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hanilessa · 8 months

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before reading please pay attention to the series masterlist, to make sure you have read the previous chapters!

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HALF AN HOUR FOR LOVE — Childe x F!Reader Chapter 22. In the name of love

The man's lips frantically continued to give your cold lips hot kisses while you pulled the ginger man by the hand in the direction of your house. The cold had completely taken over your bodies, so you both unanimously decided to quickly get to your house to warm up. Your legs tangled slightly with every step you took and sank into the snowdrifts, but this didn't stop you from feeling like the happiest woman in the world. Love oozed from your hearts to all corners of the world, wanting to fill every inch of the existing space of the Universe. You both stopped every now and then in the middle of the road, because Ajax was so relentless in his desire to kiss your lips that for him not touching your lips with his lips for more than a minute now seemed like a real crime.

Tartaglia's lips again captured your frozen lips in a tender, sweet kiss that made you feel dizziness. His kisses seemed so right to you, and you had the feeling that no one could ever kiss you the way Childe kissed you. Tenderness, passion, concupiscent — all of this was mixed in a stunning fireworks of emotions and feelings that filled your chest. The roughness of his lips and the softness of yours created the perfect contrast, your tongues intertwined in a frantic battle, and your hearts beat the rapid rhythm of love and desire to love each other. Ajax caressed your mouth with his tongue, and trembling struck your pliable body like lightning. The pleasure prevented both of you from thinking rationally. Honestly, thinking rationally is the last thing Tartaglia wanted to do now, when your sweet lips kissed him back so timidly and uncertainly to his hot kisses.

The wind tangled in your hair, played with the white, crystal snowflakes entangled in it. Cars honked on the roadway, people scurried back and forth as they passed you, grumbling angrily and displeasedly about the two of you standing in their way — all this was just background noise, useless sounds that fleetingly reach your ears. It was somewhere out there, in another world, unimportant — when your own world — Ajax — stood in front of you, so tenderly holding you in his strong embrace. Childe's lips were soft but cold, and that was what brought you to your senses. You sincerely wanted his gentle caresses to continue, but first you two needed to get to your apartment.

You pulled away slightly from the man's body, wanting to break the sweet kiss, but Ajax instantly hummed into the kiss in protest, trying to pull you closer to him and again feel your body pressed against his body. He was completely captivated by you and didn't want to waste a single second. The ginger man made a sad face when you broke your kiss and wanted to express his displeasure, but you carefully placed your small finger on his lips, making him silent for a few moments. He almost forgot how to breathe, looking at you so beautiful in his arms.

"It's cold." Your voice was trembling slightly as you spoke. The light of the lantern illuminated your face, revealing to Tartaglia the view of your beautiful eyes, cute nose, red cheeks and your pink lips, shining in the moonlight with a light thread of saliva — a symbol of the kiss you shared. Childe took a shuddering breath as you moved closer to his face again and, scorching his skin with your hot breath, spoke in a languid voice, "Just take me to my apartment, where we can continue what we started."

A moment later, you felt him suddenly lift your body into his arms, so lightly that you seemed to weigh like the tiniest feather. A small squeak of fear left your lips as your feet left the cold ground, but your small fear disappeared a second later when you felt Tartaglia's hands tightly grip your waist, holding you securely above the ground. You let out a small gasp as the ginger man began to move towards your house. His blue eyes burned with a bright flame of confidence, and this fact spread with viscous excitement in your chest, exciting your imagination. With a gentle movement of your thumb, you gently stroked his lips, admiring how beautifully your strawberry lipstick with a slight reddish tint was smeared across his face.

Your heart beat loudly in your chest with every step the ginger man took. He walked confidently in the direction of your house, knowing perfectly well how to get into your apartment. And this fact excited you to the core. Passing the front door, you both found yourself in the warmth of your apartment — the small respite was over, and your lips were again in the sweet captivity of Ajax's kisses. His tongue entered your mouth again, smoothly outlining the even row of your teeth and tickling your palate. Childe took liberties, carefully moving his hands closer to your hips, and, noticing that you didn't resist his actions, he confidently lifted you by your hips, burying your back into the brick wall.

The outer clothing that had fallen off your bodies remained on the floor, and your back met a hard, cool wall. The wet sounds of your shared kisses filled the hallway, your breath mingling in unsuccessful attempts to get a little more air in the small spaces between the incessant kisses. All your thoughts and dreams that sneaked into your head every time you thought about what your kisses with your loved one would be like couldn't compare to what was happening right now. In reality everything was much better and more pleasant than in your fantasies. A flame of excitement ran through your entire body as you clutched the man's red shirt with weakened hands from the bliss overwhelming you.

Your lungs were burning from lack of oxygen, and this was the only obstacle that prevented Childe from constantly kissing your lips. The ginger man broke your kiss, breathing heavily and trying to catch his breath. The air in the apartment suddenly became heated to all possible limits — it was hot, and the first drops of sweat began to form on your bodies. You suddenly felt a powerful change in temperature — from frosty cold to scorching heat. Ajax buried his nose in your chest, breathing in the stale air and listening to the beating of your heart, which completely belonged to him alone now. Breathing heavily, you threw your head back, trying to catch your breath. The darkness of the hallway enveloped you from all sides.

The man's soft lips explored every inch of your skin, he didn't ignore any exposed area of your soft flesh. Small bites gave off a pleasant pain on your sensitive points, Tartaglia slowly led a trail of kisses along your collarbones, neck, outlining the curves of your jaw with his tongue. When the man's face was in front of your face again, your eyes met for a moment, and a trembling excitement filled your entire being when you saw all the desire that was hidden in his blue eyes. And only a moment separated him from feeling the taste of your sweet lips again. Clinging to his broad shoulders with your hands, you timidly kissed him back, sincerely amazed at the endurance of his respiratory system.

Your languid inhalations and exhalations of pleasure filled the silence of your apartment, fueling Ajax's desire to witness your first moans of pleasure, which he was about to make you emit. The man gently lifted you up a little in his arms so that you both could get into a more comfortable position, and this allowed you to speak for a moment.

"W-wait... not here..." Your cheeks were flushed red as your chest heaved with each ragged breath you took. Tartaglia didn't seem to hear your plea, continuing to furiously kiss your lips with sweet kisses and wanting to satisfy his primal hunger for you. He wanted to feel every part of your body with his own body, but first... Ajax's heart wanted to hear your words again. The ginger man pressed his forehead to yours, his empty blue eyes looked into your eyes with a certain pleading and doomed concupiscent.

"Please... Tell me you love me..." Childe whispered in a hoarse voice between kisses. His rough lips were touching yours as he whispered these words. Ajax begged you – right now he was a pleading mortal, kneeling before his only goddess. "Tell me it again."

"I love you." You answered, looking mesmerized into his eyes. These words were spoken so sincerely, so easily, and the fact of this gave the ginger man a feeling of such happiness that he had never dared to dream of even in his wildest dreams.

It took Tartaglia a couple of seconds to more comfortably grab you in his arms and overcome the short distance that separated the hallway of your apartment and your small bedroom. He carefully slammed the door shut with a kick of his right foot and walked over to your bed, carefully laying you down on the soft blankets. Your heart continued to beat frantically as you watched the ginger man slowly climb onto your bed, hovering over your fragile body and blocking all escape routes. Right now, you both looked like a small defenseless rabbit and a big gray wolf — a predator that had driven its prey into a trap. This analogy made you blush and you watched excitedly as Ajax leaned closer to your face.

His eyes hid some of the worry and excitement that you noticed in his blue oceans as his face got closer and closer to yours. The man carefully touched your cheek, red because of the cold, with his lips, and then looked into your eyes again. His voice broke the silence in your bedroom, "Are you really sure you want it?"

You immediately nodded confidently — honestly, you had never felt as confident as you did right now. Relief washed over Childe when he realized that you trusted him infinitely. The ginger man smiled tenderly at you and, carefully grabbing your chin with his long fingers, whispered.

"Then tonight I will show you what it means to be loved by me."

These words were the starting point — his lips found your lips again in a bit wet kiss. It was a little messy, but that was because you both couldn't get enough of each other. You both wanted each other more and more, and this all manifested itself in dirty and wet kisses, full of passion and desire. You parted your plump lips, and this allowed the ginger man to penetrate your mouth with his tongue, intertwining with yours in an unrestrained battle and a bright flame of passion. His body pressed closer to yours, Ajax held your face in his hands, not stopping his gentle caresses for a second. The sound of your beating heart pulsed in your ears, and everything that was happening right now seemed somehow unreal to you. Because you never thought that it could be so good in reality. But Tartaglia proved the opposite to you, extolling you to the heaven with his skillful actions.

The man pulled away from your lips, breathing in heavily the hot air of the bedroom, his shirt-covered chest heaving with every breath he took, and his ginger bangs hung over his blue eyes, giving him a fucking sexy look. You bit your lips as your and his eyes met again.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Childe whispered, and his soul began to sing with happiness and the realization that now you were going to completely belong to him alone. Your cheeks flushed red when you heard his words. "God, look at you, baby. You're just something."

You didn't have time to answer because the man's lips pressed against the soft skin of your neck. He tilted your head up slightly with his right hand, giving himself more access to the inviting skin of your neck. This night Tartaglia was going to be an artist. And your neck was a blank canvas for his bright hickeys and passionate kisses. He was going to completely paint your canvas with his kisses. The ginger man carefully touched your neck with his lips, still watching your reaction. The cute way your eyebrows met at the bridge of your nose seemed like the cutest thing he had ever seen in his life. Your lips parted slightly in a silent moan, and the man, pleased with your reaction, continued to give your tender flesh his kisses.

Childe gently bit the skin of your neck, and at the same moment, the most delightful sound he had ever heard reached his ears. Your cute whimper escaped your lips, filling the silence of your room and echoing off the brick walls. A predatory smile touched the man's lips as he moved closer to your face again and said in a sweet, languid voice, "I didn't think you were so sensitive, baby. I wonder what other sensitive spots you have, hm?"

You immediately blushed, and your eyebrows met at the bridge of your nose as you looked at your lover with an annoyed and embarrassed look. Ajax laughed softly and left a small kiss on your lips.

"Don't be angry, my love. You will still have time to make such a cute face for me again." He slowly leaned towards your ear, and, gently biting the earlobe, scorched your delicate skin with his hot breath. "After all, we have just begun."

Tartaglia watched with rapture as your cheeks turned red, and, licking his dry lips, he leaned closer to you again, kissing you tenderly. You timidly kissed him back and buried your hands in his ginger hair, deepening the kiss. The man hummed in approval, pleased that you had finally taken your little initiative. The feeling of his soft hair in your hands couldn't be put into words — it had to be touched to feel the full range of emotions. His hair was soft, silky, and bliss overwhelmed you when you squeezed his hair in your hands, responding to every caressing action on the part of the man. Childe broke your sweet kiss to once again be able to feel the softness and sweetness of your beautiful skin.

He moved down to your neck again and breathed in the pleasant scent of your skin — the sweet, fragrant scent of lilac and the small salty sweat that was starting to appear on your skin — it was the best combination. The ginger man drew a small line with his nose from your jaw to your collarbones and left a small kiss that made butterflies dance in your stomach. Childe ran a small trail of kisses a little lower down your body and came across a small obstacle in the form of your pajama sweater. A small tremble ran through your body when Ajax suddenly froze, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

The man raised his eyes to you, and when your and his eyes met, he asked, tilting his head to the side, "Can I take this off of you?"

You nodded timidly, your cheeks glowing red. It was so intimate and personal — and for you it was completely new, a hitherto unknown action, an incomprehensible secret that you had to learn. And you were more than happy that Tartaglia would be the one who would open the door to the world of true pleasure for you.

Tartaglia smiled contentedly, and his hands carefully touched one of the buttons of your pink pajama sweater, making your body twitch slightly in anticipation. A teasing smirk touched the man's lips — embarrassed, you looked absolutely charming and delightful. With his fingers he unbuttoned your cotton sweater, button by button, revealing to himself a view of your beautiful body. With a sigh you watched as he gradually rid you of the excess clothes that prevented him from enjoying the natural beauty of your body. Ajax breathed in a little more hot air as his blue eyes finally settled on your breast, wrapped in a black lace bra. Your two mounds heaved invitingly with every breath you took, and the man couldn't wait to finally feel the softness of your flesh.

"How sweet, princess." He whispered, hooking his finger on one of the black straps of your bra. You could clearly feel the heat of his fingers on your weather-chilled skin. "I didn't think you liked lacy lingerie."

Ignoring the burning heat on your cheeks caused by his words, you frowned amusingly and slowly took off your pajama sweater when Childe finally finished unbuttoning it — the man watched with rapture how innocent you looked, continuing to stare into his eyes. When the sweater was finally off, the man greedy clung to your neck, causing you to excitedly grab onto his broad shoulders. His soft lips and slightly pointed teeth bit your flesh, creating an explosive contrast of pleasure and small pain. Tartaglia completely got the hang of it, and his kisses gradually became dirtier and more cheeky. A pleasant bundle of excitement formed in your stomach when the ginger man's lips finally found the strap of your lace bra.

He looked at you innocently, catching your excited gaze, and bared his teeth predatorily, grabbing the strap of your black bra with his teeth, and, as if playing, pulled it to the side. Yes, Childe desperately wanted to take off this annoying piece of clothing from you as quickly as possible, but he liked this seemingly small and playful game much more. It's time for the second strap, and the man got rid of it as quickly as he got rid of the first. The kisses became increasingly hotter, and the room was filled with hot carbon dioxide leaving your lungs. Your body trembled slightly in his skillful hands from the sudden change in temperature and excitement, which enveloped your entire being with the sweet haze. The faint click of your bra clasp broke the silence of the bedroom, and the velvet material immediately fell from your breast.

Your rounded tits heaved invitingly, your cheeks burned red from embarrassment and the realization that you appeared in front of a man in your absolutely defenseless form now. Your hands instinctively moved closer to your breast to hide such an intimate part of your body. You awkwardly looked into the man's eyes, catching his calming gaze.

"Hey, baby, it's okay." The ginger man gently stroked your cheek, caressing your slightly rough skin because of the frost. "You're beautiful." He slowly moved a little closer to you, again laying your bare back on the soft feather beds, and loomed over your body. You held your breath as his face moved closer to your breast. "Just relax, okay?"

You nodded, excited. Ajax gave you a charming smile and gently leaned towards one of your round tits. Your breast rose and fell with each breath, and your nipples gradually hardened with every second of your growing arousal. Childe covered the pinkish bud with his mouth, and your entire body was immediately pierced by electric lightning of pleasure. This feeling was new, unknown, but so pleasant, and it drove you crazy. The man gently teased your nipple with his lips, smoothly caressing it with his tongue, and with his other hand he gently massaged the second mound of your breast. He circled the aureole of your hardened nipple with his tongue, and your lips could no longer hold back the sounds of pleasure you were experiencing at that moment.

"A-ah!..." The first loud moan escaped your lips and tore through the silence that had remained in the room all this time. A satisfied smirk touched the lips of the ginger man, caressing the pearl of your nipple with his tongue when he first heard you moan. The sounds of your moans were going to become his favorite music. It sounded like a treat to his ears.

Unconsciously, you grabbed Ajax's ginger head with your hands, trying to press him closer to your body to feel even more pleasure. Your mind gradually began to shut down, driven by lust and pleasure. The man pinched your second nipple with his right hand, and a spark of small pain burned through your body for a couple of moments, only to dissipate with a magical feeling of pleasure. The atmosphere around you two heated up to the limit, and you trembled, feeling the cold of the street and the heat of your lover's fiery kisses mixing in your body. And it didn't go unnoticed by the man.

"Looks like someone is still feeling cold." Childe cooed, lips tracing the contours of your breasts and listening to your sweet moans that caressed his ears. "I guess I should work on that, huh?"

It was unbearable to feel how his lips didn't touch your skin and didn't caress you in the pleasure exciting your insides, so your lips trembled in attempts to utter at least a couple of words, "P-please... I..."

Childe's lips twitched into a cheeky grin.

"Fuck, baby, you're asking for me so sweetly that I can't say no to you." He leaned closer to you, looking into your lust-clouded eyes and whispered directly against your lips, "You have such a big influence on me, Y/n. And it drives me crazy, you know?"

Tartaglia's lips touched your lips in a greedy kiss, and he felt clearly how an impressive bulge began to form in his pants. The man hissed quietly, feeling the painful tightness in his pants, accidentally catching your lower lip with his sharp teeth and causing you to moan languidly, which vibrated in his mouth. Ajax gently pulled your pajama pants down with his right hand, and your skin broke out in goosebumps as he carefully ran his fingertips along the inside of your thigh. Listening to your every languid exhale and moan, he continued speaking.

"You've been driving me crazy since the first time we met. I can't think about anything but you. You have to take responsibility for this."

These words made you tremble with excitement. The way his words affected you made Childe smirk smugly. His nimble hand carefully penetrated under the velvet fabric of your panties and pushed it aside, making you loudly squeak and arch your back towards his hot kisses. Leaving his hickeys on the skin of your neck, he carefully ran his long, nimble fingers along your plump folds, teasingly touching the pearl of your clit. This action made you bite your lips in hopes of suppressing a pitiful whine. Tartaglia's heart beat faster in his chest as he watched how pliable and eager for his caresses you were in his arms. His hand moved through your folds, drawing intricate patterns on your flesh.

"A-ah... mngh... more, please, Ch-childe-" The ginger man instantly interrupted the caresses, causing you to groan in disappointment and draw your eyebrows together at the bridge of your nose. It was too cruel of him to throw you down from the heaven of pleasure back to mortal Earth.

"Ah, ah, ah, wrong answer, baby." Tartaglia grinned slyly, deliberately teasing you — seeing you, always so serious and bold, in such a pleading and helpless state was the most long-awaited, exciting and fucking delightful sight. He looked into your slightly watery eyes and, leaving a small kiss on your lips, whispered, "Call me by my real name."

The crazy need to feel his fingers in your most intimate place completely discouraged you from any feeling of embarrassment, so you looked at him with pleading eyes and, choking on the feelings overwhelming you, whimpered.

"P-please, Ajax..!"

The man closed his eyes, clenched his teeth and took a shuddering breath — your plaintive plea had completely driven him crazy. He was fucking hard right now. Childe opened his eyes, and, to your happiness, his right hand touched the soft folds of your pussy again.

"Good girl."

His words were drowned out by the loud moan that escaped your lips as Tartaglia pressed down harshly on your pink bundle of nerves, smearing the wetness that was oozing from your pussy onto your tender flesh. The ginger man carefully pushed his long fingers deeper into your cunt, exploring your sensitive points. His fingers were calloused and long, and it felt so good. Childe's fingers moved rhythmically inside you, pressing on your soft walls and dispersing sweet bliss throughout your body. It was so embarrassing and dirty, but you couldn't deny that you wanted more. You wanted more of the pleasure, flowing through your muscles, and the caresses of your lover.

The movement of Tartaglia's fingers became more and more intense inside your pussy, and the tight lump of pleasure that had formed in the bottom of your stomach finally burst, causing you to moan loudly, arching your body towards the man's body and squirting your juices on his fingers. The first release overtook you completely suddenly, but it was incredibly pleasant — a pleasant weight of relaxation, like lead, spread through your muscles, and you went limp in Ajax's arms.

"Fuck, baby, it was so hot." He purred, smearing your natural lubrication across your folds. In the sweet haze of your first release, you watched excitedly as the man pulled away from your body, for several agonizing moments leaving you burning out of desire to feel his touch on your body again. "I think we can move on to something more interesting now, hm?"

His ginger hair glowed like pale copper in the twilight of your bedroom, slightly disheveled in different directions. It didn't look weird, on the contrary, it was completely sexy and exciting. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, watching your reaction with a bit of slyness in his eyes. You were still embarrassed... Even after he made you cum for the first time this night. How cute and adorable. The man threw off his red shirt, revealing his broad shoulders, ripped abs and toned physique. The clothes you forgot about in the blink of an eye were left lying on the floor next to the bed. You blushed a lot. Yes, you have already seen his naked body quite a number of times — to your embarrassment — but each time you were embarrassed as the first time.

"Do you want to touch it?" His eyebrow raised as he asked.

"Y-yes." You nodded, flustered and excited.

Tartaglia moved closer to you again and, grabbing your hand, carefully placed your palm on his chest. He absolutely loved the way your searching gaze slid over his body and the way the blush painted your pretty face. Your hands gently stroked every curve of his muscular body, your fingertips touched the cute freckles on his shoulders. You timidly pressed the hollow between his collarbones, causing the man to let out a muffled grunt. His patience was gradually coming to an end. A mad desire to kiss you instantly took possession of him, and Ajax kissed you on the lips again. You grabbed onto his shoulders and the man laid you back down on the bed, towering over you like a rock.

"There will be plenty of time for you to touch me again, I promise." He winked at you slyly and carefully pecked your lips again.

Childe carefully spread your legs apart, placing his knee between it. And at that moment you clearly felt how his characteristic bulge, formed in his pants, was pressed against your thigh. It was big and hard, and nervousness and embarrassment took over your entire being in an instant. The ginger man noticed the change in your expression and his eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose as his face took on a serious expression.

"It is your first time, isn't it?" He looked into your eyes, hoping to understand what you were thinking about now. Right now, you both appeared in front of each other at your most vulnerable. And you two trusted each other completely, but he couldn't help but worry that you were still worried about something. You nodded timidly, taking a deep breath as the man pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. Ajax breathed out happily, and the joy that he would become your first man in every sense filled his heart. An untouched flower was the best gift for him. He was going to give you the highest pleasure.

"Then don't worry about anything. I'll be gentle, I promise."

"I know. You always keep your promises." You smiled genuinely at him, pulling him closer to you so you could press your lips to his. Your souls sang romances about love in unison.

Taking off his gray pants and underwear, the ginger man moved closer to you and carefully ran the head of his cock along your wet folds, wanting to see your reaction. Your body trembled, and several languid sighs left your lips when you felt how much your hole was throbbing. You both couldn't wait any longer.

"Deep breath, angel." The man whispered, squeezing your hand with his hand and intertwining your fingers together. You obediently took a deep breath. Your heart was beating fast in your chest — this was the most exciting moment of your life.

The ginger man directed the head of his cock, oozing precum, closer to your hole and plunged into your pussy. You bit your lower lip painfully and squeezed your lover's hand, feeling a painful and unusual stretch. Childe squeezed your hand back, gently stroking your fingers to help relax you and your body. The unusual feeling of fullness made you gasp. Your cunt involuntarily was shrinking, being filled for the first time. You took a few breaths in and out to quickly relax. Gradually the pain began to disappear, and now a pleasant feeling of fullness took over your body.

"Fuck, baby..." Tartaglia hissed, feeling your walls welcoming his length. He completely sank into your pussy, losing touch with reality for a few seconds. Taking a few deep breaths, Ajax regained his composure and immediately leaned closer to you, asking in a hoarse voice with excitement, "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine." You bit your lips, feeling a great need for Childe to finally start moving. Luckily for you, the man also felt a strong need for release, so he decided not to tease you this time and leave it for your next times. Tartaglia licked his lips predatorily, anticipating every moan he was going to make you emit.

"Okay, princess. Don't hold back your cute noises, yeah?" He grinned cheekily and you furrowed your brows in irritation, but you didn't have time to sarcastically answer him because the ginger man made a sharp, fast movement inside your pussy, causing you to moan loudly, grabbing onto his forearms.

You and Ajax moaned blissfully, feeling pulses of pleasure flow through your veins. Sweat covered your bodies, a bright blush burned on your cheeks, and your hearts beat in unison. The feeling of being filled by Tartaglia's cock was driving you crazy, making you squirm on soft feather beds under your lover's body. Giving yourself in every way to your loved one was the most beautiful feeling you could ever experience. Holding his hand as he hovered over you, rhythmically driving his cock into your cunt, was the most amazing feeling. With eyes in love and watery with pleasure, you looked into his blue eyes, which bathed you in boundless love.

His length was penetrating deep into your pussy, touching your soft and sticky walls, washed in your natural liquids. The man was breathing heavily — your pussy tightly squeezed his cock with its walls, and a feeling of pure bliss accelerated throughout his body, reaching every small cell. It was so warm and pleasant inside you, and it fueled his desire to continue moving inside your body, wanting to give you and himself greatest pleasure. Childe bit his lower lip and made another deep thrust, fully pressing his hips against yours. A whine escaped your lips as you felt the tip of his cock touch your most sensitive spot. Every vein along his length made you see the starry sky and curl your toes in heavenly pleasure.

Ajax's lips caressed your skin, hoping to give you as much pleasure as possible, painting your soft flesh with many bright hickeys and love bites that shone with bright marks on your body. Your eyes were shining, you were gasping with pleasure, and this sight took the ginger man's breath away. In the light of the shimmering garlands, in the twilight of your small bedroom, you looked so beautiful, so charming, with pleasure taking his fat cock with your tight pussy.

He would give anything to stay in this moment forever. After all, for the first time, Childe felt that he wasn't fucking, but making love. Because he really loved you. He made love in the name of love. And right now it seemed like the greatest blessing to him.

"Mmhm... A-ajax!..." One more of your moans reached his ears as he made another sharp movement, keeping his hands on your waist. There were a few marks from his fingers on your skin, but you didn't seem to mind his rough grip at all, actively wiggling your hips to meet his sweeping movements.

The sound of his real name mixed with your moans and whines made him hard — his cock twitching, caressed by your warmth. He leaned down towards your face again, pleased with what a moaning mess you were right now, and whispered in a hoarse voice, "Is my princess feeling good?"

The heat filled your body to the brim, your brain couldn't think about anything other than the pleasure that Tartaglia was giving you, but between moans and broken whimpers, you still managed to answer haltingly.

"It f-feels so good, I- Ah!"

"Ah, you're such a c-cute little thing..! Ngh.. S-shit!.." The ginger man cursed through his teeth, feeling how you once again squeezed him with your spongy walls.

The sounds of your moans, lewd squelching sounds and the sounds of your bodies grinding against each other filled your small bedroom. It seemed that the air had completely evaporated from the room, because it was becoming truly difficult to breathe. Your wooden bed rocked in time with your movements, making creaky, drawn-out sounds, and this made you extremely embarrassed. Your bodies burned in a bright flame of ecstasy, completely subject to sinful desires. Moisture pooled on your skin and your hair stuck to your face, you were so hot at this moment. Ajax's blue eyes devoured your body in the most primal sense and he reveled in how thirsty you were for him.

A feeling of tension gradually began to gather in the lower part of your stomach as Childe continued to make sweeping movements inside your pussy. Dizziness and arousal filled the two of you headlong, and you both sought to reach the highest point of pleasure. The man's cock hit all your sweetest spots, and an unusual feeling began to fill your entire body. Ajax noticed how you bit your lower lip and how your eyebrows met at the bridge of your nose, and realized that you were close to your release. Even in this moment, completely subservient to passion, his attentiveness and caring could only be envied.

You squeezed the sheets with your fingers and whined, squirming on the bed, "A-ajax! I- A-ah!... I'm gonna-"

"I know, princess, I know... Fuck!.." The ginger man clearly felt how your tight walls began to rapidly shrink and furiously squeeze his fat cock. His hand was back on your clit, stimulating your nub of nerves in circular motions. You whimpered with pleasure. Breathing heavily, Childe increased the pace of his movements to bring you both to long-awaited release.

He leaned closer to you, catching your every whiny moan with his mouth, and his lips met your lips in another deep kiss. His tongue caressed your tongue in a magical dance of passion and lust. His cock twitched painfully inside your cunt, just about ready to spill its cum. In an instant, a tight lump of pleasure exploded in your stomach like a bright fireworks, and your loud scream filled the bedroom, echoing off the walls.

You threw your head back in ecstasy, feeling how your pussy fiercely squeezed Childe's cock with its walls and how your cum washed every inch of his length. Perhaps tomorrow morning the feeling of embarrassment will eat you up completely, but now all you could think about was the unrealistically amazing release that filled every part of your body.

"F-fuck, Y/n... I- Fuck!..." Ajax let out a long groan as he felt his cock pulsate inside your pussy, signaling his close release. Your warm cunt gently enveloped his cock, your juices flowed along his length, and that was enough for Tartaglia to feel that he was as close as possible to his release.

The ginger man bit his lip to stifle a growl and grabbed your hips with his hands, leaving several marks on your skin. He gave another deep thrust inside you and pulled his cock out of your pussy — his warm cum splattered on your flat tummy. Overflowing with pleasure, Childe collapsed tiredly on top of you, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

Your thoughts were completely empty, because the only thing that was important right now was your beloved Ajax lying on your body, and the pleasure that you both just experienced. Your body felt so weightless, and you didn't want to make any sudden movements that could disturb this wonderful calmness. Your chest heaved and you felt the man's hot breath burn the flesh of your neck as he pressed closer to you, leaving lazy kisses along your skin. Your hands rested on his back, and your soul felt so calm as you drew intricate patterns on his broad back with your fingertips. This quiet moment was filled with calmness and peace.

Feeling some movement, you noticed how the man carefully rose up on his elbows and moved a little closer to your face. Your absent-minded gaze met his blue eyes, and a gentle smile appeared on his lips. He gently stroked your cheek with his large, calloused palm and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes." You nodded and smiled as Tartaglia leaned closer to you, his lips finding yours in a sweet, long kiss. The kiss was gentle and pleasant, at that moment you both shared your boundless adoration and love for each other. When Ajax broke your kiss, you looked at him with your eyes glowing with happiness and said, "I love you."

"I love you too, Y/n. More than anything else in this world." His reciprocal declaration of love made the butterflies in your stomach flutter their wings and tickle your insides. Childe's words sounded completely serious, and he was sure that he would never go back on his words.

An unexpected weakness overcame your body, and you felt yourself gradually begin to sink into the sweet embrace of sleep. The fatigue that has gathered over the day, the vivid emotions that you experienced today, made itselfs felt, so your tired body decided that your mind and body needed a good rest. You didn't even have the strength to speak a few words, so you instantly plunged into sleepy oblivion. Tartaglia noticed that your eyes were closed and tenderly kissed your forehead. The ginger man, trying not to disturb your sleep, quietly lay down next to you and laid your head on his chest, covering you both with a blanket.

Running his fingers through your silky curls and listening to your measured breathing, Childe held you in his tight embrace and looked at the ceiling. The thoughts in his head, one after another, quickly replaced each other, and he couldn't concentrate on anything specific. Only on the boundless happiness that filled his soul and overflowed, knowing no bounds. This night was filled with magic, tenderness and mutual words of love.

Ajax held you in his arms — the woman he dreamed of every day and every night. This was enough for him to call himself the happiest man in the world. And, it would seem, nothing could overshadow this moment, if not for a sudden thought that came to Tartaglia's head. Anxiety and worry filled his mind and covered his entire being. He felt his heart being torn apart in pain and sharp fangs of guilt biting into his flesh as a frightening realization came to him.

The bet condition was fulfilled.

@httpmitsuya @gojoandelsalovechilde @duckyyyx @i-x4o @chishiyawifesworld @ajaxstar @kiryoutann @xiaosonlybeloved @aloveablechaos @obervation-subject-753 @beyaaaafr @silverbladexyz @funicidals @simpfully-heartbroken @r0ttenhearts @cocoanvt @5sausefandom @yevene @hamsuigok @stxwpid @childeismylove @chickoritasy @randomhumans-blog @nxwiqv @kiokiee @lillunna @pookiebearcave

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doberbutts · 2 years

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I mean this is a pretty hot take but I think until y'all can sit down and actually provide examples of what you mean by "privilege" instead of using the word as a means of referring to the nebulous idea that some people have it better and its Their Fault, there will continue to be absolutely braindead takes about who holds what privilege and how it conflicts with actual first-hand experience.

That's why, when I ask what male privilege I was apparently either born with or received immediately upon coming out, I get crickets.

When we talk about male privilege, we talk about getting paid more. We talk about getting hired more, and into higher-paying jobs more. We talk about being able to vote and drive and have credit cards and bank accounts. We talk about reproductive freedom and body autonomy. We talk about rape statistics, domestic violence, and other forms of violent crime. We talk about immigration and citizenship status and human trafficking. We talk about power dynamics in relationships. We talk about society's expectations for gender roles.

There's two big problems with this:

Unless a trans man is completely binary, fully stealth, and has burned every trace of his past, almost none of this is accessible to him. Trans men don't get paid more unless their gender marker is M, there's no mention of ever being anything but cisgender, and they're completely stealth. They don't get hired more, unless these things are true. Many lived lives being discouraged from chasing higher paying jobs such as STEM fields due to being seen as girls, so they're not going into these jobs more either. Similarly with voting- when I registered to vote I was non-passing, with my legal name and gender marker. To the voting office, I was a woman. To my credit card company, who has never seen my face, I'm *still* a woman, despite passing most of the time. To my bank account, which I've had since I was 8, I've never not been a woman. When I took my driver's test, I was treated as a woman.

When I asked for a hysterectomy at 20, I was told not until I was over 30, had a minimum of two children, or had a husband to sign off on it. Just like a woman. When I whacked my head as a kid and was rushed to the doctor, the doctor specifically said if I was a boy he wouldn't have bothered stitching but a girl can't have scars on her face *while he was stitching my forehead back together*. I had to fight to be allowed to cut my long hair. I had to fight to be allowed to take care of it by myself.

I have needed to leave relationships when I realized I was with a man that would hurt me for his gain. I've been assaulted by my peers for being a black woman or a black girl in a space that I was not wanted.

I was raised with the expectation that I would be a mother to a large family with a husband that kept me pregnant and likely staying at home like a typical tradwife. I was punished, physically, mentally, emotionally, socially for rejecting that life. I lost literally all my social group from before I came out. I lost a good chunk of family members too, and the ones I have left are... trying, but not perfect.

And:

Other marginalized men are also often denied access to these things either. White men might be paid more, but white women make more than men of any other race. White men might be hired more, but "Rachel" is more likely to get a call back than "Rafael". White men are more likely to be in a STEM position, but tell me when the last time you saw a Native doctor. It may have been *legal* for racially marginalized men to vote, but those who did not speak English had no ability to do so until 45 years *after* white women had the right to vote (and technically it took another 10 years for translations to actually be provided). Banks and credit companies and driver's tests and mortgage brokers and more are *known* to discriminate, between barely-legal remnants of redlining to outright illegal discrimination because they know they can get away with it.

Black and Native children are taken from their birth families and placed into foster care and adoptive homes daily due to state-sponsered genocide. It's more than just the mother that's affected by this. Black men are largely targeted by stop-and-frisk policing policies that exist to do nothing except harass and assault them for just existing in a place, and are an extreme body violation.

New studies show that men experience rape and domestic violence at roughly the equivilant rate as women, but reporting is obscenely low due to social pressures and rigid gendering of victim vs abuser policies. The demographic with the highest rate of murder victims is black men.

Single, childless adult men are not allowed to immigrate to multiple countries, including the US, on refugee status. Men of marginalized races- largely latine and asian- are trafficked by largescale construction companies and then deported or abandoned when no longer needed.

Disabled men are killed or abandoned regularly by their able-bodied partners who got tired of dealing with them.

I know more than one man who feels trapped into a place where he cannot, ever, show any emotion besides horny, hungry, or angry as a direct result of strict gender roles being pushed on him. I know more than one man who has tried to take his own life because of it.

I know more than one man who has succeeded.

And I gotta be honest the further I get in transition and the more I pass the more I think that being a man... also kinda sucks. Like it sucked when I was a woman. Doesn't really feel like it sucks less as a man. Seems to me like society treats both of these pretty poorly and I was told the grass was way greener on this side and it's, uh, not. Not really. Not when you start making cis male friends and start realizing that a lot of these guys had a lot of the same experiences you grew up being told was part of a woman's life.

And I'm not saying that these guys don't have interactions where life is better for them because they're men. Of course they do. That's patriarchy for you. But I do think it's difficult to have a "male privilege" argument when people try to argue on a 1-to-1 basis and it just straight up doesn't work like that.

And I know a lot of what I'm saying ties back to the theory of intersectionality, that this can't flatten nuance like this is directly tied to the fact that a white woman, a native woman, an asian woman, a black man, a latino man, and an arabic man, are all going to have WILDLY different experiences that you can't just "well you're [gender] so you don't experience [harm]" about because it's blatantly untrue. Especially if you continue to add marginalizations, like immigration status, religion, sexuality, transition, language, and more.

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ahedderick · 1 year

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Legally

I find it fascinating that so many folks have an understanding that "criminals" commit crimes and other people - don't? Or that "criminals" are identifiable visually in some way? Well, let me explain a little better.

When I had a very, very sick kid and tried to work through the school system to get disability accommodations, I was told "Get a 504 plan" with the clear understanding that that would . . solve everything. We got a 504 plan. My husband, son and I met with guidance and a few of the teachers. Son was to get XYZ to help him keep up in classes.

Some teachers did XYZ. Some did it the first week and then had to be "reminded" (nagged. begged) thereafter. One refused outright, and when I saw the guidance counselor, she whined "Weeeeeeell, Mrs. Fuller is in her last year before retirement, we....uh....can't make her. do anything."

THAT'S ILLEGAL! people tell me. Yeah, no shit. But there's nothing that can be DONE about it except take them to court - which would not have solved the immediate problem of getting my son through his school year.

When I was hired for my first full time job, in 1991, I was told that I (a woman) would never have been hired if Mr. Screene hadn't retired earlier that year. The office had an unwritten, illegal policy that women couldn't wear pants. Not any pants, not even dressy ones with a suit jacket. All totally ILLEGAL but. My only recourse would have been to file a lawsuit - and that was highly impractical for a 22-yr-old new hire working for am important company in a very, very small town.

Anyone with a disability could tell you that 'federally protected rights' to accommodations are . . not always honored. Any worker could tell you that 'mandatory' overtime pay, meal breaks, etc - do not mean anything in some workplaces. And for gosh sake's don't ask the renters who have to fight like the dickens to ever get their "legal rights"!

So when I hear folks saying "Talk about your salary, your boss can't LEGALLY fire you for that!" it makes me think .. hmmm. Would I want to take that chance. I am not sure.

A boss who breaks the law in paying or accommodating his employees. Is a criminal. Has broken the law. A teacher who refuses disability accommodations for a student with a documented need. Is a criminal. Doctors, lawyers, white collar professionals knowingly mistreating clients or steering them wrong deliberately (for profit or prejudice). Criminal. And so, so few of them ever have a reckoning.

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cinnaminyoons · 1 year

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LIAR, LIAR !!

!! ksj x m!reader

!! wc | 5.7k

!! tags | guns, threats, mentions of violence/sex work, drinking, reader has an older sister

[ event masterlist ]

petty thief/mob boss

stuck in interrogation rooms across from one another

“i’ve been waiting to kick your ass all week.”

“i’m telling you, the guy’s innocent. just look at his file – look at his face. nobody that young and anxious can lead the country’s most notorious crime syndicate.”

the two officers glance into the plain white room. a dark-haired man sits inside, hands in his lap. he wears scuffed white sneakers and ripped blue jeans, and he shivers in a plain t-shirt. he’s staring across the hall into another room, where a younger man lazes with handcuffs around his wrists and a bored, dangerously calm expression – his head rolls in his direction and their supposed gang leader snaps his gaze quickly away, eyes wide as his knee bounces rapidly.

the older officer scoffs. “looks can be deceiving, junior. his handsomeness doesn’t make him innocent.” he shares a glance with another officer on the other side of the bullpen and claps a hand on his shoulder, herding him towards their suspect. the cadet fumbles with the manilla folder and clutches it to his chest.

“now,” he says assertively, “don’t speak to him. let me do the talking. guard the door in case he makes a run for it.”

the cadet isn’t sure that’s exactly protocol, but the senior officer has several major cases under his belt, and he’d be damned if he told an expert how to conduct himself. he nods, passing it over, and opens the door for him.

the officer takes a seat opposite the man, who watches them rigidly. he opens the folder and shuffles through the stapled and free sheets of paper silently, letting the room stew in uncomfortable tightness.

he whistles, impressed. “you’re a sky university graduate and student, mr kim? already one doctorate under your belt and you’re still studying?”

seokjin smiles tightly. “yes, sir.”

“what in, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“radiopathology. i’m going for a medical degree this round. sir,” he adds as an afterthought.

the officer locks his fingers together on the table. “studies like this – must cost you a fortune. how are you, financially?”

his gaze flicks to the younger officer by the door. he shrugs, small and tight, and his shoes scuff against the floor. he sighs, a haunted look in his eyes. “fine, i guess, but i’ll die before i pay off my student debt.”

the cadet snorts and covers it up with a cough. the senior officer gives him a sharp glance.

“then why continue?” he flicks through the pages, more for appearance than any mental refreshment. “your academic records tell me you could get a hefty paycheck, even fresh out of university, with your current doctorate. seems like overkill to me.”

something flickers over seokjin’s features. he drops his gaze and sits straighter, as if bracing himself. “my father developed cancer. an occupational hazard. with both degrees, i’ll gain the ability to not only prevent such deaths, but also to treat those in suffering, alleviating their pain.”

the officer eyes him with an unreadable smile. “you’ve practiced that.”

“yeah. i’ve had lots of experience with therapists and applying for tertiary grants. it gets easier to say every time.”

the officer leans in. seokjin leans away.

"so, will i be free to go anytime soon? i'm not trying to obstruct justice or anything, but i have a tutorial tomorrow at eight in the morning and i really need to get my affairs in order." seokjin frowns, mostly to himself. "i haven't even started my flashcards. i'm so screwed..."

"you'll be right to leave when i say so," he says sharply. "i've got a couple more questions for you, mr kim."

across the hall, a young woman in a blue pencil skirt and black heels enters the interrogation room. she shuts the door gently, sharp eyes raking the young man's figure, and shifts the folders against her chest.

"eyes up, little brother."

your gaze flickers upwards, following her without raising your head as she takes a seat across from you, smoothing her skirt beneath her legs.

"hello, yn," she murmurs, clasping neatly manicured hands over the files. "i haven't found you here since you were twelve. what would father say?"

"that i'm a terrible son. now everyone knows that i failed to get the job done."

she sighs, pursing her lips. "don't joke like this. what were you thinking? you're here for charges of petty theft and assault and battery. you're a better man than that."

"i fucked up, okay? it should've been a clean job – in and out without so much as a whisper. how the hell was i supposed to know that the lady had a side bitch? and," you lean forward, chains clinking as you press your palms against the table, "and, he threw the first punch. all i did was defend myself."

her eyes narrow into a glare. "you nearly killed the man! you're lucky he's not going to the media with this. there's only so much i can do for you, idiot, and i've only got two choices for you."

"jail time or – let me guess – community service?"

"no. jail time or help me find evidence for a case."

you blink. "what?"

she glances up at the camera in the corner of the room and sighs. "do you see the man across from you? white shirt."

you don't need to look over. "yeah. why, he your boyfriend?"

"he's the leader of an international crime syndicate. i know it. i just don't have the legal proof of it." she drums her fingers against the table. "this is where you come in. i need you to get close to him, grab some irrefutable audio recordings, and return to me. that's all i need."

you lean back in your chair, which creaks. you rub your eyes and wince. "fuck, noona, i'm not a grifter. i don't do long-cons. i like jewellery and shitty safes."

"it's either this or jail," she says firmly. "i can clean these charges off your record if i get him. let's just say that some very important people are banking on his arrest. please, yn – do it for me."

you shake your head incredulously, pressing your lips together. "you're asking cats to bark, noona. even if i wanted to, i don't have the right skillset – i'm no actor. and besides, what the fuck can someone like me do to get into a gang leader's inner circle?"

"i don't care how you get it done. if my intel serves, then he's partial to men like you," she emphasises, widening her eyes meaningfully. "get him chatty in bed if you have to; i don't give a shit. i believe in you, yn – you've got a solid history of excelling at everything you set your mind to. you could've been a brain surgeon, if you really wanted it."

you glance over at the man himself. your tongue darts over your lower lip. you turn back to the sergeant, slumping back in your chair. "there's no way that he's got any experience. he looks like a prude. he'll probably be asleep before i close his legs."

she makes a face. "i don't ever want to hear about that. listen, just try. for me? maybe you can get by with a little flirting – finally put that face of yours to good use. you didn't suffer through our family pinching your cheeks and telling you how you'd be a heartbreaker when you grew up to do absolutely nothing with it, right?"

"noona, i don't know..."

"oh, come on. it's not like he's hideous. can't be too hard to tell him he has nice eyes, can it?"

you sneak another glance, doubt written all over your features. it crumbles and you grimace, lifting a hand to rub the back of your neck. the other arm dangles from the cuffs. "fine! fine. i'll do it. for you. if i die, it's entirely your fault."

she lights up. "thank you! you've got this. stop by my apartment tonight, alright? i'll fill you in on the details, and you can get started in the morning. you can crash on my couch if you want to – i'm sure i've got enough of your clothes in a box somewhere to last you until you leave."

"yeah, yeah." you lift your hands towards her. "just get these fucking things off me, noona."

—

"what is this?"

"a good time, hyung!" taehyung grabs seokjin's elbow and drags him out of the sleek black car. he grins, bright and giddy, with a childish charm that suits his face but not the price tag of his suit. he wears burgundy, and if one looks closely, his glossy black shoes carry scars and scuffs from many tumbles. a surprising number of people have been close enough to notice – taehyung's carefree demeanour always masks his brutality.

seokjin's face twists, lightly peeved, as taehyung breezes past security without so much as a glance. "you told me you needed to pick something up. you lied to me."

he lifts a finger as the heavy bass music squeezes his lungs. "nuh-uh. i didn't lie – i do need to pick something up! i'll grab you something on the way in, too."

"can't you go one night without getting your rocks off?" seokjin nearly shouts. he can barely hear himself over the music. it is, however, satisfying to raise his voice, especially as taehyung flaps a dismissive hand in his direction.

"of course i can! but would i like to? no! oh – is that a new dancer? he's cute."

seokjin lets taehyung reel him through the club, blinking against the blue strobe lights. someone brushes against him and the hard steel lump in seokjin's jacket gives him pause, but seokjin meets his eyes unflinchingly and he drops his own, pushing his way through the crowds.

"i have better things to spend my time on," seokjin says, rather crossly. taehyung sits him down at an empty booth, firm hands on his shoulders. "not even a private room? i didn't raise you this way!"

taehyung huffs. "come on, hyung. it's not like it'll kill you. you deserve a little rest, especially after that fiasco with the mole! private rooms are quiet, and quiet means space to think, and space to think means that you'll be grumpy for the next two days. just let the music drown out the stresses of everyday life."

as he speaks, arms animated and dramatic, a good-looking man sashays over, wearing nothing but a pair of tight black shorts that leave little to the imagination. he sets down a beer in front of taehyung, who pushes the glass across the table towards seokjin.

then, when taehyung's mouth opens to continue his lecture, the man crawls onto the table with a seductive smile and begins to dance – or grind, really, against the air.

he's good. seokjin notices the snappy, controlled edge to his smooth, rolling movements more than his nakedness, and he wonders if he's a dancer. he wouldn't be surprised – with a body like that, he's bound to do well in such a place.

"are those moccasins?"

evidently, taehyung has different priorities.

taehyung prods at the dancer's ankles and he slides into a neat perch on the table's edge, his thighs trapping taehyung in the booth. he tilts taehyung's chin upwards with a flirty smile.

seokjin half-expects taehyung to vanish into a bathroom with him, but to his surprise, he shakes his head and gently places his legs aside.

"we're here for you," taehyung explains in response to seokjin's raised eyebrow as the dancer sways away. "plus, you're my ride home; my car's still being fixed up, can you believe it?"

"it's been a day, taehyung. give them time." seokjin glances around, hands resting almost mechanically on his thighs. if it wasn't for the frown on his face, he would look at home on set and in front of a camera. "so, your plan was to get me drunk? i'm not going to drink this."

"why not? you're getting paranoid again."

"someone could've spiked it," he argues. "and it's not paranoia – it's called vigilance and helps me stay alive. do you know how many times you would've died if i wasn't there? more times than i can count."

"oh, please. you're holding air above my head. i can take perfectly good care of myself. you just like to feel important."

if he were anyone but his little brother, he would no longer have a tongue to wag.

taehyung shrugs and reaches for seokjin's untouched beer. he lifts it to his lips, sipping delicately, and his face screws up in disgust. he gags, pushing it back towards seokjin. "no. still gross. ew."

he shakes his head like a dog ridding itself of water before his expression clears. he leans forward. "anybody here catch your eye?"

"no."

"come on. someone here has to at least touch your impossibly high standards."

seokjin rolls his eyes. his gaze sweeps over the dark club. "the bartender."

"bold move." he squints harder at the bartender through the strobe lights. he purses his lips. "you know what? i don't think i know him. damn. but finders keepers, i suppose – i'll go find out who he is."

"taehyung," seokjin says sharply. "he's working. don't make it harder than it needs to be."

he blows a raspberry, settling back down in his seat. "buzzkill. fine – you go talk to him, then. give him your number, or something."

"and do what everyone else does? present myself as desperate? absurd."

taehyung groans. "you are making my job way too hard. i am trying to get you laid. you're as good-looking as me – this should be easy!"

"as good-looking," seokjin mutters disdainfully. he raises his voice slightly. "i was just accused of a myriad of crimes, embezzlement and racketeering included. forgive me if i'm a little wary of strangers."

"you're fine," taehyung drawls. "you played the good boy so well. i barely recognised you in cuffed levi's." he casts an appreciative glance in the bartender's direction and begins to stand. "i'm gonna shoot my shot with smiley over there. my dear, he's a sight for sore eyes. wish me luck!"

"i'll break your legs."

"it's 'break a leg', generally."

"sit," he demands.

taehyung whines, "i'm not a dog," but sits anyway.

seokjin rises to his feet. "stay," he says, as if he hadn't heard his last words at all.

taehyung wiggles a finger. "that's the kind of attitude that makes people dislike you, hyung." he starts to sway. "be open-minded. easy as the ocean waves. light as a sea breeze."

"are you drunk from one sip of beer?"

he stops swaying. "you're so cruel! you'd be nicer if you just shot me in the head. since you care about your stupid reputation so much, i'm gonna go have my fun, and you can sit here and brood like the handsome and emotionally-unavailable man that you are. good-fucking-bye."

he stomps off – far too suavely, so that it looks more like a catwalk stride than a temper tantrum. however, once his grumpy gaze catches sight of a familiar head of blond hair sitting at a booth with three equally-familiar friends, he brightens and waves his arms, shouting over the music in frantic german.

the woman turns, her arm linked with a pretty korean girl. she grabs taehyung's hand and pulls him down next to her, squishing the three of them into the wall, and the beaming grins and laughter around the table suggests to seokjin that taehyung has been rather well-received.

a small smile tugs at seokjin's lips. at least he has his friends.

he sighs and stands, dusting off his trousers. he pauses by the end of the booth's table, his attention caught by the bartender. he's smiling, chatting to a co-worker as he shakes a mixer. he wears a bowtie and a waistcoat, the sleeves of a crisp white dress shirt rolled up tight at the elbows – same as the other bartender. but he seems to glow in it: everything around him appears brighter, sharper, more vivid.

maybe taehyung was right. maybe he does need to loosen up.

"hey. what can i get for you?"

seokjin slides onto a bar stool. "just a rum and coke, please. thanks."

the bartender grins. nods. he looks better up close. "not a problem. shall i open up a tab for you?"

seokjin hums in thought. he shakes his head. "i'll just take this one. you have a nice smile."

it takes a half-second for the bartender to register the compliment. that smile grows slightly flustered. "oh! thank you. one rum and coke."

he bustles away. seokjin thinks it's a shame that he wears no name tag.

he returns quickly with seokjin's drink in his hand, and seokjin almost smiles at the fact that he skipped over all the other waiting patrons to complete his drink first. he hides his amusement with the chilled rim of the glass.

"so, handsome... when does your shift end?"

the bartender grins. "half an hour. is there any reason in particular you're asking?"

"i'm not so ill-mannered as to take your attention off the other lovely patrons just to compliment your arms or the way that bowtie looks on you. i can appreciate a strong work ethic."

"you're starting to sound like my boss," the bartender laughs. "but for you, handsome, i can make it twenty minutes. think you can nurse a rum and coke for that long?"

"for you?" he raises the glass. "as long as you need."

—

seokjin's waist fits in your hand ever so perfectly. when you'd first met him, you'd played it so safe that you'd almost forgotten to give him your name. you gave yourself a new last name and a subtle accent, but that was as far as the changes went. sure, you were well-known for being in the drama club in high school, but it wasn't your... passion. nothing quite hit the spot like black gloves and diamonds.

"you look lovely tonight," you comment with a smile, leaning in to keep the waitress out of it. she slows to a stop beside a table set for two and bows before taking her leave.

"as do you," seokjin says gently, a smile lighting up his face when you pull his chair out for him. if it's not the candlelight throwing shadows, you think there's a warm blush on his cheekbones. "i adore the way you dress. i can appreciate a taste for the finer things."

you finger the diamond choker around your neck, set with white gold. it sits above the deep v of your black shirt, accentuating just how deep it falls, and provides a nice contrast. it matches the chopard watch and its woven steel bracelet on your wrist.

"finer things?" you tease, stroking the collar of your shirt. his eyes flicker from the diamonds to the split of your chest. "it's more of a... bad habit, to be truthful. but when i heard where we were headed tonight, i was afraid i'd be wildly underdressed, and then overdressed."

he laughs softly – a sweetly unique sound that has your lips curving up automatically. "you don't have anything to be worried about. you look like you were born for this life. actually, you make me self-conscious – i should've tried something more avant-garde than a suit."

you shake your head with a laugh. "it's a learned skill. you've found something you look ravishing in; why not exploit it?"

"you're too kind." he's had a thousand people compliment the cut of his jacket and tailoring of his pants, but none felt quite so heart-fluttering as yours. he hides his smile with his slender fingers and averts his eyes to escape the alluring heat of your gaze. "but, truly – those diamonds do look stunning on you. do you have much of a collection?"

"oh, no; i couldn't afford it if i tried. it's such a shame. i feel like they're calling for me to touch them, and sometimes the desire is simply too strong to resist, you know? i indulge myself terribly."

he brushes his fingers over his plush lower lip. "it's alright. i know the feeling. i really do love the way you look with them, so would you mind bringing me the next time you go to a jeweller's? anything that catches your eye, you can have. anything at all. it'd be a sin to deprive you of them when i've seen you in these simple ones – i can't imagine what i'd do with myself if you wore something a little more... eye-catching."

you pause. your eyes widen. "oh – oh, no, seokjin – i couldn't ask that of you."

"that's why i'm offering, love." he smiles sweetly.

"you'd really buy such expensive things for me? i'm flattered, truly, but i wouldn't want our relationship to become... transactional." you reach across the table and place your hand on his. his bright smile turns shy. "i've loved our time together, seokjin. i don't want to lose that."

it takes a second longer than usual for him to compose himself and find his words. "you wouldn't lose it. they'd just be gifts – you wouldn't have to do anything in return. don't worry," he emphasises, squeezing your hand gently, "about the money. i have lifetimes of it. i'd be glad to know where it's going."

you squeeze his hand as well, turning your palm up to grasp his knuckles as if you're about to kiss them. your thumb runs over his joints and the curves of his knuckles, and chuckle. "you really are too good to me, seokjin."

the hum of the restaurant fades away into a low murmuring ripple. the lights fade to dull spots. everything but him vanishes, pushed to the furthest extremities of your consciousness, and you lean in. he follows.

the kiss is soft and silky. his lips tingle where they press to yours, like the gentle tang of a teaspoon of lime juice. you sip on him slowly, like mezcal, and relish in the sweet sting, as rich and bright as an amaretto sour.

he tilts his head, and the kiss deepens to something more appropriate for the bedroom. he catches himself before it goes too far with a soft gasp, pulling away. his dark eyes flutter open, flicking up to yours.

he clears his throat. "so, are you hungry?"

"of course," you reply, matching his nonchalance. you shrug with an embarrassed, lopsided grin. "i've just never been to a restaurant that doesn't offer their menu anywhere..."

seokjin's eyes widen slightly. a flush remains on his cheeks – the memory of your lips on his sticks to the forefront of his mind, crowding out much else. "oh! it's a fixed menu, love. it's why i asked for your dietary requirements the other day. they base the size on how many people there are. i'm so sorry – i'd forgotten all about it the moment i saw you." he giggles at himself endearingly. that severe, revenge-served-cold persona at the bar seems entirely removed. he even sits differently – a little more open, relaxed.

you watch him with a soft smile. "you're quite the charmer, did you know that? i could sit here and listen to your voice the whole night long."

"well," he laughs again, "i think that's how dinner dates work, so you’re in luck."

a waitress, different to the one who seated you, stops by with a polite smile and the entrees. you thank her and glance back down at each other, smiling when your eyes meet.

this might not be so hard, after all.

—

it doesn't take much to slide into seokjin's 'inner circle' – and not the one he lets you into in the bedroom. that one came first. after that, it was simply existing by his side, practically living in his luxurious penthouse apartment and massaging his shoulders when work became rough, until he grew comfortable enough not to flip over his classified papers when you leant over his chair to kiss him on the cheek.

you have yet to find anything incriminating in those glances; it's all reasonable numbers in those financial year statements. he takes his work with him – not just between work and home, but even to the bedroom. he sets his messenger bag on a chair with his tie next to the wardrobe, which means that you can't creep away and take a late-night sneak peek at anything under those superficial numbers.

one night, you're milling around the living room directly in front of the entrance, your shoes patient by the front door. the apartment is oddly shaped, as far as apartments go. maybe they're different for rich people, but you haven't seen one quite like it before. the living room branches out like a capital 't' and hooks around in a loop, with a staircase on the right leading up to a mezzanine containing the bedroom, office, and bathroom. in the day, it's brightly lit; huge panels of glass stretching across the walls from floor to ceiling display downtown seoul's skyline. at night, spots of light glimmer in the darkness, and a slow, blinking red dot will sometimes make its way over the roofs. before you, seokjin says, he kept the curtains closed as soon as the sun went down, but that you've shown him a beauty in the night that he can no longer ignore.

you lie along the leather couch, a pillow folded beneath your head. your eyes are closed. conventional, inoffensive radio songs float through speakers inset in the ceiling. despite those speakers in every room – so that he doesn't have to carry one around with him – he still has a dedicated movie setup, complete with atmos speakers. somehow, he'd found the sweet spot for the audio, despite his open-plan home being a noticeable springboard for sound.

the door opens, and a set of footsteps enters. the door closes behind them. your brow furrows and you're on your feet in half a second – those aren't seokjin's steps.

the young man in front of you instinctively reaches for something at the back of his belt. you've watched enough movies to know what it is that he's got his fingers around.

"well, he-llo, gorgeous," he greets flirtatiously in a deep, smooth voice. he wears a peach-coloured three-piece with a matching tie and a black shirt. a lock of dark hair curls romantically over his eyebrow, and you wonder how long he took in the bathroom to get it right. "you look familiar. have we met?"

you don't relax. neither does he. you smile politely. "i don't believe we have. i imagine someone like you would be hard to forget."

"hm." his lips curve up. "then allow me to introduce myself. kim taehyung: art aficionado, music connoisseur, and lover of many. i decorated this place – do you like what i've done with it?"

"it's better than most apartments i've been to."

he hums and moves towards the bar on the corner. he moves behind it to pour himself a glass of cherry cola – he's not as clueless as he looks, then. he'll keep an eye on you this way. he adds ice, and it clinks in his glass.

he begins, "my brother... he's not one for aesthetics. i'm certain he'd live in a cement box if it had everything he needed in it. i've made it my personal mission to fill his homes with as many useless objects as i can before he becomes suspicious. take this, for example."

he points to a white vase of lilacs on the end of the bar and fixes it, brushing his knuckles over the flowers. "this vase... it's beautiful, but it cost as much as a car. i haven't the slightest idea why. i could go to the nearest department store and get something identical for a handful of spare change."

he lifts his glacial gaze, staring at you from the corner of his eyes. he's not talking about vases.

you scoff and sit back down, turning your back to him. he's not going to do anything – not when he's assuming such things about you. "you don't even know my name, but you're already insulting me."

"i've been pushing him to release some stress. he takes himself too seriously – someone needs to loosen the stick up his ass, maybe replace it with something better." he pops a blue umbrella in his glass with a twirly pink straw and lifts it to his lips. "i've had this conversation with three other men before you, did you know? you're the first to understand it." he tilts his glass in your direction, almost a toast. "i like you."

"what are you here for, kim taehyung?" you ask bluntly. you rest your arm over the backrest and watch him over your shoulder. his sad little glass of cola makes your fingers itch – you need to make him a proper drink.

he gestures vaguely at the city skyline with the cola. it sloshes dangerously close to the rim. "what we're all here for. a good time. that, and i wanted to know who had my stoic brother wrapped around their pinky finger. seeing you now – i can see why."

"thought he wasn't one for aesthetics," you comment drily.

he laughs at that, full and animable. "oh, attractive and witty. that must be the reason why my brother can't think straight anymore – as soon as someone has a sharp tongue, he's completely enamoured. do you like him as much as he likes you?"

you rise to your feet, finally unable to hold back the carnal desire to make him a drink of the clothes he's wearing – that little party glass won't do. smoothly, he moves around the bar, keeping to the opposite side at all times as you slip off your white jacket and drape it over the bench you wouldn't notice the action if you weren't looking for it. you already had seokjin in the palm of your hand – it was this boy you needed to worry about. his suspicion might brush against something it shouldn't.

you reach for a coca-cola and the bottle of grenadine syrup. "i keep his company because i enjoy our conversations."

"sounding more and more like an escort," he comments blithely. "there's no need to be so tense around me, big boy. i just want to know if my big brother is in good hands. yours seem very capable."

plucking a couple of maraschino cherries out of the fridge, you balance them on the ice in the tall glass. you turn, and you bite back a smirk as taehyung's brow twitches upwards.

"thank you," you say, setting the glass down and sliding it across the bar. "i didn't poison it, if you're wondering. just a simple roy rogers. a man of your standing deserves better than a can of coke garnished with an umbrella."

he watches you move around the bar, whipping up a pisco sour. he plucks the cherries off their stems with his teeth and chews slowly, savouring the sweetness. "huh. you're ticking all the boxes – hyung might have to share you with me. that – or you can tell me why you're really after him. you're not an escort, so it's not about money. you don't fuck him nearly as often as he needs to be, so it's not about sex."

a dull, steely thump. you turn around, the shaker in your hands.

his fingers slide off of the silver handgun on the bar. he raises the roy rogers to his lips, his eyes fixed on yours.

he's seen a lot of reactions to a gun. he's seen fear, he's seen hysteria – hell, he's even seen lust. the drink pauses halfway to the bar when you laugh boisterously.

"you can't intimidate me, kim taehyung," you chuckle, shaking it dry. "you wouldn't believe the number of people who've pulled a weapon on me. some were twice your size – ex-military types, far too trigger-happy to continue shooting and call it patriotism. i'm not going to hurt you or your brother, and i won't tell the cops that you're packing. pleased?"

you pop open the shaker and drop in the ice. you resume shaking.

the front door opens. those are seokjin's footsteps.

you turn around with bright eyes, grabbing a glass. "oh, seokjin! how was your day? i've been waiting to kick your ass all week – my mario kart skills are getting better."

"my day was boring, but much better now that i've seen you. you'll have to show me your new moves." he looks up from digging around in his messenger bag and halts at the sight of taehyung in his peach-coloured suit and platform boots. his gaze hones in on the glint of steel taehyung didn't quite manage to hide.

his eyes narrow and his expression hardens. his voice snaps their consonants, arctic-cold. "are you threatening my partner, taehyung?"

"of course not," you interrupt, sending taehyung a candied grin. "your little brother was just making himself comfortable. it'd be hard to be at ease with that digging into your back, wouldn't it?"

the thick silence between them is palpable.

"come now, darling," you hum, pouring the cocktail. you add the garnishes and hold it out with an inviting smile. "you're at home. relax."

after a pause, he steps forward. another step. he dumps his bag on the couch as he passes it and accepts the drink with a grateful sigh.

"you're too good to me, love," he murmurs, tilting his head to allow you better access with your kisses. "i'm sorry i didn't introduce you to taehyung earlier. he's always so busy with the family business. did he play nice with you?"

"mm, of course," you whisper sweetly, sliding your hands up over his thighs and hips. you press a kiss to his jaw and lift your eyes to taehyung's – he glares daggers back, and his mouth thin into a tight line. "we're getting along well. a few initial speed bumps, yes, but all relationships have their rocks and pitfalls. even if we didn't," you nibble on his earlobe just to see taehyung divert his gaze, "he'd have to get used to me, sooner or later."

#seokjin #kim seokjin #kim seokjin x male reader #seokjin x male reader #seokjin x reader #bts x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4002

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

10. Acquired Taste

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

youtube

Bucky:

Bucky typically has two avenues, when it comes to acquiring new product.

1) Conduct recon, establish a relationship with her/him (though usually her), lure to a secluded location, incapacitate (usually via roofies)

2) Conduct recon, stab & grab on site (needle, not knife—jesus he’s not a monster)

Each avenue presents its own advantages and risks. Relationships and dates take more time and work, they don’t guarantee he’ll get the access he needs, and he runs the risk of someone else in the victim’s life learning about him before they’re disappeared. Stab & grab is by far his preferred method, but he has to be extremely mindful of security footage. Everything’s recorded these days, and in a city like New York, people live in each other’s pockets. Which method Bucky chooses usually comes down to how isolated the candidate’s life is. Carlo made his pick for who Bucky’s got to pay him with, so Bucky drives into the city early Monday to begin his reconnaissance process on Erica Buccanetti. He spends that Monday through Wednesday 7am-10pm, learning all about her.

Erica is twenty-nine. She’s a short, white, “curvy” woman of middling education who works at the DMV. Her job alone makes her deserving of what she’s going to get, Bucky thinks. Erica works Monday through Friday, gets in at 8:55, eats lunch at her desk, and clocks out no later than 4:50 every day. Erica goes to a gym after work and runs on the treadmill until she looks miserable and exhausted. Erica takes the train home to her duplex in Alphabet City, where she has a cat and drinks wine and…

Bucky tosses his binoculars aside, exasperated. “Dammit.”

Erica has three housemates. Fuck.

He can’t do a stab & grab when there are roommates, certainly not three. It’s too risky. Now he’ll have to put in the extra effort to try and run into her somehow, strike up a conversation, get a date or three.

He puts the car in gear and speeds down the block, eager to get on the highway and get home to Steve. He tunes the radio to an 80’s station he likes and taps out the beat as he navigates traffic.

This is the last time, he swears to himself, the absolute last time he lets a client pick their target. It’s too much pressure on Bucky, having to succeed with that one specific girl. Better to have a handful of potentials going, scoop up the one who makes herself the easiest victim. It’s not like most of them don’t do a bang up job of it.

Twenty-some years of “stranger danger” and true crime shows are usually enough to cement the “it won’t happen to me” mindset. Sometimes they’ll even find the right moment to throw out a lame, faux-suspicious “You’re not a serial killer, right?—haha just kidding!”

Bucky thinks it’s a hoot. Obviously these bitches don’t follow the eastern principle of karma.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, he gets in very late, after midnight. But he still pops down to check on Steve. He brings them both a drink, hands Steve his, then slides down the far wall to sit. “Ugh.”

“How was your day, honey?” Steve asks. Sarcastically, but at least he’s making jokes.

“Long,” Bucky says, tipping back his old fashioned. They both like them. Maybe it’s become one of their things. “So for this payment, I let Carlo pick his girl,” he says, letting his eyes slip closed as he rolls out the tight muscles in his neck. “Stupid.” Steve is quiet for a long time, and Bucky suspects he’s staring at him. He doesn’t open his eyes to find out. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Just … wondering about the logistics of it, I guess.” He’s quiet for another long moment, the ice clinking in his glass telling Bucky when he takes another sip, and then another. “So … are you bi?”

Bucky opens his eyes. “What?”

Steve shrugs. “You date them to get to them. Does that mean you’re into women?”

“Well …” Bucky is, but … “I prefer men,” he says. “By far. But the clients want women, so that’s what I supply. It’s pretend, Steve.”

“Mm.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, sensing Steve’s judgment and not liking it. “I pretend to date them. Briefly. If I have to.”

Steve shrugs and looks away dismissively. “Seems kind of mean, to me.”

“It’s not!” Bucky scowls, straightening up from where he’s been sitting slumped against the wall. “I’m totally nice to them!”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, until you start harvesting their parts for food.”

Bucky glares at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”

“Yeah maybe we shouldn’t.” Steve sniffs and looks away. “Not exactly great to hear all about how my boyfriend’s a serial killer.”

Bucky brightens up some at the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’m not, you know. A serial killer.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise sky high. “Oh really? So what would you call it when you kill people, ya know, serially?”

“I don’t get a thrill out of murdering them,” Bucky insists. “I keep them alive as long as I can.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that so much.”

“I keep them comfortable!” Bucky defends. “This is a nice place! I give them gourmet food, they’re on tons of pain meds. They don’t feel a thing.” Steve isn’t even looking at him now, and Bucky’s mood sinks. “... They’re not nice people, Steve,” he says darkly. "They deserve a hell of a lot less than what I afford them.” He watches Steve for a reaction, but doesn’t get one.

Steve just tosses back the end of his drink and fishes out the cherry. He pulls it off the stem with his teeth, chewing it while staring Bucky down. “Done,” he says, pushing the glass in Bucky’s direction.

It’s like he’s saying the conversation’s done too. Bucky sighs and shoves up to standing. He goes over and picks the glass up and gives Steve a long, rueful look. “Eileen,” he eventually says.

“What?”

“The woman in the other room." He nods out towards the hallway. “The one you saw. Her name was Eileen. And that’s whose kidney I had for dinner the other night.” Steve’s eyes widen a little, and Bucky smiles placidly. “Yeah. Good old Eileen. She was thirty two you know. Divorced but seeing someone new. She had a daughter. Cute kid: Tracy. She’s like, seven, eight? Has freckles and pigtails, likes Pokémon.” Bucky shrugs, then lets the mild expression slide right off his face. “Eileen was letting the new boyfriend rape her.” He gets satisfaction from the way that Steve’s eyes widen further and his lips part without a comeback. “Hm, yeah.” Bucky throws back the end of his drink and crunches down on the pieces of ice that float into his mouth. “So, Steve, when I tell you that you really shouldn’t feel bad for these people? You really shouldn’t.”

He turns and leaves before Steve can think of any other arguments. It’s good, Bucky thinks. It’ll give him time to think. Bucky didn’t come to grips with all of this overnight, after all. He can’t expect Steve to, either.

Steve:

In the basement, Steve has lots of time to think. In fact that’s all he does other than sleep. He thinks about the chances of anybody ever finding him here, figures they’re probably low. Bucky’s done this before, maybe dozens of times. He knows how to get away with it. Steve thinks a lot about that, about how there are a bunch of rich as fuck cannibals out in the world, just existing and merrily eating people. How Bucky eats people and thinks that it’s totally fine. How he likes the taste of eating people. It’s nuts.

Steve does wonder, sometimes. What’s it taste like? He feels halfway sick with himself when the thought occurs, but it does occur. It must taste good, he thinks, to warrant such effort and risk. It must taste really damned good. At least to Bucky and his rich friends it does. Steve is sure he’ll never find out for himself. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

He thinks about the women who came before him, about how they must’ve felt, trapped down here while Bucky slowly sold off their meat. How many have there been? Steve wonders. And what were their crimes that got them sentenced to this? How did Bucky know they were bad? Steve can’t figure it out, but he also can’t forget what Bucky told him so seriously about Eileen the other night. It sits in his mind, coloring his memory differently. Now when he thinks of Eileen lying on the floor of her cell, begging him for help, he doesn’t feel as much pity for her as he used to. He doesn’t feel as much horror when he remembers her limbless torso wriggling pathetically under the sheet.

Bucky could be lying of course, just making it up so that Steve will accept him more readily. But somehow Steve doesn’t think so. Bucky’d had this look in his eyes when he said it. He’d looked vindictive, and vindicated. Steve shivers as he remembers it. Bucky truly does not have any compunctions about what he does, and he expects Steve to come around to it. Steve doesn’t think he can do that. He’s just hoping against hope that he can pretend long enough to convince Bucky. Long enough until he can get his chance for escape and take it.

He thinks about Carlo, working on the cell down the hallway. Steve doesn’t see him much at all, just hears the sounds of his tools whirring, the smell of fresh wood being sawed, concrete being poured, him taking a piss in one of the other cells' toilets every few hours.

At first Steve does wonder what he might be able to say to try and entice the man to help him escape. But he settles on a big fat nothing. There’s nothing Steve could offer him to get him to take that risk, no way. And it’d be too big a gamble to try anyways. He doesn’t want Carlo to alert Bucky to his attempts at scheming, which Bucky warned Carlo would do if Steve acted up. So Steve keeps his mouth shut when the man arrives and departs each day.

Carlo doesn’t say anything to him. He probably figures that Steve’s dead meat anyway.

Steve considers that maybe he is, and Bucky’s just lying to him to keep him calm. Maybe Bucky tells all the women that they have a chance for survival, if only they’re good and don’t act up.

It’s fucked, but Steve imagines Bucky doing it—taking little pieces from him until there’s nothing left to do but put an end to him. He imagines Bucky kissing him lovingly, then injecting something into his veins and harvesting his internal organs. He imagines Bucky working in the attractive kitchen upstairs; humming a tune, cutting Steve up, pan searing his kidneys and eating them with a Beaujolais.

Steve wonders if he’d taste any different than everyone else Bucky’s ever eaten. Probably not.

Stringy, he thinks, looking down and assessing his arms and legs and torso with a novel sort of appreciation. Steve’s so thin and so tough, he’d probably make a horrible meal.

Bucky:

He plans it out meticulously, just like he always does. But even after all these years (fifteen, to be exact) he still gets that nervous feeling every time he makes his move. Stab & grabs don’t get to him nearly as much. Those are easy, impersonal. It’s the women he has to introduce himself to and flirt with and feign interest in and good intentions for that cause the nerves. He’d call them butterflies, but that seems cruel to compare his meet/capture/kill nerves to first date nerves. When he met Steve, it was a whole other feeling. What he’s about to do now isn’t the same, it’s not innocent like that, and he doesn’t need to pretend that it is.

Bucky knows he’s actually like, the perfect guy for this. He’s good looking and a natural flirt, excellent at making conversation and getting people to like him and to want to open up to him. Women tend to feel instinctively safe around him, so normally he’s guaranteed success in the “meet cute” department. It’s just that ... well …

He’s getting on in age these days, alright? He’s a—very damn handsome—37 years old now, and unfortunately for him, his clients’ tastes tend to stay the same, meaning the pervy old leches keep wanting their women rare at 20-ish. Bucky still has a very high success rate, but there’ve been a few college-aged girls who he approached wrong and they turned their noses up at him.

But he dyes his greys now, okay? He does the whole skincare regime, does Botox (conservatively—he’s got taste). And he’s learned to dumb himself down a bit when he’s going after the younger ones; talk a little smoother, a little less cultured, dress more age-appropriate. Turtlenecks apparently send off the wrong vibe. Unless the girl is into the whole Daddy thing, then it works in his favor.

Anyway, it’s not that big of an issue. All he has to do is flash his car or casually wear a Rolex on a date and even the most dimwitted or discerning potentials fall all over him. Bucky could give straight guys lessons, he swears.

He drives into the city wearing joggers and sneakers and a too-tight tee shirt, hair artfully tousled and earbuds draped around his neck in show. He goes into the gym, into the locker room, spritzes water around his hairline and the neck of his tee shirt, then bumps into her outside—when she’s on her way in, not out. No woman feels sexy after a workout (at least not the kind Erica is torturing herself with)—and exclaims in concern when she stumbles. Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! He grabs her forearm and lets the other hand brush over her waist as he “makes sure she doesn’t fall”. Are you okay?

Her eyes catch on his smile and his biceps right away, so Bucky's confidence is bolstered. He spends the next twelve minutes flirting with her, telling her his name (James), and how glad he is that he at least bumped into the prettiest girl at the gym (not true). Her eyes light up when he mentions that he’s a doctor, and shortly after that he’s typing his burner cell number into her phone. I put myself down as ‘handsome stranger whom you’re definitely gonna call’.

She titters at his joke and smiles, obviously tickled pink as they’re saying goodbye. “Yeah. I’ll um, I’ll call you. Maybe we could meet up for drinks or something?”

“Great!” Bucky shoots her a wink to seal the deal and jogs off down the block. He stops once he’s around the corner and starts walking at a normal pace back to his car. He hums a tune to himself, pleased at how easy that’d been. Now he can get home and probably not have to go out again until Saturday. If Erica’s as easy as he thinks she is, he shouldn’t have to go on many, if any, other dates.

Steve:

“Hey.” Bucky knocks on the doorframe as he slides it open. He steps in, head tilted, cautious smile playing at his lips.

Unfairly handsome, Steve thinks. Those women don’t stand a chance. “Hey.”

“I was hoping you’d still be awake. Wanted to say goodnight.”

“You get her number?” Steve asks. Because he knows that’s what today was—bump into Erica day.

Bucky seems wary, but he comes in and engages anyway. Steve almost feels bad for him. “Yeah,” Bucky says, toeing at the carpet. “Taking her out on Saturday.”

Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing. “‘Taking her out’, yeah.” He sees the hurt flash across Bucky’s face though, and feels bad about it. Ridiculous, but he still feels bad. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking away. What else is he supposed to say? I understand? He can’t say that when Bucky’s holding him prisoner in his basement. Steve’s literally chained to the floor right now.

He sighs again, disappointed. He’s never been so disappointed in anything in his life. He fucking aches with it. Enough to cry, sometimes, if he thinks enough about Bucky’s smile over a martini glass, his bad dance moves in Steve’s apartment, his body in Steve’s bed. What they'd had together, how it'd felt like they were building something, something to look forward to. Steve bites his tongue so he doesn’t start tearing up when Bucky’s standing there. He doesn’t want to look like another weak victim, even though he knows he is. “You seemed like such a nice guy,” he murmurs, not looking at him.

Bucky comes over and kneels down in front of him. He looks so sad. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to palm the side of Steve’s face. He hums when Steve lets his eyes slip closed and leans into it.

Crazy, what a little bit of isolation will make you feel, Steve thinks.

“I miss you, Steve. I promise you this isn’t going to last forever.” When Steve just breathes silently, Bucky strokes his thumb over his cheek. Steve shivers. “Hey, would you want to go on a date with me?”

Steve’s eyes open. “What?”

Bucky smiles softly. “A date. You’ve been so good this whole time, and I miss you.” He leans forward and pecks a kiss to his lips. It’s brief, but it still makes Steve’s lips tingle. “I miss spending time with you.” Bucky’s eyes flick over his face. “So how about it, huh? You want to come up and just hang out one night? I can make us something. We’ll have drinks, maybe watch a movie?”

Steve blinks, feeling so odd at being asked a question like that. One of the things he thinks about to pass the time is what he and Bucky might be doing right now, in their new relationship, if Steve hadn’t opened the basement door. “A movie?” he repeats softly. The idea of getting to leave this boring room for anything is tempting. Steve wants to escape of course, but even if he knew he couldn’t, he still thinks it’d be nice to get to do something. Even if it’s with Bucky. “Yeah,” he breathes, hopeful. He hasn’t been allowed upstairs in days, not since he took a shower. “M-maybe I could …” he cuts himself off, remembering how Bucky had taken advantage of the last time, how he’d touched him. And Steve was weak. He’d let him do it.

“Maybe what?” Bucky asks, looking so kind. He always does, like he’s just a kind, caring guy who also happens to keep Steve chained in his basement. “Steve? What were you going to say?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Mm, nevermind.” He doesn’t need a shower. “Nothing.”

Bucky seems unhappy about whatever Steve’s not saying, but he doesn’t press him any further. He takes a deep breath and stands back up. “I won’t be out so late anymore,” he tells him. “Just a trip or two more to the city. You can have your real meals back again, no more of this junk food.”

Steve nods. Bucky’s left him with plenty of snacks these past few days, but Steve has missed the hot meals. He’s missed seeing Bucky three times a day, even missed the attention Bucky gives him when he’s eating. “Okay,” he says.

Bucky stands there for a long minute, staring at him. Steve keeps his eyes on the carpet but he can feel the weight of Bucky’s gaze. Eventually he hears Bucky sigh, then leave through the door. Steve looks up to try and catch sight of him on the way out, but he’s already moved on down the hall.

That night Steve falls asleep thinking about what it’ll be like, once there’s another person in the basement with him.

Bucky:

Bucky meets her for the aforementioned drinks. He’s dressed nicely, in a black button down and slacks and nice shoes. He wears the Rolex, because Erica’s got three housemates so flashing his wealth at her can’t hurt. He greets her with a smile and a hug at the bar, and they both settle in and order their drinks. Bucky asks her about her life, quickly figures out that she’s body conscious and makes sneaky little comments about how he likes a woman that doesn’t slip right through his fingers. She eats that shit up, and before Bucky knows it, she’s excusing herself for the bathroom and leaving her third cocktail behind.

Too fucking easy.

Bucky picks up both their drinks and informs the bartender that they’ll be moving over to that table in the dark corner over there. The bartender gives him a nod, and Bucky nods back. He can’t have the guy seeing it, when he slips the roofie in her drink.

He’s learned to crush them up into a Splenda packet. It masks the bitterness and then if he does get caught, it just looks like he’s sweetening the drink. Erica returns from the restroom and he flags her down to their new spot. “More privacy,” he purrs at her, and she giggles and sits down next to him.

They continue to flirt and talk about pithy little topics until he can tell that she’s starting to feel the effects. “Hey,” he says, not wanting her to be stumbling before they leave the bar. “I know this is fast but… I dunno, I just really like you.” He says it all bashful, like he’s embarrassed of himself, and she eats that up, too. “Would you maybe wanna go back to my place? We could have another drink, talk and listen to some music, or…”

He trails off, and she gives him an enthusiastic, “Sure, okay!” sloppy at the edges from how the drugs are creeping into her system now. She hasn’t realized it yet. Bucky has to get her out of this public place before she does.

“Great,” he says, smiling. He offers her his arm like a gentleman (and to make sure she’s steady enough on her feet to not draw attention), and she simpers and holds onto him and they head out. Bucky sees her recognizing the type of car that he drives as he opens the door for her and she gets in. She tucks her lips in like she’s trying to keep herself from outright grinning, which makes Bucky chuckle as he slides into the driver’s side and shuts his door. “Buckle up,” he tells her sweetly. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She giggles and obeys, and Bucky thinks about how she’ll probably be so easy, in the basement. Girls like her just want to be loved and approved of so badly. She’ll probably go from the Depression stage to Acceptance so fast, it’ll make his head spin. He’s glad. It’s always easiest for those girls. They suffer the least. And despite the fact that Bucky knows about Erica and her little brother who died under “suspicious circumstances” in 2009, he still doesn’t want to torture her. He’s not a sadist.

He’s karma.

She’s still conscious when they get on the highway, enough to look out the window and make a cute little confused noise. “Mm. You said your place’sin Tr’becca?” she slurs.

Bucky smiles and pats her hand. “Yeah. But I’m taking you somewhere else.”

It’s cute, how she pouts and tries to protest that. Bucky’s almost tempted to say something right then and there. But he doesn’t. He always likes to save the Big Reveal for when they’re settled in their rooms and fully sober. He likes to have a drink in hand, be relaxed in something comfortable. Really settle in for the show.

“Just close your eyes,” he soothes her, watching her fade out. “We’ll be there soon.” She passes out and Bucky smirks, thinking about how she’s about to get hers.

Because Karma’s not a bitch.

It’s a plastic surgeon who likes to cook.

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ralfmaximus · 3 months

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When Project 2025 was released, a number of progressives expressed surprise that Donald Trump's army of authoritarian schemers would boldly publish their plan to destroy American government as we know it. The over 900-page document, commissioned by the people expected to run another Trump White House, is a laundry list of the far-right's most politically toxic ideas, from banning abortion nationwide to mass firing federal officials who believe in protecting public health and safety. One would think that Trump and his allies would try to keep their sinister plans out of public view. Instead, Team Trump published their fascistic blueprint on a website for anyone to read.

FINALLY. Project 2025 has broken cover and regular news outlets are paying attention.

So why did MAGA strategists think they could get away with hiding this shit in plain sight?

I often liken it to a guy who pinches a woman's butt in a bar, and when she protests, laughs and insists she's just a crazy lady making it all up. We saw this strategy with the Supreme Court's recent presidential "immunity" decision. It's factually correct that it gives Trump a license to kill, but anyone who speaks this fact is accused of "Trump derangement syndrome" and "madness" by Republicans. The strategy largely works, because less politically engaged Americans assume that "both sides" engage in hyperbole. Low information people are ready to believe the false accusations that liberals are "deranged" when they warn of Trump's plans to be a dictator. Project 2025 seemed to be rolled out with this assumption that "normies" would never hear of it, and that the few who did hear would dismiss the fears as overheated nonsense.

Well there ya go. They were planning to claim everybody was imagining things, and to be fair, that strategy worked for more than a year. But now we know.

Today Trump panicked and denied he'd ever heard of Project 2025. Which is bullshit since it was assembled by his people and he hammers Project 2025 talking points over & over at his campaign rallies. It's a transparent lie, easily disproved.

Expect the story to change over the next few news cycles, the same way his lies about Stormy Daniels mutated:

I never heard of her

I met her once

I never had sex with her

I never paid for sex with her

it's not a crime to pay for sex

ANYWAY. The Salon article is an important read. Learn about the plan MAGA has to hijack the United States on January 20, 2025.

#trump #project 2025

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rey-jake-therapist · 6 months

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Nina from Black Swan vs Will from Hannibal

Another parallel no one asked for: Black Swan and Hannibal, or more precisely, Nina and Will.

I rewatched Black Swan yesterday. And wow, it's not because I'm currently in my Fannibal era but the parallels between Nina's story and Will's just jumped straight at my face. They're so (tragically similar).

They both suffer from an illness but don't know it. For Nina, it's likely to be a mental illness that remained undiagnosed and gives her hallucinations when she's under great stress. Also she's prone to self harming, as we see several times during the movie. For Will, it's encephalitis, which under Hannibal's 'treatment' gives him similar symptoms.

They both hate themselves and express it by engaging in a process of self destruction. They're both very good at their job. To do it right, they're forced to dig deep inside themselves and confront themselves to things which existence they denied all their life. Their job slowly but surely destroys them, they know it but they refuse to stop because they believe it's the only thing that gives them a value. What drives Nina is to be 'perfect', an unreachable goal in essence; what drives Will is to save lives thanks to a gift he has, but he can't save everybody. Worse, he can't seem to be able to save himself, his 'gift' turning out to be more of a curse for him.

They both have an authoritarian figure in their life who smothers them and project their past failures on them (the creepy mother who forces her into staying a child while guilting her for being born for Nina, Jack Crawford who watches him destroy himself, and uses him in a goose chase against the Ripper for Will). Both Nina's mother and Jack Crawford treat Nina/Will as, in Hannibal's words, "their finest china, used only for special guests". There's something deeply disturbing in the way Nina's mother keeps disrespecting Nina's boundaries while she's a woman in their 20s, that's not existent with Jack Crawford (though it could be argued that when he insists that Will keeps using his empathy disorder to solve crimes even after Will clearly tells him it harms him, he also disrespects Will's intimacy in a way), but it's about the influence they have on Nina/Will. They also have in commun the fact that they know something's wrong with the person they're supposed to protect, but choose to do nothing about it because it doesn't serve their personal agenda. Nina's mother for example, knows it's not the first time that Nina engages in self harm and yet, the only thing she does is yelling at her and shaming her. Jack Crawford watches Will's mental and physical health get worse and worse, but chooses to ignore the warning signs and to pretend he believes Will when he claims he's 'fine'. When Will expresses his discomfort he's deaf to his distress and proposes him with disdain to quit, knowing that's not what Will wants.

They both have a smoking hot DILF man in their life who pushes them to accept the darkness in them. Both male figures are abusive in a different way (Thomas has no respect for Nina's boundaries, forces her to kiss him and touches her in a very inappropriate way, then humiliates her based on the idea that she's not "fuckable" enough to be the Black Swan; Hannibal manipulates Will through brutal therapy methods), but their goals are similar. Thomas feels that Nina represses a lot of things and wants her to listen to her pulsions so she can be both the White and the Black swan Queen. Hannibal feels that Will secretly enjoys killing and wants him to admit it so he can embrace his true self. Both men are... Bad men lol and they end up doing more harm than good. One could argue that without them neither Nina or Will wouldn't have learnt so much about themselves, but the price to pay came very high: Nina stabs herself during an hallucination and Will jumps off a bridge with Hannibal, to free themselves.

Both Nina and Will suffer from a similar type of hallucinations: they are face to face with a darker version of them, who sometimes takes someone else's face: the dancer Lily for Nina, Gareth Jacob Hobbs for Will. In both cases they're characters for whom they have ambivalent feelings: Nina is extremely attracted to Lily but in her paranoia believes she conspires to steal the role from her, while Will sees Gareth Jacob Hobbs as an horrible murderer but can't help but feel he's becoming one with him. They both hallucinate that a monster lives inside of them and tries to dominate them at some point.

Both Nina and Will discover they're attracted to a person of the same sex while also considering this person as an enemy. Actually in Nina's case I think it's more a case of internalized homophobia, nourished by her abusive mother who always kept her away from the external world and from exploring her sexuality, and probably fed her with fairy tales about a fair noble prince who will take her on his white horse one day. Surely her mother never discussed sexuality matters with her, considering that even though Nina's in her 20s she keeps treating her like a literal child. Where Will considers himself straight, Nina probably never even allowed herself to question her sexuality. When Thomas very rudely asks her if she's a virgin she blatantly lies because she realizes that telling the truth will make her look weird; and I got the feeling in this scene that she was disappointed not to have sex with him that night, not because she had a crush on him, but because she wanted to seem "normal" to him, and for the world in general. But it's very clear she's not attracted to him, or to any other men. The only person she wants is Lily, a woman. And since the idea of being sexually attracted to Lily terrifies her, and also because Lily isn't interested in her that way, it makes very much sense that in her craziness Lily becomes her enemy.

For Will, it's a bit different: the problem with Hannibal isn't so much that he's a man (as I say I think Will considers himself straight by default but I don't think it would stop him from admitting his feelings for Hannibal were the circumstances different), but that he's a serial killer and a cannibal. Will's goal is to save people from killers like Hannibal. That's what drives him and I don't think that it will ever change. So Hannibal is Will's natural enemy, in a way. That's the tragedy of this romance: they can't be without the other but they also can't be together BECAUSE what drives them is completely, utterly different, opposite even. At least that's the significance of the double suicide in The Wrath of the Lambs. They survived and Will has apparently decided to renounce his main goal to co murder and eat Bedelia du Maurier in a season we'll probably never see, but I can't see how doing that could turn good for him. Will will never be like Hannibal imho, no matter how hard he tries :(

And yet I can find another similarity: Lily is everything that Nina wishes she is: free, attractive, with no self put boundaries. I think Will also envies Hannibal to be the way he is, and that a part of him wishes he could become like him. He wants Hannibal to change him, but it goes against his main goal (saving people), hence his internal struggles.

Both Nina and Will choose suicide as their way out, completing their tragic arc. For Nina of course it's a poetic mirror of the Swan Queen's fate; the queen, reduced to stay a swan forever because her lover was seduced by the Black Swan, throws herself off a cliff (!) and finds freedom from her curse in death. Nina, however , kills herself believing she's killing her enemy, the message being of course that the only enemy she's got is herself (doesn't Hannibal tell Will something like that at some point? That he's his worst enemy?). Will kills both his internal enemy, the part of him he can't accept (the Will who enjoys killing and wants to kill again to feel powerful), and Hannibal, the man who's by definition his enemy, but also the man he can't live without because he's the only one who accepts the darkness he has in him.

Finally, both Nina and Will believe they reach their goal when they 'die': Nina's talent for dancing reached perfection in her final performance; Will jumps taking Hannibal with him thinking he's saving the world from Hannibal. Both endings are tragic, because they lie on the same sad conclusion: they couldn't accept themselves enough to live with themselves, so they embarked on a journey of self destruction that lead them to their death, wether it's a physical or metaphysical death we're talking about. Nina may be still alive at the end of Black Swan, and we know Will still is. But what part of them survived the fall?

#nbc hannibal #black swan #nina black swan #will graham #hannibal tv show #hannibal tv series #darren aronofsky #bryan fuller #natalie portman #hugh dancy #hannibal nbc #hannibal meta #Black swan meta #cinematic parallels

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bbygirl-aemond · 1 year

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alicent comes across like a massive hypocrite in how she handles dyanna. like i do understand she herself has been a victim but that just makes it worse. like the second she's greeted with another victim she just gaslights her and literally does not hold aegon accountable?

sa tw

okay i COMPLETELY understand why you feel this way. as a survivor of sa myself, that scene was really uncomfortable to watch. i'm sure i'm not the only person who noticed the parallels to rich white boys having their parents pay off their victims and continuing about their lives irl. that being said, the more i tried to think about how i wished alicent had handled things, the more i realized i couldn't think of another response that would have been better. i think this is unfortunately one of those cases where there IS no right thing to do, and you simply have to choose the lesser of two evils no matter how sick it makes you feel. there are two hugely important pieces of context to alicent's actions here:

alicent is not the person with the ultimate authority here. as episode 9 makes clear, otto and the council have more power than she does.

at this point in time, alicent thinks that the lives of ALL of her children- not just aegon- rely on her successfully using aegon to usurp rhaenyra. see my meta here for the justification of this.

so with this in mind, let's imagine what would happen if alicent wanted to hold aegon accountable.

let's say she takes dyanna's side publicly, and accuses aegon of forcing himself upon her. what happens?

remember, at this point in time, viserys is on his deathbed and is completely unable to rule. and as mentioned above, alicent isn't the one truly in power in his stead- otto is. he's the one who has the council in his pocket and who works with them behind alicent's back. so now otto's the one handling the investigation and the punishments. and do you know what otto does? he accuses dyanna of lying, possibly of being paid off by rhaenyra to slander aegon's name. here are the possible outcomes otto would demand after that point:

dyanna is executed for crimes against the royal family

dyanna is tortured as part of the investigation to get the "truth" of what happened. she is either deliberately killed or forced into a false confession and then killed

dyanna is threatened and forced to withdraw the accusations, resign, and move far away. otto would either threaten her life or her family to do this.

alicent might TRY to stop this from happening, but as episode 9 makes clear, at the end of the day she is still a woman, and otto will always have more power than her even if by title alone he should not.

but bella, you might say, why doesn't alicent have larys spirit aegon away somewhere or kill him? here's where we get into the second piece of context. aegon is THE only real alternative to rhaenyra that alicent has. she's spent over a decade, in conjunction with otto, laying the foundation for aegon in particular to become king one day, long before there's any canon evidence of him being a rapist. there are resources that have been irrevocably invested in aegon in particular: helaena, the twins, and maelor. aegon is the only one on team green with a targaryen wife and two male heirs.

because of this, aemond or daeron simply cannot hold up to the credibility presented by rhaenyra, who has a targaryen husband and many male heirs. all of team green's eggs are in one basket, aegon's, by necessity since there was only one of helaena. even if alicent remarried aemond to helaena, it would take years for them to produce heirs of their own, and that's time alicent simply does not have because at this point in time, viserys is clearly on his deathbed.

remember, alicent was an end-of-life caretaker for jaehaerys. she knows how to recognize the signs. she knows they're running out of time. if she tries to switch tracks to aemond or daeron right now, right when viserys is about to die and they need their claim to be at its strongest, it will doom team green's attempt to usurp rhaenyra, and therefore (in alicent's mind) sentence all of her children to death.

should a survivor of sexual assault sentence a fellow survivor to inevitable torture, intimidation, and/or execution? no. should a mother sentence her two youngest sons and her grandsons to death for a crime they had no part in? also no.

i don't have a good or satisfying answer here for what alicent should have done. i think that's kind of the point: she didn't either. she did what she could for dyanna, without condemning dyanna or her children to death. alicent is the ONLY explicit sa victim in hotd; and she does for dyanna what no one did for her. she hugs her, she tells her she believes her, she ensures dyanna won't have to carry and birth the rape babies alicent was forced to, she gives her a way to escape her abusive situation the way alicent was never able to. within the power that she does have, she chooses to be kind, and she chooses to spare dyanna the fate she herself suffered.

it's an awful situation, and i think it goes to illustrate just how trapped and desperate alicent is. she doesn't like aegon. she doesn't want him to be king. she can barely stand to look at him, knowing what he's done. and yet she has to push down her morals and put him on the throne anyways because her other children's lives depend on it.

unfortunately, there's a recurring theme in this fandom where people would rather hate a woman for her actions at face value, without comprehending that the real villain here is the system that has created these awful, inescapable situations. the conversation between alicent and rhaenys in episode 9, which i've talked about here, is another example of the point just flying over most people's heads. but i hold for all hotd women (yes, including rhaenyra, for all the people who assume defending alicent means i must hate rhaenyra because clearly you can't like two women at once) that the true villain behind all of their morally grey actions is pretty much always the patriarchy.

#hotd #house of the dragon #meta #hotd meta #alicent hightower #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon #aegon ii #aegon the elder #hotd episode 9

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burningtheroots · 1 year

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Okay, this might be controversial, but …

We all know and see how feminism — mainstream feminism — began to more and more include and revolve around men, although feminism is supposed to be specifically for women‘s rights.

I could say a lot about how mainstream "feminism" has become just another men‘s rights movement in disguise, BUT that‘s not the point of this post.

What came to my mind long ago is that every other social justice movement centers men, too. Now I‘m not saying that men can‘t be oppressed based on ethnicity, sexuality, class, nationality, disability etc., and they certainly are part of movements about these issues. (not comparable to FEMinism, of course, since men are NOT oppressed on the basis of their sex — even intersectional feminism is only for WOMEN as they face unique oppression for being female, and oppressive systems are the result of male supremacy)

However, the more I observe what‘s going on, the more I notice that men are the center of these movements although it affects women just as much, and even more because misogyny and racism, homophobia etc. intertwine.

So, we got an LGBTQIAwhatever+ movement which is more concerned with male sexuality and male feelings than women‘s voices and safety. Not only in terms of the gender debate and the fact that women get dehumanized (e.g. "menstruators", "birthing people", "bonus hole") and that their sex-based reality gets erased, but also when it comes to how LGBTQIAwhatever+ rights are framed. For example, "kink" has been heavily pushed forward by and centered around the men, even during the beginning of the movement, although lesbian and bisexual women have always been critical of it, yet it‘s now the public image we get associated with as well. Women are hoping for solidarity with the men, but the men somehow still don‘t bother to work on their misogyny. It‘s inarguable that while the women and men share the oppression through homophobia — and don’t get me wrong, I think that all LGB people should fight against homophobia together — the women are still oppressed by the men due to misogyny.

We also have a Black Lives Matter movement, which has thankfully raised a lot of awareness since it started and is an integral part of social justice. However, the phenomenon remains the same: Men are centered, whereas the women have to mostly fend for themselves. I‘m not comparing case X to case Z or something like that, but the outrage when a black woman gets violated and faces misogynoir is very little compared to cases of while man on black man violence. I‘m not saying "pay less attention to victims who are black men!", I‘m saying "pay more attention to victims who are black women!" (same goes for racism and hate crimes against other ethnicities). And I‘m not glossing over the fact that there are MANY amazing black women who raise their voices and do meaningful activism, I‘m just saying that they don’t receive the same platform as their male counterparts, face misogyny (including heavy sexualization) from both black and white men and often feel the need to give up some space for the men, as apparently women can‘t talk about the female experience exclusively in the society we live in without getting scrutinized.

Then we got the Disability Rights Movement, which is somehow less popular but still as important. While most of the rights and affirmations are for both men and women alike, the men are still seen as a priority, both compared to other disabled women and in some cases also non-disabled women. Many disabled women have spoken about how disabled men still sexualize them and subject them to their misogyny, and we even got to the point where disabled men are supposed to be given access to rape prostitutes (yes, prostitution is paid rape even when you‘re disabled) whilst disabled women barely have the right to same-sex intimate care and are also more likely to get medically mistreated.

I could go on about how poor/homeless women are belittled and forced into prostitution and therefore overlooked compared to poor/homeless men (the notion that there are more poor/homeless men than women and hence men have it worse is false as the poor/homeless women end up as sex trafficking victims, especially during war times, or at least get coerced into enduring paid rape), how the "body positivity" movement has become another men‘s sexual fantasy, how discussions about religious indoctrination and extremism usually revolve around the boys and men who get dragged into becoming violent fanatics whilst the girls and women are expected to have empathy for their abusers, how men assert their male privilege shamelessly and regardless of all these aspects above …

But in the end, what becomes clear, is that men enthusiastically use the tools of patriarchy even when fighting against other forms of social injustice, and we as women deserve so much better than this — and this is also why we need to unite ourselves and prioritize one another.

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written-in-flowers · 2 years

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Kimura Delivery Service: Prologue

Pairing: OC x S.W.O.R.D leaders (yes, you read that right)

Genre: smut, fluff, angst,

Word Count: 7k

Fandom: High & Low: The Story of S.W.O.R.D

Summary: After a life of swinging her fists, Sakyia is hopeful about her easy going job of delivering packages...However, her aunt neglected to mention the "regulars": The gang leaders of S.W.O.R.D. and the undeniable affection they all grow to have for her.

Overall Warnings: blood and violence, fighting, gang activity, crime, mentions of death, multiple relationships, girlboss being a girlboss, not really 'poly' but girl has a string of lovers,

Part 1 >

***

Sixteen, she surmised. Lean, limber, and tall, he did not look his age at all, which is why they let him enter the ring. Not that the managers cared about the age. They’d turned a blind eye to thirteen-year-old Sakyia back then too. She saw the determined look on his face when he stepped into the pit, a circular spot bordered by short wooden planks. She heard his manager’s shouts from his side as she wrapped her knuckles with bandages, telling him that she’s only a girl and he’d look weak losing to a girl. These words seemed to fuel Yoshi’s eagerness to win. It was either that or his manager’s severe debts. They’d fueled her too until she actually saw Yoshi in the light. He did not have the aged looks other fighters had; he was fresh and young. A child.

“Jiro!” the young woman turned to the large man standing off to the side. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and she could see the heat of the warehouse beading sweat on his forehead. “Jiro,” she moved close to him, “I’m not fighting.”

“The hell you mean you’re not fighting?” he asked with angry eyes. “A lot of things depend on this fight. What are you talking about?”

“He’s a kid, Jiro!” she retorted, calling over the loud crowd around the ring. “Look at him! Just look at him!”

“I am looking,” he said, “And that looks like someone who wants to be here. If he gets fucked up, it’s his own fault!”

Sakiya knew that was not true. She looked back at Yoshi, who was talking to an older gentleman on the other side. The man poured reassurances that made the boy nod his head. He did not appear as confident as before. She could tell the man was psyching Yoshi up, trying to get him in the mood to fight someone. He did not pick this fight; he did not want to be here. Nobody ever wants to be in the fighting pits. The underground fighting rings in the warehouse district were not the typical boxing matches. They did not end after a few rounds. They ended when someone passed out, yielded, or died. She gazed around the large empty warehouse. They’d blocked off the ring with wooden barriers, and spread sawdust and dirt on the floor for an easier clean up. She saw dozens of faces standing around, already cheering and holding their betting tickets. She knew a lot of people counted on her to win, but winning did not always end pretty.

“I don’t know about this,” she told her stepfather. “You know how these-”

“-Get in the damn ring, girl!” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her close. The stench of sweat and cigars made her nose wrinkle, and his hot breath suffocated her. “You want those men to come back? Because, if I don’t pay them tonight, they’ll come back and they won’t be so lenient like they were today. Do you want to see your mom in the hospital? Hm?”

Sakyia glared at him, and twisted out of his grip. Her forceful push shocked him for a second, but then he smirked. It was a dirty trick. She thought back to the men who’d accosted her mother earlier that day. They’d come seeking out Jiro, but found her instead. Sakyia saw her by their front door, holding her groceries as three men circled her. Thankfully, Sakyia appeared before they could truly hurt the small woman. They told her that if Jiro did not have their money by tonight, they’d come back with more men. She did not know who Jiro owed money to now, but they were not above hurting families. Winning this match would keep her mother safe. So, she turned back to the center where Yoshi met her.

“What are you doing here, kid?” she asked him as the referee approached the ring. “Really? This place isn’t for children.”

“I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen,” he defended.

“Sure, you are,” she scoffed. “You should forfeit while you can,” she fixed the bandages on her hands and knuckles, “So you don’t get hurt.”

“I doubt you can take me on. You should be the one forfeiting the fight before you break a nail.”

“Break a nail? Is that the best you can do?” she snorted out a laugh. “If I break a nail it’s because I smashed it into your pretty face, little boy.”

The referee stepped over the wooden fence and came between them. He mentioned something about a ‘clean fight’ which amused Sakyia. Nothing about the pits was clean. It took a ring of a bell to set everything off. Her body immediately tensed and she raised both her fists up. She took a deep breath as she moved her body to a fighting position. She could do this; she’d done it dozens of times before now. The fact that her opponent was a boy changed nothing; there’s too much at risk to forgive that.

Sakyia made the first swing. Her punch was as fast as a snake. Yoshi surprised her by blocking and punching back, barely missing her head. Another punch. She grunted as he grabbed her arm, twisting it and forcing her to kick him until she came free.

Damn, he was better than she’d expected.

“Not bad, kid!” she exclaimed as she kicked his stomach, throwing him back against the fence. The spectators roughly pushed him back into the ring, and she sighed. “But not good enough.”

He played defense, most likely hoping she’d tire herself out if he hung back. Her father taught her all the signs. Her real father, not Jiro. They don’t really hit back; they'll mostly block or dodge the hits. He told her to do the same when this happened. Either they end up dancing in circles, or her opponent is forced to start fighting. When Sakyia stepped back, it forced Yoshi to move into the center, and that was when she attacked. In a series of fast, hard blows she knocked Yoshi to the ground. But, he tripped her by the ankle and she slammed down onto the floor beside him. She groaned at the impact, and this put her guard down a moment. She imagined her father being there where Jiro stood. He’d be cheering her on. He’d be throwing encouragement and pointers. Then again, her father would’ve never brought her here. They would be at home with their punching bag or eating dinner with her mother.

“Stop playing around and finish him already, Sakyia!”

She should’ve stayed down. She should’ve faked an injury. Sakyia was more than aware how these fights ended. But, she recalled the men at their door and her fearful mother. If she yielded, she lost her earnings. So, she stood on her feet again. Her eyes glanced over to where Jiro stood talking with a man in a black suit. She hated him. She hated him from the moment she met him. She wished they’d just kill Jiro and leave her mother alone. It was because of him that she’d entered the warehouse at all.

She’d been a skinny twelve-year-old when Jiro came into their lives. He’d claimed to own a famous car dealership, a nice house and even a boat. He’d managed to pull it off while her mother and him dated, but once they married, she found out the truth. Jiro gambled most of his money away. He went bankrupt and sold his car dealership. He sold his boat to pay off some loan sharks, and he lost his house to the bank. He promised her mother he’d stop his gambling ways, but never did.

It did not help that his self-loathing projected onto her mother, a thin woman who never hurt a fly. Sakyia tried protecting her, but she’d been too small to fight him. Jiro eventually realized her skills when he caught her fighting a pair of boys who’d followed her home. Rather than sell her like most scoundrels do for money, he pushed her into a fighting pit. Thirteen-years-old by this time, he told the men who ran the fights that she was “old enough”. She doubted the men believed him, but still accepted her. Sakyia, despite hating the fights, was rather good. Her mother never approved of the fighting. Even if he gave her black eyes or swollen cheeks, she still protested against it. Not that Jiro listened. Sakyia soon gained a reputation for her hard, quick fists, earning the nickname ‘Viper’.

A stupid name that she hated.

She blocked Yoshi’s blows, despite the impact making her muscles and bones burn. Their arms locked together, and each of them began punching the other’s side. She made sure each hit counted. All she needed to do was get him to yield the fight. If he yielded, he’d leave intact. They broke apart, and Yoshi kicked her back. The blow took air from her chest, but she recovered quickly enough to grab his ankle in the second kick. She managed to turn it so he fell.

She saw the fight starting to wear Yoshi down. Her father always told her fighting was hard on novices, who used all their energy too quickly. She saw him using the fence to get onto his feet again, and struggling to breathe properly. He was only a child. This was not the place for him.

“Yield,” she said over the crowd, “Yield and go outside.”

“No,” he shook his head. She spotted a glimmer of fear in his eyes when they met, desperation mingling with it. “I can’t.”

He moved once more. He charged forward and punched her face again. Up against the fence, he started pounding on her torso and sides through her shield. She waited him out before pushing him away with an elbow to the face, then a backhand afterwards. It was a clear kick to the chest that landed Yoshi into the dirt. She heard his choked gasp and cough when he hit the floor. Sakyia saw him clawing the dirt and sawdust under his fingernails, rolling to his side and coughing. She’d turned to Jiro.

“Finish him!” he called out to her, gesturing to the boy on the floor.

“He’s down! It’s over!” she called back, shocked by what was happening.

“I said ‘finish him’! Do you want them to come back?!”

Sakyia turned back to Yoshi, who still struggled for air. She watched his chest heave up and down as it tightened. In her heart, she knew how wrong it was. Looking up, she spotted the three men from earlier in the day. They wore fancy suits with small golden pins on their lapels. They watched her with expectant gazes. She knew then why she was being pushed to murder this boy.

Jiro promised them she would do it.

“Finish him, Viper! Finish him!” Jiro shouted angrily, hitting the fence with his fists.

She ignored him. She saw the men watching her still. The tallest one, dark with his hair slicked back from his face, opened his jacket to reveal a gun. He kept his eyes on her and she did not look away. She knew what he said without hearing the words: ‘Finish the damn fight’.

Sakiya stared right at the stranger, then back to Yoshi. She saw the boy clutch at his chest, gasping deeply and coughing up the dust around him. She looked up to the stranger again. She cannot let this boy die. Whatever slight him or his family caused was not her responsibility to handle. She ignored Jiro’s protests and the jeering crowd around her. “I yield,” she said to the referee, “Go get the doctor.”

“What?! Are you insane?!” she heard Jiro call from behind her.

“Are you sure?” the referee asked.

“I’m sure.”

She saw the disapproving looks the suits gave her, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t a killer. They could get their money another way. Sakiya walked over to Yoshi, who struggled to breathe. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said gently, bending down to him and helping him sit up, “Just relax.”

“Yoshi!” the old man hurriedly approached them, holding up an inhaler. “Here,” he bent down and pressed the inhaler to Yoshi’s mouth with a wrinkled hand, “Breathe.”

Sakiya held Yoshi’s head as his grandfather pumped air through the small container. A rough hand then yanked her to her feet and spun her around. Jiro’s beady eyes glared into hers, and she didn’t move away. “Do you realize what you’ve done?! What’s the matter with you?”

“I wasn’t going to let him die,” she spat back. “If you want to settle your debts this way, then you do it,” she shoved him with a hand, putting her bloody bandages on his chest. “I’m done.”

“Done? What do you mean you’re ‘done’? You got two more rounds to go! We have to pay back those guys or they’ll get your-”

“-It’s your problem now,” she shot back over her shoulder before storming off.

‘The next round’. He truly expected her to continue fighting after Yoshi. Sakyia clenched her fists holding back her anger. Hot tears brimmed her eyes, but she did not dare cry in front of Jiro.

She walked away from the ring to an employee locker room. There was nobody there but her. She saw the medical kit on the bench, but did not take anything from it. Despite the burning pain on her nose, the caked blood on her upper lip, she couldn’t be bothered at the moment. In the fluorescent lighting of the room, she finally saw her hands. Her wrappings left indents on her skin in places, and she saw Yoshi’s blood staining her fingers. She unwrapped them as she walked over to a sink to quickly wash it off. She could still hear Yoshi’s shallow gasps as he inhaled more dust and sand. She spotted the bruises on her knuckles, and knew they’d hurt in the morning. She pitied him, and hoped the inhaler saved him. Sakiya was a lot of things, but she was not a killer. She wasn’t going to become somebody’s weapon. She splashed cool water on her hot face, putting some on the back of her neck and letting it fall into her scalp. The soothing water cooled down her hot cheeks. She needed a moment to think. She needed a plan to get out.

“You said you’d have the money by tonight, Jiro,” she heard a man’s voice echo somewhere nearby. Standing upright, she turned off the sink to listen.

“I-I-I will,” Jiro said in a shaky voice. “The girl is just freaked out. You know women; they’re so sensitive when it comes to these things. Give her a few minutes and she’ll be back out there. You’ll have your money, Nikadio. I promise.”

“You better, if you know what is good for you.”

The voices outside brought her back and she knew what to do. She grabbed her backpack and dark green jacket from a nearby locker, made sure she had everything, and stood up to leave. She needed to go home. Her mother was there waiting for her. If she hurried, they could run away. She did know where they’d go, but they had to get away. If they stayed with Jiro any longer, they’d both end up dead. When Sakyia left the locker room, she made to move towards the exit doors before a hand grabbed her wrist.

“Where are you going?” Jiro gripped her arm hard, “You still have two more fights. We’re not done tonight. Those men are dangerous people. If they don’t get their money, they’ll come back to the house and hurt your mother.”

“Stop acting like you care about her so much! We both know you don’t,” she shot back, twisting herself out of his grasp and staring him down. “I’m done being your race horse. I’m not going to kill a kid because you promised a bunch of gangsters that you’d do it for them. Settle your debts on your own or get out of town before they toss you into the river.”

“You little, ungrateful bitch! After all I’ve done for you! This is how you repay me?!” She heard him storm after her, and reach for her again.

Sakyia balled up her fist tightly and punched his lower jaw. With a small jolt, Jiro dropped to the ground on his side. She was about to turn away before she spotted the rolled up bills hanging from his pocket. She did not waste any more time. She rifled through his pocket, took the money and his car keys and rushed down the hallway through the exit. She needed to get home.

****

“Ma, Ma! Ma, Pick up!”

Sakyia tapped her mother’s number on her phone once more. Her heart raced thinking of what she might find when she came home. Jiro might be an idiot, but he was right. If the gangsters see that they’re not getting their money tonight, they’ll send a message. What if the man in the suit called his friends to go over to her house? What if they’d taken her mother somewhere? Racing down the street, she nearly screamed from the adrenaline in her body. She had trouble keeping her eyes on the road while dialing and redialing her mother’s number. Every time she heard the ringtone over the speaker, a message came out:

“Hello! This is Tanaka Midori. I am not available right now, but if you leave your name and number, I will call you back-”

“-Why did you get a phone if you won’t answer it when I call you?!” she grunted and tossed her phone into the passenger’s seat.

She kept her eyes peeled on the road for any suspicious cars. Not that she’d be able to tell in the first place. Ending up on her street, she spotted a black car parked outside her house. A thousand horrible scenarios played through her mind as she stepped on the breaks outside. They’d already come. She was too late. She slammed her hands on the wheel angrily, her heart thumping hard in her chest. Quickly, she rushed out of the car, up the steps to their door, and fumbled the keys. She heard people talking on the other side, and she gulped thickly. Her entire body tensed in preparation for a fight. She tried steadying her breathing, but there didn’t seem to be a point anymore.

“Ma! Ma, I’m here!” she called out frantically into the hallway.

But, it was not screams she heard. Nobody had ransacked the house or left any sort of damage behind. She heard people in the living room chatting jovially and laughing. Confusion set in when she walked into the living room to see three people there. Her mother, Midori, sat wearing her silk dressing gown over pink pajamas; her black hair in curlers underneath a matching hair bonnet. On their loveseat sat two men: one older and one younger. The older gentleman wore a tweed gray suit and a gold watch; the younger had black hair cropped over his eyes and wore a dark navy jacket and pants. The elder was talking to her mother, who laughed at something he said. She’d set out her nicest tea set, and a small plate of treats.

Something she only brought out for “important” guests.

“Ma?”

The three people looked over to her. “Ah, there she is! You’re home early. I thought you’d be out much later,” her mother beamed, standing up to greet her. “Oh gosh, look at your face! And your nose!” she gasped and began examining her daughter’s face, “It was already kinda crooked. I hope this doesn’t make it worse. Where’s Jiro?”

“Ma, what’s happening?”

“Good things now,” her mother assured her. “These two gentlemen,” she gestured to the men on the sofa, “Came to see Jiro about the money he owes them.”

“But...What about…” the scene all together made her head hurt. She stared around at them in confusion, trying to make sense of everything. “Those men from today…”

“Don’t worry about them,” said the older gentleman, “Those were some punks we sent to intimidate Jiro. I told your mother we had no idea they would treat her like they did. We’re sorry if they gave you any cause to worry about your mother’s safety or wellbeing.”

She thought she might faint. When she swayed, her mother helped her into a chair. “I’ll go get the kit from upstairs,” her mother said, “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Who...Who are you two?” Sakiya’s questions came out in rapid fire. “Why are you in my house? Why are you here and not at the warehouse where Jiro is?”

“I am Kawata,” the elder man said, shaking hands with her and then sipping from his teacup. “I am a representative of the Ieruma-Kai group. This is Noboru, who is also part of our organization.” He put his cup down and said, “Your stepfather owes our clan a great sum of money. Your fighting tonight was supposed to cover a small part of it-”

“-Did that part involve murdering Yoshi?”

“You killed him?” Noboru looked at her with wide eyes, “You actually killed him?”

It hurt hearing someone say it that way. “I...I didn’t…” the tears suddenly returned, but she fought them away, “I yielded to the fight before anything serious could happen to him. He...He was coughing a lot. He had trouble breathing. I-I-I told him to go outside and get some air. He shouldn’t have been in that place like that. He’s only a kid.”

“Yes, his father mentioned he had asthma,” nodded Kawata. “All the sawdust and dirt must’ve not been easy on his lungs.”

“Why was he there?” Sakyia glared at them.

“Probably to pay off his father’s debts like you,” the man replied. “You know just as well as us how dangerous the fighting pits can be if you’re not careful.”

“He’s a kid. He couldn’t be older than fifteen or sixteen,” she replied.

“The father was too old to fight, and the boy seemed eager to prove himself,” Kawata reasoned. “From what Jiro tells us, you’d been younger than him when you were thrown into the ring.”

“Really?” Noboru asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Oh yes,” Kawata answered, “Sakyia here was-what?-thirteen? Fourteen-years-old?"

"Thirteen, sir."

Sakyia preferred not to think of those days. Like Yoshi, she'd gone into the ring scared and confused. Luckily, some of the older fighters took pity on her. They did not hit as hard, and some gave her tips or tricks she could use. Her father began her training, but when a car accident took his life, those people became her teachers. Jiro saw the potential in her, he claims, and exploited it for his own benefit. Sakyia could not count the number of times she'd fought to earn him money. Not for the family, but for him.

“Since you were thirteen?” Noboru asked. She recognized the pity in his voice, and did not need it. “But…you must’ve been so much smaller than your opponents.”

“Do not be fooled by her size,” Kawata said. “I’ve seen you fight, young lady. My boss calls you ‘the Little Viper’ with those fast jabs of yours.”

She snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard the name thrown around. Jiro said all the great fighters have nicknames,” she rolled her eyes and wiped the side of her mouth with her sleeve. It’d stopped bleeding thankfully. “I always thought it was a silly name.”

“A silly name that gained you a lot of recognition in those warehouses.”

“Oh, I hate that place,” Midori reappeared with the medical kit. She set it on the coffee table, and grabbed disinfectant, “You always come home with these nasty bruises and you’re limping all over the place. It’s not right. I told Jiro over and over that if he wanted to pay off his debts, he should settle it on his own.” Sakyia winced when the small wet cloth touched her cut nose, but her mother kept her still. “I didn’t care if he hit me or not. I didn’t want him throwing you into the fire.”

“And we completely understand,” Kawata said to her. “Sakyia is a very pretty, charming, young woman. She should be out with her friends and going to college.”

“Exactly my point!” Midori agreed. She wiped the dried blood from Sakyia’s face, then continued, “I worried it’d end like this. I worried one day he’d drive you to do something reckless or dangerous that would get someone killed.”

“There was a man there,” Sakyia said to Kawata. “He was wearing a black suit. He had short black hair slicked back from his face. I overheard him talking to Jiro about the fight.”

Kawata thought, then said, “Ah yes, that must’ve been Nikaido. He works with us too. He was there to collect your earnings tonight.” He paused, “Did you run into him?”

“No, I saw him, but we never spoke. So, you’re telling me you didn’t mean for Yoshi to die? That it wasn’t some elaborate way of sending a message or something?”

They both chuckled softly, then Kawata said, “Of course not. If we want to kill someone, we do it ourselves. Whatever happens to Yoshi after tonight is a result of the fighting ring, not us.”

She looked up at her mother. Her headache from all the confusion pulsed in her temples, and she didn’t know what to say. “I...Mama...I’m…”

“I think it’s about time you gentlemen were off,” Midori said to the two men. “My daughter needs rest and I believe our formal business is done.”

Kawata bowed his head, “Yes, ma’am.”

They stood up together and they each thanked her for her hospitality. Kawata told her someone from Ieruma would stop by the salon to check it out, and she led them out. Once they were gone, she returned to Sakyia on the chair. Looking up at her mother, who smiled warmly at her, she sobbed. The tears she’d tried withholding came forth in hard trembles. She leaned forward, her head in her hands as she cried. Her mother gave her a tender pat on the back and stroked her head.

“It’s alright, Blossom,” she said softly, sitting her up and stroking her hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing has happened; I’m sure the boy will be alright.”

“I couldn’t do it, Mama. I couldn’t finish the fight,” she took a deep breath, “I thought something awful was going to happen to you.” She blinked the tears from her eyes, until she wiped them with her sleeves. “The Ieruma men weren’t going to get their money, so I thought they’d come and hurt you. Jiro’s problems have always become our problems, and I’m sick of it. I didn’t care when it was him and me, but the fact that you were going to be dragged into it…”

She sighed sadly, and continued cleaning up Sakyia’s wounds. Smoothing over the cut on her nose, she said, “I hate that it’s become like this. The child protects the parent when it should be the other way around.” She must’ve decided stitches weren’t needed, and began disinfecting the wounds to bandage them, “Jiro is too cowardly to face his own troubles,” she said, “So he threw you in front of them. I should have left him. I should have not let him do what he did, but I...I was weak, Sakyia. I’d just lost your father and we didn’t have the salon yet. We would’ve been homeless if Jiro had not come along. I’d hoped he’d be a proper father figure to you, but I was wrong.” She placed the last plaster on the bridge of her nose and said, “It’s my fault you were there in the first place. I should have fought him harder; I shouldn’t have been so weak. I’m so sorry, Blossom. I’m sorry that I am not your-”

“-Mama,” she took her mother’s shaking hands and squeezed them gently, “Jiro would have done it whether you fought back or not. I don’t...I don’t blame you,” she sniffed back her tears. “I’m so confused,” she admitted, “Everything is happening so fast and I can’t-c-can’t keep up with it.”

“Then don’t say anything else,” she comforted, “You can just listen.” When Sakyia rested her head on her mother’s lap on the couch, Midori began: “When those three punks came up to me today, I knew Jiro was in a bad situation with bad people. I wasn’t surprised, to be honest, since Jiro only ever dealt with shady types. Yet, I noticed one of them was wearing this little golden pin on his jacket. It had a triangle with dragons around it, and I recognized the symbol. The young man who brings Yori- you remember Mrs. Ieurma, right? She’s the lady who used to give you candy when you were little?”

“I remember her.”

“Well, her chauffeur also has that little pin. When I saw her at the salon today, I told her what happened and she was shocked! She said she couldn’t believe her husband would send men to harass a lady, especially a dear friend of hers. If my husband owed money, she said, they should be harassing him. She told me she’d be speaking with him personally about it.”

“That was nice of her to do,” Sakyia said.

“Oh, Yori’s one of my oldest clients. I adore her!” she caught herself before a tangent, and said, “Anyways, she got me in touch with her husband and we talked about it at the salon.”

“You spoke to Tatsumi in person? Isn’t he, like, the boss?”

“Over the phone, yes,” she said, “He explained the entire situation to me. He said it was all business and he didn’t mean to involve us, but that Jiro did owe them a considerable amount.”

“He must know how fond Yori is of you,” Sakyia added, “To change his character so easily.”

“To be honest, it was probably because he knows Jiro wouldn’t care if either of us died,” she shrugged. “I hate to say it so harshly, but family is only a good leverage if the person you're threatening actually cares about them.”

She supposed that made sense. Her mother continued her story, “As I was saying, I spoke with Tatsumi and asked how much Jiro owed him. When I realized how much it was, I knew your earnings alone wouldn’t cover the amount. That’s why Kawata and Noboru came to visit. They came to discuss payment. I give them ownership of the salon; they cut Jiro’s debts in half and only deal with him from now on.”

“Ownership of the salon?!” Sakyia bolted upwards in her seat and looked at her mother in disbelief, “You sold the salon? Ma, that salon is your entire life! You spent years working towards it! It means everything to you, it’s your work! Your life! You can’t just-”

“-I can and I did,” she hushed her daughter gently. “The salon might have been my work, but it was not my life and does not mean everything to me.” She cupped Sakyia’s swollen cheek and looked her in the eyes, “You are, Blossom. If selling the salon meant you did not have to fight anymore, then it was worth it to me. I can rebuild a salon, but I can’t rebuild a daughter.” She gently kissed Sakyia’s forehead and hugged her close. “Tatsumi agreed to the deal and Kawata came to finalize the papers.”

“What are you going to do for work, Ma?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “We can’t afford to stay here, so we’ll have to move somewhere else. But, we’ll talk about that tomorrow.” She gazed over her daughter’s face, taking in each feature and comparing them to her father. Sakyia looked like him in certain lights. “This can be a new start for the both of us; you and me,” her eyes glazed over with tears, “The way it should have been the whole time.”

“Ah, Ma…”

Midori kissed her head again, then made her eat. Sakyia didn't realize how much everything hurt until she relaxed. She swore she felt her entire body throbbing all at once everywhere. She winced when she finally stood up, feeling the fight in her muscles. She made her way upstairs, where her mother prepared a hot bath, and she sunk into it slowly. As the soothing water worked on her sore muscles, she knew one thing for certain: her mother would be safe now. Midori wouldn’t have to worry about Sakyia being injured or Jiro’s furious hits. She could focus on more important things. Sakyia considered what she might do now that she had no warehouse fights. Thinking of the future felt better than remembering the boy she’d fought tonight. Her mother would tell her to go to university, but she felt too old for that now.

Maybe she’ll know when she finally gets to wherever they’re going.

****

Their landlord gave them a month to leave the house. Midori told her that Sakyia’s aunt, Hana, had an extra room above her shop where they could stay until they got back on their feet. Sakyia remembered her aunt, a round-faced woman with coarse black hair, and felt thankful to be moving in with someone familiar. Hana joked that now they’d have someone to protect them if a robber came into the apartment.

However, remembering the shabby apartment, she doubted there’d be any burglars to worry about. Her aunt lived in a town called Sannoh which was outside their district. Her mother had grown up here, she knew. It was a small place with local businesses and friendly neighbors. As they drove through, she saw the kids playing in the street, the vendors haggling with customers at their shops, and people walking or bike riding. It seemed like such a simple place. It looked quiet and peaceful.

“Is there no post office?” Sakyia asked as they drove down the street. “I’m sure people can mail things to each other.”

“It’s an inner-district delivery service,” her mother answered. “Sometimes people need things delivered quickly and the post office doesn’t always work that way.”

“Like what?”

She hesitated, as they turned a corner, “Just things, Blossom. Nothing you need to worry about. You’ll be helping me in the salon, remember?”

“What salon?”

“Hana says our friend Sungmi is going back to Korea,” she said, “And is selling her salon.”

“Ma, you don’t have money to buy a salon. We don’t even have our own place to live yet.”

“Hey, who is the parent here, huh?” Midori laughed. “You worry about things too much, Sakyia. I’ve known Sungmi since we were in beauty school, and she said she’ll keep ownership until I’m able to pay to buy her out.” She squeezed Sakyia’s leg, “Don’t you worry, little blossom. Mama’s got this all taken care of. You and I are gonna get through this together, okay?”

Sakyia smiled. She’d spent most of her time relaxing her worn out body. It felt weird not doing anything besides training in their garage. Looking at the sketch book in her lap, she’d gone back to art like she’d done as a kid. On the page, she’d drawn a stocky man punching a large punching bag. He had a straight jawline like hers; his broad build was all muscle. She added a few strays in his black hair, and added shade to his wrapped hands. Her mind often drifted to her father in times like these, when the world felt so uncertain. She traced out the shadows of his crooked nose, which had been narrow before being broken in several fights. He’d been the strong one out of the three of them.

Then the accident happened. The weight then fell on her shoulders, because Jiro weakened her mother so significantly.

“We’re here now.”

She looked out the window to see a small storefront on the side of the road. On a faded sign above the windows, someone painted the words: “Kimura Delivery Service: Stamped, Sealed, Delivered.”

“Stamped?”

Midori chuckled, “That was from when it first opened. Your grandfather used to have this little stamp to verify packages. Now, your aunt prints a label. But, the sign meant a lot to your grandfather, so she promised she’d never change it.” Then she added, “Also, new signs cost a fortune.”

Sakyia was sure the business did not have money for anything new. Through the wide windows, she saw her aunt already standing at a counter beside a register. A young man in a red jacket stood scribbling down on a piece of paper in front of her, both chatting. She also noticed the ‘Help Wanted” sign in the corner of the window. How much business could this place be getting that she needed more help? Sakyia and her mother then stepped out of the car. Their appearance made Hana look out the window, and she smiled widely and waved. The young man noticed her waving and turned around. He was short, maybe two or three inches taller than her, with blond hair he kept parted to the side. He looked at Sakyia curiously, most likely trying to remember if he recognized her. Sakyia knew she’d never seen him before.

“Midori!” Hana cheered as they walked into the store. She moved around the counter and the sisters hugged tightly. “I thought you’d be coming in the afternoon! I would’ve closed up the office early!”

“Sakyia stayed up to pack the rest of our things,” she told her as they released each other. “And the movers put our furniture into storage yesterday.”

“We didn’t have much to begin with,” said Sakyia, shouldering her backpack. “Hello, Auntie.”

“Ah! There she is!” Hana embraced her, “My favorite niece! Oh, look how big you’ve gotten!” She moved away to take a look at Sakyia, “Good lord, girl, you’re so skinny. What has your mother been feeding you? Grass?”

Sakyia did not have the heart to tell her about the strict diet Jiro kept her on before his ‘disappearance’. She’d thought she might gain some from stuffing her face the past few weeks, but nothing goes past her Auntie Hana. She noticed the man behind them leaning against the counter, looking at them with interest. Sakyia could not get a read on him, and that bothered her.

“I tell her all that training burns off anything she eats,” her mother lied immediately, “But now that you’re here, I’m sure she’s going to be eating tons.”

“Of course!” Hana exclaimed, “A few days here, and you’ll be all rounded out.”

The young man coughed into his fist for her attention, and Hana whipped around. “Oh gosh, Junpei,” she said, coming back to the counter, “Forgive me. You finished the label?”

“It’s alright, Ms. Kimura,” he replied, “I already sealed it there for you.”

“Excellent,” she said, smoothing out the printed label he’d signed. “Ah, Junpei, this is my sister, Midori, and her daughter, Sakyia. They’re moving into the apartment upstairs. Midori, Sakyia, this is Junpei. He’s one of my more frequent customers.” She took his payment from the counter, entered it, and gave him change.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, bowing his head to them both. “Welcome to Sannoh.“

Despite his baby face, Sakyia recognized his kind right away. The gangster types who frequented the warehouses and clubs around the bayside of the city carried the same similar shadiness about them. Sakyia saw them all the time growing up: they’d be the ones placing bets, taking bets, and on the sidelines with their fighters or participating in the fights. She wondered if he’d ever gone there. The bay district might be too far for him. She stepped closer to her mother.

“You must need a lot of packages delivered quickly to be considered a regular here,” Sakyia said curiously.

“A lot of people in Sannoh use your aunt’s business,” he replied innocently. “Not everyone is able to go outside town to get packages delivered and going through post offices takes longer.”

“I can’t promise it’ll get to your friend by tomorrow,” Hana cut in. “I haven’t found a courier since Koichi quit.”

“That’s fine,” Junpei told her. “I just need it there as soon as possible."

"I understand," Hana nodded. She struggled to put the parcel on the tall stack of boxes until Junpei came and helped her. “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. I’m going to be buried in these boxes at this rate.”

“I can always have one of the gang come help you,” he said. “Chiharu and Dan would be glad to help.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she smiled. “Tell them I’ll pay them well for it. If they don’t get lost, that is.”

“Dan only got lost once,” Junpei defended gently.

“Twice.”

“Alright, yes, twice. I’ll let them know and send them here.”

“Such a sweet boy,” she patted his cheek tenderly. “You take care of yourself now, and wear a helmet when you ride that thing,” she nodded to the motorcycle outside. “You could get in an accident and crack your head open.”

Junpei nodded, “I will, Ms. Kimura.” He turned over to Midori and Sakyia, and nodded again, “It was nice meeting you both.” He looked right at Sakyia as he said, “I’ll see you around.”

He reminded her of those dreamy characters in manga. The tsundere characters with kind hearts who sport leather jackets and ride motorcycles. They pretend not to care, but they care very deeply. She admitted he was handsome. Even a blind person would think he was handsome. But, something about him kept her distance, but then again, she kept everyone at a distance.

Except her mother.

Sakyia looked back to her aunt and her mother, who’d begun catching up while her aunt shut down the store for the day. She decided she’d make her way up to the apartment and begin unpacking her things. Junpei came to mind. If he was what she thought he was, then Sannoh might be more dangerous than it seemed. Sakyia remembered the gangs who’d come strutting into the warehouse; Jiro usually owed them money, so she’d become good at spotting them. They either wore flashy clothes, business suits or leather jackets. Junpei was clearly the ‘leather jacket’ kind.

She’d need to keep an eye out for him.

#high and low #high & low #high&low #high&low the story of sword #hino junpei #rocky mutsugi #murayama yoshiki #hyuga norihisa #cobra x reader #rocky x reader #murayama x reader #hyuga x reader #smokey x reader #smokey

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princeescaluswords · 7 months

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Delivering Justice

(Should Scott deliver justice for the Hale family before or after this scene?)

I can't get out of my head the Teen Wolf rewrite idea that appeared in the #scott mccall tag (because of course it did). Let me reproduce it.

I want someone to rewrite Teen Wolf, but making it about Scott bringing Justice to the Hales and restoring some sort of supernatural balance, and saving the town from a curse or destruction or whatever brought on by that crime, by bringing justice and forcing the Argents to face the consequences of their actions, from both a human and a cosmic pov (i still think Allison should have been the one to kill Kate). Even if he doesn’t like the guy because of his issues with male authority, he sees that what happened was an atrocity and vows to make things right.

The fundamental racism of this post is undeniable. The fundamental misogyny of this post comes in a very close second. I'm sure that some people are scratching their heads about how I came to this conclusion, so let me explain. It's about whose lives are considered important.

Notice, first off, that in this proposed rewrite, they don't talk about what happens to Scott at all. What will change for him in this story? Is he still a sixteen-year-old lacrosse player at the start with asthma and a broken home? Is he still attacked by a power-mad Peter in the woods and transformed against his will? Does Peter still mentally and physically violate him? Does Derek still stalk him, beat him, manipulate him and sell him out to his uncle? Will Derek and Peter be required to set aside their own personal trauma to train Scott to be able to "bring justice" to the Argents or will Scott just have to figure it out by himself with the help of his just-as-much-in-over-his-head best friend once again?

As an aside, Scott does not have issues with male authority, because the Hales were not authorities over him. See here.

Notice that the consequences of actions should only fall upon the Argent family. Maybe after Scott is done restoring the balance for the Hale Fire, he can restore the balance for Paige Kraiskeva? Or for Julia Baccari? Or Braeden? Or Marie-Jeanne? Or for the entire village in Gévaudan? Or for the victims of Aiden and Ethan's alpha? I have a feeling that the OP may not know who half those people are, so let me put it another way. The show made it clear that the Hale Fire wasn't unique. Derek said as much. The endless war between Werewolf and Hunter has continued for centuries. Why does this particular instance need balancing? Because good looking white men cried about it? Because the primary culprit was a woman? In any event, why is it a good thing that Allison should have to pay for Kate's crimes? What is attractive about having Allison murder her aunt, someone she sees as her sister, for a crime that happened when she was eleven years old? Or does Allison have to earn the right to be a good guy by killing another woman?

Notice that the OP completely missed that Teen Wolf was almost entirely about Scott bringing justice and restoring supernatural balance! He did it by saying "No!." He did it by stopping the self-destructive spiral of endless vengeance. He did it by refusing to accept the ancient calculus that a crime can only be redressed by committing more crimes. He did it by valuing each life, ranging from a supernatural serial killing werewolf who personally tormented him to people he didn't even know, for their own sake. He delivered it by not privileging one life over another. That was Teen Wolf's central tenet! The Hale Fire would never be balanced by an Argent fire; it would only be balanced by Hale Auto.

This is the poison that runs through the core of this fandom. It isn't enough that Scott spent the first 36 episodes of a show which was supposed to be about him cleaning up the mess of the Hale/Argent feud. It isn't enough that he looked past Peter's viciousness, Derek's brutality, and Cora's hostility to care for them when he absolutely did not have to. Of course not; it will never be enough, not for a fandom that says, again and again and again for over 12 effing years: "I love Teen Wolf, but I would love it more if it was entirely about white people!"

BUT IT'S NOT RACISM.

#scott mccall #scott mccall defense squad #fandom racism #allison argent #fandom misogyny #derek hale #peter hale

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 2 months

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okokok i'm obsessing hard over this au but also I’m in an emotional nightmare zone right now so it’s hard to work on it so here’s a basic summary of the plot so I can infodump it to you guys.

in 2012, four year old emily innes goes missing. she is not reported as a missing person. her five older siblings are told she ran away, and learn quickly bringing up the subject makes them the target of their parents wrath- one once isolated to emily. her uncle never learns there was a sixth innes child, having been estranged from his sister for quite a long time. as far as the world is concerned, emily innes never existed. there is no search effort for her. she is not on the front of any newspapers. her disappearance is not a mystery, because as far as the world is concerned the innes family, falling through the cracks of the legal system at the best of times, might as well not exist either.

in 2012, four year old clementine (no last name, not anymore) grins as she sits in a red-and-white dress in her friend mr. dream's fancy car. he's the only one who pays any attention to her, anyway, he gives her gifts and plays with her and he’s been the only person nice to a freak of nature like her since he visited. and he's come up with the best game, where she gets to pretend to be a good kid and he's her dad and he'll pay for her to go on the big rollercoasters tubbo did and eat a big big bowl of icecream. just… after she takes this nap. she’s been so sleepy after he gave her the carsickness meds mum never bothers to get.

in 2012, an unremarkable flight takes place, from England to the coasts of the USA. none of the passengers will remember a tired looking man who fiddled with his hands a bit too much and the girl they assumed to be his daughter, asleep in the seat next to him. in twelve years time, some will recognise the man on the news broadcasts, and the girl now nearly a woman (no, man), and will blame themselves for not seeing red flags.

in 2024, thirty-nine dr dean somnus gets into a car accident. he will lose function in his right arm for the rest of his life from the injuries, and he will lose consciousness and not wake until after a day and many frantic procedures. a well respected man in the town, the local paediatrician, this should have been a happy moment. instead, as he frantically describes what at first seems like a sick joke but one that quickly dawns on them as something far too panicked to be fake, police are called. local cops, one’s not equipped for what this will turn out to be.

in 2024, sixteen year old tommy somnus awakes in a hospital bed. one far away from not only his council flat he once called home but the room he’d reluctantly began to call home too. it would be months before he would leave. he expects to see his parents. they don’t even call. they never reported him missing in the first place. he's half starved, confused, and scared. he will spend the next few months in hospital, kind faces and professionals helping him recover enough, physically and mentally, he'll be able to walk out those doors and see the sun for the first time in twelve years. when he does, a barrage of cameras will photograph him, interviewers will hound him, and he'll long for the tight embrace of the room he was rescued from, and find the torture that scarred his body and mind within far less gruelling than the spotlight.

in 2025, thirty-nine year old dean somnus is sentenced for his crimes. the sentence isn’t as long as the media would hope for. it’s too long for the boy it’s meant to protect. the evidence is clear- examination of the room imprisoning tommy, the copious photographic and video evidence, and the ready testimony of both kidnapper and victim leave no moment of the captivity a secret. fresh out of medical school, single (and with disgust at the idea of marriage), and unstable, dean somnus had no chance in hell of adoption, so he simply took a child instead. tommy was chosen due to his vulnerability and the similar appearance allowing the two to appear related. tommy's captivity involved severe physical and mental abuse, but he was not harmed in any other way- the copious toys in tommy's room, almost-happy home videos, and the pride in dean's voice talking about “his” tommy make it clear this was a case where a child was abducted to be raised, though clearly not well. this is not salacious enough for many sleazy tabloids, and in a few months time this clear evidence is distorted under unrealistic claims.

in 2025, forty-three year old phillip craft is tired. learning he had a nephew he never met, that he’d been held captive for twelve years, and his birth parents were not considered appropriate custody had taken a lot out of him. of course, he'd taken tommy in- better than if the poor kid ended up in foster care or something, and besides, after his own son he was prepared for the teenage rebellion years. still, it’s hard to say tommy is more than a stranger- one polite in a way that’s heartbreaking knowing why- and each day is a challenge. there’s medical appointments both physical and mental, trying to socialise a teenager who’s near-feral in terms of his social development, sorting out his online school (because god he was not letting him get thrown to the wolves and put into an actual school enviroment, he can barely handle having phil and his wife both in the room with him at once), and trying to somehow, impossibly, comfort him after the hundredth time he comes across a sickening podcast joking about what they think really happened to the point they ignore what happened, a youtube video blaming him for trusting strangers as an abused, neglected child, some random sickos blog post ranting about how he's proof that kids like him are being forced into changing themselves and speculating on his medical history, and the dawning realisation that he can't avoid it no matter how hard he tries, and. he's sick of the world. he cares, but it’s not enough. it won’t ever really be.

in 2025, seventeen-year-old tobias “tubbo” undell (soon to be née undell) watches the news at his soon-to-be-husband's house, flopped over the sofa. life is a chaotic mess- he’s gone from top of every science class to having a son far too early and having to figure out how to manage being a parent while still in school himself, and how being a nuclear engineer really meshes with the whole nuclear family thing. he almost misses the face on the television, something about a scumbag over in another country getting jailed, some dumb sensationalised crime, and then he glimpses a familiar picture. it’s him- as a little kid, still in dresses, but him- and he's grinning, holding hands with emily- god, he nearly forgot she existed, they were best friends until she just vanished and no one else seemed to remember her- and then the words “kidnapping” and “abuse” suddenly feel so loud and he can’t feel anything but his own heart beating. he orders plane tickets to America the next day. he has to see emily- no, tommy- just this once. one last time. for closure. and then he could finally be a grown up.

#dsmp au #primeboys (derogatory)#tho There’s also clingyduo and angelduo #kidnapping tw #abuse tw #implied transphobia tw #harassment tw

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disregardcanon · 20 days

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amc iwtv abigail (2024) au

The year is 2024. The location is Paris. A team of professional criminals are hired to kidnap the “daughter of a wealthy businessman” and hold her hostage for a large sum of money.

This team includes:

The “mastermind”

The medic in charge of anesthetic doses and taking care of the kid

The getaway driver

The hacker

The muscle

The ex army

These roles are played by

Santiago as the mastermind

Madeline as the medic

Estelle as the getaway driver

Daniel as the hacker

Celeste as the muscle

Now you may ask, why these particular choices? Here's the explanation

The “mastermind” of the team thinks that he’s far smarter than he is, doesn’t view abigail the child vampire as either a threat or a creature with feelings, starts out sadistic and only gets worse until he’s the real villain of the piece after becoming a vampire toward the end of the movie. This is all very Santiago to me.

The medic is the one who develops a bond with Abigail, the child vampire. In the movie, this character has a son that she’s trying to get the job money for so that she can reconcile with him too. While I wouldn’t want that to be the exact backstory, it does work for the framing. A Madeline who went into health care to help her ailing younger sister and try to get her foot in the door for a medical transition. Who was able to transition but had that kill her career and then had to resort to working for crime bosses. She ends up nicking some of their supplies to try to help her sister and has a very traumatic firing. Without that income and those supplies her sister dies and she loses access to her hormones, so she decides to do something.. Drastic. To try to get back on her feet. What other option does she have, really?

Estelle is the getaway driver because she blows up on a motorcycle and I think that’s funny

Old Maniel. This character in the movie is a young woman from a wealthy family who hacks for the fun and the thrill. I love the idea that publication of his vampire memoir destroyed his journalistic career in the 80s. After that, he still had to make do somehow, right? Hacking got the job done. He’s doing one more big job to send home an enormous paycheck to his girls, maybe write a book about it that’ll be published post mortem and keep paying their bills. Sure, whatever he gets on paper won’t make him look good, but it’ll be something. He doesn’t expect that vampires involved in his past situation would be so close to the ones plotting this situation.

Celeste as the muscle because if Estelle is there she has to be too.

I liked the ex army character but he doesn’t really line up with anyone I have in mind so. He has been tragically cut. Such is life

ONTO THE PLOT!

Santiago brings the group together. No one tells anyone else their real name.

Then, they kidnap their mark from her luxurious Paris apartment. Everyone feels a little weird about the mark being a kid when no one was informed of that, but like.. It’s a bit too late to turn back when the kid’s knocked out in the back of your car, right? And like… she’s not a kindergartener or anything. She’s probably like… 13? A bratty little teenager with a rich dad. That’s kind of justifiable, right?

(It’s not.)

They get to a giant villa in the countryside and meet up with their contact, a white American woman named Antoinette. She tells them about how they just have to keep the mark in the house overnight while she “negotiates terms” with the father. She confiscates all their electronic devices for the “safety of the operation” and gives them almost no information. After some prodding she gives them all fake names from twilight. Then, she leaves them alone in the mansion for the night with the bursting liquor cabinet.

We get some character setup after Estelle tries to do a cold read on the others and madeline calls everything she says out as bullshit. Then estelle’s like well if that was so bad how about you try it? And then madeline reads the CRAP outta her. Then celeste asks for one and it’s spot on. Santiago’s like here’s 50 bucks if you can say ONE true thing about me. And she’s like you were an undercover cop who decided that you liked being able to hurt people even more easily and never wanted to go back to having some level of rules on you. And he’s like WELL YOU’RE A DUDE! And she’s just like wow! How original! You figured out that I Transed My Gender. Can you tell me literally one other thing about me? And he. Can’t. Because he’s not as smart as he thinks he is!

Daniel has been weirdly quiet during this, so she turns to him and she’s like hey gramps do you want one? And he’s like i would literally rather die. She’s figured out that he used to be a journalist from a few of his conversational ticks but she doesn’t point it out, because he asked for no reading and she has some manners. Unlike SOME people! She’s blunt but she’s not a total asshole.

Then, Madeline goes up to check on the mark who should be waking up from the anesthetic soon. She IS! The girl plays up being scared and hurting and madeline’s like. Well the blindfold is a LITTLE over the top. I have a mask on. This is fine. She won’t be able to ID me from a lineup like this, probably,

So she takes the mark’s blindfold off. Now that the thing is off, the girl doesn’t seem scared at all. It’s like it was just a game and she’s done with it now. No “who are you” no “what are you doing” no “are you going to hurt me?” Just a staring contest with a middle schooler.

In the briefing, they told them that the mark’s first language was English. That’s the language that Madeline starts with.

“Who are you?” Madeline asks.

The girl smiles. “I’m Claudia.”

“Your whole name.” Madeline clarifies. The kid must be someone powerful’s daughter if she’s this assured of her own safety.

“Just Claudia,” the girl tells her, “I’m not on good terms with either of my fathers right now.” Well. That gives Madeline some information at least. The girl has two fathers who are separated.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Madeline assures her, because it feels like something she should do. It’s what she’d planned to do, coming up here.

“I know,” Claudia tells her, “you can’t hurt me.”

Madeline feels her breath catch in her chest. “We can’t?”

“You can’t.”

“And how do you know that?” Madeline asks.

“I just do.”

Madeline laughs. “Any other insight you want to give me?”

Claudia smiles brightly. “Sure. Can you tell Daniel Molloy that I didn’t like his book?” Madeline feels fear curl up even sharper in her gut. A fearless child named Claudia, two powerful fathers, and Daniel Molloy. She lives in Paris. She is very familiar with that man’s “memoir” from the absolutely exhausting American tourists obsessed with retracing the steps of the “real life” vampires chronicled in the book that killed a promising journalistic career in the 80s.

Is someone punking them? She doesn’t even let herself consider the crazier option: that everything in that book was real.

After whatever THAT interaction is, madeline corners santiago to make him give her more information. Who is this kid’s dad? Does she actually have two? Does he have any real clue who this kid is? Why does she seem unphased by being kidnapped? Why doesn't she seem like a kid at all?

He’s less than helpful, so Madeline brings her findings to the entire group. How the girl doesn’t seem phased at all by being kidnapped. How she claims she’s not on good terms with “either father”. “Just Claudia” and her strange request for Daniel Molloy.

“Okay, yeah,” the elderly hacker says, closing his laptop and standing up, “that’s my bullshit threshold. I’m getting the fuck outta here.”

“What?” Estelle asks, “but we are so close to getting our money?”

“I am not waiting around for one of Claudia’s dads,” he declares.

She frowns. “Do you know them?”

“Know them?” he asks, “uh yeah, I know them. One of them, at least. He’s not a man you wanna mess with.”

Celeste rolls her eyes. “Come on. What could make him so frightening? Truly?”

He just stares at her. “He’s a vampire.”

Estelle bursts into laughter, “Oh, what a funny old man you are! Who is he really?”

“A fucking vampire!” he repeats with wide, terrified eyes.

“Ah,” Santiago says, “you’re the Daniel Molloy. I should have known.”

Celeste frowns. “Who?”

Estelle giggles. “He wrote the gay vampire memoir! He always said it was real.”

“It was!” the guy tells them, “every fucking thing I wrote there was real. Every word. And no one believed me.” Santiago snorts.

The old man turns towards him with a deadly look in his eyes. “You think that’s funny?”

“Yes,” Santiago assures him, “I do.”

He points to a nasty, mottled scar across his neck. “Her father did this to me. I almost died. Still think it’s funny?”

“Yes,” he assures him, “with every word you speak it just gets funnier.”

“Whatever, man,” the old man mutters, “I’m getting out of here before she starts picking you fuckers off.” Then he turns to the driver. “Can I have the keys?”

“No! I’m not giving you the car keys!” Estelle declares, “we will need them to leave in the morning.”

He laughs. “None of you are making it to morning. I’m getting outta here while there's still some sun.”

“Then you will be walking,” Estelle says firmly.

“Whatever,” Daniel says, waving off the comment, “I’ll take my chances with the walk to town.”

The old man staggers out the door and into the dying evening sun, leaving his cut of 50 million dollars on the table.

“Well,” Celeste says, “more money for the rest of us.” That brings each of their counts up to 12 million dollars. Certainly enough for Madeline to give her sister a proper funeral and pay for HRT for the rest of her days.

Santiago goes to “speak” to Claudia, which is just an excuse to try to intimidate her and be mean. She lets it “slip” that she’s the daughter of a famous crime boss who has people killed by decapitating them: Lestat de Lioncourt.

He comes to give the group that information and they decide they'll take their chances. Like... sure. That makes… some sort of sense? If her father is a terrifying crime boss that could explain some of her behaviors. She’s still worried, but she tries not to let those consume her.

Claudia isn’t a vampire. She’s just… a smart young woman. Older than she looks, surely. Stunted growth, perhaps? That can happen with neglect. Perhaps she split from her fathers because of something along those lines. An undergrad student, perhaps. The team made an assumption concerning her age and Antoinette just let them go with it.

(Madeline tries not to let her mind settle too long on “Antoinette” from the book- the mistress whose position was always so precarious until she just… disappeared from the story entirely.)

She goes to speak with Claudia again to put her worries to rest. This will prove to her that this isn’t a preternatural middle school student but a shrewd university student.

When Claudia sees her, she starts speaking French. It sounds atrocious.

Madeline doesn’t bother responding in her mother tongue.

In English once again, she says, “Your French is bad.”

Claudia sticks with her atrocious French. “Really? You’d think a girl would get better after 80 years.” Four twenties, she claims.

Madeline chuckles and permits the girl a response in French. “Four twenties, you say? I will believe you’ve lived one of them, at least.”

Claudia grins as she switches back to her mother tongue. “Not buying the little girl act?”

Madeline scoffs. “You only acted as a little girl before we caught you. The moment you were here, you showed your true colors.”

“I’m a hundred year old vampire,” Claudia tells her, "a hundred twenty one to be exact."

Madeline laughs. “No, I think you are a cunning college student conning your father out of money.”

Claudia grins, maneuvering her cuffs to be slightly more comfortable. “However would I do that?”

“Stage your own kidnapping,” Madeline posits, “then scare the attackers into leaving and pocket the money."

“How would I do that, exactly?” Claudia asks. She sounds intrigued, excited to hear Madeline tell her back her own genius plan.

“You’re pretending to be the vampire Claudia from Molloy’s delusional diary,” Madeline tells her, “you hired another woman to pretend to be the vampire Antoinette. Recruited a few people that you thought would be susceptible to strange suggestions in addition to the father of the delusion itself so they’d leave. Then you get 25 million to yourself at the end.”

Madeline turns her head to finish her point and notices something.

She’s not in cuffs anymore-

Claudia’s canines slide down like a trick door, turning into fangs.

“I like you,” Claudia tells her, “I think I’ll kill you last.”

This is where “you should watch the movie if you haven’t yet” comes into full effect. The action is GREAT and I am just going to give you a brief play by play. The house seals itself into a special trap until the sun comes up. Claudia kills Estelle first- detaches her head from her body and drinks her blood. The three survivors band together for a while to try to evade her and stay alive.

The stakes rise as they try to talk about what awaits them outside of this death mansion. Santiago decides that he straight up hates her for “letting her sister die” and having the gall to Be Trans About It.

They “capture” Claudia who spends the whole time taunting them and turning them against each other. Santiago is needlessly cruel. Claudia “escapes” and Madeline realizes that she was never trapped in the first place. They engage in a Flirtatious Bonding Moment TM before the group splits again. Madeline and Santiago run off and Celeste gets left behind.

Then, Celeste gets turned into a vampiric puppet that Claudia uses to scare the shit out of them before the woman's body dies. It seems like Claudia has all of the murders in the bag until a door to a hidden room opens up and fucking Antoinette is behind it. And guess what! She WAS the mistress! She gives them some pathetic backstory bits about being a scorned lover turned by one of Claudia’s fathers a hundred years ago. Lestat, the one who turned her to be his lover, planned to kill her as a peace offering to his husband as they reunited at the temporary return of their runaway daughter. Said runaway daughter decided that she wanted to start again, completely on her own, and requested that Antoinette be allowed to live in her service since Claudia can’t make a vampire on her own. Both fathers agreed, as it made them feel better for their daughter to have someone as she ventured off into vampiric adulthood away from them. Antoinette has been forced to play errand girl to her ex-lover’s daughter for 80 years. The ex-lover that was going to kill her to return to his husband’s good graces.

So yeah. Antoinette wants to turn someone she thinks can help her defeat Claudia and then get rid of her keeper and find out how to escape somewhere that loustat can’t find her afterwards. Compassionless, mainly competent Santiago seems like a very good choice!

He is. At least… he like, takes to the gift? Pretty immediately? But he kills Antoinette because he doesn’t want to share and then Madeline realizes that she’s 100% safer with Claudia. She’d been thinking that might be the case for a while, but now she’s certain.

Madeline tries to get away from him to find Claudia and makes it to her, but they realize quickly that his size advantage is.. .real bad for her in a fight. Especially since Madeline’s like, 100% dying. He shifts the odds one more time by trying to make Madeline into a vampiric puppet like he saw Claudia do. Thankfully his hubris got the better of him and it doesn’t work. Madeline’s able to fight against it and restrain him.

Restraining him is just a temporary fix, though. Madeline is bleeding out and Claudia is trying to bring her back from the brink with her blood, but with a volatile Freshly Turned Fledgling and a dying human that claudia doesn’t WANT to die… the odds aren’t looking great for her.

That is until her father finally does come. Lestat de Lioncourt appears in all of his vampiric glory. The moment he arrives he’s separated Santiago’s head from his body.

“You’re late,” Claudia says primly.

He huffs. “Late? I wasn’t aware I was welcome until you were losing a fight with a fledgling!”

“A fledgling that your fledgling made,” Claudia says, “so really, it was your fault.” He smiles ever so slightly.

“If you had allowed me to kill Antoinette years ago, she never could have moved against you,” Lestat tells her pointedly.

Claudia shrugs an acknowledgement. “I wanted a companion. She worked alright."

He snorts. “That's what I thought when I made her, but Antoinette was a poor replacement for your father."

Claudia frowns. “Where is Daddy Lou?”

“Home,” Lestat tells her.

“What? He didn’t come help?” she sounds devastated that her father might have been reading the paper while she was being hunted.

“He closed his mind off from you,” he says, “per your request, ma petite.”

She moves her hand up to her elbow to rub gently at the viscera coating it. “Asking that of him mighta been… harsh.”

The man smile ever so slightly. “Perhaps. If you were to reopen your mind to him-”

“No,” Claudia tells him, “just havin’ your presence in there is bad enough.”

He flinches.

“But..” Claudia says, “maybe you could just… keep an eye on me, just in case?" A slight smile. “And you can both come round every once in a while, I s’pse.”

Lestat’s eyes drift over to the mortal dying on the floor. “Would you like assistance with this.. Cleanup?”

Madeline feels her heart stop in her chest. What does that mean, exactly?

“You can’t kill her,” Claudia says firmly.

Lestat turns his gaze toward back to his daughter. “And why is that?”

“She saved my life,” Claudia tells him, “and I like her. She’s interesting.”

“Hm,” he says appraisingly, “you are without a companion.” A companion. What, exactly, does that mean?

Claudia’s eyes widen. “Are you offering to make me one?”

“You cannot create one on your own,” he says, “and I will not be “coming round”- he uses air quotes, like a douche bag- “until I am invited. So. Yes. I am offering.”

Madeline tries to wrap her head around this offer, a vampiric eternity with the most interesting person that she’s met in years. Someone who understands the horror of having a body that makes people make all the wrong assumptions.

Claudia takes her hand. “Well, what do you think? How's forever sound?” There’s nothing in this world for Madeline, anymore. A dead sister and a world that doesn’t want her.

Why not join someone who might understand? It’s not like she has anything to lose. Her sister is dead and all she’s working towards are a funeral, a tombstone, and her own hormones. Why not live the way that she wants for once? “I say,” Madeline tells her, “turn me. Now.” Forever isn’t too scary when there’s someone you trust it with.

#amc iwtv #amc iwtv aus #claudeline #claudia de pointe du lac #madeline eparvier #lestat de lioncourt #lesdaughter #the unholy family

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