and you have to take a lovely – scary – ten-minute walk alone to your apartment, but walking anywhere at night is terrifying... Except for the rumour, or fact, that violence has been making its way around the borough, and according to new statistics – regarding the quarterly crime rate review – it's been looking a bit too stabby for your liking.

Now, this walk home is nothing different to how it is every day. You stride down the street with purpose, clutching your taser, and eerily aware of your surroundings. Although, remember how life always has a new way of fucking you over through some odd, irrelevant, way of testing your resilience?

This is one of those occasions.

Let's say it's not common for a man to be curled up in the small alley where residents keep their trash, but then again, crime rates have increased by a percentage that can make anyone uncomfortable – still, committing those types of crimes in a residential neighbourhood where people are simply trying to live their lives is ridiculous. Have some class.

Sure, as a law abiding citizen or natural samaritan would help, but no, not you. Living in a densely populated city means one thing, and one thing only, keep your head down. It's a game of see nothing, know nothing. Everyone minds their own business, that's how you stay safe and avoid danger – including scammers, or the random cult recruiters.

So, you intend on reaching for your keys to the front entrance of your small building, until you hear a small groan come from the neighbours dumpster alley. Sighing, you swallow your pride – and maybe your safety – holding your phone in one hand, and taser in another, and go over to look. The flashlight turned on, as you flash it on the curled up body.

You cannot see his face, but you instantly recognize the leather jacket and matching bandana. Of fucking course, out of everyone in the world, you happen to come across a member of a gang – as if this is some cruel joke from the universe. What do they call themselves? The Foxes? That awful group that parades around in black and maroon, with their emblem of a fox printed on leather jackets that they display for the world to see.

You're reluctant to step forward, maybe it's the threatening affiliation this guy has wound himself with, or the blood on his hands – literally and figuratively – as he grips onto the side of his stomach. The thing is, you've got a massive report to read over and playing doctor with someone is not on your list of side-quests – as it doesn't benefit your position, or reputability on the job any better. However, people are always watching, so if word were to magically get out that you saw a member of this notorious, tight-knit gang and ignored him, that could put a dangerous target on your back.

But, if you help him, you can probably lawyer your way into securing safety for your silence. You could exchange saving his life, for him, inevitably, saving yours in turn – ensuring that you're home, your spaces, where you are at all times is a no-go zone. Sure, that means turning your back on the entire legal system you've spent studying is thrown on the backburner, but you need to look out for yourself.

What is success if it means you've got strangers pinning a vendetta against you, and watching your every move before they strike? How could you ever reach partner if you get killed? How could you ever live with the benefits of making partner, if you get killed before you can exercise those benefits?

The short-term pride is not worth it if you don't get to brag about it... and silence for safety seems like the best option on the table. No one ever said that law always has to be good, it's unjust – at times – unfair and just as corrupt. Only ten percent of people who go into this job do it out of the good of their heart, the rest, the majority do it for the money and respect.

And it isn't part of your job description to be a good person, you're not a doctor. You didn't pledge to an oath about refraining from causing harm or hurt, or to act honestly and responsibility. No, you are conducting yourself with dignity and conscience – and as far as you care, freedom of speech and association still exists, and what you're doing isn't necessarily illegal unless you get recruited or actively participate in a crime.

And since when helping someone not die a crime? He's part of the Foxes, for christ sake. They can invoke power anywhere, he can potentially make you untouchable. You can live your life somewhat more peacefully if it means that safety is a guarantee. If you save one of them, they have no choice but to repay you. That's how the system works.

Sighing, you step closer, bending down to get a better look at him. Flashlight illuminating the severe wound on the side of his stomach, the blood surrounding his black top and his hands. "Fuck my life," you mutter. He's practically losing consciousness with every second, you doubt he's capable of standing up by himself, and there's no way you're going to attempt to fix him by a pile of trash.

So, you do what you can, gently lifting up his upper body, draping his arm around your shoulders as you begin to stand. God is he big, and getting him up the stairs will undoubtedly be a struggle. Still, as if on impulse, his feet start moving as you carry more than half of his weight towards the front door of your building, up the stairs to the second floor – where your apartment remains.

Forcefully, pushing open the door, you find all the strength in your body to lead him to the couch – internally crying at the stain that will taint the grey cushions – where he falls over and lays on his back. Absolutely winded, you walk into your bathroom, searching for that old – raggedy – first aid kit in the cupboards along with cotton balls and comically large band aids that you have no reason for owning.

God, it's as if this was planned, fucking written in the stars. Yes, you were meant to end up in this situation because you are one of the only people in the world who thought it'd be fun and convenient to own large band aids that can temporarily cover a stab wound. Good going!

Gathering all the materials in your hand, you walk over to the couch where he remains in limbo. Again, you're no medical professional, no, the most training you have consists of a short one hour life skills lesson and a topic on human physiology that was part of your biology course in high school. So, yes, you're a bit rusty – but that doesn't mean you're incompetent.

Kneeling down on the floor, scattering the items next to you on the floor, reaching for the cotton balls and bottle of disinfectant. But as your fingers graze over the skin on his torso to lift up his shirt, he flinches, and for the first time since running into him, you look at his face with an offended look on yours – as if he's able to see you through his shut eyelids.

He catches you off guard, the delicate and mesmerising features. Strong jaw, dark hair, furrowed eyebrows that mix in well with the discomfort he must be feeling. Yes, he's beautiful, but he's also bleeding out on your couch and part of an infamous gang that got himself stabbed. Letting out a frustrated, hmph, you lift up his shirt to examine the wound – as if you have any idea what you're doing.

First, you need to unarm him. You run your hands through the pockets of his cargos, pulling out a phone, wallet, and pocket knife, then dig through the pockets of his leather jacket finding nothing alarming.

Next, you cover your hands with latex gloves, then get to work. Letting the cotton balls absorb the disinfectant before running it along his skin, in which he finches in response. "Stop flinching, I'm helping you." You mutter, sure, maybe using water would be a better alternative than bathing him in on the shelf disinfectant, but water is not going to effectively clean him up.

You don't even know what you're doing, and your body, mind, even fucking adrenaline knows that by the way your hands shake. Do you need to stitch him up? You don't know how to suture a wound, you don't even know how to stitch! You don't even own string, yarn yes, but you doubt that sealing someone up with lilac yarn is the most sanitary or safe.

So, of course, you do the most reasonable thing and search it up, and given the short research it confirms that you don't have to do anything – then again, how many people get stabbed and don't receive certified medical attention?

Hands still shaking, you dive into the medical box, looking for antibiotic ointment. "I hate you, you know?" You begin speaking to yourself as you uncap the cream, "You're bleeding out on my couch. Is it a good couch? No, it is uncomfortable, and by the way your legs hand off the arm rests, it's not the biggest. But it's my couch, I found it on the street."

You apply the cream around the puncture, hearing his quiet groans and incoherent murmurs. After that, you reach for the band aid – or non-adherent pad as they call it – peeling off the back and gently placing it over the puncture. It's not a good replacement for proper medical care, but it will suffice until he manages to crawl his way back to wherever he lives and gets professionally treated.

"You better pay for a new couch, or a deep cleaning." You continue, beginning to pack up all your things before standing as you remove your gloves, and move to the kitchen to toss them out. "I have things to do, you know?" You say from the kitchen, washing your hands thoroughly.

That's partially a lie, the things you claim to have insist on reading a fucking brief or case while sitting on your couch watching something on Netflix – because cable is a waste of money – with one of many microwave meals stocking up your small white fridge. Still, this momentary distraction has moved those plans to tomorrow night. A Saturday night.

"I don't know who you are, or what your rank is in this stupid gang of yours, but I don't care." You continue your rant, grabbing a glass of water and pain-killers – placing them on the small cushioned ottoman, because who has the space to own a coffee table? – pacing back and forth in your apartment, where you can finally kick off your shoes by the front door and grab the purse you discarded by the small circular dining table next to the fridge. "I have work to do."

You storm towards your bedroom, dumping your purse on your bed and digging through it for your laptop and thick file, then you grab a highlighter sitting on the bedside table. And hopefully by the time he wakes up, you would have done something worthwhile and beneficial to your career.

So, yes, in conclusion, life always has a weird way of fucking you over. 

An hour has passed since you fixed up the stranger who lays, practically comatose, on your couch. Since then, you've changed out your clothes, showered, and gone through at least fifteen pages of this case you're supposed to assist with and eventually write a report for. Sitting in bed, music softly plays through your laptop as you bite on the end of a highlighter, re-reading the same paragraph over and over again.

It's safe to say that your mind is a bit distracted, maybe it's the fact you're harbouring a criminal in your apartment, waiting for him to wake up and possibly kill you. The Foxes are notorious for many things, heists, robbery, petty murder, but particularly famous for the sale of illegal goods – whether it be drugs, or unlicensed arms – and you happen to have one sitting in your living room.

All for what? The fear of getting murdered? Having a target on your back? Trading integrity for safety? To be fair, those are all valid reasons why you've decided to take him in. You can call the police, turn him in, do greater good for the grand community. He's docile and helpless right now, you've searched him for weapons and you keep his belongings hostage on your bed. But, what are the cops going to do?

You hear a groan coming from the living room, and immediately shoot up from the bed, swinging your feet over the mattress and feeling them hit the cold wooden floors as you turn around to grab the baseball bat leaning against the mattress.

The first, and big thing he feels is pain. An unbearable type of pain on the side of his stomach. He places a hand over the plaster, expecting to feel blood or an infection, but jolts awake when he's proven wrong. He sits up, painfully, and scans the apartment for any sign that will tell him where he is. The messy decor of the room, the glass encased bookshelf that's filled to the brim with trinkets, novels, DVD's, CD's, and records. Behind him, on the wall are framed movie posters and paintings. Lamps, candles, and a full wall tapestry behind the tv. A plethora of coats and bags hanging on the door. So much clutter in this little living room.

He turns his gaze to the small kitchen, a shelf lined with snacks, spices, a bowl of onions and garlic, and a concerning amount of liquor. On the counter, are dishes, coloured pots and pans, empty jars. Whoever lives here loves their fair share of pink, grey, and light blue cups, bowls, and plates. They apparently also love their fair share of tea and instant chai latte mixes, and colourful string lights.

He has no idea where he is, or who happened to pick him up from the streets. All he knows is that he was ambushed by the Crows and left for dead, talk about sending a fucking message. Understandably, he turns his head to look behind him, where you stand holding a baseball bat to your side. He reaches for his pocket, where his knife always remains, only to feel nothing. You've disarmed him.

While he should be focusing on that thought. The logical sense that you must know who he is; hence why you've hidden all his belongings and why you're holding a baseball bat for defence, or the fact that you must've called the police by now. But no, his mind is focused on who you are, why you've brought him into your apartment to avoid death, and how those little shorts look on you. Those little black shorts, that tank top, and that big knitted cardigan.

So what if he's about to get arrested, he loves this sight.

"You brought me here?" He asks, watching the way you nod your head.

"You were bleeding out near a pile of trash, and while I considered leaving you for dead, I figured that I could get something out of saving your life." You explain nonchalantly, well as nonchalant as you can given that you've invited a known criminal into your house.

"Who do you work for?" He questions. There are always upcoming rivals or new recruits circling the scene, they love dirty work and favours – an eye for an eye – and will extort, abuse, and come up with the worst reparations. While you don't look threatening at all, especially in that little outfit, he can't underestimate you.

"Specter and Hastings, the law firm." You reply, causing him to laugh out of pure irony. Out of everyone he could have gotten entwined with, it had to be a lawyer. The universe really loves to play games on him, doesn't it?

"What do you want?" He sighs, "Names? Operations? You want me to snitch?" He'd rather die than rat out his friends, his family, just cuff him and take him down to the station because he's not speaking.

"No." You say, "I want safety." A flash of curiosity flashes across his face, allowing you to elaborate. "I want to make sure that wherever I go will be unharmed, untouched, or fall victim to whatever wars you guys get into. I want to be left out of danger, and never have to worry about getting followed home, mugged, or stabbed. I want the guarantee of safety... for my silence."

"What?"

"Is it so hard to understand?" You huff, "I save your life, you look out for mine. And in doing so, I will pretend that I didn't potentially break a law by not turning you in, I will turn a blind eye and ignore that tonight ever happened."

She's looking out for herself. He can't blame her. If anyone were to find out that she left him for dead, she would be a target. However, as someone whose job literally regards the law, you can't blame him for thinking you're hypocritical and maybe the slightest bit untrustworthy. If you can't even stick by your career, how can he expect you not to snitch on him?

"So?" You say, "Is that a good arrangement?"

"I can't guarantee anything sweetheart," he claims.

"Fine, then can you at least keep the stabbings out of this neighbourhood?" You question, "When I get home at night, I'd rather not come across another bloody body and risk getting more blood on my couch out of fear of being targeted."

That he can do. He can tell the guys to avoid this particular area, in exchange for a stranger – who happens to be a lawyer – that saved his life. Not to mention, you didn't call the cops, didn't turn him in, and you're supposedly open to turning a blind eye. In regards to the blood he got on your couch, he can easily fix that. He nods, "That I can do." There's no reason why he should deny anything, you already know he's part of the Foxes – that's the only reason you bothered saving him – and you are well aware about the culture and how no good deed goes without payment.

"Okay, great." You nod, resting the baseball bat against the frame, you've negotiated poorly, and your terms and conditions are promised to be met. Now, you can move along with your life. "Excuse me for a moment," you say, disappearing back into your bedroom to gather up all the things you took from his pockets.

In your short-lived absence, the man glances over at the painkillers and glass of water on the ottoman. He grabs the packet, reading the warning on the bottom half of the box that informs the users of the small percentage of codeine and its addictive properties, only to ignore it and swallows down the pill. It's drugstore painkillers, so of course, it's not going to be the strongest but when it kicks in, it'll help.

You return holding his things, hanging them to him before sitting on the curved back armchair next to the couch. You are unsure of what to do, or say to the brunette. You've never been put in a situation where a gang member is sitting in your apartment, wounded, and you've offered up your silence in turn of safety. Is it time for you to kick him out, or should you try to make conversation?

He, on the other hand, glances down at his phone, texting away to his friends about what happened and how he'll be back soon. There's no doubt that they're all mad about the situation, how he got ambushed by their rivals, and left by a pair of trash bags to bleed out. Though, it's not all that bad, he got saved by a pretty girl who graces him with skimpy shorts and a tank top that loves to plague his imagination. Better yet, this girl happens to be a lawyer, and if he plays his cards right, he can get a run down of loopholes and secure defence.

"So, do I get a name?" You ask, wrapping your cardigan closer around your body. "Or is that confidential? I'm not going to rat you out, I'm barely a lawyer, let alone a narc. And I need a solid ally in case anyone part of your... um, group ambushes me."

"We're allies now?"

"Are you going to give me a name or what?"

You've already seen his face, and he doubts you'll ever be able to say anything to the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process. Also, he's sure he's never going to see you again, or the maximalist, messy design of your apartment... including the row of CD's and records that you keep in that bookshelf despite being in the age of digital streaming.

"You can call me Rin," half a name, but one nonetheless. "Yeah, Rin is good, or Suna, whatever floats your boat." If he could, he'd try and leave, but he doubts he's in a good enough physical state to do so. Also, being stuck in an apartment with a pretty girl makes him want to stay even more. "Do I get a name from you?"

"No."

"Whatever you say sweetheart," Suna shrugs. "So... a lawyer, what made you go down that route?" He questions, wanting to get his mind off the unbearable ache in his body and sharp pain on his side, as he lays back down on the couch. Might as well get some information on you while he's here.

"I'm doing it for the money." You reply, crossing one leg over the other – unaware of how his eyes follow your movements – as you lean back against the seat, finding some sort of strange comfort in talking to a criminal. "I'm an associate, and in ten years I hope to make partner and move out of this place to somewhere closer to my job. I'm aiming for an apartment on the upper east side, maybe west."

"Is that all?" He hums, watching as you glare at him, "Just for the money?"

"Isn't that why we do anything?" You remark, "For the money, so we can sustain ourselves and live. And it's not like I'm doing court law, or criminal justice, I'm mainly interested in business law – contract and tort law – which is what my firm focuses on, including divorce law, because that's where all the money is."

"So, you're just a lawyer who conveniently knows how to bandage up a wound and goes around saving gang members?" Suna comments, "Oh, and how can I forget the whole trading a life thing for safety."

"Well, it's better than running around on the streets causing havoc." You retort, "Besides, becoming a lawyer is in my blood, meaning both my parents are lawyers and I was told as a young girl that I'd be a good one. Whether or not that was a compliment, can be debated. It's a stable career, a respectable one, and once I move up the ranks, I'll be able to order myself town cars."

"And law is something you really want to do?"

You're quiet for a moment before getting up to walk to your kitchen to brew yourself a cup of tea, "Yes. It is. I don't see what else I could do; the arts are a dying career where only one in a million makes a name for themselves, I don't plan on being the next big entrepreneur, and I hated biology and anything medical." You flip on the kettle, hearing it begin to boil as you dig through your tea bags. "Besides, law seemed easy enough, and there's nothing wrong with sitting through prenuptial meetings."

Suna feels a lot better about getting trapped with a lawyer now. He was initially scared of getting trapped with a potential narc with a six-foot pole up their ass, but you, you're just like every other sleazebag lawyer who's in it for the money. It's refreshing.

"Yeah, and I guess there's that whole thing of justice, but I don't even work in that field." You continue, "The justice system is fucked up anyway, and why would I want to contribute to that? I mean, I could get an innocent life out of prison but then again, I could fuck up and let a guilty person run free or risk them getting a reduced sentence. But, I don't work in that type of field, I just praise the people who do."

You wait for the kettle to finish boiling, and once it does, you pour the water into your mug, adding in honey or sugar into the mix before walking back to the living room. Not before grabbing a bag of chips from your shelf, tossing it at him. He is a guest, can't be that rude.

Reluctantly, Suna accepts it. He hasn't been around you long, but the way you've abandoned your baseball bat and returned all his belongings must mean you don't see him as that big of a threat. Well, how could you? You saw him at his weakest, and he hasn't given you a reason to be afraid... or he hopes he hasn't. Additionally, you're not that much of a threat either, you're smart enough to get through law school, attend an ivy, and work as an associate at a well-known firm in the city. And while he doesn't see much of what you do in your private life, he can see the few small framed photographs on the lamp tables next to him.

He can see you partying with friends, clearly drunk at the time when the photograph was taken, which must mean that you do know how to have fun in whatever spare time you have. Also, your refusal to give him a name eliminates the idea of him ever searching you up online. Meaning, whatever worries he's supposed to have can easily be debunked.

"So, what exactly is your role?" You ask.

"I work in the background, I help plan out whatever, I stay on guard, I'm there to protect them." He explains as vaguely as he can, not wanting to give the gorey details of his role or job description. By the way you nod, it's clear you accept that fact since you don't bat an eye or demand an explanation. Both of you know that the less you know the better. "Are you not scared of me?"

You can't blame him for wondering. Usually, you'd be terrified or the slightest bit frightened, but enough has happened tonight to make talking to a criminal the most normal thing. However, he's not exactly the worst presence. Sure, you can see the way he's looking at you, feel his gaze burn into your skin, how they trail up and down your body – and while it gets a piece of your heart racing, at least you know that he isn't planning on harming you.

"No." You shake your head, "I mean, you probably would scare me if I were to be walking alone on the street at this time of night, and I would definitely be terrified if you happened to be with all your friends. But you're alone, in my apartment, I can see your face, and you're wounded. You can't hurt me, at this point in time, I'm a lot stronger than you."

Unfortunately, you make a good point. He doubts he can walk comfortably, let alone act as a proper threat. "Right, of course," he hums, noticing the obvious blood stain on your couch. "Sorry about that, sweetheart." He comments, "I'll get you a new couch."

"Good," you say, biting back a smile. "I'd prefer one in cream, or even this light grey. In terms of style, I'd like one with a wider back and comfy cushions – like a cloud couch – if you can find one that will fit this apartment, that'd be great."

Suna's lips twitch up in a smile as he listens to you give him a detailed description, you avoid his eyes, staring down at the steam coming out of your mug. He tries to sit up to get your attention before it fades away – and for the act of dramatics, he lets out an exaggerated groan, which causes you to rush towards him – you place your mug on the lamp table behind you and crawl onto the floor in front of him.

You push him back down onto the couch, the force being more painful than when he tried to get up, you lift his shirt up to examine the damage you poorly tried to cover up, it looks fine physically, but you can't imagine what he's feeling. "I can't do much, as I said, I'm not a licensed medical professional." You say, moving down his stained shirt. Your touch ignites a trail of flames along his abdomen that takes all his willpower to fight.

"At least, I'm alive and not curled up by a pile of trash." He remarks.

"Yeah, but who's to say that's going to happen again?" You question, "Next time you get into a situation like this, I can't guarantee that someone will be there to patch you up in time."

"If it's not you patching me up, I don't want to live."

"Oh," you say, surprised, backing up from him. "Well, that doesn't give you an excuse to show up to my doorstep all bloody if it does end up happening again."

It has been a week since you've seen Suna.

Last friday you were nursing a gang member back to life with the promise of safety for silence, and a new couch – both of which you aren't sure you're going to get anytime soon. Instead, you still clutch your taser while you walk home, and you've done your best to wash the stain on the couch cushion. However, nothing is getting rid of that disgusting, faded stain, so you've opted to flip it over and hope time will make you forget.

The individual lamps and overhead lights illuminate the apartment, the candles flames are burning– casting a mixed scent of florals, vanilla, and lavender – creating the perfect ambiance for a Friday night in.

You sigh, collecting a mountain of rice – from your ready-made curry – on your spoon, curled up on your couch, gaze fixed on the television that plays an old show you were obsessed with in your teens. Beside you, is a glass of wine filled with ice cubes, and the bottle is placed on the floor awaiting refill. What else is there for you to do than stay home on a Friday night?

"Previously on Pretty Little Liars," you hear play through the speakers, shoving a mountain of food into your mouth, "It's Mona– Hanna won so Mona loses..."

You sink down into the couch, suddenly engrossed in the recap. It's been a while since you've had time to catch up on television, so the recaps serve a well-needed purpose to remind you of the over-the-top drama and plethora of plotholes. There is nothing better than unwinding after a long, long, week at work. Grabbing the wine glass, ice cubes clinking as you bring the drink up to your lips.

It's an odd combination, putting ice cubes in wine– that's unheard of – but you don't mind the diluted taste, also, you aren't the biggest fan of wine, it just seemed classier than making yourself a sad looking cocktail. Though, given the fact you're watching one of the more questionable teen mystery dramas, wine with ice does not seem like the worst situation.

You could have easily gone out, but all your friends are all too tired to go out, and drinks at bars are far too expensive. And let's be honest, going out by yourself is possibly one of the most depressing things a person could do, also that would mean walking home by yourself intoxicated. Obviously, that's not the smartest or safest decision, given the current rise in crime.

Engrossed in the show, absentmindedly feeding yourself until you're scraping the plastic container with your spoon picking up scraps. Sighing, you slide off the sofa, dragging your feet towards the kitchen where you toss out the empty container and dump your spoon into the sink. Half of your attention is still focused on the television, not wanting to miss anything going on.

Drifting back towards the couch, leaning against the armrest as you refill your wine glass, bringing the bitter alcohol to your lips and tasting it on your tongue. This will be your second glass of the night, the first glass came and went as quickly as the previous episode did.

A loud knock on the door sounds throughout the apartment, causing you to choke on your drink. Frightened, you place the glass down on the lamp table, pushing yourself away from the couch as cautiously and quietly as you can. Walking on your tiptoes back to the kitchen, reaching into a drawer for a knife.

Of course you're not going to open the door, you're not stupid. You're simply going to sit against it, clutching the knife until whoever is on the other side goes away... like a responsible, intelligent, adult. It could be someone with the wrong address, despite how persistent they are on knocking. And no criminal would think of knocking either!

Maybe you should turn off the television, give the illusion that no is home, or alternatively, you could turn the volume all the way up and drown out the sound of their fist pounding against wood. Nevertheless, hiding out in front of this door with a knife seems like the safest option. If things go wrong, and the intruder does break in, you can stab them and leave their body on the street.

Crime isn't news around this area, unfortunate things occur all the time! And the police, being police, won't bother stepping in. It's an accidental murder in a bad part of town, or another victim to gang violence, they won't bother finding out it was a kitchen knife that caused the death. Morally, will it crush you? Yes. It will.

You lean back against the door, the continuous knocks do not falter... Until they do, you hear them rest their head against the wood. Maybe they've finally given up. Slowly, you get up from the floor, the faint noise of police sirens flying by. You backpedal until your back hits the counter, reluctantly, you place the knife on the surface behind you.

Heart racing in your chest, then you hear it. You hear him. "Sweetheart, open the door." His voice is muffled, but a simple piece of wood is not going to hide the exhaustion lacing his tone. "Please," he adds.

You hope that your home isn't the new hideout for gang members running from the police, but you can't stop yourself from quickly striding towards the front door and swinging it open. "Oh my god," you gasp, catching him in your arms before he plummets onto the floor. Stumbling back, you quickly catch your balance and drop him on the couch – the same way you did last week – where he falls back, arms resting on the back cushions.

Apparently, Suna has taken an involuntary liking towards you and insists on showing up outside your apartment, and door every time he gets hurt. At least, this time around, he's not shot, stabbed, or badly wounded, he just looks a little... beat up. Busted lip, and black eye that's beginning to form. You know this is not the time, but god does he look so good.

Lord knows what he's gotten himself into, why he's bruised or why out of all the places he could run, he ran here... to you. What happened? Why is he suddenly out of breath, unable to stand, and exhausted on your couch? You climb over him, straddling his lap, and grab his face between your fingers, forcing him to look at you. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" You huff, slapping the side of his face to jolt him awake, "This is no time for a nap Rin, you need to tell me what happened."

Even in this dazed state of mind, even after running five blocks, being chased by both the police and the Crows as a distraction while his team can get away. Getting cornered, beat up (not as bad as the others), picking the lock to get into your building, then running up the stairs, and waiting for you to let him in. He can still appreciate the sight in front of him, including those shorts, his hands running up your thighs, leaning his head back while his lips turn up into a smirk.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I had to run, and believe it or not, this is the safest place for me." He mutters, sitting up to lean in close to you. "And I know you won't refuse me," he hums. Suna's breath is hot against yours, his touch running up and down your thighs setting a fire to burn and a shiver to involuntarily run down your spine. He kicks off his shoes, opting to make himself comfortable on your couch.

"This is not your safe haven," you scoff, pressing a hand flat on his chest to push him back from you as you climb off his lap. You storm over to the kitchen, opening the small freezer hatch on your fridge to pull out a frozen bag of peas for his eye. Sure, it's not your job to care for him, but you can't help doing it – as if it has been engraved in your memory after one experience. You toss the frozen peas at him, which he luckily knows what they're for. "I did you a favour, which you have yet to return, by the way."

He holds the frozen bag of peas up to his eye, this is not the warm welcome he's been expecting, and for your information he has kept up one side of his deal. He has kept your street a no-go zone, and he has been making sure that you are safe. Sure, his methods are a bit stalkerish, he's been trailing you to and from work – lurking from the shadows and wiping out any potential threats that come your way. In terms of the new couch... he's working on it.

"Don't tell me that you're running from the police," you say, beginning to pace back and forth in your living room. "What do you think you're doing?" You exclaim, "You can't keep coming here to hide from the police! Do they know what you look like? Do they know that you came here? Do you know that my entire career can be ruined?"

"Calm down sweetheart," Suna hums. "No one knows I'm here, you're fine. And speaking of the police... yeah, I'm running from them, but I managed to get away through a couple short cuts. Trust me, you're safe." He stands from the couch, one long stride taken to reach you, his hands running down your arms in a somewhat reassuring manner. With one hand tilting up your chin, "And I wanted to see you."

His eyes are mesmerising, a perfect combination of green, yellow, and grey. It's hard to not melt under their gaze. Your hand wraps around his wrist, moving his touch away from your face before turning on your heel to walk towards your bedroom. He hates to see you leave, but he loves to watch you walk away. Maybe this is the universe repaying him for almost dying, it sent an angel in the form of you.

"Wanted to see me," you mutter to yourself, packing up the mess on your bed. The files, loose papers, highlighters, notes, and your laptop. You move them to sit on your cluttered vanity. "As flattering as that is," you continue, "I'd rather you come see me when you're not running from law enforcement. You owe me."

"Sorry to add insult to injury, but I was wondering if I could camp out here for the night?" Suna asks, leaning against the doorframe of your room. He knows you're not going to deny him refuge, whether you want to admit it or not. You don't have it in your heart to leave him out in the rain. Even if you want him gone, he's not going to leave. He's never been that good at taking hints – hence the black eye and busted lip. "Just for the night."

"One night." You sigh, "Only if –" there's always a catch "– you avoid robbing my bank, and stay clear of where I work, and make sure that everyone knows that. And no more attracting police to this side of town," you list. "And if you're going to stay here frequently, I'm going to need some sort of compensation."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." You nod, "now," you begin pushing the brunette back into the living room and onto the couch. Since he's here, may as well check up on how that old stab wound is going. You force him down onto the sofa, his back hitting the cushions – the wind escaping his lungs – as you lift up his shirt. There's still a nasty cut that's bound to turn into an even worse scar, but at least it's healing correctly.

"You sure are quite aggressive," he comments, propping his head up with his hands as he looks up at you. "I don't mind, kinda like it." He purrs, softly laughing at the way you pull his shirt back down and storm up off the ground, grabbing your wine glass and downing the rest of the contents. "I was just teasing babe, no need to overreact."

"Are you aware that you're an idiot?" You comment, placing your glass and the wine bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Do you like that I'm an idiot?" He retorts. He's got a bit of a little infatuation with you. A hot shot associate with a morally grey high ground, and a weakness for criminals like him. It is not everyday a pretty normal girl like you fixes him up and lets him into the apartment while he's running from the cops.

"The same way I like how I continuously find myself harbouring a fugitive." You reply, "It could be better. And can you please either use the frozen peas or put them back in the freezer."

You have better things to do! Sure, the situation could be worse. At least Suna is decent to look at, and he's alright company who doesn't want to kill you, and you have felt the slightest bit safer on your walks to and from work. Though, it's not like you're thrilled to have him in your apartment.

He gets up from the couch, places the peas back where they belong, then slides in next to you. He grabs the wine bottle, taking a swig from the bottle. You watch him intently, the way his Adam's apple moves, the beginning traces of a bruise forming around his eye, and the cut on his lip. He still wears that stupid leather jacket, but at least there's no blood on his hands, legs, or torso. Suna glances at you from the corner of his eye, holding the bottle firmly in his hand, "Take a picture. It lasts longer."

"I would," you say, "but that would mean proving a direct affiliation with you. And lord knows if you ever get caught, I'd rather die than testify in court and risk losing all respect I have in this industry."

"I get it," he shrugs, "I'm bad news, but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily a bad person. I mean, you make money off people's brokens marriages, shouldn't that equate to something? I think that we both do bad things, but we're not bad people."

"Comparing me to you is a low blow," you snort. "That's like comparing apples and oranges."

"They're both fruit aren't they? They both grow on trees, they both make juice." Suna argues, "One is sure, significantly better than the other, but that all depends on personal preference."

You meet his eyes, seeing nothing other than the greyish-green hues. He's got that tough exterior that can draw any girl toward him – including you – the danger that people write about, the allure and flirty personality that makes him less of an asshole and more human. He is the fallen angel that the universe sent to you as a form of twisted karma and dilemma of morals that cross a line. He's beautiful, prideful, a criminal, but has got a strong sense of loyalty and protection. Why else will he make himself the scapegoat to every situation?

"Yeah, well, anyone with a brain can tell who's the better one of the both of us."

"If this is about breaking the law," he says, placing the bottle down on the counter. He steps in front of you, trapping you between his arms, pushing you back against the counter as his body presses against yours. "You're breaking a lot by being here with me, hiding me from the law, trading silence for safety, I'm sure there's something in the constitution that you've broken by not turning me in." He lowers his voice, dipping his head down to yours, "I'm sure if I string enough together, you can be charged with aiding and abetting."

"That's one thing out of the many covering your roster."

He bends down, lips brushing against your own. Heart pounding against your chest. He's so close. Remnants of his cologne fill your senses; oak, wood, musk, sweet amber, cardamom, raspberry. He's addictive in all the ways he shouldn't be. A real fallen angel. Beautiful, perfect, but dangerous, treacherous, and duplicitous. But what does that make you? You're addicting, the light in his dark tunnel, his bittersweet obsession that he cannot indulge in.

"You don't care." He rasps, "If you did, you would have kicked me out. You like me, you like having a dirty little secret, you fucking revel in it."

You don't respond, verbally that is. You break the small gap between the two of you. He reciprocates the action, deepens the kiss, presses you further back against the counter. A hand gripping your hip, while the other travels up your neck, holding under your jaw tight between his fingers. His body against yours, fingers wrapping around the belt loops of his jeans trying desperately to pull him closer. It's messy, driven, and lustful.

Your hands travel under his shirt, feeling the burning skin and the shiver that runs down his spine. The hand he has on your hips, his fingers dig harder into your side while the one around your neck shifts to the nape, reaching up to tug at the roots of your hair. The throaty moan that he elicits from you sends him into overdrive, fuck you're addictive. He wants you, so bad. He needs you.

Palms placed flat on his stomach you step forward, pushing him back onto the couch. He takes in the sight of you, standing over him in those little shorts and tank top that hugs your body so well. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, and his hands instinctively run up the back of your thighs, sliding under your shorts. Rough hands making themselves comfortable, holding the flesh in his hands, squeezing hard as he helps you grind down onto him. He's hard as a fucking rock, and your moving against him so needy. The friction against your clit, slow and tortuous, small whimpers and staggered breaths that Suna swallows.

Your hands move to move the leather jacket off his body, which he tosses across the living room, leaving him in a black muscle tee that shows off all the hidden, scattered tattoos on his arms you've never had the pleasure of seeing. His fingers grab the front of your tank top, tugging down the fabric to expose you to him. His cold hand cupping your tit, the pad of his thumb running over a hardened nipple as goosebumps scatter down your body and you press down further into the bulge in his jeans.

"Fuck," he groans at your reaction, breaking away from your lips to kiss down your jaw, neck, collarbones, before his lips wrap around your chest. His tongue pressing against you, teeth grazing your skin, while his hand continues to work and massage against the other.

Your back arches, hands tangling themselves in his brown hair, continuously grinding against him as his leaves scatter hickey across your chest. "Sweetheart, you're killing me." He murmurs, reconnecting your lips together. You hum against him, lifting your arms in the air as he pulls off your top, throwing it across your apartment before he does the same with his shirt.

You begin to kiss down his chest, his torso, his stomach, falling down to the floor in front of him – between his legs – as you undo his belt. Suna's eyes fixed on you, the sweetly dangerous glimmer in your eyes as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He lips his hips, allowing you to pull them down – jeans and briefs – letting his clothes drop to the floor. He shudders the second your hand wraps around his dick, head dropping back and hands gripping onto your hair.

Wrapping your lips around the sensitive tip, you tease the spot hearing desperate whimpers escape his throat. Tongue flat against him, head beginning to bob back and forth, cheeks hollowing out as you literally suck the soul out of him. The salty taste of pre-cum on your tongue, his hands firmly entwined in your hair as he lets out a strain of whimpers, bucking his hips up, controlling your movements making you take him deeper in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

Tears begin to prickle in your eyes. Head moving back and forth at a faster pace, his hands knotted in your hair as he takes control, fucking your mouth. Looking up through teary eyes, laying eyes on a sinful sight. His abdomen flexing, head thrown back, eyes shut, and Adam's apple moving at every repressed whimper and moan. You grip onto his thighs as he increases his pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Breathless moans coming out in repeated pleas that chase a high. He's so close, impatient, and seeking a heavy and desperate release. "Just like that baby, keep going."

You don't stop, you continue as a mess of fallen tears, pre-cum and saliva. You can't breathe, throat filled with his cock. He fucks your throat, using you for pleasure. He fucks your mouth, swollen head hitting the back of your throat, shuddering as you to swallow or gasp for air. You feel his dick twitch, and in seconds a hot load is shot down your throat and his grip on you loosens. You swallow down his cum, tongue and lips cleaning him up. Once, your lips remove themselves from his cock, he wastes no time to pull you up and reconnect your lips, tasting him on your tongue. You stand from your knees, and he pulls down your shorts along with the simple black panties, then pulls you down onto the couch, laying you on your back.

He hovers over you, hand wrapping itself around your throat as he kisses you. The other, spreads your leg, calloused rough fingers pressing against your cunt. Using the arousal to rub against your clit, a harsh play of light and rough. Fingers pressing hard against your clit, causing a strained moan to sound through the living room, he rubs against the bud. Playing between teasing movements, to forceful mechanisms. He's fast and slow, teasing you, edging you.

"Rin," you muster out, biting down on his lip which pushes him to give you what you need. Working his fingers swiftly, skillfully, roughly against your clit. You squirm beneath him, he's vicious against you, his free hand kneading your tit in a hard grasp. "Fuck, Rin." You moan, chest rising and falling, as he quickens his pace. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you grip onto the armrest of the couch, mouth agape.

Legs twitching, as he brings you to an insatiable climax. His fingers are covered in your slick. He brings them up to his mouth, getting a taste of what he's missing out of. He doesn't waste time, wrapping your legs around his shoulders before he buries himself in your cunt. Lips wrapping themselves around your clit, sucking on it, his tongue moving at a rapid pace. He feels how sensitive you are. Fingers digging into your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You're a mess, a writhing, mess. And the way he looks up at you through half lidded eyes, buried between your thighs. You sink your hands into his hair, looking for something to hold onto. A groan rumbles in his throat, sending you farther over the edge. He increases his pace, devouring you like a starved man who hasn't eaten in years. He's pushing you over the edge, your heels digging into his back, pulling at his hair, forcing him deeper into you.

To add fuel to the fire, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curling into your sweet spot that has you bucking your hips into his mouth. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly matching the pace of his tongue. He continues until he feels you come undone, pleasure and heat clouding your vision as he pulls away from you. He examines the sight, leaning in close to you.

"I need to feel you." He pleads, the blood already rushing back to his dick, "I need you sweetheart."

You nod, "Please." Whispering, "It's fine, I'm on the pill." You reassure.

He almost collapses right there and then, letting out a whimper as he slides into you. Feeling you raw and whole, he's going crazy, losing his mind at the way you suck him in. Your walls around his dick, warm and so good that he could come right there and then. His find is spinning, he's going absolutely feral over being in you. He slowly moves out, before bottoming out, stealing your breath in the process. That's all he needed, the feeling of having you grip around him.

Suna thrusts into you, picking up a faster speed and your ragged breaths urging him on. He revels in the way your tits bounce, his movements causing the sinful shake of your body. Your nails digging into his back, scratching the skin. If he could save this as a permanent memory in his mind, he would, and he'd replay it over and over again in his dreams. He bottoms out, rolling his hips each time he does so, thrusting in and out at a faster speed and pace.

He then pulls out, the lack of touch jolting you back from your daze, only for him to flip you over onto your stomach, harsh grip on your hips as he lifts your ass in the air. He grips onto the flesh, holding it in his palms while he tugs them towards him in a big thrust. You let out a moan, face buried into the couch cushions, as he pounds into you.

Dick reaches deep into your cunt, watches you shake under him, the couch shakes, and the lamps shake. He holds both your wrists in his hands, pinning them behind your back, as he pushes himself faster, rougher, crazier than he did before. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the apartment, mixed in with your strained whimpers and his throaty groans. "You like this?" He mutters.

This is so much better than he imagined. All the nights he spent with his hand wrapped around his dick in the shower and in bed. The thought of you crumbling beneath him, moaning out his name, becoming nothing but putty underneath him. The thought of him pounding into you relentlessly, feeling you bare and raw, the way your walls wrap around his cock. Imagination never could have prepared him for this, it's so much better than he imagined.

You're so wet around him. He fucks into you, in and out so quickly that you can't even grasp onto the feeling despite your cunt quivering and tightening around him every time he fills you. He lands a hard slap on your ass, only to rub over the red spot, roughly massaging and kneading the flesh. Suna continues to go harder, faster, more feral, moving both your hips to meet. Back is arched and he pushes you further down into the cushions, if that's even possible.

"You're no saint sweetheart," his hips stuttering, "you fucking love getting fucked dirty by a criminal." He rasps, tugging you up by your arms, whispers close to your ear sending a shiver down your spine. "Tell me how much you love it," he instructs. "Go on."

"I love it." You breathe out. Suna forcefully pushes you back down onto the couch, harshly pounding into you, "Fuck, so good."

"No one's ever gonna fuck you as good as I will. I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to corrupt you, I'll protect you." His voice falters at the feeling of you tightening around him, his cock twitching in response. "Fuck, you're mine. Mine only, and I'll fucking kill anyone who comes near you."

You listen to him, losing all sense of strength in your body. You're so close, he knows you are. "Rin, please keep going, I'm so close." You whimper, and he endures, picking up his pace and pushing into you faster, deeper, and harder until you become a limp mess, tightening around him, giving him the greenlight to release.

He cums inside you, white liquid filling you and dripping out as he pulls out. Your hips fall to the couch, as you flip over in time for him to collapse on top of you. If you didn't need a new couch before, you definitely need one now. His arms wrap under your body, he lays between your legs, head resting on your rising and falling chest, hearing your heartbeat in his ears. You brush your fingers through his hair.

He meant what he said. You're his, and he will fucking kill anyone who comes near you. 

[shadowynn]

| midnight reveries | preview |

hi! so, i couldn't resist the temptation to start working on something new when a new idea hit me in full force. this piece is something that will probably be a bit of a wait before i fully start working on it, but just thought i'd give you a little taste of what's to come. full disclosure, though, things may change between now and later as i work further through ideas and plotlines, but i'm 99% the events in this preview will come to take place at some point in the story.

at the moment though, i'd probably best categorize this piece as:

yandere!poly!cyberpunk!gang! ateez x reader

also, this preview is just a roughdraft, typos probably abound and writing is a little rough and wonky, but i really wanted to share it all with you.

warnings: yandere behavior, kidnapping, mentions of drugging

wordcount: 1k

~~~

It was a struggle to regain your senses, brain muddled by the drugs that had recently flooded your system. Someone, somewhere was speaking, but it was impossible to make out, your mind not quite able to grab onto it in your current state. The only thing you were certain of in that exact moment was the way your entire body ached, with the majority of the pain centered at the forefront of your forehead, more intense than anything you had experienced before. 

You struggled to open your eyes, lids heavy from your previous unconsciousness, only to discover they had been bound tightly by some sort of cloth. Out of instinct, you went to reach for the blindfold, only to find your hands had also been bound behind you. 

A part of you knew the unknown situation was cause for panic, but you were too disoriented to allow the panic to properly build inside you. Your confusion overtook any and every other emotion that might have arisen, leaving you struggling to figure out just what had happened and where you were now. The last thing you remembered was heading out onto the terrace for some air, desperate for a breather after the fight with your father. There were hints of something else hidden between your thoughts, images of a man in a mask, but every time you attempted to grasp at it, his face slipped through your grip, fading from view completely. 

You had been tied to a wooden chair, wrists bound to the wooden posts supporting your back. The rope dug into your skin, each turn of your wrists causing it to bite into your skin, rubbing them raw. 

You could feel the panic rising as the weight of the situation finally began to sink in. You didn’t know where you were or how exactly you had gotten in this position, but that hardly mattered at the moment. The only thing that did was not letting your panic get the better of you and finding a way out of here. 

But that was easier said than, and it was near impossible for you to keep your chest from tightening as the panic continued to build. Your hands fumbled with their binds, attempting to find some way to slip them free, but the struggle only seemed to bind them tighter. You weren't Fi, which meant you wouldn’t be getting out of them anytime soon. 

Think, y/n, think. 

You forced yourself to take a second and breathe, clearing your mind to focus on taking in as much as you could of your surroundings in your given state. You might have been blind, but you could just make out the faint scent of oil and gasoline. This combined with the periodic rumble of the trains told you, you were being held somewhere downtown, quite probably near or in Arachnis.

The voices were getting louder now, growing clearer with each passing second. You stilled your movements, struggling to keep your breathing even, but you couldn’t make anything out other than the lower tone of a masculine voice. No, wait, voices. There were definitely at least two of them.

A door opened up behind you, nearly making you jump in your seat. The panic you had kept at bay up to this point hit you at full force, making it near impossible for you to keep your breathing even. You didn't want to show your fear, not wanting your captors to know just the state they had you in, but hiding your panic was impossible when a hand grabbed hold of your chin, tugging your face upwards and eliciting a gasp from you. 

“It appears our sleeping beauty has finally woken up.” The voice sounded from directly in front of you, causing you to attempt and shrink back to create some distance. His grip on your chin was tight, however, keeping you locked in place as he tilted your face to each side to inspect it. 

You were distinctly aware of how powerless you were at the moment, but did your best to not let the worse case scenarios run through your head. You couldn't afford to let them get in your mind any more than they were already.

“What the hell do you want from me?” You attempted to keep your voice even, but even you could hear the warble in it. Your head had cleared the earlier haze that had clouded it when you first awoke, but you were no closer to piecing together the events that had led you to this point. You had been at home, outside on the roof terrace and then… then what? There had been a man, right? Someone you hadn’t recognized and then a sharp sting at your neck before everything went dark. 

“y/n m/n l/n.” There was another man behind you, running through your full name with ease as he paced behind you, only serving to tell you your kidnapping hadn't been random. “Age: 22. Birthday: October 29th..."

You struggled to keep the shiver that racked your body as he continued to rattle off random facts about you, furthering your theory you were here for a reason. Just what that reasoning was, however, you weren't sure. Had one of your recent night trips to Arachnis with Fi angered someone?

"But, most importantly, you're the one and only daughter of our lovely Commissioner Hex.” His footsteps came to a stop behind you, arms leaning against the back of your chair to bend down to your level. Fabric tickled the side of your face, signaling he was wearing some form of mask. “Which is really quite the surprise, wouldn’t you say? He certainly has never made mention of you before, now has he? And why would that be, hmm?”

“So, you know who I am,” you replied, trying to keep your fear at bay once you realized this had nothing to do with you and Fi but everything to do with your father. He must have finally crossed the line and pissed off the wrong person. “That doesn’t tell me why you tied me up or why you brought me here.”

“It’s rather simple, really.” It was the man behind you who replied, fingers twirling the strands of your hair. “Your father has been a pain in our ass ever since he was elected and sadly, no matter how nicely we’ve asked him in the past, he doesn’t seem very keen on acknowledging just who runs this city.”

“That’s where you come in, princess.” The man in front of you continued, fingers tightening against your chin. “I’m sure daddy will be a lot more willing to listen once he realizes it’s not just his ass on the line anymore.”

“So, smile for the camera, sweetheart.” The man from behind leaned further down, fabric rubbing against the side of your face as he shoved it next to yours. “We’re about to have so much fun together.”

[calliegallieblog]

hello friends i have Returned with more Casey art and information

rejoice

this was the first sketch i made! fun fact: in order to get the colors for them, i literally took a png of a goat, raised the saturation, and used the eyedropper tool lmao

i'm actually kinda proud of this one! usually i'm kinda bad at anatomy this is a nice change of pace

NOW before we get on to the other art stuff

here's some new information:

Their gender is, and I quote: "Gender? I hardly know her!" (Reminder: Pronouns are they/she/xey)

I mentioned in the previous post that they "come off as arrogant", and I thought I should elaborate on that! They aren't a bad person. Like, it's clear that they genuinely care about those around them. HOWEVER. Without revealing TOO much, they are VERY conscious about how others see them. They want to seem "cool" and "tough". That's where the faux-arrogance comes from. Hope that makes sense, because that's all you're getting about that for now!

Please, do not let her near an oven. Do not let xem cook.

Xey're not a big fan of authority! (Well, to an extent. In a way, they are an authority. I think.) To be more specific, if they're told not to do something, they're gonna need a good reason.

She's not formally acquainted with DogDay and the gang. They've heard of them through the universal medium known as Water Cooler Talk™, but that's about it.

OKAY that's enough of that. back to the art!

here's a design for the uh

what's it called? the battle outfit?

The Outfit They Wear When They Kick Ass

there we go

the colors on this one are a bit...cluttered...to say the least. i may have to tweak them later.

lastly we got the casual fit

i kinda got lazy on the colors (i was gonna color it but it's currently midnight and i have school tomorrow i'm SORRY)

as basic as it is i like this sketch too. silli goat

AND THAT will be all for today!

of course, special thanks to @onyxonline for making the space riders au!! if you haven't checked them out yet, do so NOW.

cya later callie crew

[greenhappyseed]

Very spicy salty and lengthy rant incoming. This is part 1 of 2, focusing on All Might (with Izuku and Katsuki), while part 2 will focus more on Ochako and the 1A reunion. I’m trying to help myself feel better about how deeply I dislike the “Dark Deku” and Star & Stripe arcs because I need to excise the real-life anxiety I’m feeling over this coming up in the anime. IMO, these arcs did not age well at all, and are absolutely no better in light of the ~35 subsequent chapters. It’s just that the subsequent chapters feel more cohesive and well thought-out despite Horikoshi’s physical pain and burnout.

While I’m not emotional over fictional characters, it is true that these arcs have impacted the fandom; namely, many people who were fans of All Might, Aizawa, Midnight, Mic, and the overall UA vibe dropped out. I get that sense from some LOV fans too. Overall, it means far fewer fics and art pieces with my blorbos, and it’s also meant far less interaction with my blog. (I don’t give a damn about “engagement” or followers, but I like talking about my hyperfixation with others who share it!). Obviously the story has to change as the series end draws near, but spending SO much time with Endeavor, Hawks, and Jeanist has worn me out, even if I think Horikoshi is handling Endeavor’s character growth well. (FWIW, I’m utterly disinterested in “Hawks the Optimist” who inexplicably became the expert on how OFA works, and Jeanist is…well…you know…a male model.)

Aside from everyone’s basic rant about how Horikoshi introduced two hot middle-aged women only to more or less fridge them (after killing Midnight!), my real complaint in this post is that the Dark Deku & Star arcs made a complete mess of All Might’s character arc and in-universe relationships. Don’t get me wrong — Chapter 326 with Stain seemed like something Horikoshi had planned since the early days of the manga, and that one hit HARD. But the rest felt like an improvisation. It’s horribly inconsistent on (1) when All Might speaks up and when he can’t bring himself to talk, and (2) how his relationship with 1A is handled compared to Star.

When it comes to All Might’s failure to speak up, it feels like Horikoshi was nerfing All Might and reducing what we know the former No.1 is capable of doing. I mean, in Chapter TWO he stops Izuku from overdoing his training. After Kamino, All Might helps Izuku develop Shoot Style by telling Izuku point blank that he’s trying too hard to imitate his mentor. In the Overhaul/Nighteye arc, All Might refuses to support Izuku’s desire to take on a work study because he thinks it unnecessarily exposes Izuku to villain activity AND Izuku needs to strengthen his Shoot Style first. (The awkwardness with Nighteye is his third reason.) When Izuku persuades him about getting stronger under Nighteye’s guidance, All Might carefully asks himself if Izuku is being impatient just because Izuku is his successor before agreeing to let Mirio do the introduction. When Izuku confronts All Might over Nighteye’s prophecy, All Might makes SURE Izuku is ready to hear an uncomfortable truth and then proceeds to tell him everything. In the next arc, All Might encourages Izuku to use whatever support items he needs, even though All Might always chose to fight with just his body. All Might is protective of Katsuki and Shoto too — when they want to jump out of the taxi and fight the Cider House gang, he tries to get them to slow down and “assess the situation first.” In all these situations, All Might can’t physically stop his students (and is usually on the losing end of the argument, as happens with argumentative teenagers™️), but he uses his voice to speak up and make his opinion known.

At the beginning of Dark Deku, things are looking okay. All Might gives up on the secrecy that defined him early on and tells Hawks and Jeanist everything when he realizes secrets didn’t keep people safe. That’s good, I think, but he didn’t seem to consult Izuku about it. Based on context clues, and how All Might initially wanted Izuku to stay at UA (again, he spoke up!) I think his motivation was to recruit the pro heroes to protect Izuku at the hospital and at UA. It sort of makes sense he would move fast and wouldn’t ask Izuku’s permission to do that…but in front of Inko after Izuku wakes up, All Might DOES ask Izuku’s permission to tell her. A minor inconsistency, but all right. It’s made clear All Might is worried sick about Izuku, warning him not to go overboard (once more speaking up!). Hawks even picks up on All Might’s hesitation, telling him that Izuku has the right strategy and it’s on All Might to keep the kid propped up. All Might does not look pleased about this as he looks up in the sky towards Izuku.

In helping Izuku, All Might fends off assassins and talks about how Izuku’s idolization of him weighs on him. It’s not just that he promised Inko he would live and look out for Izuku; he’s acutely aware his boy is just like him in ways good and bad.

Yet when All Might sees Izuku struggle and he begins to see why Nighteye wanted him to retire, he can’t bring himself to talk to Izuku. Even though he understands Izuku’s feelings, he just can’t say a word. You would think seeing Izuku get shot, or barely escaping AFO’s mansion explosion, would prompt a conversation. But no, he says nothing. (Then again, nobody seems to remember Izuku was shot; no mention in the bath scene either.)

At the same time, we see Nighteye pop up in All Might’s thoughts, but we don’t see All Might struggling with telling Izuku what Nighteye told him (that is, we have no idea if All Might still feels violated in some way by Nighteye’s actions). We also don’t see All Might worrying about Izuku realizing the Symbol of Peace was just a human being. All Might isn’t trying to keep up Izuku’s hope by hiding the real burden of being the symbol (besides, didn’t he pull back that curtain in, oh, CHAPTER ONE???) We aren’t given any solid motivation or thematic through line — he simply procrastinated on what he knew he had to do for an unsatisfying hodgepodge of invasive thoughts. That is inconsistent with the All Might we know.

Before anyone comes at me, All Might not telling Izuku about Nighteye’s prophecy is very different. In that situation, All Might honestly did not think Izuku needed to know because knowing would put MORE pressure on Izuku than necessary. In Dark Deku, it’s the opposite, and All Might knows talking to Izuku could help relieve pressure.

I understand this is supposed to be All Might’s low point to lead into the Stain conversation. All Might is supposed to feel like “doing his best” didn’t prevent society’s downfall and didn’t stop his boy from repeating his mistakes. But…it feels like Horikoshi tied his tongue because that’s what needed to happen for plot reasons, and Horikoshi just wanted it to happen quickly. We still don’t have a good character reason why. Would it have been so unbelievable that Izuku, in his panicked state, brushes off All Might’s advice to rest? Or would that “break” Izuku’s idolization of All Might in a way that Horikoshi is still saving for the finale, where Izuku finally becomes his own hero without imitating All Might at all? I don’t have an answer, but it feels like we still could have had the same basic story beats without the bizarre characterization.

The strangeness of All Might staying quiet also makes Katsuki’s argument to Endeavor in Chapter 319 feel funny to me. Katsuki is spot on that Izuku doesn’t take himself into account and All Might does the same thing. While Katsuki understands far better than Izuku that All Might is human, Katsuki doesn’t consider how protective All Might can be of Izuku. Katsuki doesn’t see (or understand, perhaps?) how All Might doesn’t want anyone else to be a Symbol of Peace the same way he was. Maybe that’s part of Katsuki’s idolization issues? Post-362, with Katsuki seeing All Might’s vestige and showing him the trading card, I think Katsuki never let himself appreciate that he had the former #1 in his corner, or that a person can, in fact, use their willpower to become a symbol that inspires a nation. Not to sound like Prince Harry in “Spare,” but maybe there’s also a tinge of lingering resentment over feeling left behind? There’s just something about Katsuki screaming to Endeavor, of all people, that you can’t leave Izuku and All Might alone together when Endeavor knows Izuku has already ditched All Might AND Endeavor and Hawks have already realized they’re “too slow” compared to Izuku. Of course it’s Hawks — who was saying Izuku made the right choice like Second and, uh, AFO — to announce that Izuku left All Might. There’s also Shoto yelling about how Endeavor “let them operate together,” but it’s not like Endeavor has enough credibility to control either Izuku or All Might.

How does a #2 protect their #1 when they’re too slow? Can you ever “run alongside” someone whose power vastly outpaces yours, or is idolization all you can do? I think these are fascinating thematic questions, and Dark Deku makes a mess of them.

These problems compound in the reunion chapter, 327, which is really cute when it comes to the bath scene and the 1A kids, but is inexplicably confounding when it comes to All Might + the kids. Izuku clearly calls All Might multiple times to reconnect, but the man doesn’t pick up his phone. (I think we’re supposed to assume All Might is talking to Stain when Izuku calls, but…he couldn’t use the Hercules speech-to-text feature to tell the kid he’s driving over?) Then All Might just happens to show up at UA as Izuku talks about him, and gives Izuku a deep bow while saying sorry “for being of so little help.” He says nothing aloud about how he feels towards Izuku, and nothing aloud about being proud of 1A (though he basically thinks that in this chapter and again in 335). When Mina asks for an apology because he just disappeared post-war and left 1A with the Wild Wild Pussycats, he briefly says he’s sorry for any anxiety he caused, but quickly pivots to the need to prepare for “the battle that will decide it all.”

Like the Stain conversation, I understand that this is supposed to be All Might stepping up and figuring out his place in the world post-retirement. He’s realized he passed the torch to Izuku and 1A, but that doesn’t mean he’s useless. He wants to join the fight with the kids; to catch up and run alongside them. And to do that, he….ditches them to join Tsukauchi and Endeavor. I do appreciate that All Might is open with Tsukauchi (and Sansa!!!) about his OFA experience. But he basically disappears from UA for two days to deal with Star and TomurAFO before coming back in 335 and then seemingly disappearing again before joining the UA faculty to discuss the Aoyamas. (As pictured above, Ochako and Tenya, then Katsuki, all rightfully call out All Might’s “I am not here” act in 335.) Are you really telling me that the man who cries over Aoyama’s reveal isn’t emotionally attached to the class and wouldn’t, you know, BE HERE for them?

What makes All Might’s absence from 1A even more problematic is that now he’s…Star’s mentor??? See, All Might sends out the call for help from his international super friends and Star comes riding in acting like she’s his successor. Chapter 364 later reinforces this, with Agpar’s monologue about “children observing adults and adults supporting the children as they pass it forward” showing a Prime All Might reach out out his hand to Star. It’s stupid because All Might has a direct successor already, plus two students (Katsuki and Shoto) that are direct heirs to other parts of his legacy, and another group of students that he’s been hands-on teaching for the past year. But Horikoshi decides to ignore all that setup and focus on “All Might + Star” rather than have him spend more time with 1A. Once again, if the point is to introduce thematic questions of inspiration and imitation, and how there’s a difference between someone imitating their idol based on their own interpretation vs actually receiving mentorship from the human behind the idol, it’s utterly lost in the execution. I just can’t bring myself to see Star as anything other than an interloper. I’m glad her pilot bros stayed in Japan to help out, and her sacrifice was heroic I suppose, but it suffered the same flaw as All Might. She tried to take on TomurAFO alone, and the best she could do is slow him down temporarily.

That’s all I can manage for now! In part 2, I’ll take a closer look at Ochako and the chain that leads to Izuku’s retrieval and where we are now.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Inej Ghafa x gn! Reader - One deep breath

A/n: you fuckers are lucky, i'm so sick right now but I decided to post anyways

Request: tumblr ate it, sorry anon, the request went something like: Inej and reader dancing around their feelings for each other

Warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of homelessness, mentions of gangs, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, death, swearing, there is religious imagery if you squint (not christian), I think that's it? You have been warned!

The Three P's: [Pronouns used: you/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) inej x reader, (platonic!) crows x reader]

The flowers took up root in your lungs before you began to violently cough them out. You curse as they come out of your throat, chocking you to the point of nausea. Tears fill your vision, and you swear at the saints when you see purple geraniums cover your hands and bed.

In the dead of night you'll slip out of the Slat using the very skills of the person who's killing you and go to a cemetery south of there. It's a quaint little thing, meant for the middle class people in Ketterdam, people who aren't poor enough to be barrel rats, but aren't rich enough to be sleazy sloths. Comfortable.

The grass there is soft, and the dirt warm, the perfect place to plant your geraniums.

Or maybe they were hers.

By day you would collect every flower, washing off the crimson from the purple and by night you would plant them. You planted them in an empty corner of the burial ground. It was nice, and pretty, as a pretty as her eyes. Meaning it was pretty enough to be buried there.

Inej was your dawn, she's what got you to the Dregs, out of your homelessness and back on your feet. Simultaneously she will also be your death, as she sails away on her ship, but comes back often enough for your stupid heart to yearn. Saints, you hate the yearning.

Saints, you hate the saints.

She's coming back again today, she'll be coming back later in the afternoon. Probably closer to midnight, in your bones you feel it might be your last. The flower stems take control of how much air gets in and out, and all you can smell around you is summer.

Inej's mother was right about them smelling like the sweet summer air, but now it wasn't sweet. It was a pounding in your head, a knife to throat, yet it reminded you of her. Of your sweet Inej, and despite the sea now staking it's claim over her scent, she still could smell like the summer air when she was happy. Genuinely, undeniably, happy. You didn't want it to disappear, and you would die because of that. Because you wouldn't let the shadow go, you wouldn't let the untouchable Wraith out of your desperate grasp.

As your time ticked by Inej had climbed into your room in the Slat through your window. The only reason you noticed she was there was the now obvious pattering of the rain outside and the fact that she was looking at you through your mirror across from your bed.

When your eyes met your lungs contracted painfully as those eyes full of everything good in this world enchanted you further into your delusions. They observed every part of your soul, and you couldn't help but look away before you would have to cough up a new round of purple petals.

"Hello, Y/n." She whispered as she came up to give you a friendly hug from behind, her arms wrapping around your middle "I missed you."

Saints, you wished she meant it in the way you did, because you had missed her in ways she wouldn't even be able to comprehend. You missed the burning of your lungs from being in her presence, you missed the way the blood would flow from your lips, because then you knew she was near. Inej wouldn't ever know that loving her was the same as suffering, that every time she looked at you, your chest would heave and you would smile at the clear malice of being in love with her.

Some part of you wanted this to all end, maybe if you had moved away from here, from her, so she could never find you then. But your heart has learned that a life without the Wraith, is not one worth living, so you'll take the flowers in exchange for seeing her.

Even if your life is to end, you'd rather take her pain, than leave, and take her love, because when you've lived for so long doing the same thing you get comfortable. The pain gives you solace, consolation that you won't ever have to see life without her, even if yours is too short for comfort.

"I missed you too." You nuzzle your head into her neck, your whispers the only sound other than the rain. Ketterdam for once is quiet, as if even she knows what is to come. "Tell me about your trip." You ask, as if it were any other normal night.

She grins and launches into a whole story about the new slavers she had been hunting, and some of the new recruits on her ship. Her stories took many twists and turns, and often they were long, but you would listen even if they went on for hours. During the time she was telling her tales of the sea, you two had drifted over to your bed, where you both now sat comfortably. Side by side, knees touching, bodies leaned forward, faces almost touching.

If you didn't know any better you would say you looked like lovers, but you did know better.

Eventually, it all comes to an end when her account of her sailing activities had finally dwindled away. All your left with is her goodbye, and those goddamn eyes, staring straight into your soul.

"Get some rest too, Y/n, it seems like you need it." She comments before she leaves.

You only roll your eyes at the Suli Girl. "If you insist."

I love you.

"Goodbye Inej."

As soon as she leaps from the windowsill you're on the floor coughing, more and more flowers, more than ever before. Purple geraniums flood your lungs and all you can think about is her.

_____________

Inej couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong when you didn't see her off when she left the next day.

She's felt like something has been bothering you for a while now, but she could never pinpoint what the problem was. Now she was back at sea, feeling as uneasy as ever, and she just couldn't shake off the feeling. That something just wasn't right, that there was something she had missed. It was as if she'd seen a shooting star in the sky, but turned around to view the moon instead.

Decidedly, she followed her gut, and her crew was now docking the decks of Ketterdam once more, and much more earlier than the last time.

When the Slat came into view, she noticed there were no lights in your room. Perhaps you were still sleeping, or maybe you were on a job.

Maybe her little lover is sick.

Although when she finds no trace of you in your room, her unease grows, finally she goes down to the crow club to try and find Kaz and see where he might know where you are.

His answer is not the one she is expecting.

It's not one she would ever dream of hearing.

"Y/n's dead," He spoke flatly, but even he, couldn't keep the grief from his voice. "They had the hanahaki disease, and chocked to death." He hands Inej a note, addressed to her. "Wylan found this when we were trying to figure out what killed them."

You were dead? But that wasn't possible! You couldn't be- you couldn't-

Snatching the letter out of Kaz's hands she begins to read, albeit with trembling hands, making everything so much harder than it already was.

Dear Inej,

If you're reading this, it means I'm gone. This letter is for you, to let you know that none of this is your fault.

I'm sorry that this is the way you found out, but it was always meant to end this way. Your love is like the sun, and I am nothing but to burn underneath your touch. For another it wouldn't have, but to me your love burns like the scorching sun.

That is not to say it is your fault, my lovely Inej, it is not your burden to bare the blame. If anything it is mine because of the choices I made. I decided that I wanted to live out the rest of my days loving you, (even if in secret) than living apart and trying to love someone else. The truth is Inej, I wouldn't have found anyone else even if I tried.

May your life be overflowing with love,

Y/n

____________

Inej was back on her ship, she had been for the last four months after your death.

Now, to fill the ever growing void in her chest she would throw herself into her work. While she's neglected to dock back at Ketterdam as it had brought too many memories. Your grin, your laughter, your stuttering smile - the way your lips had probably trembled as you chocked.

If her crew saw the bloody, black chrysanthemums she had been coughing up, they didn't say anything. Not even as her ship had started to leave a trail of beautiful carnations, because they had heard the news about her late lover. They all knew their great Wraith was now living on burrowed time.

In a corner of a cemetery for people living comfortably, purple geraniums were growing wild, as they bloomed and created more. All of it pretty enough to have your corpse laid. Where she too, in time would lay beside you, black chrysanthemums surrounding her tomb.

Lovers, too late.

Words 1577

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[multi-lefaiye]

SALVATORE INKTOBER 4. THREE BRICKS SHORT

Anna Burke (1913-1976), formerly Anna O'Malley, was Leslie's mother, a second-generation Irish-American immigrant whose family was heavily involved in organized crime, specifically a local street gang called The Emerald Devils. Though Anna was never directly involved with the family business, she supported it however she could. When she was 16, she was betrothed to a family friend's son, Neil Delaney. However, Anna instead fell for Westley Burke, a handsome construction worker with scruffy cheeks and a dazzling grin. He was interested in her for her, not for her family's power or wealth, and she quickly became captivated with him. The moment she was able, she ran away with him, leaving her family behind to start a new one with the man she loved. Unfortunately, things didn't quite go according to plan. Shortly following the birth of their fourth child, Leslie, Westley disappeared. When Anna received the fateful phone call telling her not to look into her husband's death, her life quickly spiraled out of control. Suddenly, she was left to care for four children alone. Over the following years, Anna did what she could to support herself and the kids, finding work at a local factory. As time went on and her work wore her down, she was left near-constantly exhausted, bitterness and anger seeping into her every step. She began resenting her lot in life, wishing she'd never followed her heart to be with Wes and had instead stayed with her family. More than that, she began to resent her children. She continued to care for them, sure, but she could never quite escape the feeling that her life would be better if she didn't have to worry about them.

posting this one a day late, but here's the fourth entry in my personal inktober challenge! today we meet salvatore's mom, a completely normal and well-adjusted woman /hj

anna is a character that's really interesting to me, and there's a lot i wanted to say about her that i decided to leave out for now. i'll explain in more detail once we get to other characters :3c we're finally starting to get to characters who had more of an impact on sal's life, haha!

and now, the taglist <3 (ask to be added or removed):

@skitzo-kero @anexor @jezifster @transmasc-wizard @lychniscitrus @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @astral-runic @invaderskoodge @lesbian-apple-yogurt @moonflowerrss @approximately20eggs @kingkendrick7 @chaieyestea @rosesandartss @lower-ones-eyes @albatris @presidentquinn

[moon-quq]

Dabi x Fem!Reader : P1

Depending on popularity of this one I'll post P2, like I did with my Loki fic, but for now here's for my Dabi sluts <3 Note: this doesn't follow actual mha works or timestamps, so don't get angy at me

Warnings : Slow burn, kinda sad ngl

" Touyaa!! Give it back- This is the second time you've taken it from me! " You screeched, stomping the ground while glaring up at Touya Todoroki, your best friend in the world. " Oh cmon! I know you can get it! " He snickered, placing his hand as high as he could while watching you jump to try and grab your toy. Eventually he caved and handed it back while grinning. " You're a meanie for that. " You huffed, holding the toy tightly too you while he ruffled your hair and replied. " But I'm your meanie pipsqueak. " This made you smile with utmost happiness.

TimeSkip : 18 Years Later ➜

Your alarm blared loudly off beside you but,, you didn't dare move, just layed face down in your pillow wishing the day would fuck off again but alas.. it did not so eventually you drug yourself out of bed and towards the bathroom to get ready for work. " Y/N you're late again. " Shit. You were late by 20 mins this time. " I'm sorry Enji.. I didn't hear my clock in time, this week has been pretty rough. " You muttered, grabbing your coffee while walking past the big burly dude. It had been years now since Touya disappeared and this week marks yet another off the calendar. Enji of course refuses to have any acknowledgment of it, maybe it's too painful for him.

There was another villain group sitting in the city today, leaving everyone on high alert that they may end up trying something, but of course everything stayed queit all day until evening where there was reports of blue flames appearing near the high school which caused every goody two shoes in radius to flock there as fast as possible. You were there first due to your quirk but looking back on it now, you wished you were last. The entire woods beside the school was on fire, burning in bright blue flames.. And right in the middle was some guy in a long coat with burn scars and black hair. " Hey! Stop right there! " You called loudly, looking around slightly to scope your surroundings before back at the male who now turned to face you giving you a look at his face and you thought you'd faint.. He looked like Touya, but also didn't.. His eyes were Touyas.. But his hair and skin looked nothing like the boy you once knew, no he was dead.

By the time you knew it, you did infact actually fucking faint,, now slowly waking up in a hospital wing you groaned from the pounding in your head.. the familiar old lady waddling in to smile up at you. " You havent been sleeping well have you dear? " She asked quietly, causing you to shake your head no and lay back down. " Too many nightmares again. " She only clicked her tongue and pulled your blanket over you while beginning to speak again. " Maybe getting some new friends would help you get over the feeling.. I see you every year during this time, and it's no wound I can heal. Only you can. " You knew she was right but you also were terrified if you let the memories of your Touya go,, he would be forgotten forever.

TimeSkip : A week later ➜

Ever since that day in the woods you'd been stuck thinking,, wondering if that was infact Touya.. and the longer you thought on it, the more invested you became until the point you caved and decided to go against your every promise and try and find the league thats plagued the city for months now.

First you began at the local corners where gangs hung out, making sure to pull your hood over your head enough to not be noticed but,, the blue flame boy was nowhere to be found, so you decided to check any other shady areas you could think of.. to yet again, no avail. And by the time you called quits it was already midnight.. But you felt the most defeated you'd ever been in a long, long time so of course your body made a b-line for a nearby bar that was mostly empty, now stepping inside to see a handful of people around the place. A shadow like man behind the bar greeted you in almost a confused way. " Hello Miss, what can I get for you tonight? " You noted that his voice was slightly anamatronic while speaking, maybe he was just nervous.. The other people around looked like normals, teens with no life or adults wanting to drink their life away. " Whatever is the strongest. " you replied while scooting into a stool at the bar to be comfy while you wait. " Is she that hero who fainted during the villain fight??? " You heard someone speaking behind you which caused your eye to twitch,, fucking paparazzi caught you fainting in the middle of the flames on camera.. and you were not exempt from Enji yelling at you and forcing you to be a desk worker instead of in the field. " She shouldn't be a hero if she's going to collapse in the middle of a fight, pathetic. " And that, one snide comment is what hit you over the edge, now shooting the shot you were given before turning around. " If you have shit to say you can say it to my face instead of gossiping about someone else's life you ungrateful fucking cunts. " You spat, glaring towards the back corner full of teen girls who stared at you in disbelief of what you had just said.

" What seems to be going on down here? " A low cold voice called while stepping down the stairs towards the back, the girls instantly fangirling while looking at whoever it was.. Except when he came into your view you froze, and so did he. " Get out, all of you. " He spat, glaring at the girls before back at you.. But like most girls they didn't listen the first time. " I won't tell you again, get out. " And with that final boom they finally stood up and left, along with everyone else who was a bystander. " Touya.. " You whispered, staring at him for a moment longer before darkness yet again covered your vision and you collapsed to the ground.

Sometime later,, you didn't know how long as your phone and watch were gone, as was your keys and whatever else you had on you. You were still in the bar, just looked like a more run down exact copy of the one you were just in. " Hello? " You called out, groaning at the pang in your head as you sat up fully. " You aren't supposed to be here Y/N. " Someone in the distance called while another giggled. " So this is that childhood chick you always talk about huh? " And then another more strained voice croaked. " She's a hero and knows him, she's bad news to even be here. We have to get rid of her. " And with that your fear piped up, now panicking while looking towards the voices which instantly made your blood run cold, you were infact infront of the entire league of villians. " No! You cannot kill her, I won't let you. " The one you believed was Touya now stepped infront of you, glaring at the other members who stared back. " You would keep our greatest risk alive.. all because of a childhood fling?! I think I'm starting to question your loyalty Dabi.. " The man who looked mostly dead seethed, but you were too focused on the name Dabi.. He was one of the main villains you were trying desperately to catch. And here he was, right infront of you.." I'll keep her. I'll train her not to say anything, I'll break her to be nothing but a loyal dog. " He spat back, this wasn't Touya.. this wasn't the boy you loved, this was some cold demon who just threatened to turn you into a slave.. However, the man who seemed to be the leader only hummed and nodded, looking away now whilst Touya turned to grab you by the shirt and pull you along towards the stairs. " Cmon doll, we got some fun to be had. "

[rabbitzk]

Javier Escuella x Reader! Tsundere

Warnings: None

Type: Fluff

Fandom: Red dead redemption 2

Just my first Tumblr post, have fun! By the way, English is not my first language! 😅

It was another day in the Van Der Linde gang, it was already midnight, but no one was asleep or tired, on the contrary.

Sitting by the campfire, listening while everyone was having fun, singing together. Javier was playing his guitar and everything was as peaceful as ever. 

But I had things to do...

In the bar, music playing, drunks and women offering themselves, just another normal day in Valentine.

— One more down! — Javier was shouting, sitting in front of the bar, two women in his arms, Arthur kept shouting for Lenny, and Lenny... where's Lenny? Whatever.

There was a man looking to pick a fight with Arthur, provoking him, the state of the two men was deplorable. Two drunk men fighting, only to start dancing.

— Idiots...

A strange man, tall and kind of fat, comes up to me, teasing me, I just ignore him, until he grabs my arm and shouts, annoyed.

Javier sees this and is about to intervene.

— Hijo de puta, leave her alone-

Before he can finish his sentence, I punch the man in the face, right in the nose, breaking it in the process.

— Wow. 

— Don't mess with an outlaw, you strange idiot.

The man, realizing what he was dealing with, walks away.

Snapping my head out of my trance, I speak:

— Okay, guys, I'm off to my tent, I've got things to do in the morning. — I get up from the log I was sitting on next to Tilly, and Javier. 

— Already? — Tilly asks. 

— Yes, important things, Tilly. Good night, then.

After that, I head towards my tent and close it up. 

A few hours had passed, everyone had already gone to sleep in their tents, the perfect time to go out for a horseback ride and clear my head. Leaving my tent and heading towards my horse, Rose, I hear a voice with a strong Mexican accent. 

— Hola, cariño! 

— Javier? What a fright, you idiot! — I shout, but then lower my voice and jokingly punch him in the arm. — Don't do that anymore - to tell you the truth, what are you doing here? It's late.

— Look who's talking. 

— Don't start, Javier.

— Just tell me, what are you doing here so late?

— I wanted to go horse riding with Rose.

— Then I'll go with you. Reminisce about old times.

That was pretty much the end of our conversation, before we got on our horses and set off, heading in the direction of Valentine.

Arriving at a stream, we got off our horses, it was a nice cold evening, but as we were near a part with snow and water, it was cold, so I started to shiver slightly, Javier noticed.

— All right, love? — he asked, walking over to me.

— What does it look like? I'm clearly cold, you idiot...

Javier doesn't answer, moving closer to me, taking off his poncho and putting it on me, my eyes widening slightly.

— Javier... that's your poncho.

— I know, you can keep it on. It's not even that cold... 

He was visibly shivering now, and I sighed before going over to him and pulling him close.

— Just hug me and shut up.

— Sure, cariño...

[wolfepirat3]

And I'm back with more Warriors!

(little update on the fic for all those interested, i have nearly 3k of the first chapter done as of now so im going to guess ill have it posted within the next 2-3 days)

Anyways, this is for @kalenythekalenko who wanted to know some of my headcanons, so here's a few I've come up with since the beginning of infatuation with the movie 🤗 (+ some of my explanations/reasoning for them)

1) For some odd reason, the new bloods really take to Ajax upon joining and they end up following him around. This pisses him off as well as inflates his ego a bit to the point that he's not really sure if he hates or likes it.

I actually have no clue as to where this one came from, he just seems like the kind of guy a bunch of naïve new members would see and be like "hes so fuckin cool i want to be him"

I however do not think he's that cool, boo ajax boo 🍅🍅

2) Swan and Cowboy are really good friends

So i actually have a Swan and Cowboy bffs agenda? When watching the movie i notice how they kind just... End up near each other? Also the part after the fight with the Furies when Swan helps Cowboy up. Then there's afterwards when Cowboy and Snow want to go back for Ajax and Swan doesn't react to it until after Cowboy gives his reasoning (this one might actually be me looking a little too far into it). And then during the fight with the Punks when Cowboy takes out the Punk attacking Swan.

This feeling about their friendship was amplified when I played the game and during the backstory mission and realized that they had left the Destroyers together, stuck together while not associated with a gang, and then Swan would only join the Warriors if Cowboy would be able to as well.

(in a similar vein to this, I think Snow and Swan are also pretty good friends because Swan made Snow his main liutenant in the Jailbreak comic and I feel like some sort of camaraderie would've had to be apparent in order for that decision to be made.)

3) This one might be a little silly, but it did come to me at midnight a few days ago, but basically-- I feel like Cleon's the type of guy to just call people by their full names whenever addressing them.

Okay so I do have some sort of basis for this one. Whenever I read the original script + watched the deleted scenes I saw how Snow was originally Snowball and I just related Cleon addressing Snow in the one deleted scene to him calling everyone by full names. (I do wish they called him Snowball once or twice in the movie though I would've adored that)

4) okay so i dont know if this counts as a headcanon but i did decide to basically give personalities and names and stuff to characters from the Gladiators and Red Hook Shooters (two gangs that definitely exist but literally have nothing about them-- besides where theyre based and some of the Gladiators having canon appearances since they briefly show up in the beginning of the movie), but that's a whole long thing to put in here so just know I'm going to put this information to use in my fic (more shameless self promotion 😔)

Alright, I'm pretty sure those are the only things I can think of right now, of course with time I'll probably remember/think of some more and I'll share those too!

Thank you to everyone whose made it this far expressed so much interest in my stuff!!

You guys are 2 cool and I hope you have a good day, thank you again!

[jess-cookierun-art]

Hello! I am Jess!

On this account, I will be posting my Cookie Run art and headcanons, mainly OCs, Madeleine Cookie, Red Velvet Cookie, Licorice Cookie, the Ancient Heroes, and my son, Wizard Cookie!

Unlike my other account @jess-selfships-precure I will put a list of my OCs and a short backstory about them and some random AUs I have under the cut cause I have a lot of OCs and one or two AUs

My Cookie Run OCs and a little bit about them

Magical Girl Cookie - She is an energetic cookie who has a big disliking to Espresso Cookie for unknown reasons. In a relationship with Madeleine Cookie and has called Wizard Cookie her son.

Neapolitan Cookie - A very mysterious sweet cookie who had her body parts from other cookies. She wields a giant hammer. In a relationship with Red Velvet Cookie.

Silver Swiss Cookie - A corrupted cookie who was exposed to the silver material and had their body partly deformed. They blame Golden Cheese Cookie for their corruption and is out to destroy her.

Flower Garden Cookie - A cookie who happens to be a clone of White Lily Cookie. She relives through her og source’s memories while in reality, she almost gets harmed. She is mistaken for White Lily Cookie multiple times. She also is immune to Poison Mushroom’s shroomies. In a relationship with Licorice Cookie.

Holy Vanilla Cookie - A cookie clone of Pure Vanilla Cookie. He is very loyal to Flower Garden Cookie to the point where he falls in love with her. He is mistaken as Pure Vanilla Cookie once by Gingerbrave and his gang. Also not affected by Poison Mushroom’s shroomies.

Pink Berry Cookie - A cookie clone of Hollyberry Cookie. Still has her og source’s personality except she just wants vengeance. Idk what for and she doesn’t know either. She’s a great hugger though. Also not affected by Poison Mushroom’s shroomies.

Midnight Cacao Cookie - A cookie clone of Dark Cacao Cookie. Much more calmer and relaxed than his og source. Likes to meditate and takes naps. He is mistaken as Dark Cacao Cookie once by Dark Choco Cookie. Also not affected by Poison Mushroom’s shroomies.

Golden Cheddar Cookie - A cookie clone of Golden Cheese Cookie. Not much different from her og source in both appearance and personality except she claims she’s faster than GC. Also got killed by Silver Swiss, due to the fact by them mistaking her for her og source. Also not affected by Poison Mushroom’s shroomies but she doesn’t really like them.

Light Frappe Cookie - Not much backstory for her except she’s dating Espresso Cookie and is rivals with Magical Girl Cookie.

Cookie Run AUs that are just for fun and not serious:

Accidental Destiny AU - Flower Garden Cookie and Dark Choco Cookie go on an adventure to figure out where the clone came from while Princess Cookie and Custard Cookie III joins along the way. Silver Swiss Cookie makes appearances but they join cause why the hell not?

Ancient Adoption AU - Flower Garden Cookie is adopted by the four (4) remaining Ancient Heroes after escaping the Tower of Sweet Chaos and ending up near White Lily Cookie’s stained glass window.

[darkmaga-retard]

Dear Readers, I am posting Friday’s website material today, because I have early morning interviews and other intrusions that prevent my usual morning postings.

I regret publishing such important material on a Friday when normally insouciant Americans are even less attentive. Perhaps the few who count will realize the precipices, yes plural, on which we sit leaderless.

The world is coming close to its end. It is an end that has nothing to do with alleged global warming, Cows farting, orchestrated pandemics, or racism. Washington’s refusal to release its power of hegemony over a world that is no longer accepting of it is bringing about our destruction.

How can we understand such an extraordinary act of selfishness?

War Is Upon Us or Will Putin Blink Again

Paul Craig Roberts, September 13, 2004

Gilbert Doctorow, a cautious commentator, has arrived at a position similar to my own. On September 10, Doctorow wrote in his article, “The insane recklessness of Collective Biden,” that “I cannot say how close we are to midnight on the nuclear war watch. But a Third World War fought at least initially with conventional weapons is now just days, at most weeks away.” https://gilbertdoctorow.substack.com/p/the-insane-recklessness-of-collective?utm_source=post-email-title&publication_id=1203055&post_id=148745560&utm_campaign=email-post-title&isFreemail=true&r=dx5km&triedRedirect=true&utm_medium=email

What has pushed the cautious Dr. Doctorow to my position “is the near certainty that the United States and Britain have just agreed to give the Zelensky regime permission to use the long-range missiles which have been delivered to Ukraine, certainly including Storm Shadow and likely also the 1500 km range stealth missile known as JASSM to strike deep into the Russian heartland, and so ‘to bring the war to Russia’ as the Zelensky gang put it.”

Doctorow reasons that Russia’s destruction of Ukraine’s army has prompted the neoconned Biden regime into one last desperate and reckless act of trying to deprive Russia of its victory “by escalating the conflict to a world war.”

[caranelguild]

Our adventurers have made the long flight northwest from Urbis to Snowcrest Village in the far north, central to the continent of tundra and rock above Tulea, where Krieg, Vola, and Damaia began their journey. Snowcrest Village is remote, a place only existing thanks to the technology of flight. It is a tourist trap, but dark rumours have been drifting from it - stories of occult gatherings and missing tourists.

After setting Twula up by the aeroplanes with warm blankets and firewood, the gang spreads through the village gathering information. They learn that some three months ago, a couple of local teenagers stumbled upon a sinkhole an hour outside of town. The continent is lined below with tunnels hollowed by lava; this must be a rare passage between the over- and underworlds of the tundra. The teenagers found a chunk of quartz in the sinkhole which they began to use as an occult tool and party trick. Bold partygoers would put the stone in their mouths, where it would allegedly begin to glow while transporting the users' minds to another plane of existence. Whole seances and performances followed - until a guest's boring older sister crashed a party near the sinkhole one day and threw the quartz into the depths of the hole, out of reach.

The sinkhole was forgotten . . . but strange things began happening around Snowcrest Village. Tourists began to disappear, five over the next month. Then, three days before the arrival of our adventurers, one of the missing returned - was discovered walking up the slope from the sinkhole, where the militia had kept a posting to prevent a resumption of the occult parties.

This tourist, a gnome named Equinis, has been held in the militia office since her mysterious return.

It was midnight by the time all this information had been gathered, but our adventurers had spent the last five or six days cramped in aeroplanes - they are not yet desirous of beds. They head to the militia office, which is closed for the night. They knock upon the door and are greeted by a nervous human male, who speaks out to them from a peephole.

Krieg convinces him that our group has been sent to investigate the happenings by a council of Patriarchs in Tulea (Snowcrest Village is run by the dark elves), and the nervous militiaman hasn't the boldness to question it. Krieg is permitted in to speak to Equinis while the others wait outside.

Equinis has been held these three days upstairs in an evidence and storage closet. She is startled up from sleep, and sits up on a cot in rumpled day clothes.

Krieg is left to interview her, but there is little to learn. She had been hiking with her husband and twin sons, and had gone off a ways on her own to relieve herself. The next thing she remembers, she was walking up from the sinkhole at dawn, where she was found by a militiaman.

Krieg connects with his god and discovers that Equinis has been desecrated somehow.

The militiaman on duty this night resists when Krieg says he will be taking Equinis back to her family, but ultimately gives way, even revealing their location in town.

Outside, Quagoon notices that they are being watched from an alleyway. When he subtly points it out to the others, his efforts are in vain: Damaia immediately looks over, then goes to the alleyway, pulling a scrap of paper from her pocket to throw away in the rubbish bin there.

A cloaked gnome races away into the darkness.

Shortly, Krieg and Equinis come out of the headquarters. The group then heads into town to the White Stage, a lodge where Equinis' husband Eldredd is staying with her two sons, Billi and Timmi.

They see the cloaked gnome again at the door of the establishment, heading in. They go to the information desk, where Vola speaks in Goliath with the staff member there. Sure enough, the gnome that just entered was Eldredd. Vola buys an expensive bottle of wine from the bar just off the lobby, and the gang heads up the stairs to the gnomes' room.

When passing down the second floor hallway, Quagoon notices the gnome again, but gestures the others to go on. Eldredd is resting against a barrel of ice in a nook off the hallway; when he is still, his cloak seems to take on the colours of his surroundings. Nobody else notices him. Quagoon steps into a doorway and watches.

The others arrive at room 412 and Vola knocks. Sleepy children's voices answer, and Equinis is immediately in tears: it's her boys! There is a touching reunion.

Then the gnome on the second floor finally moves on after muttering to himself in Gnomish, but when he comes to the fourth floor and sees a trio of armed strangers standing over his wife and children, he goes wild: he rushes at them crying hoarsely!

Quagoon grabs him from behind and everyone is ushered swiftly into the room.

There, the situation is explained. Eldredd has been in an understandable panic since his wife disappeared, and since her reappearance, has been posting outside of the office where she's being kept in the hope to break her out or just catch a glimpse of her. Our adventurers explain that they are not actually agents of the Patriarchs, but that they are here in Snowcrest Village to investigate the sinkhole. Because they are not officials, they explain, it would be best if Eldredd take his family out of Snowcrest Village at the earliest opportunity.

Then they ask after his magical cloaking cloak, which Billi and Timmi are thrilled to explain was a gift upon his promotion among the rangers of Mielikki.

A good deed done and the family warned not to stay, our adventurers move on, thinking perhaps to spend the night by the sinkhole to observe the environs. They head off that way.

Ironically it is Quagoon who steps on a patch of crunchy snow and alerts the militiaman on duty of the presence of strangers somewhere in the approach up to the sinkhole.

Krieg doesn't hesitate to use his stone of fog, then creeps around the guard and howls like an angry dragon.

"It's happening!" cries the dark elf in fear. "The spirits have awakened again!" He panics and rushes for town.

Our adventurers are preparing to head down the steep slope that forms the first fifty feet of the sinkhole when suddenly rushing towards them from the woods is Eldredd!

He is panicked, and can barely cry out, "It's not her! It's not my wife!" before dropping to his hands and knees and wheezing.

He explains, after being administered to: Equinis had a scar on the back of her hand, and the person that returned has no such mark. She is also acting strange towards their boys, and Eldredd simply has an instinct: he looked into her eyes and saw something evil.

Our adventurers promise to get to the bottom of this (no pun intended) and Eldredd gives them a sending stone, asking if they will come help him if he returns to the village to find something terrible has happened (he had sent the twins off to the militia while he abandoned "Equinis" in the middle of the street).

Once he is gone, our adventurers continue descending the pit. They reach its false bottom, where a stony well mouth yawns. Here, they rig up ropes and descend two at a time through a cylinder that opens up into a large cavern. Their ropes do not reach the bottom.

Quagoon drops to the floor easily, and catches Damaia who follows. Krieg also drops, when it is his turn, but Vola elects to swing over to a ledge and clamber down from there.

Once all have reached the bottom, they spread out to find further passage. Damaia stumbles upon it: a crevice in the floor that widens enough to allow a body through. Beneath, a small red glow in a dark space.

Quagoon and Damaia drop through and pick up a chunk of smoky quartz, which ceases glowing as soon as they perceive it more closely.

The others follow. An arrow-straight passage stretches before them.

With only one way to go, the decision is easy. Onward! About an hour passes in this straight, slightly descending passage before they arrive at a fork: two identical tunnels continue on.

They choose a direction and continue, but this time Vola begins marking the passage periodically with the strike of a hammer. When all begin to feel, "Wait, we passed this mark/node/bump before," the gang comes to a stop. That's when everyone notices that the close silence of the passage has been replaced by a low moaning hum.

Damaia pulls the quartz from her pocket and Vola smashes it. The hum stops. The gang continues on, after another half hour coming to another identical fork.

Identical is the word for it, for as they enter their chosen passage, they notice that it has been marked periodically by hammer strikes. After half an hour, they come upon a pile of quartz dust! But when investigated further, it proves to be illusory: a knife blade passes through it without stirring matter.

The subterranean journey continues like this for a fork or two more before everyone is looking at each other with suspicion: something is not right about each companion. Is it the way they move? Or how they form words? Something unidentifiable is not right.

Then Krieg pulls out his holy symbol and where Quagoon had been standing now lurks a featureless grey form that vanishes into the air within seconds. Krieg puts it back, but Quagoon doesn't reappear.

In fact, Quagoon now finds himself in an identical tunnel, alone. He rings a bell from his bag, but there is no response, and he waits.

The others move gingerly on. Then, in the next passage, when Krieg withdraws his symbol again, Vola disappears! Krieg and Damaia are alone, and argue about where to go.

Vola, meanwhile, is in an identical passage of her own. No Quagoon, no friends at all, just the marks of her hammer from two or three tunnels ago, and illusory crystal dust in halfway down the tunnel. Vola elects to retrace her steps to the last fork, where she waits.

Quagoon has moved forward to the next fork, where he rests.

Krieg and Damaia move forward, fork to fork, until Krieg begins to see something off about his partner - at which time, he begins sprinting forward!

Damaia is confused and surprised, and stops . . . before retracing her steps.

She is passing approaching a second fork on her path back when she encounters Vola, fresh from a rest. They seem to each other to be real.

Now everyone moves forward.

Krieg is the first to encounter something new: the passage slants up, now, and ends suddenly at a mirror that fills the tunnel. In its center, a dull grey door.

Quagoon, in his lonely passage, also comes up to this.

Then, a few tunnels on from their reuniting, Vola and Damaia together encounter this . . . but in the mirror, they see each other as a featureless grey mannequin! Their own reflections are true. When they look at their companion physically beside them, they are there, physical, real. But in the mirror . . .

Krieg and Quagoon move to their door. Vola steps up to the mirror and draws back a hammer . . .

[unmeisenshi]

This chapter is long as hell. Hope you enjoy novels.

We reconvene with Audie, who is currently flying out to the west. He didn’t have a ton of info to go off of, so he made a few stops at smaller camps of survivors, asking for information. He eventually discovered where the gang was located, a short distance from the last camp he spoke to, and he took off like a bullet. It didn't take him long to find the smoke from a fire billowing, and he flew downwards as a light rain began to fall. He landed just outside of the camp, where a guard stood and kept watch in front of a Japanese-style gate. The Espeon made himself known right away, glaring at the Incineroar guard as his rings and eyes glowed brighter. The guard looked at the Espeon. “Hey, kid. Get lost! No one is allowed in or out!”

“No…” Audie said coldly, picking the guard up by the neck. He flew high up, high enough that the people inside wouldn’t hear what was about to happen.

-

Inside of the camp, the main leader and some other members sat around a spit roast, eating what appeared to be a Magikarp of some kind. They laughed and talked, and had a grand old time, blissfully unaware of what happened outside of the gate. The leader, a Tyranitar, looked at the gate. “Hey. Go and get him from outside. Tell him it’s his break.” He asked, looking at a Lucario.

They nodded, and ran towards the gate. The Lucario was there for a long while, before running back to the Tyranitar. “Sir… our guard is gone! He’s not at his post!”

The Tyranitar stood up. “What? Then where is he?”

Just after the leader finished his sentence, a set of legs fell in front of the group, blood splattering against the ground. It was the Incineroar guard… half of him, at least.

The group recoiled back, and the Tyranitar looked up to see where the legs came from. In the sky, Audie hovered just above them, the only parts visible being his white rings and glowing blue eyes. He stayed in the darkness for the moment. “Are you the leader?”

The Tyranitar growled, and stepped forward slightly. “Yeah, I’m him. What of it?”

Audie looked around silently, and saw the two birthing pods in the window of a building. Both Pokemon appeared to be almost to term. “The pods you took from Midnight City… Return them.” Audie said, pointing to said pods.

“Yeah? And what if I don’t want to?” The Tyranitar asked, the entire group and himself chuckling.

The Espeon sighed. “I really hate doing this… But you’re awful enough that I can justify it.” He threw a hand forward, and his Telekinesis grabbed hold of the Lucario from before. They were lifted slightly into the air, screaming for help, before Audie clenched his fist. The Lucario was forced to curled into a tight ball, every single bone crunching and snapping, before being let go and flopping over on the ground. Audie looked back, and then tossed something at the Tyranitar. It was the torso of the Incineroar guard, it landing near the legs and almost perfectly lining the two halves together. “If you choose not to… These two will be the first, but certainly not the last.”

The leader looked stunned, and unsure of what to do next. Even with his uncertainty, he looked at his henchmen. “Get ‘em, boys!”

The Espeon sighed once again. “Very well.”

-

MIDNIGHT CITY

Morello exited the hospital, and ran towards town as a light rain began to fall. The Lycanroc’s stopped at a building that acted as a flea market and farmer’s market of sorts . Thankfully for him, it seemed as though the building was untouched, meaning that most of the market stands still had their goods, and the lights inside remained on. He approached one stand, and began to grab as much of the food as he could.

Morello would notice that a lot of the food - berries, fish, meat, and vegetables - was in a container of sorts. It was blue, looking similar to a can, and had buttons along the outside. He pressed a button, and the device opened up on the top, revealing some berries that had some icicles formed over them, and freezing air blowing from inside of the device. His eyes widened, mostly in awe of what he was seeing. “Containers that freeze the food… Genius…” he muttered, sealing the container and stuffing it into his pack.

He would repeat this at many other stands, continuing until his pack was completely filled. He was preparing to leave the building, when something in one of the flea market stands caught his eye. It was a smithing shop, and various weapons lay on the floor. The weapon that caught his eye was a long, thin katana that sat in its sheath, the blade’s sheath having a strap along it. He knelt down and picked the blade up, inspecting it. The blade felt cold to the touch, and etched into the sheath was the blade’s name - Yukianesa. The Lycanroc gripped it tighter, and stood up. He looked over the other weapons, none of them really catching his eye, and he exited the building.

The rain had begun to fall harder, and Morello had to sprint as he exited the building. The rain had made it difficult to see, and he accidentally tripped over something small, landing in a puddle with a large splash. He turned around, and noticed Louis laying on the ground. “Louis!” The Lycanroc quickly got up, and picked up the Cubone. He sprinted to a nearby food stall, taking shelter under it.

“God dammit, Louis, what are you doing here!?”

The Cubone looked up at Morello, looking slightly guilty. “Everyone else fell asleep, so I wanted to come find you. I was worried about you. Everyone is safe and under cover from the storm.”

Morello looked around, and sighed, rubbing the top of Louis’ head. “Thanks, kiddo. I appreciate it.” He said, hugging the Cubone.

Louis hugged Morello back, keeping quiet and holding onto his guardian tightly. After a bout of silence, Louis noticed the long blade, and pointed at it. “Dad… What’s that?”

Morello’s ears perked up, and he pulled the blade into his lap, letting it rest in his hands for a moment. Did he really want to give the blade to him? Is he even old enough to responsibly use it?

The Lycanroc nodded silently, and strapped the blade across Louis’ shoulder, tightening it so it wouldn’t fall off of him. The blade rested against the Cubone’s left hip, the handle pointed upward. He then held the Cubone by the shoulders. “Louis… Look at me.” He asked. When he turned to look at his father, Morello continued. “I want you to have this weapon, because by the time we get back home… You’ll have to know how to fight. Since it’ll be a while until we get home, you’ll have plenty of time to learn to defend yourself. But I want you to listen carefully… This isn’t a toy, and this isn’t made of plastic or rubber. It’s the real thing, and you can seriously hurt one of us with it. Do you get me?”

Louis looked down at the blade, and nodded. “I understand.”

“Good. Now… I want to teach you to hold it. Just trust me, and follow my instructions.” Morello moved behind Louis, and held the Cubone’s arms lightly. “Right, so… To draw it, place your left thumb against the hand guard, and let your hand rest flat against it.”

“Like this?” Louis moved his hand against the sheath, letting it bump against the hand guard, and placing his thumb against it.

“That’s right. Now, I’m going to guide your hands. I want you to grab the sword with your right hand, and push against the guard with your left thumb until it pops out.”

Louis nodded, and placed his hand onto the handle, and pushed the blade out with his thumb. A light click was heard as it was pushed out. Morello then looked down. “Now, and be careful about this, don’t let your thumb run against the sword. The sharp end is facing up at you, so you’ll cut yourself. Let me guide your hands so you can get a feel for how to do it.”

“Okay.” The Cubone said. Morello then lightly held onto Louis’ hand, guiding his hand to draw the blade, the sword being drawn with a defining shiny sound. Louis watched intently, admiring the shine of the katana in the neon pink lights of the city. “Whoa…” He muttered.

Morello chuckled before he continued speaking. “For right now, I want you to hold the handle of the sword with two hands. And always remember to have the sharp side facing away from you, okay?”

The Cubone nodded, and held on with two hands like Morello instructed. The Lycanroc then looked down at Louis. “Alright, I’m going to let go of your arms. I want to see if you can hold the blade up at all - see where your strength is right now.”

“O-Okay…” Louis replied, sounding a tad bit nervous about the idea, but holding onto the handle tightly. Morello then slowly let go of the Cubone's hands, but keeping his own close by to catch Louis if need be.

Surprisingly, Louis held the sword up for a while, but inevitably the front of the katana was too heavy, and it clanked against the ground as it pulled him forward. Morello lightly clapped his hands together. “Very good. We’ll have lots of time to train once we leave here.” Morello leaned forward, using Louis’ hands to guide the blade back into the sheath. He sat back, turning quiet as he inspected Louis up and down with a smile on his face. “You look so much like Zane now…”

Louis blushed slightly, and rubbed the back of his head. “Thanks…” He said, before once again going up and hugging Morello. “Love you, Dad. I just wanted to tell you that, before I go back to Aunt Florence.”

Morello smiled, a few tears in his eyes as he hugged onto Louis. “Love you too, kiddo.”

-

MIDNIGHT CITY GENERAL HOSPITAL, B3F

Solaris quietly followed Ross down to the sixth floor first, making sure to go slowly for Solaris’ sake. There, the Sylveon quietly grabbed some meds and herbs they had on hand, putting them into a red container and handing it to Solaris. It was here that the Charizard got a good look at the pods Ross was talking about, and he was amazed at what he saw.

The two then traveled further down the stairwell, entering a locked door that was hidden under the first set of stairs. They went three stories down, passing by a morgue first, then by a psychiatric ward. The third floor down was labeled “GREENHOUSE/FARM”. The pair entered that door, and were immediately hit by a wave of heat from inside. Even though Solaris was a Fire-Type, the initial heat really bothered him. He stayed out for a moment as Ross entered first. She looked back at Solaris. “Come on. We don't want too much heat to escape out of here.”

The Charizard nodded, and stepped inside of the room, closing the door to the greenhouse. Inside of the room were several small plots, each growing something different. Directly within the Charizard’s view was a plot with wheat, a plot with tomatoes, and a plot with carrots.

“Whoa…” Solaris said quietly. “How’d you grow all of this with no sunlight?”

“We had some Espeon use Sunny Day, and contained the move in small bulbs. The bulbs are able to produce sunlight continuously, so we can grow crops.” Ross said with a smile. She led Solaris down the hallway, and into a very large room with several freezers filled with thousands of containers in each. She turned around. “We have plenty of stuff in here - enough to last us a few centuries. Take as much as you need.”

Solaris nodded, and began to fill his pack with vegetables and other crops. By the time he was done, his pack was stuffed to the brim with cucumber, lettuce, tomato, wheat, carrots, and potatoes - all of them packed neatly in containers that froze the crops.

“All done?” Ross asked. When Solaris nodded, she led him out of the freezer room and back into the stairwell, where the two went back up to Avett to wait.

[activatebutterflyshield]

Day 5! Okay, this WIP is really hecking long (5000+ words and counting) so I’m splitting it up into a few posts over the next few days. It was a response to a @/writing-prompt-s’ prompt, but I lost the original post. Again. Whoops!

-

Debt (Part 1)

-

Albatross got up to answer the desperate rapping at the safehouse door. Everyone but Magpie was sleeping off the training, but the right-hand man was too worked up to rest. Pulling on his peaked hood, he looked through the peephole Magpie had installed, and saw… Lily of the Valley?

She was certainly the plant-powered heroine, but the ragged figure looked almost nothing like the fearless super they had time and time again faced in open battle and negotiations alike. Lily’s long hair was limp and soaked in the rain, framing a face of running makeup and eyes red from crying. She wore plainclothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but they were muddy and torn and maybe even scorched besides being fully soaked through. Her arms were covered in bruises and a few hastily bandaged cuts. She was also barefoot, her feet swollen and red from running across the Los Angeles concrete.

Without hesitating, Albatross threw open the door as fast as his clawed hands could undo the four locks and two deadbolts. It slammed against the wall, and Lily flinched at the noise before looking up. Though the hero was nowhere near Albatross’ six foot four inches, she had always projected confidence and power to equal every member of the Murder of Crows. But now she was far tinier than her five foot two frame, hunched and shivering in the storm.

“A-Albat-t-tross?” Lily stammered, stumbling forward slowly, “I-I-I didn’t know where else to—“

Her words cut off as she fell into the warehouse, caught safely by Albatross’ waiting arms. He supported her with one wing and one arm as he re-bolted the door, before picking her up easily and striding into the common area.

Magpie looked up, his never-still fingers still clacking the keys of his computer. “What was that no— Lily?”

Albatross nodded. “Soaked through, beat up, and robbed blind, I reckon. Wake up the Murder. I gotta lay her out somewhere…”

The techie was up and off to the resting rooms before Albatross had finished speaking, computer station abandoned. He laid Lily out on the second-hand dining table the Murder used for meals and planning, carefully inspecting her injuries.

Four sets of running feet hammered down the hallway as the rest of the Murder burst into the common area. Swallowtail came first, her arms full of spare clothes and first aid equipment. Magpie and Harpy entered next, followed by their leader, Midnight Raven. All of them came to Albatross’ side at the table.

“Oh, Lily,” Swallowtail muttered, wringing her hands as Harpy began first aid, “What happened to you?”

Magpie had broken out his camera, taking detailed photos of the heroine’s injuries. “A super must’ve done this, no way could some punk burn Lily in the middle of a storm with a Zippo.”

“What do you make of this, Raven?” Albatross asked him.

“Well,” the leader of the Murder responded, casting his eyes over the unconscious Lily, “She either trusts us, or was in such a bad position that we were the best option. But I agree with Magpie; those burns were made by a super. The shape’s around the size of a hand, and they’re where a mugger would grab someone, on the arm and around the torso.”

Harpy looked up from applying a new bandage to a large, rough cut on Lily’s forearm, not even pausing while he spoke. “I think one of the gangs is responsible for this one, boss. Claw marks, burns, bruises, and mud? We’re nowhere near a park, so that’s at least three different powers, possibly more.”

Raven nodded. “How long ago do you think this happened, Harpy?”

“Not more than an hour ago, I’d say. If she ran straight here and collapsed, and given her condition, I’d bet on no more than thirty minutes ago.”

Raven nodded again. “Alright then. It’s what, nine-thirty? Get some rest. We’re up and moving as soon as Lily tells us more.”

-

Lily came too around twelve hours later, laid out on a slightly threadbare couch and under a well-worn blanket. She felt her arms, wincing as she grasped new gauze bandages over where the masked attackers had clawed and burned and stabbed at her.

A familiar deep voice and a strong hand on her shoulder interrupted her. “Don’t, it’ll just break the scabs.”

Lily jerked around, instinctively trying to pull out seeds from pockets that didn’t exist, nearly falling over in the process. Harpy reached out to steady her.

“Careful. I don’t want to have to dress them again, Lily of the Valley.”

She righted herself with some difficulty before staring in disbelief at the villain who had apparently treated her wounds. “W-What? You… dressed my wounds?”

Harpy nodded. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I? Never mind, Raven would like to hear about what happened to you last night.”

Lily only became more confused. “Why would he want to know? A-And why would I tell him, anyway?”

Another deep voice answered her from somewhere else in the room. “So that we may uphold the golden rule in your place, Lily London.”

The heroine spun around again, managing to keep her balance as she took in the figure of the Midnight Raven, flanked by Albatross and Swallowtail, each of them familiar adversaries. The Raven was tall, but shorter than Albatross, and even without his mask on, his face still seemed shrouded in shadow.

“Why would you ever do anything for me, Shadowpinner?” She hissed, trying to wriggle out of Harpy’s firm grip on her shoulder.

Swallowtail cocked her head at the heroine. “She isn’t acting like the Lily who I remember.”

Raven nodded. “Indeed. Magpie?”

A shorter man stuck his head from around the doorframe the other villains had exited from, long bangs covering his eyes and slightly glowing circles slowly spinning around his head. “Yeah?”

“What exact injuries did you see on Lily last night?”

“Uhmmmm…” Magpie trailed off as he worked to recall the memory, “three claw-like cuts, two burns, more than ten distinct bruises, several mud smears, and what looked like a needle injection site.”

“A-An injection site?” Lily stammered, stopping her struggle, “Like a vaccine?”

“Or a drug,” Albatross realized.

Raven’s nod confirmed his suspicions. “Magpie, are there any drugs that require injection and can cause confusion in the victim out there on the streets?”

His head ducked back behind the doorframe for a few seconds filled with the clacking of keys before it came back out.

“Indeed there is, boss. A little liquid called Syrup, aka Honey, aka Simple Stuff, aka a lot of other names that reference its viscosity and supposed sweetness. Created by one of the family gangs, the Golden Hornets, whose power has something to do with intensifying the strength of already available drugs. It makes people drowsy, then confused and overly paranoid when injected, but taken orally, it’s basically a painkiller.”

“That would explain Miss Of the Valley’s behavior,” Harpy said, “But not why she got beat up. Who has access to this Syrup?”

More key clacking preceded the response. “A decent number of people. It seems the Golden Hornets are just the producers, and they sell it to other gangs, most notably the Dog Whistles, the Sawsharks, and the Quicksilvers, who then sell them on the street. But… there has been some, er, disagreements over the right to distribute Syrup. Mainly between the Dog Whistles and the Lion Queens.”

“Never heard of the Queens before,” Swallow commented, “are they upstarts?”

“Yes. All the police reports have them as being no larger than 20 members, not a proper gang yet, and wanting to carve a place for themselves.”

“You got any photos?” Raven asked.

Keys clacked again, longer this time, before Magpie’s head returned. “Some. Not very quality, just security footage and some lucky newsie’s action shots.”

He turned to Lily, still frozen in Harpy’s grip. “Could you describe what your attackers looked like? What they were wearing and such?”

“If you stop manhandling me, Cloudjumper.”

Harpy let her go.

Rubbing her shoulder and suspiciously eyeing each of the villains in sight, Lily sighed as she sat up. “There were seven I could see, but only four attacked me. Every one wore a standard kerchief mask, yellowish-brown and shiny. They wore some kinda uniform, but all I can remember is that they had coattails and high boots, and that they were colored dark brown. The four who attacked me were all as bald as Golden Lighting and African-American, but the three who didn’t had lots of hair, dark in color.”

Her hands hovered over her bandages as she continued.

“The one with claws was tall with a furry tail, and their eyes were hazel. The one with earth powers was shorter and had armor of some kind on their arms, with brown eyes. The one who punched me was medium height with a short mantle of sorts, and had really dark eyes. And the one who injected me had blue eyes. I couldn’t tell if they had other powers before I got away. And at least one of the long haired ones had wings, not feathered.”

Magpie had ducked back behind the doorframe in the middle of Lily’s account, his keyboard noises ceaseless for thirty seconds after she finished. Harpy gently patted her shoulder as they waited for the techie.

“Jackpot!” Magpie’s head re-emerged, and his crosshairs were spinning like tops. “I got an ID on everyone you described! Long-Wings is probably Melody Mitchel, a commander among the Lion Queens. And the four toughs are definitely some of her known lackeys; Terryl Tyson is Tail-Claws, Renell Rose is the Earth-Armor, Stefan Smith is Ten-Punches, and Violet Victorson is Blue-Injector. All have been arrested, but not charged, as members of the Queen Lions gang, save Melody. This is the clearest picture I could find.”

He shoved a bulky laptop out on a swivel chair, its screen showing a gory blown-up newspaper photo of ten figures dressed in the coattailed uniforms fighting with ten other figures dressed in the silver and grey trench coats of the Dog Whistles.

One had a full head of frizzy hair and bat-like wings, leaping from a rooftop with shoeless feet baring clawed paws. One had a furry tail and was but a streak as they shoved a hand into the chest of a Dog Whistle, blood flying. One was far shorter than their opponent, guarding their head from a heavy tail’s descent with their oversized rock gauntlets. One had a short mantle over their uniform and was fist fighting a Dog Whistle with curly horns. And one was just a shadow in an alleyway, holding something and standing over a slumped form.

Lily backed away from the photo as the Murder crowded close.

“T-Thats them, for sure. They’re the ones who… got me.” The last two words came after a pause; the heroine was still denying that she had been bested.

Raven nodded. “I assume that you already know where these Lions hunt, Magpie?”

“Yup.”

“Well then.” The villain turned to Lily, who was eyeing him with suspicion again. “What would you do, Lily London, if you were able, and if the Wild and Free were by your side?”

There was no hesitation in her answer. “Get them. Get even with my attackers, and knock the whole of the Lion Queens down a few pegs.”

“Then that is what we shall do.”