#torture politician before eating politician

[john-hc-doe]

net zero by 2050

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Rem Saverem was a real one. Imagine being like between 28 and 30 and witnessing your crewmates torture a little girl to death, unable to stop them or rescue her. She’s not human but she looks and acts like a suffering child. She dies, horrifically and incompletely (frozen, status: alive). Your crewmates aren’t done with her even when she’s in pieces, and they put her in a jar to save for later. You keep her resting place clean and leave her flowers, knowing she never once got to see the miraculous geo-dome where you grow those flowers. Her siblings(?) or aunts(?) or mothers(?) support that geo-dome, each in a jar of their own, a torture and exploitation even slower than hers. You’re giving her little bits of them, but there’s nothing on the ship that isn’t created or maintained by slavery. There is no viable alternative you can come up with that doesn’t involve an overhaul of everything currently keeping humanity alive in suspended animation without waking up everyone and having a UN-floor-style shitshow of a discussion. You’re not an ethicist or a politician or even a community leader or systems engineer. You’re a navigator with a good head on your shoulders and an unequivocal stance on torturing children: it’s the worst kind of wrong. You don’t really know enough about Plants to understand what the alternatives to their exploitation are, if there are any. You just know it’s wrong, and the complicity eats at your bones and at your sanity via your conscience. How did you ever think that this expedition was the best use of your blank ticket? What would Alex say? (He would hold you and remind you that you are one human woman, and that you protested as much as you could, made your moral stand as best you could, and pushing harder might have resulted in your enforced return to cryo-sleep until the ships reached their destination, and then who would leave the poor child flowers? Who would think of her kindly? Who would be awake instead of you now, continuing to ruin her even after death?)

Then, the universe coughs up two more Independent Plants, and you know exactly why you’re on this expedition and how to make the best possible use of your blank ticket. Never again. You name the children, you treat them like people, you love them - and you’re barely 30 and traumatized as hell and you know you’re fucking things up, but there’s no one else and you cannot allow there to be anyone else, or everything goes back to square one and the twins go to the dissection table. You hide them in plain sight. They love you. You’re happier for their company, less lonely, and you never expected to have children. (You were planning, with Alex. If those plans had worked out, you would not be here to do your flawed best for these twins.) They are so smart, and you cannot bring yourself to tell them anything about the girl who came before them. You can barely put that experience into words for yourself, much less communicate the scope of it to two children. (They are so smart, growing inhumanly fast, and they are still less than a year old. You really should have fucking tried anyway.)

They discover their sister. They’re about one year old, and they fall away from you and from each other and from hope. One-year-olds shouldn’t be actively suicidal. You feel just like you did when you dragged yourself back to your room after screaming at your crewmates decades ago. You still think it was pure cowardice that you volunteered to go back into cryo-sleep so you could wake up years later and avoid spending time with mutilators and murderers. If you checked out, chose to sleep, volunteered for a solo navigation shift, how could you blame Knives for pushing everything down and ignoring it? After your own sick depression, feeling so powerless, how could you blame Vash for wanting to be done with everything?

But they’re barely over a year old. All you really know is that dead people don’t get to make decisions for themselves, death is the end of change for a person. (Alex will always be 27, love you more than anything, and will never meet the children who have become your family.) Things don’t get better for dead people. You want so, so much for things to get better for the twins.

One of them kills you, driving everything into the ground, humanity and Plants alike, because living means change means uncertainty means fear, and he is so afraid and humanity taught him his life was cheap, so why should he value theirs? The other plays the letter but not the spirit of your hopes; he lives for other people and never for himself, internalizes your insistence on the value of life and pays flesh by the pound to preserve it. He won’t follow you into death because your purchased his life (and so many other lives) with yours (he won’t squander that), but in a way he will never forgive you for choosing to die for others, and he’ll take that anger out on himself. You save lives and you doom Plants and you doom humanity trying to save humanity and Plants from their doom. Everyone’s on a rock again, back to where it all started on an inhospitable world, just a new one. But you kept things from ending. It all could have ended.

And you were like 30 and clinging to an imperfect but determined philosophy that kept you from flinging yourself into the grave after Alex, and you weren’t a mother or an educator or a spiritual guide or even particularly suited to raise children, and you fucked these kids up irreparably, but you were all they had and you were better than anyone who would have made them into tissue samples. You tried so hard, and both twins will carry you like a millstone and like a talisman for the rest of their very, very long lives.

And you named one of them Knives. What the fuck, Rem. Knives??

[8bitscarlet]

Winter Solstice

Summary:��When the sun was taken without notice, your world was plunged into a darkness you almost didn't recognize. But as you sunk deeper into the shadows, you remembered why you'd given it up.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Angst (mention of blood, canon fighting, use of knife, mention of torture)

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: AOU Wanda here because there's no Wanda in this story, since you know ehehe. Here’s chapter 18 of AOP. 😂 Happy Reading everyone! 💕

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!*

_________________________

“I’m having your vest checked before you leave!”

You watch as Stark grabs the tablet from his suit jacket hanging on the coat rack near the door. He came around as soon as the alarms started to blare. What he came home to nearly doubled him over. It took him some time to get back to his joking ways, along with everyone else. Trying to deal with what happened only hours ago. 

Everyone except you. 

“Whatever,” Yelena rolls her eyes but points towards a gadget on one of the tables she walks past, “Your stuff isn’t even cool, Playboy.”

Her green eyes watching Nat nod that she’ll steal the parts for her. Yel looks over at you, sliding a granola bar across the table. You glance down at the wrapper, a chocolate chip granola bar. She looks at you with a hopeful grin but you don’t eat it. You just spin it around as you wait for her to tell you who you’re not allowed to kill. 

“Four mercenaries checked in at that checkpoint,” your eyes wash over the map with numbered outposts scattered around the landscape, “They’re heading to a resting place, assigned to the General’s protection unit. This restaurant,”

Yelena slides all the information she got from her contact casing the business, “It’s a front. A place to grab gear and weapons before they switch positions.”

“They’ll know where that asshole is,” you grumble, smashing the granola bar into the table with every slow stab of your thumb. 

“I’m just waiting on Rick to give us information on where they're stopping next. We'll swing in after them and steal some uniforms and codewords,” Yelena gives Natasha a look, ensuring that you see it but you don’t give it a second thought. They can see exactly what you want to do to every one of these soldier's wearing this patch.

They could think whatever they wanted about you now. They knew your true colors. If they’re surprised, it should be over that you’ve hidden them for so long. 

Natasha sees how you grind your teeth and turns to Yelena, “What that cost you? Five cases of Stoli?”

“Only four. I’m his favorite Russian spy.”

You ignore their arguing as you flip through the file further. It’s a simple plan. Corner some soldiers and work your way up the pay grades. Eventually someone would know where the General was and he worked closely with Strucker. 

“We’ll call you guys when we’ve got a location,” you stand up abruptly and look towards Steve, “Just make sure you have Clint by then,”

The door behind you opens and Stark rushes inside, not bothering to hold it open behind him as you see how wide his eyes are. 

“I tried to stall,” he turns on his heels and all of you watch as a greying and mustached man in a crisp suit steps through the door that closed on his face. 

Ross clears his throat as he pulls against his sleeves and carefully looks over everyone. Half of the people in the room are weary and exhausted from the mission. The other half stare cautiously, collecting papers behind their backs. Only one stares with a fury that the man has never seen before and because of this, speaks to you .

“You’re not operating.”

Your jaw clenches so tightly, you’re surprised it doesn’t completely shatter. Each paused stare along the politician’s body are places you know would completely ruin the rest of his life. Steve sees the way you roll your wrists, your breath elevating. Your fingers crack beneath his iron vice grip and you grimace as Stark attempts to negotiate with Ross. The words buzz around your head. 

Treaties. Agreements. Violations. War. 

You chuckle, drawing some attention your way but Stark quickly draws it back to him. You’ve been at war longer than Ross could know. At war with Strucker. With your own mind. But he couldn’t care less about those wars. They weren’t important. Finding and killing Strucker wasn’t important compared to the obscure agreements he had pulled up by an assistant. 

They wouldn’t be important to him until it was too late for everyone else. 

You didn’t utter a word as you moved past him, your shoulder cracking against his. He slammed into the door with a grunt. One of his guards stepped in front of you and he flew across the room into the railing of the staircase, not realizing how quickly you could move. The second guard half steps away from you as the pistol that was printing against his jacket comes out. 

Holding out your hands, you wave your fingers towards yourself, “Go ahead, buddy. Make my day.”

The trigger depresses just slightly and you grin, you just need a reason. There’s movement from your side and Nat stands in front of you, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. And you can’t deny to her that you haven’t.

“Stop being stupid,” she whispers harshly, grabbing your wrist and whirling you around. 

Your face slams into the floor but you don’t struggle. You just watch your breath fog up the tile as your body contorts to Nat’s will. Her apologies to Ross don’t make it past the ringing in your ears. There’s a pressure in your shoulder and your knees come up beneath you, your feet following behind them. 

Stumbling towards the back room, you remember this route. It was the walk you made every day back to the holding cells. The cells you tried so hard to convince yourself that the enemy surrounded you. That any day your meal brought by a redheaded witch would be sedated and you’d be taken within inches of your life. 

“Don’t be mad,” Nat tells you as you stare down at the same bed you sat and watched Wanda chew on her pens, “This is just for show. Ross is out of his mind, we’re going. I’ll exhaust my Rolodex. I’ve got favors to use up.”

There isn’t much warning and even less for Natasha when the dull numbness subsides. You sink down onto the floor, your back pressing against the frame of the bed and exhale sharply. Pressing your stinging eyes against your knees, you let out an uncharacteristic noise. A wailing sob that burns your throat. Your body shivering with shaking breaths that used to only wake you from nightmares. 

And then you realized. Your nightmares had become your life. 

_______________________

Your fingers play with the corners of the menu in front of you, eyes scanning words that you don’t comprehend. The only thing on your mind is the number of people inside, the paths around the tables and exits around you. Leaning against the wall behind you, you watch the waitstaff exit the kitchen from your right. 

“You know I hate eating out with you. Do you know why?” You pull your eyes away from a man sitting alone at the bartop and glare at the blonde in front of you, “Because you always want to sit next to the kitchen and anytime a plate comes out, I think it’s mine.”

Your grimace grows into a scowl, “You don’t know what you ordered?”

“Of course I know what I ordered,” she almost looks offended, as she crosses a leg over her thigh, “I just think it smells good and I’m starving and you’re making me sit here when you made me rush out of the hotel breakfast.”

You stare in silence before glancing back down at the menu, taking a sip of the odd tasting tap water in your glass. A slow breath gets pulled in across the table and you brace yourself for more complaints. 

“Do you ever realize how grumpy you get?”

She’s met with more silence. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. You’re not grumpy, you’re pissed off,”

You cock an eyebrow and watch her grumble down into her menu, “Times a million.”

The waiter makes their rounds again, oddly bypassing your table once again. Your brows clench slightly when he stops at the bartop and talks to the lonesome man. 

“I’m sorry,”

The words catch you off guard and you look back across the table, “What?”

Yelena fiddles around with the bag on her lap, drawing your attention but holding the conversation with ease, “That you actually listened to my advice. About being vulnerable.”

You sigh and adjust the piece of metal digging into your stomach, “She’s part of the team, Yel. I’d be worried either way.”

She hums and you sigh before looking her way again, “When are you going to stop lying to yourself? You wouldn’t be a part of this team right now if it wasn’t -,”

“We’ve been made,” you stop her from psychoanalyzing you any further and carefully watch more suited men enter the building. 

The waiter isn’t as subtle as they keep glancing your way, practically pointing at you. You push your shoulders back, it was inevitable. You weren’t regulars here. The two of you were bound to be noticed. And at least you could say now that you didn’t start the fight. 

Yelena stands up, stopping the waiter who just decided to walk out of the kitchen. You hiss at her to stop as she pokes and prods at the food. The three suited men are walking towards you, two already have their hands tucked inside their suits while the other has their knuckles lined with metal. 

“Yel!” you whisper at her. 

“Don’t bother taking this back to the kitchen, it’s trash!” she yells and whips the tray from his hands and slams it into the group behind her. 

You yell, punting the table away from you, knocking a few of the suited men on the floor. A few start stumbling to their feet amongst the shattered plates and sauces. Yel wraps her legs around the unsteady man who was knocked in the head with a ramekin. As she flips him to the ground, your breath is rushed from your lungs as you’re bulldozed back into the kitchen. 

Slamming your elbow into the top of his shoulder, you try to loosen the tight hug the man has on you. It loosens. After you back clangs against one of the many stoves in the kitchen. You grunt, shoving yourself down to the floor and frantically slapping your arm. 

Your shirt smokes after pressing directly against one of the burners. Your back throbs as you hold up a hand, 

“One second,”

The man waves his hand at you, “Thought you were supposed to be a problem. Don’t know why people are so scared,” His knee slams into your face and you’re knocked back onto the ground as the stove door slams between your shoulders, “Get up!”

“Careful,” you cough, trying to move the arm you swear you heard a crack from, “You’ll ruin your dinner,”

Reaching back, you pull yourself up with the help of the stove. Your eyes catch the sight of scallops cooking in oil. With a grunt, you swing your arm and throw the hot oil behind you, feeling it slightly burn your neck with some flyaway droplets. 

The man screams, holding his hands against his face as you smack the pan against the top of his head. His screams end as he collapses to the floor. The pan clangs next to him, 

“You got something in your eyes,” you say before you grimace from the unyielding pain in your shoulder. 

The kitchen door swings open and you see another man walk in. He doesn’t wear a suit like the other men. It’s a dark uniform and you can see the patch on his shoulder. His belt is lined with different knives and you let out a sigh, you really didn’t want to have to shoot anyone today. 

He pulls one of the long blades from its sheath and tosses it with a quiet grin from hand to hand. The blade reflects the light in every direction as it spins and flips through the air. You sigh, going to lift up your shirt but stop as the emergency door is cracked open. The talent show in front of you pauses for a moment as Yel waltzes inside, rubbing her reddened knuckles. 

“Room for dessert?” she asks, and eyes the man take out another knife with a grin.

“You’re the one who was starving,” you remind her, trying to get feeling down into your numbed fingers. 

She sighs, walking forward without hesitation towards the clanking blades. She grabs a simple chef’s knife from a counter she passes, not slowing her pace. The man swings his arm around, going in for a backhanded stab and is only met with air as Yelena sidesteps without a thought. Her foot slides around gracefully as she ends up behind him. 

She leans forward as the blade slices underneath his arm, pulling a yelp from his throat and the knife in that hand clattering to the floor. She ducks between his frantic swings, making it look like a dance as you look around for where they keep the ice. Spinning on her knee, Yelena presses the blade to his upper thigh and pulls her arms up without much resistance. 

Standing up, she steps around the shocked man and places the knife back where she found it, now dirtied with blood. The man collapses to the floor with grunts, trying to press his hands against the cuts that are profusely bleeding. 

“Hit the arteries. He’s got twenty seconds.” she says as she pulls out a bag of frozen peas, “They said always fresh, never frozen. This place sucks,”

Pressing the cold vegetables to your shoulder, you follow her out into the dining area. You see that she fought more than the two suited men that came for you both. The Hydra soldiers you two were waiting for finally arrived and their uniforms were now ripe for the taking. Tearing some of the unneeded clothes, you make a makeshift wrap to keep the frozen peas in place. 

As you folded up the uniform you’d be taking, you handed over one of the shirts that would fit Yelena better. She goes to take it but you hold onto it for one second longer,

“Thank you,” you say, watching as her eyes look at you with her mouth slightly agape, “I listened to you and stopped lying to myself. Now I’ve got three people to worry about.”

“We’re going to get her back. Alive and safe. And we’ll make sure Strucker draws his last breath, too.” she tells you, wiping off a mustard stain before looking up at you, “Wait, you worry about me? You know sweets ruin your dinner.”

You grin, “Speaking of, I saw some macaroni in the kitchen,”

“You ever dine and dash? That dude is definitely dead in there, we won’t get caught.” Yelena excitedly jogs back into the kitchen to get some road trip snacks and leave you alone to the thoughts that fill your head as the sham of a smile falls from your face. 

You hope both of her promises come true but you know you’ll be lucky to have only one come true. And this unending cycle will continue. Tapping the boots against your thigh as you walk, you wonder how much collateral you have to your name.

________________________

Your fist slams forward, over and over again. Making contact with a fury that leaves his nose cracked and blood to pour from split brows. With a grunt and one more crack, you whip your arm down and extend your fingers. They practically groan from being clenched for so long. You stare at the reddening of your skin, wiping away the blood that isn’t yours. You glance over to the soldier’s friend, waiting patiently in their chair as they stare at the wall. There’s soft mutterings coming from them and you wonder if they’re practicing their lies. 

With a sigh, you turn back to the soldier in front of you, his face bleeding and his left eye already swollen shut. You glance down at his dirtied name tag, Fisher.

“Tell me where they are, Fisher. Come on, you were there being a good little soldier. Where is Strucker?” you squat down in front of him, resting your arms on your thighs and attempt to hold onto your patience a little longer this time. 

He huffs and puffs but doesn’t give an answer, you grin at how loyal he is to this madman. You sigh, picking up the pipe you had previously ripped from the wall and used to make his arm slightly crooked. 

“Listen, I don’t have all this precious time and you’re not the only one I need to talk to so,” you swing the pipe with a strong twist of your hips right into his shin, watching as he conceals his screaming into his shoulder. 

“Okay! They, goddamit! I only know where the General is.”

“Keep it coming,” you say, pacing in front of him and manipulating the cold metal between your hands. 

You listen to his directions, the description of the hideaway the General uses for all of his vices. You grunt, knowing you’re sure to find the worst bachelor pad of your life. Fisher continues to babble on, telling you where you can find mounds of cash in the walls and all kinds of classified documents. You’re bareilly paying attention until he brings up a certain scientist. 

“Strucker… he’s trying to do something. Brainwashing or some crazy magic from this staff. I don’t know, please let me go.”

His voice cracks as he leans as far forward as his tied up body lets him. You stop your pacing and look at his miserable face, his lip now starting to swell. The blood mixes with his sweat and you feel a whole new level of hatred. You know what he’s talking about but you wish you didn’t.

“What?” you ask, making sure you heard him right.

He swallows roughly and you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, “You can’t save her.”

You clench your jaw, the metal creaking in your hands as he stares in fear, “What is he doing to her,”

Fisher grimaces and stares past you. He shakes his head, he’s done talking to you. He’s looked into your eyes and knows he’s not getting out of here alive no matter how much he tells you. You wish you could lie to him, stroke his ego that he’ll heal from his wounds and live a normal life. All you do though is shake your head at his decision. He’ll recover from his wounds but his face’s natural color is going to be blue from this day forward. Pulling back, your joints practically creak as you clench your fingers into a fist. 

“I’m a nice person,” you whisper and watch him shiver away from your breath, “I’m going to let you think about what you’ve done. And when I come back, we better be on the same page.”

Turning, you replace the pipe with a glass of water and take a sip from it. You realize how thirsty you’ve become and you wonder how much longer you’ll be upright. You’re exhausted and starving but every hour you waste, is another hour Wanda is subjected to hell. You remember clearly what happened when you both were captured. You know it’s only worse with that scientific madman. 

Wiping your bloody knuckles against your pants, you walk to the other soldier. They’ve been having a nice time relaxing and dreaming but they forgot to set their alarm. You toss the glass of water at them, shocking them awake. You watch them cough out the water they inhaled with their gasp and casually grab a chair. Pulling it in front of them, they shake at their binds, probably having gotten lost in their happy dreams. Sitting down casually, you’re hoping that this will be a nicer chat. 

Price has nothing more to say to you than their pal Fisher over there. They spit at you, your jaw clenching when you feel the wetness smack you on the face. She chuckles as you slowly wipe it from your face, flicking it down to your boot. You don’t let the rage show on your face as you look up at her calmly. 

“You feel like talking while your friend takes a rest?” you ask her quietly, crossing your foot on top of your knee.

She stays silent, glaring at you. 

“Tell me where the woman is,” you give her one more chance to offer you something useful.

“What woman, asshole? There’s only some freak of nature,” she sneers at you, thinking she can play games. 

You look Price dead in the eyes. Your graciousness continues, you won’t kill her just yet, “One last time. Where?”

“Fuck you,” she spats out once again and you groan. 

You nod with a smile and don’t blink as you slide the knife from your belt and slam it into her shoulder in one fluid motion. As soon as the blade cuts, her scream fills the cabin and the front door opens. You grab the handle tightly and quickly shake her, 

“You tell me where she is or so help me, you’ll never use this arm again!”

“I don’t know!” she screams, gritting her teeth against the pain, “I don’t know!”

Before you can twist the blade, your arm is twisted behind you as you’re shoved towards the front door. You don’t fight against them but you stop your feet to grab the jacket you left on the coat rack. 

“She knows. She knows where Strucker is,” you tell Nat, sliding your arms into your coat. Looking up, you see the worry in her green eyes and for a second you freeze. 

“Reign it in,” she tells you harshly, “You know how this works. You’re just finding an excuse now.”

You slowly button your jacket, “We need to find her.”

“And you’re not finding her if you’re becoming that,” she slaps the patch on your shoulder roughly, “Again. Go get some air, now.”

Stepping through the door, you slide your hands into the uniform jacket and glance down at yourself. The uniform is filthy, covered in dirt and food from the scuffle you had when you ambushed the place. Dried blood and sweat from the conversation you were having with the two survivors. You climb into the car with a sigh, what the hell was Natasha talking about. She knew as well as you that some things required certain tactics. Maybe you were right all along. She had gotten soft.

Yelena peers back at you from the front seat. She shakes a box of granola bars in front of you but you wave her away, listening to her mumbling about how you’re going to pass out. You run your fingers along your knuckles, feeling a stinging pain you hadn’t felt in a long time. A time you always told yourself you wanted to forget. But here you were, purposely living in the past. 

Glancing up, you see green eyes carefully watching you through the rearview. You raise your brows. 

“You okay?”

You stare at the front door you were pushed out of, “I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” Yelena sighs. 

“What do you want me to say?” you snap, watching the green eyes stare one moment longer and then look away. 

There’s a prolonged silence until a noise has you jumping out of your skin, “That you’re scared.”

Nat’s voice carried in from the open window and you watch her climb into the passenger seat, gently closing the car door. You look her over, she doesn’t have a single drop of blood on her and her face isn’t flushed from exertion. She nods quietly to her sister, the car starting to reverse and leaving dust behind all of you. 

You stare out the window, not giving her the answer she already knows. 

“We’ll find her. The General will know where she is and if he doesn’t, the files on his desk will.”

“Are we going to find her alive?” the real question you’ve been thinking of explodes from your mouth and it’s met with the exact answer you knew it. A heavy silence. “You promise me that and I’ll stand aside.”

“You know we’re doing everything to make that happen. So trust us, she's coming home.”

The car ride quiets until you hear the rumbling of your stomach. With a sigh, you lean forward and grab a few bars out of the box that Yelena had offered you. 

“When we get to the General’s safe house,” Nat peers over her shoulder to look at you properly, “Come in after we clear it. Please.”

You look at her, her eyes flashing down to your split knuckles. How hard they shake as you try to open the simple packaging of the granola bar. You think back to what she said to you in the house and realize the night is lasting much longer than you intended. You let yourself hide back into the darkness and you see that there isn’t always a light to rely on. You’d have to be ready for the light. 

If it came down to it and only one of you made it out, you wouldn't want Wanda to remember you with the things you did to find her. You didn't want her to remember the person that she met for the first time but the one she ended up loving.

Biting into the chocolate chip, you give a small nod, “Fine.”

______________Ch. 19

[mugentakeda]

just wanted to let you know i am Eating your dai li lu ten au. long feng doesn’t know how to be Normal towards his new subordinate because everyone in the dai li, including himself, grew up being indoctrinated and turned into human weapons in an incredibly toxic and soul crushing environment (bc i don’t think the dai li only started being Like That after long feng gained control, and i think it’s canon they start training at 13?)…just like the FN royal family grew up being indoctrinated and turned into human weapons in an incredibly toxic and soul crushing environment, so for lu ten there are a surprising amount of uncomfortable similarities…This Is Fine

LITERALLY THISSSS and lu ten is like. his shiny new subordinate. but in order to keep a sharp eye on him obviously lu ten operates as long fengs personal agent. but it develops beyond "I have to have him near me to keep an eye on him". being long fengs Only personal agent makes the way lu ten is treated compared to the REST of the dai li make sense- high clearance, solo missions that take him outside of ba sing se, his room (cell) being personal (its a room. but its a cell. Its still his room. it has a nice bed and lounging chairs and a tea set and scrolls and whatever the fuck else you have in your room) and deep under lake laogai (away from the sun). harsh punishments that are like 2 shots and a blunt away from torture. but the thing is- and this is where the silco and jinx influence comes in- their dynamic is obviously built on manipulation, but long feng doesn't like... actively manipulate him with words or actions. the regularly scheduled chi blocking and dai li-special brainwashing, yeah, but he doesn't add onto it by feeding lu ten ideas or playing with lu tens mind. its not anything like ozai and azula, or mother gothel and rapunzel. its far more casual and trusting. professional, since it is still a boss and his subordinate, but since lu ten is special, there's a taste of domesticity. long feng doesn't make lu ten bust his ass for the paternal mentor side. its like 'dad and the cat he didn't want'. long feng isn't suspicious of what lu ten does on his solo missions. hed get defensive on lu tens behalf if one of the other dai li heads that do know about lu ten being a fire nation prince would imply that he might betray long feng and ba sing se. he doesn't try to push anything onto lu ten because he doesn't have to- everything long feng wants in lu ten as his agent develops on its own, naturally. hes not cold and calculating when hes punishing lu ten for failing a mission, even if the punishments are crazy harsh. he hands over delicate business that could threaten ba sing se's security to lu ten with relief because long feng trusts him more than he trusts the other powerful dai li heads and politicians that are near long feng's level of power in ba sing se- and not even because lu ten will answer to him anyway, or because he has no reason not to- just because he trusts that lu ten will get the job done right. he trusts lu tens productivity and skill not just as a worker, but just as a person. the pride and care is genuine, and it coexists with the fact that he would definitely use lu ten against the fire nation as a last resort defense if worse came to worst. and yeah, long feng notes their similarities and vows that since lu ten is a special case agent, he will be treated by long feng humanly, and with respect and care. it's almost like a parent vowing to not be like their parents before them, but like. dark sided and evil

[00-oh-yanno-00]

it’s three in the morning and i can’t sleep because tomorrow we may wake up to find that Rafah is gone.

i lost my job on march 31 and the whole time i’ve been fighting with unemployment all i can think about are the fact that houses in Gaza are rubble.

i forget to eat and the hunger reminds me of Palestines that are starving, and have been starving for months. i go grocery shopping and wonder how many died while i was getting deodorant. i clean my house and think about the sewage piling up. i get my period and cannot fathom how Palestinian women are continuing

i watch as many videos as i can, i share information, i try to uplift their voices, i mourn with them and pray for them and plead with anyone who has the power to liberate them

we watch college students brutalized (again) as they are screaming in the face of militarized police who have been sent by our own government to oppress them. we see celebrities that could evacuate thousands with the wave of a hand dress up in clothes that cost more than most of us make annually.

our government officials are cohorts, sponsors, defenders, friends, and enablers of those who are literally drawing out innocent people with the sound of crying children to murder them. iserali soilders have literally posted war crimes on their social media accounts, iserali citizens have been invited to their bases to watch the torture of Palestinians. they sign american made bombs and take pictures around it before dropping it on homes with sleeping families.

we’ve seen mass graves, people stripped with their hands tied behind their backs before they’re killed. we’ve seen a child surrounded by her dead family, trapped in a car while iserali soilders kill anyone who attempted to help her

and all of this is happening while i’m trying to get a job so me, my roommate, and my cats don’t starve or end up homeless. i don’t have money to pay rent, i only have groceries because i have a sister willing to share resources with me, i have to pay a late fee on three bills because i’ve been fighting with unemployment for a month, i’m now late on renewing my car tag because i can’t afford it without a job, and i’ll be so real

i don’t care. i don’t give a fuck at this point. i don’t want anything to fucking do with a country that has commited this absolute bullshit. i don’t want to work for or with a zionist. i would rather punch their fucking teeth out, and that wouldn’t be a fraction of the violence they’d wish on me for simply saying that Palestinians deserve liberation.

how the fuck am i supposed to look for a job when my country is supporting a genocide? how the fuck am i meant to keep trucking along in day to day life when infection and disease are being purposefully spread through Palestine? why the fuck do you expect me to give a shit about bills when we are murdering an entire people

i want every missile launched to backfire. i want all iserali weapons to malfunction. i want to grab every zionest and scream to get the fuck off Palestain land. i want to break down the doors of every politician who would dare to support a genocide and impact a sliver of the fear Palestinians face every day

i am so sick of living and participating in a system that has consistently fucked so many people, throughout so many generations, all in the name of keeping the rich comfortable. i am so tired of the endless ways america specifically has fucked the entire globe. i am so tired of being forced to grow up watching as people everywhere suffer so the wealthy can be comfortable. - and do not forget that the end goal of this does benefit the rich.

do not forget that they are committing a genocide for a land grab. do not forget that there are plans for beach resorts on Gaza strips. do not forget about the canal project, about the oil, about all the resources the greedy fuckers controlling the world are already planning to rip from Palestine

and i know this post is, a, long, but b, very whiny. this is not to say that there isn’t hope. this is not to say that we shouldn’t keep fighting.

this is to say that it’s now four in the morning, and tomorrow i could wake up and Rafah could be gone, so i am still not asleep, because the only thing i can offer right now is my words, and my time, and my sleep, and that is such a little price to pay if it means someone reads this and thinks of Palestine

this is to say that despite everything, despite all the bullshit and how insane it is to continue, i will; because there’s no other choice at this point.

if we want to see the revolution we have to continue. if we want Palestine to be free then we have to continue. if we want better for our future, if we want better than what history has to offer, we must continue

and i hope, if nothing else, there is solidarity in our shared anger, action in our outrage, and results in our resistance born of love and compassion for a nation that our ancestors have failed

may Allah protect Rafah, may my Goddesses protect Palestinians, may our people liberate the world, and may we see the end of global tyranny that has oppressed the working class for centuries

[heartkyeom]

election

politician!boo seungkwan x campaign manager!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: light political talk but nothing too complicated (fuck capitalism), choking, fingering, descriptions of female anatomy, hate sex (!!!!)

notes: once again got a random idea in the middle of the night and wanted to run with it! thanks to @junhui-recs and @flowerwonu for beta reading <3 hope you all enjoy it!

taglist: @weakforsvt @junhui-recs @rasparagus @just-here-to-read-01 @baekhyunstruly @enhacolor (join my taglist here!)

“I didn't think you could do it, actually.”

“Why doesn’t my campaign manager believe in me?”

“Because your pre election polls were fucking abysmal- shit!” He smacks your clit unexpectedly at your comment and your voice goes up an octave. 

Over the past few months, you’ve learned Boo Seungkwan is a glutton for punishment. You assume that’s why you keep having sex with him despite how horribly wrong it could all go, seeing as you’re both in extremely visible positions.

With him running for an extremely coveted city council position with you as his right hand, all eyes were on the both of you.

Yet, his fellow candidates were far more experienced so you thought there’s no chance in hell he could make it to the runoff election.

However, that sickeningly sweet charm of his landed him in 3rd place amongst voters. It’s been an impressive rise to say the least, but now you have to face the consequences.

You lost the bet that he couldn’t make it this far, hence why he was torturing you with open mouth kisses against your pussy, moving his tongue torturously slowly into your entrance.

You could feel the pulsing of your clit in your ears at this point, internally fighting off the urge to push him to go faster. The sight of him between your thighs is equally disgusting and perfect, seeing as how you shouldn’t even entertain him as a sexual partner but you can’t resist it.

He’s more often frustrating than not, especially now when he decides to move at such a nonchalant pace with your orgasm hanging in the balance.

“What is it gonna take for you to shut the fuck up and enjoy what I’m giving you?” He lifts his head to tell you off, face glistening from your juices. 

“Start by making me cum first, mister third place,” You knew it wasn’t nice, but you wanted to.

He sucks his teeth and sighs against your skin, making your cheeks burn from the warmth.

“That’s not how you ask, peach,” He reminds you gently. He knows calling you peach makes you cave every single time, no matter how much you hate being compliant with him.

“Please make me cum, shithead,” You offer a biting smile that gets you a knowing look from him, but he accepts it anyways.

He returns to his previous motions but with a stronger sense of urgency. The sound of your arousal on his lips is driving you insane, and his tongue prodding against your entrance every two seconds just reinforces how badly you need him to fuck you. 

“Fuck,” You moan out in frustration. He’s always good at this, but tonight your desperation requires a bit more than he’s giving. 

“Seungkwan,” You try to call his attention.

“Hmm?”

“Need you to fuck me instead, please,” You admit.

“Oh? What’s with the sudden change of heart?” He stops to climb up the bed to meet you. He lazily grazes his fingers across your belly. You don’t want to think about how his touches make you feel so relaxed.

“As much as I love you eating my pussy for an entire hour, I’d like to cum before the sun rises if that’s okay with you,” You find the bite in your voice again and he chuckles.

“That didn’t take too long,” He smiles and pinches your nipple. “Now don’t talk about my poll results again or you’re not gonna cum. You’re not supposed to be thinking about work,” He continues to work his fingers against your nipple, rolling it slowly with the occasional pinch. You don’t want to whimper, but it’s making you internally melt.

“That’s hard to do when I’m having sex with my boss, but sure,” You attempt to free your mind of the million different things that take up your daily life, including the hassle of trying to keep this campaign in one piece.

He’s a handful and he knows he is, but you suppose that’s the allure of him.

He moves his hand from your nipple to your neck, slowly pressing his fingertips into your skin. The slight restriction of your breathing makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Well, try harder,” He whispers into your ear, pressing a kiss against your cheek without a second thought. He removes his hand from your neck to place his mouth there instead.

You feel his teeth begin to sink into your skin and you curse.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” You breathe out shakily. 

“You lost the bet, remember?” He fully sucks against your skin and you hesitantly accept your fate. His kisses soon become feverish and he attempts to cover as much skin as possible, leaving you with red marks that go across the expanse of your neck.

He was a dick for that, considering how long it’d take for you to cover it with makeup.

His cock has been torturing you this entire time. It’s been pressed against your abdomen for the past few minutes and you can practically feel yourself drip onto the sheets.

“Think I’ll let you have what you want now,” He finally sits up and settles between your thighs again. He doesn’t need to stretch you out from how wet you are, and you’d probably kill him if he tried to do more foreplay at this point.

He slides into you without warning and the impact has you moaning far too loud for your own good.

“You’re always so fucking tight for me, peach,” He reminds you, his strokes gradually wind up faster until you’re shaking underneath him. 

He pushes your leg up to hit you deeper than before, and the sudden movement springs tears up to your eyes. 

You can’t hold back your whining anymore, but how could you when he’s practically ramming into you? 

“Shit, Kwan,” He knows he has you in the palm of his hand when you call him that, the name you only use for him in the bedroom. 

You finally look up to see his face and he’s a goner. He’s so concentrated on you that his eyes have gone completely black, lust overtaking anything else. You almost want to pull him closer until you hear your phone vibrate.

Your mind is broken out of the trance instantly.

“For fuck’s sake,” You look at your phone before looking at him again.

“Answer it,” He hasn’t slowed down his movements and you think you’re imagining his response.

“What?”

“You heard me,” He raises his eyebrows. 

You eye him again before picking up the phone and bringing it up to your ear. 

“Hello?” You turn your head to the side to avoid his glance. It’s his secretary, calling you for god knows what reason.

It was after 6 pm at this point, and it was definitely something that could’ve waited for the next business day, so you can’t hide your disdain.

“Look at me,” He whispers. You glare at him and he smirks. You’ve been murmuring your way through the call, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Yeah, I’ll let him know,” You breathe out gently, trying to hold your composure. You notice him moving his hands to your chest, palming your breasts in his grip. It forces a small moan out of you and he bites back a smile.

She doesn’t seem to notice though, as she continues with her train of thought.

“Just email me everything and I’ll take a look at it when I can,” You can’t believe you’re functioning halfway normally with his relentless pace. You can feel your orgasm approaching and it’s almost pathetic how hard you’re trying to fight it off on this call.

You screw your eyes shut and Seungkwan leans down, placing his head in the crook of your neck. It forces you to hold your arm up with your phone still pressed precariously against your ear.

He starts pressing kisses against your neck that she can almost certainly hear on the other line.

You could kill him.

“Okay, thank you, bye,” You rush through your words and hang up, throwing your phone onto the floor instantly.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” You whimper. He laughs against your skin and moves to your mouth. You’re both still shaking from how hard he’s slamming into you, and you’re dangerously close to cumming around him. 

“That kind of focus is what I pay you for,” He knows you’re close and it’s his version of praising you, in a backhanded sort of way.

“You don’t pay me enough,” You whine pathetically, you grab onto his hair to ground yourself.

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” He kisses you so deeply, knowing that you could cum at any moment.

“I bet you wanna cum, huh?” He teases.

“Please, please I can’t take it anymore,” You beg and he finally grants you mercy.

“Cum for me,” He whispers into your ear, he finally lets you go and the coil inside you snaps instantly.

You let your head tilt against the headboard as you flood around him, you can’t tell how much you’ve cum until you feel the wetness seep out underneath you. 

He doesn’t stop moving, forcing you into overstimulation as he fills you with his cum moments later. His moans sound strangled against your skin, but he’s satisfied by the way he sighs.

After a few minutes, he finally leans up to kiss you on the mouth. It’s far more passionate and sloppy than earlier, but you’re not complaining.

“Clean me up, now,” You let him have it as you try to regain your energy. He laughs at you and leaves one last kiss against your lips before getting off the bed.

“Anything for my favorite campaign manager,” He calls out as he disappears into the bathroom.

—

You wake up to the sight of Seungkwan’s face against your shoulder. His cheeks are slightly fuller than normal, and you chalk it up to morning puffiness. He’s quite pretty when you don’t let yourself think about the technicalities of this.

You almost think you missed it, but you feel a slight movement against your leg.

“Are you fucking humping me?”

“Maybe,” He rasps out. His length is hard against you and you sigh.

“Are you gonna do something about that?” You retort.

“I wanna finger you before you run out of here, at least. I can handle the other part,” You picture him jerking off and promptly regain focus before you get too horny for your own good.

“It’s the weekend, where would I even go?”

“Well, you don’t ever linger,” He kisses your cheek and the realization hits your chest. You always get away before you can consider the weight of all this, making your hookups with him just fleeting memories amongst the hustle of your everyday life.

You think you can afford this, just once.

“Fine. Don’t get greedy,” You face him and give a peck on his lips. He wastes no time before slipping two fingers into your core. You can’t deny how good it feels, how wet you are for him already with no prep. 

You suck his fingers in instantly and you both let out quiet moans. 

“Does that feel good, peach? Do you like it when I make you fall apart like this?”

“Yeah,” You moan against his mouth before capturing his lips in a kiss. You’re deliberately sweet with it, cupping his face with your hand.

You hook your leg across his hip to trap him further into your hold. You’re too tired to be mean, too tired to come up with some witty comeback. His fingers curled inside of you so precisely that it made you want to cry from pleasure. 

He knows your body well, and you wanted to enjoy it.

Your hips start to rut against him and you highly doubt that you’ll make it out of his apartment without being split open again.

He starts to move faster after you make your desperation known. He uses his free hand to grab your ass, gently kneading his fingers against your flesh.

With all of this stimulation, you press yourself against his lips and he swallows your moan with a long kiss.

“Just let go, okay? Let me take care of you,” He breathes gently against your lips.

You’re done for, cumming around his fingers the moment he finishes speaking. It takes a moment for you to come to your senses, but you feel him plugging your cum back inside you. 

It’s terrible how good he is to you, how enamored you are with him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He mutters with a smile.

“Like what?”

“Like you wanna kiss me again, or else you’re not leaving this bed,” He turns away from you with a gentle pat on the head.

He’s awful, you’re sure of it, but you know the butterflies will be fluttering inside your stomach long after you make it back home.

[obsessedtomone]

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 7 - Anomalies▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤ Deciding against going in and torturing yourself for once, you turn on your heel to go home. You’ve been drained enough as it is, you don’t also wanna deal with the final fucking boss.

Then you suddenly bump into someone.

The smell of his distinct intoxicating—and probably unnecessarily expensive—cologne hits you first. ◢

Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight Updates every Monday!

Chapter 7 - Anomalies

You sigh.

Two whole days have passed since your phone call with Shigaraki. Both of them were a total fucking blur. You ended up spending most of your time at Taylor’s place, drinking yourself to sleep and watching shitty chick flicks, where you could almost distract yourself from reality.

Almost.

That was, until you finally got a call from the university.

Tapping your foot anxiously, you’re standing in front of the dean’s office. They called you in, because the circus finally reached the faculty’s door. You really didn’t want to be in school right now.

It was really difficult to dress more inconspicuously than you usually did, when you already looked like a nobody most of the time. A nobody that everyone fucking recognizes now.

Opening the door to his office, the dean gestures for you to enter. As soon as you’re seated, he initiates the conversation.

“You see, I’m certainly aware that it’s no longer as acceptable to bring this up these days…but back in my time, you’d just get expelled for doing the kind of stuff you kids get up to these days.” The older man leans in from his seat with a grimace. He fixes you a stern gaze and you shift uncomfortably in your chair. His disapproval being obvious, and his unnecessary judgment affecting you. You wanted to roll your eyes at him so badly, but you’re still somehow able to maintain a shred of composure.

What a tool.

“I’d like you to understand the gravity of your actions. You should know exactly why we called you in today. This is not just about having fun or blowing some steam off, no matter how stressful studying may be,” he gestured with his hands like a politician would. “With smartphones and social media nowadays, everything spreads like wildfire. Not only that but you’re also representing the entire school, not just yourself. You’re very aware of the position we offered you…” his hands clasp together, thoughtfully.

“Normally we’d just expel you and get over it, but I’d like to give you the chance to explain yourself before we do. I get that you’re young and want to have fun, but this is reaching beyond such silliness.”

A headache is beginning to form in the center of your brain, and you start feeling agitated, one of your eyes slightly twitching at intervals. You claw at the edges of the seat and your hand starts cramping up. It was becoming really hard for you to be able to sit still in and passively take it.

“And this will be my own personal opinion but,” Never in a million years, could you have guessed what the head of faculty was going to spit at you.

“–a lock that can be opened by many keys is, in truth, only a broken lock.”

If your eyes widened any more, they would’ve popped out of your head.

“Sorry?” you lean forward into your chair, giving him a chance to reconsider.

The dean clears his throat and adjusts his tie uncomfortably. As if he had any right to.

“You heard me, young woman. You shouldn’t sleep around with so many people. What would your future man think of you? Do young people these days have no shame anymore?”

Yeah, alright, this guy definitely jerked off to Shigaraki’s thread as well. You audibly gagged.

In a fit of rage, you got up, and slammed his desk. The dean flinched.

“Now listen here, young la–”

“No, you old creep, you damn well listen to me, before I report you to the education ministry for your inappropriate conduct, alright?” your voice had grown significantly louder, seething with anger.

He’s shut up.

“You want to get me expelled?” You circle around, hands around your back, calculating. “Not only one of your top students, but also the only poor fucking moron in this elitist ass university who’ll let you parade around as you please as your token little high achiever? Yeah?” you say, letting the calm fury take over for you.

Sure you’ve lashed out at teachers before, but this was the first time you ever confronted a person of higher position. Shigaraki was dead set on ruining your life, but you’ll be damned if you let another sleazebag talk down to you right now. Especially not this joke of a headmaster, who spends his nights browsing reddit only to slut shame students during the day.

You’re not sure if talking major shit to someone who could literally take away all your privileges will get you expelled, but thinking things through has never really been one of your strong points.

“I’m at your fucking beck and call whenever you need an idiot wearing your stupid little tight uniforms, to appeal to dumb investors and future student debtors with my pitiful life, am I not? ‘Look, kids! We are so generous to the lower class. Because of our great scholarship program, even degenerates with no future prospects will thrive and have the chance to become the best at our institution!’” you bark out a sardonic laugh and the headmaster frowns at your audacity.

“Tell me old man, if you expel me now, who is ready to take my place and willingly become your little puppet?”

“You’re out of line, Miss L/N, and I suggest—”

“I suggest you shut the fuck up and listen very closely to me. What you and the whole fucking university had the absolute pleasure of viewing, is nothing more than revenge porn. A very fucking serious crime.”

A flash of confusion crossed his face, making him pinch his eyebrows. For a second, you felt your gut filling with hope. Maybe he’ll understand after all.

“What? But—” he took a moment to think before opening his mouth again. “That doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you’re jeopardizing the institution and—”

“And, the videos and the contents were aaaall taken against my consent. I was young and intoxicated. Do I really have to spell it out for you?” you smile angrily. “It means that I did not consent to the footage being filmed, its publishing on the website, or the content in it. I’ll let you in on something, though. I’m sure you’ll love this.” you say, feeling the sweat building up under your armpits.

You hope it wouldn’t show.

I know exactly who the culprit is. And I’ll bet on my entire fucking scholarship that you know him too.” your admission brought a scowl on the principal’s face, but he still waited for you to go on with your little charade.

“So humor me. How famous of a character is Mr. Shigaraki fucking Tomura, among the members of the faculty board? He must have reached your dainty little ears by now with his beautiful criminal record, has he not?”

The dean's expression shifted from plain annoyance, to one of pure disbelief.

“Mr. S-Shigaraki?”

“That’s what I said. Due to a minor altercation between him, me and Mr. Reynolds, Shigaraki put me on his little hit list and decided I should never be able to show my face in public anymore.”

Suddenly, an incredible idea came to you.

��Say, if I get expelled now, and I tell him that I tattled to you, what’s the chance you keep your job, knowing what you know and his family being who it is?”

It was a really dirty move—one that you weren’t sure it’d work, but you’ll be damned if you cared anymore. None of these assholes cared for you anyway.

The dean finally stands up and turns to the window. He didn’t talk back or kick you out right away, which told you he was weighing his options on which terrible outcome to avoid.

“After all we’ve done for you—all of your opportunities to grow…” he sighs and you think you’ll finally throw up. “Acting entitled and jeopardizing my position for your own personal gain—you’re really not all that different from that—that sorry excuse of a man.”

“Guess I’ve learned from the best.” you smiled another strained smile, hiding your shaking hand behind your back. Is he seriously comparing you to Shigaraki?

Fucking seriously?

“Do you think we can take the posts down and erase any trace of the incident?” he asks, already suspecting what the answer would be.

“No, he’s not a fucking idiot. A sock puppet account will pop up somewhere else every time we’d do that. It’ll be like playing virtual fucking whack-a-mole. It’s what I’d do…If I were him.” you felt your gut twist.

“What about going to the police, then?”

You sigh frustratedly, unable to believe how stupid this fucking guy was. Who the fuck died and put him in charge?

“What about it? Hello? Do I have to remind you who we’re dealing with? I’m sure you’ve dealt with him more than I had to. And his…dad, or whatever.” you say, feeling irritated. Your eyes dart around the room and land on some random shiny trophy collection in his office. You wanted to go home so badly.

“Mr. Reynolds didn’t actually quit.” the dean revealed, unprompted. “It was Mr. Shigaraki who actually forced him to retire. Or rather his…paternal figure.” Your eyes widen briefly before going back to your bored expression.

Of course it was.

Why was he telling you though, when all it did was confirm that your childish threats could actually work. He couldn’t be this stupid. There must be another reason.

“Is that so? Color me fucking impressed.” you mock him. “You want me to care when you were so ready to kick me out 10 minutes ago, it’s kind of pathetic, really.”

Maybe Taylor and this administrative asshole are right. Maybe you and him weren’t so different after all.

The thought made you wanna gag again.

“Whatever, just suspend me for a week. I’ll pretend like you didn’t threaten to expel me and you get to keep sitting on your cozy ergonomic throne. Since all of this will be pointed at me, you can pretend you don’t know anything and keep your hands clean.If you fucking dare to take me off the scholarship program, I might have to write a fucking letter and hand deliver it to Shigaraki’s fucking doorstep. We go down together. Don’t forget that, sir.”

The dean turned back to you and gave you a pathetic look of resignation, but you didn’t linger.

You turn around and head outside of the office, feeling stressed beyond belief. You had no fucking idea how to deal with Shigaraki, but at least this one problem was dealt with. At least you didn’t lose everything yet. The thought of winning for once brought a stupid grin to your face. Finally you get some sort of justice.

There were, however, some questions plaguing the back of your head. You ran your palm over your face as you walked down the hallway.

Did Shigaraki really get so pissed at old man Reynolds that he made him quit over a warning? Sounds on-brand but it doesn’t quite add up. And does he also feel this good, when he plays dirty and wins against his opponents?

Of course he does.

He’s Shigaraki Tomura, after all. ───────── A lengthy sigh escaped your throat as you stared holes into the classroom door in front of you. On your way from the dean’s office, it finally hit you that you’d have to sit next to that psychopath once again. Your earlier bad bitch morale boost was quickly leaving your body.

Deciding against going in and torturing yourself for once, you turn on your heel to go home. You’ve been drained enough as it is, you don’t also wanna deal with the final fucking boss.

Then you suddenly bump into someone.

The smell of his distinct intoxicating—and probably unnecessarily expensive—cologne hits you first.

“Ah—aaAchOO!” you sneeze all over him, when the smell of chemicals immediately overwhelms your sensitive nose.

“EW, FUCK! Don’t fucking sneeze on me, idiot!” he barks, wiping himself off but not backing away. You just had to run into the last person you want to interact with today (or fucking ever).

“Shut the fuck up. You were in my way and you fucking reek. Not my problem.” you wipe your nose with the back of your sleeve. His red eyes glancing down at his shirt for a second before they turn to glare at you.

“Yeah, well at least half the college isn’t waiting to see my pussy getting pounded every week, bitch. Also class is that way.” Shigaraki sneers at you, pointing towards the door that you wanted to get away from.

You roll your eyes, feeling maybe a tinge of sadness at his remark.

Your eyebrows pinch downwards.

“And who’s fucking fault is that, huh?” you place your hands squarely against his chest, giving him a light push. Maybe it was the earlier win, your exhaustion, or the way he was taking your situation lightly, but you felt confident enough to provoke him again.

“Yours, obviously.” he chuckles and flashes you a playful smile, one you haven't seen since the first day you properly met him. “It’s ‘kay, at least you’ve got a pretty one. Maybe you should switch careers and become a pornstar instead. I’d watch.” he remarks with another wry smile, attempting to lighten the mood, his joke falling flat.

You frown at that and he sees hurt in your eyes, making him smile wider—a gesture that angers you and prompts you to shove at him. Hard.

“Whoa—” he’s taken aback by the sudden force, but surprisingly lets you push him without resisting.

“WhOa!!!” you mock his stupid fucking voice.

You keep shoving him down the hallway, as hard as you possibly can.

For all the stress, the hurt and the pain.

For exposing you to more than two thousand people online.

For putting you in danger by convincing people it was okay to harass you.

For looking at you with that sickening soft look in his eyes.

For feeling dizzy and foggy, because of all those anxiety meds you took, just so you could barely function today—any day.

Just so you wouldn’t be afraid.

Of him.

Of the world.

Tears welled up in your eyes—despite how much you tried to will them away. When you shove him one final time, he trips on his legs and grabs your arm in the process–dragging you to hell with him.

“Shit!” you stumble forwards, audibly bumping heads in the process.

You rub your forehead with your eyes closed, realization sinking in.

Oh fuck, was he gonna be mad and say you assaulted him or something? Charge you with some shit? You didn’t have money for a lawyer, especially not one matching his daddy’s big pockets and you also didn’t want to end up in jail or with another misdemeanor. When you do open your eyes, though, the sight that greeted you was far from what you expected.

As if reenacted from a shitty romcom flick, you ended up straddling Shigaraki’s lap.

Leaning back and supporting his upper weight on his elbows, his shirt was slightly raised, exposing his surprisingly toned and pale torso.

Your brows angled downwards.

You thought rich boys were supposed to be smooth and cared for—like expensive porcelain.

Not littered with endless scars and bruises.

Dark, fresh patches of purple, and long lines of white healed tissue, were covering almost every patch of skin your eyes landed on. How…did he end up looking like this?

Hearing him exhale softly, you look up and then at your hand—your brain finally processing that you reached out and brushed his skin. His body visibly shudders under you, making your eyes snap back to his flushed face, where the pair of familiar angry crimson eyes were boring into your own.

For a moment, he didn’t look invincible anymore.

Instead he looked…vulnerable.

You grimace, wanting to pull back, but he grabs you by your wrist before you can, pulling you closer to him, feeling his warmth radiate against you. His face was now right in front of your own and you cursed to yourself when you subconsciously glanced at his chapped, parted lips.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you whisper with no bite, voice coming off too soft. It was way less angry than you should’ve been with him.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he replies honestly.

You search his face for any hint of insincerity, anything to make you snap out of it quickly, but you only find confusion.

By the time you regain some of your composure…you become painfully aware of your position. You were straddling him, sitting snugly against his lap, immediately feeling how hard—

“Don’t you dare fucking move.” he hisses at you, rosy blush covering his face down to his neck, when he too notices you figuring out the delicate position both of you found yourselves in.

He needed a moment to calm down, to compose himself, but you’re nothing if not a brat.

Fuck you and fuck your stupid orders, you think, experimentally rolling your hips against his in an attempt to further rile him up.

“Aaah, f-fuck—” Shigaraki lets out an unexpected whine, throwing his head back and already feeling overstimulated.

You feel electricity running through your body at the sound, making you buck your hips involuntarily while your hole clenched around nothing.

“S-Stop it, I’m serious.” he uselessly warns you again, voice raspy and dangerously low.

“Yeah? Gonna cum in your pants from a little friction?” you taunted him shamelessly. “Surely, our number one villain can handle a little more action. Don’t tell me you’re a pathetic quickshot that gets off on ugly bimbos dry humping him?” You roll your hips again, pressing harder this time.

Despite talking a big game, you can’t help but shiver every time your clit drags against the length of his cock, regardless of the layers of clothing that separated you.

“Fuck—I said stop it!” he snaps at you, eyes shut tight as he tries and fails to shove you off of him. He was breathing heavy and quick, the sight of his flustered face only spurring you on.

Grabbing his wrists and pressing his hands flat on the ground, you manage to pin him under you.

It makes you feel powerful like this, on top of the Shigaraki Tomura—the guy who desperately wants to completely and utterly destroy you.

“Did you fucking stop—nnh—when I t-told you to? When I begged you to?”

You didn’t give him time to answer, opting to repeatedly grind against him instead and feeling the familiar heat building up between your legs.

Eyes closed and back arching from your own pleasure, you try, but miserably fail to hold your own pathetic voice from moaning together with him. It felt—It felt fucking good. You wanted him to get you off—the thought of it leaving you feeling incredibly disgusted and stupidly aroused at the same time.

“Y-You…You fucking—hnng—brat...” he groans lowly, digging his nails into his palms and struggling not to go over the edge, but feeling painfully close every time you moved your hips, every time you spoke to him.

He almost lost it when he heard you moaning for him. It made his head spin, seeing you getting off on this too. Getting off for him. Because of him.

And he wanted so much more.

In a moment of weakness, you feel his hands slip away from your hold, fingers slowly creeping up your thighs, but before you can really think about it, he rolls you off of him and onto your back, desperately pressing himself—slotting himself—between your legs again. You look up at him in a daze, gasping and panting when he begins moving against you, quickly regaining control over the situation. The sight of your brows pinching and your soft whimpers turned him almost feral. He swallowed hard.

Were you always this fucking cute?

“You do understand, that—haah, that there’s going to be consequences to your actions, don’t you?” he groans into your ear breathlessly, rutting against you more violently. You’ll never admit how many times he’d be able to push you over with just his stupid fucking voice, or how fucking good it felt when he pressed himself into your slit.

You’d never admit it—but your traitorous body told him everything he needed to know.

And then he fucking kissed you. A tentative rough peck on your soft lips at first, to half silence your growing cries. Nobody else was allowed to hear you like this. Nobody but him, he quickly decided.

You gasp when he bites your lip and he takes it as permission to slip his tongue in, rolling it over your own with no technique, teeth clicking while he sinfully swallows your moans.

He eventually slows down, lips barely touching yours as you manage to catch your breath. A needy groan escapes you when he leans in to bite your neck so hard, you think it’ll leave a mark.

Shigaraki smiles against your throat, feeling on top of the world.

Just a second longer, he thought. A second longer before he’ll take you to the back of his car and fuck you senseless where no one can interrupt you.

“Shh, you don’t want to be caught while we’re still in the hallway, do you? Unless you’re into th—”

Your eyes widen and in an instant, you manage to shake him off of you.

What the fuck were you doing? In public? With him?

After all that shit he put you through?

“Hey,” he looked at you with obvious concern. You don’t pay attention, almost stumbling backwards again while you pick up your bag and start getting up.

“No, no, no, no—” a panic attack sets you off and you promptly get up to leave.

“Wait, don’t fucking go—! Goddamn it, just—wait!” he gets up and reaches for you, but you’re quick to pull away, bolting for the exit and out of his reach.

Always just out of reach.

Both of his hands move to his throat to dig into that familiar itch and scratch it until there’s nothing but pain and blood under his fingernails.

Tomura felt hurt.

You were so good for him a moment ago, and he was for you. Why were you acting this way now?

Why are you rejecting him, again?

He tried to push this feeling down, to not let it surface, but he wasn’t clueless as to what he felt, he just didn’t want to admit it. Rather he was taught not to admit weakness. To destroy it. To own it.

Why was it that you were so fucking different? He didn’t expect to feel or act any differently with you than he did with everyone else who pissed him off. To him, you were an anomaly. An anomaly he needed to destroy. An anomaly he wanted to own. An anomaly he—

Tomura’s breath hitched, eyes widening.

An anomaly he liked.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Okay, I haven’t been here in about a year and a half but I do remember that you like Transformers so I’m going to dump this idea here.

Okay, do you know what would be either angsty or crackish? Is it Optimus was a spaekeater. NOT turned into one but like had always been one.

Don’t remember who but someone had the brilliant idea that a sparkeater ate Orions spark but due to unavoidable fate had to get become Optimus instead. (Now that I think about that it’s kind of angsty)

Like that except it was a total accident. Sparkeater that wasn’t supposed to touch the shiny but it looked so delicious. Like telling a cat no. Well too bad, that shiny has the literal wisdom of the primes before it. Now you have to consider the ethics of eating prey or consider how vegetarianism works when your only source of food is literally the life source of other beings. It’s too much for a literal baby eldritch horror from the deepest pits of nightmares incarnate.

Minor hc : Not to mention how Sparkeaters only feel like people (have a cybertronian EM field) when they’re digesting sparks so the more sparks they have the more it’s like being in a crowded room with only one figure there.

Like everybody knows something is up with Optimus but think it’s only the otherworldly energy signature the Matrix has.

But my favorite love is cultural differences, so like maybe Sparkeaters go off a strength system so the strongest/smartest one gets the most sparks so has the most power. So the whole concept of a government or actual responsibility beyond child rearing is a completely foreign idea. Baby Bumblebee is his only comfort in this world, and his value only increases from cute pet to my only child, most beloved by all.

No idea how to work Optimus’s relationship with Megatron beyond weird misunderstandings. Like on one hand, every bot understands Megatrons and his stance against the council-backed Autobots. Meanwhile Sparkeater is like ‘oh, he give me the head of that annoying spark-prey-politician? is this friendship-court or mate-courting? Next time meet the greenspark-digger-leader will give friendly bite’ and like nearly chomps his hand off.

This reminds me of those alien has to live amongst humans and cannot give away alienness lest unimaginable torture are inflicted! Except it’s more like two raccoons (Sparkeater and Matrix) in a trench coat trying to save Cybertron as they know it. Which is not very well as one literally lives in the gutter and the other is some overly pretentious temple or something.

The analogy you gave off two raccoons in a trench coat made me cackle like a madwoman. I like this AU, it's fun and interesting with a lot of potential for angst.

[pigeonwhumps]

Memorial

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @fuckcapitalismasshole @ghost-whump @whump-tr0pes @rainbowsandwhumperflies @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Gemma and Joseph attend a memorial for the victims of the boarding schools for powered kids.

Joseph and Pat belong to @i-eat-worlds

2.1k

CWs: past death and loss, grief, past minor whump, implication of past alcohol addiction, past institutional whump, intrusive journalists, past blackmail

Gemma leans against the back wall of the small room and breathes out a long, slow breath. She needs to keep it together. She can’t blast holes in the building without her goggles.

Not that she would. There’s innocents here.

But seriously. ‘Thoughts and prayers’ are not going to erase the fucking torture she went through at that place they called a school. Nor are they going to bring back the people she’s lost. And she cannot stand to be around people who either think that or are callously pretending it’s true for another second.

She desperately wants a proper drink. But that would be a stupidly bad idea.

She hears the sound of movement from just outside the room and tenses. If that's a journalist, looking for innocent victims to use as fodder for their puff pieces about memorials and thoughts and prayers and oh, aren't the politicians sorry, and they're trying so hard, she's going to…

Well. She's not sure what she'll do. But it won't be pretty.

Fortunately for everyone, the man who stumbles in looks nothing like a journalist. No press pass for starters. Red eyes, tripping over his own feet, he looks far too upset for that.

He stops dead upon noticing Gemma, a few steps after entering. He's white with brown hair, dressed in INSUPA formalwear that she's sure would've been less unkempt earlier. He narrows his eyes.

“Who are you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she retorts. Just because he doesn't look like a journalist doesn't mean she's going to risk it.

“Joseph. No, wait, I… oh, fuck it.”

“Who are you here under?”

“INSUPA. You?”

“HAL.” Even after retirement, they still managed to drag her into this. “Fuck them.”

Joseph continues to stare. “Who’re you?”

“Gemma. Formerly Solar Flare, formerly a student of one of those fucking schools.”

“Fuck.”

That about sums it up, Gemma thinks.

“What about you? Why are you here? I assume you're not INSUPA’s official representative.”

“Whatever gave it away?” says Joseph dryly. Gemma snorts. “I… I'm not sure. Pat… she died. Six years ago. And she wouldn't have… but I don't know. INSUPA told me about it, I thought I should, but this place is just… what right do they have, to stand there and proclaim that the government is sorry, when the schools were partially run by them and they never would've shut if it wasn't for campaigners? What right do they have to talk about reparations and mourning when they killed people? Fuck!”

Gemma slides down the wall, clenching her fists. She needs to keep her anger inside. There's no training rooms or punching bag and she doesn't want to blind anyone by losing control.

But, damn.

She looks up at Joseph. “Pat. Tell me about her.”

Joseph sinks down and leans back against the opposite wall, closing his eyes. “She was brilliant. So alive. She was 17 when her school closed and she came to us, and she… she was amazing. Traumatised to hell, too. She was so young, y’know? She was so… you know. You must. Apologetic. Polite. Hurt. But she was incredible.” Tears are streaming down his cheeks, but he doesn't bother wiping them away. Maybe he knows there's not much point. “But her powers were dangerous. To herself most of all. And she pushed and INSUPA pushed and she… she had four years of freedom before INSUPA’s greed took her away.”

Gemma does a quick calculation. “21?”

“21,” Joseph confirms. “21 and she died because INSUPA wouldn't pull her out despite the knowledge that her next powers usage would likely be her last, because I couldn't save her, because nobody in authority cared enough about her, only her powers. She never got a childhood, she never got to be a teenager, her life was just getting started, and then she died and it's something no-one should've ever let happen. I should've done more.”

And, well. If Gemma knows about anything it's misplaced guilt. “It wasn't your fault.”

“Maybe not entirely. But she was my responsibility.”

“No. You did the best you could, I'm certain of it. It's the fault of the assholes who locked her up for seven– six years and then still never stopped using her. That's not you. I don't know how they even dare show their faces tonight.”

Joseph wipes his nose and looks at her blankly. “Because they're assholes. Assholes who have no shame.”

“Bet they think the schools should've stayed open too.”

“Some of them definitely do. Which is why I can't stay down there, because one more second around that counsellor who we know is working with the Costellos on that anonymous campaign to put more regulations in and fuck up more kids’ lives and I will be in prison for murder.” Gemma stares at him and he shrugs. “I have a friend monitoring the campaign. Just in case. They found out a few things.”

“We could blow up the building?” Gemma suggests. Joseph snorts wetly but she isn't joking. She could do it, she's sure.

“Maybe not. Maybe we leave the killing for another day.”

Gemma nods, barely able to see Joseph through her tears. Maybe.

“I should go back downstairs,” he croaks. “I should– oh, god, I need a drink.”

“Stay,” says Gemma, voice wet but calmer than she feels. “Fuck those assholes. They don't deserve any of your time.”

And Joseph doesn't move. Gemma can't see now but she doesn't need to to plot the brutal, bloody death of all the staff from her school and everyone else who's ever hurt someone she loves.

She doesn't know how long it is before she finishes that. There's a lot of them. But she breaks out of grieving for the scared and confused newly-enrolled 11-year-old inside her and the 21-year-old who died just as she was starting to become free and the childhood of the 14-year-old on the streets who'd had to hide so carefully to avoid being forcibly re-enrolled instead of being a teenager and Lian's dad –

Well, she breaks out of grieving all of them at once to Joseph's voice.

“I need to go. I can't stand it. This building, this memorial. I… I said I'd pop my head in, and I have. I can't stay for the unveiling. I don't want marble, or whatever the fuck that memorial is, I want Pat back.”

Gemma nods. She understands the sentiment. She'd rather have her childhood and her friends back than a memorial. They've apparently collaborated with ex-students for it, but that doesn't mean it's any good. She knows what the officials’ actions are worth. How much they actually listen.

“You have somewhere safe to go tonight?”

Joseph nods. “Aa– a friend, he's rented an apartment for a few nights. Get away from INSUPA for a bit.”

“Good.”

“What about you?”

She takes a shaky breath. “Staying with family. Let's get out of here.”

“Front entrance. The back's quieter but I'm not skulking out like I've done something wrong by actually grieving.”

“Okay. Okay.”

She lets Joseph pull her up and they head towards the sound of voices and clinking glasses. Typical politicians, schmoozing and networking during a damn memorial. She glances at Joseph and sees he's wearing the same disgusted look she imagines is on her own face right now.

For a moment, the sounds of glasses and obvious drinking remind her of her younger days, and– but she didn't drink it by the glass, did she? She drank it by the bottle, and–

No. No. She's been sober 22 years, she won't be derailed now.

They reach the door to the busy main hall and Gemma takes a deep breath.

“Ready?”

Joseph clenches his fists.

“Ready.”

And they head out into the crowd.

It's not that loud, but there's too many people. They're almost immediately identified, correctly, as some of those who lost people, probably due to their unkempt clothes and red-rimmed, puffy eyes. No-one here but survivors and relations (blood or otherwise) would look so upset. Maybe they should've taken a few seconds to tidy themselves up but she hadn't even thought about it. They're accosted from all sides, and somewhere in the midst of fending off politicians and journalists and the city’s ‘great and good’ she loses track of Joseph.

She stops, scanning the room. Where… ah. Over there. Attempting to fend off a journalist. But she can't get to him.

“Excuse me.” Gemma spins around, realising that in her search for Joseph she completely missed someone approaching. “Oh. Apologies for startling you. I just wanted to say sorry for your loss.”

Gemma looks the woman up and down scornfully. Well put-together, face set in a professionally upset expression, red and gold lanyard just like–

She squints at the ID card (why the fuck is the woman even still wearing it? It's not like a press pass) and her blood boils. She recognises that name, and even if she didn't she knows the logo, spent years working under its name. Fuck, no.

“HAL management, yeah?” The woman nods. “You found out that my friend's son was predisposed towards developing elemental powers and blackmailed him into going undercover in exchange for not getting his son sent to one of those fucking schools for having ‘dangerously unstable powers' as soon as he was old enough. You got him killed. More than that, you knew those schools were shitholes or you wouldn't have threatened him with one. So fuck you and your crocodile tears. Get the fuck away from me and don't come near me ever again or so help me.”

She takes one last, satisfied look at the woman's dumbstruck face and spins around, heading towards Joseph. She gets within earshot just in time to hear him say, “...and that's not a question you should ever be asking. Fuck you, you don't get to pry and find out who I've lost when you clearly don't care about the victims, you're just a predatory leech out for gossip, now get that camera and microphone out of my face.”

Gemma, unsticking her feet from the floor after listening to that satisfying answer, grabs Joseph's arm and tugs him towards the exit, barging past people as she goes.

“Come on. Let's just go. Before we get into any actual fights.”

They seem to have caused a bit of a scene, and people are hurriedly moving out of their way now. She drops Joseph's arm as soon as they get outside.

There's a bright flash from opposite the building. Joseph curses under his breath.

“More journalists.”

Gemma flips them off with both hands.

“I know where we can go,” mutters Joseph. “There's an alleyway to the side of the building, leading around the back. We can get to the surrounding roads from there.”

Gemma nods and follows him, the two of them walking briskly until he turns sharply into an alley, and then around another corner, and then onto a busy street. Her vision’s blurred with tears.

Fuck all of this. This isn't the memorial her friends would've wanted. It isn't much of a memorial at all, just a smokescreen to fool the public into thinking they care. Fuck all of them.

He stops, suddenly. “No-one will pay attention to us here. Trust me. Are you alright?” He pauses. “Stupid question. As alright as you can be.”

Gemma nods. “The woman… she blackmailed my friend and got him killed. That's all. It's…”

She doesn't know what to say, how to finish, but Joseph nods, like he understands anyway. “Reporter asked about who I'd lost. Like that's okay to ask, like I wasn't clearly distraught, like I'd ever spill the details of Pat’s life. They all just want juicy stories. It's disgusting.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, eyes glistening. “Still. At least it's all over for now, right? All the public shit anyway.”

She gives him as much of a smile as she can manage, not answering directly. They'll both be in deep shit for tonight, especially Joseph. He still works for INSUPA, he's wearing their uniform.

She guesses Joseph knows that though. So she goes with something else instead.

“My friends and I, we have a memorial garden. Well. Memorial allotment. If you ever want to plant something, or just sit there… let me know.”

Joseph nods, then clears his throat. “Thank you. I should… I need to… good luck.”

“And you.”

Gemma watches as he walks off into the night, shoulders hunched, definitely not in a straight line. He'll be okay.

And she needs to go back to her family. Aisling, Luiza. Her parents. People who she won't leave alone tonight, and who won't leave her. It's time to mourn away from prying eyes.

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 15

Part 14 | Part 16

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: I’m usually not a fan of spoiling my own work for readers, but I would like to quietly point out that from now on ALL warnings apply to the story. Happy reading ;)

Song: In the Air Tonight – Natalie Taylor

The air was thick around you. Professor Jonathan Moore quietly sat before you with an unreadable expression. You ferociously fought the urge to be the first to break the silence. You were familiar with all of the common tactics to get a person to talk and say perhaps more than they would’ve liked to share. So, you waited. Noting the soft ticking sounds of the antique carriage clock in the corner of the room. 

“Zoe,” Jonathan nodded. “She’s a very talented, young writer. I believe she’s got great potential.”

You took a moment to answer, eyes raking over the planes of his face. Jonathan had set the pace, opting to dance around it a little longer. Fine, you would dance with him. Let’s see how well he could manage before he gave away his true motives. 

“She is,” you agreed. “Although, I must admit she won’t let me read a lot of it. I think she’s a perfectionist in that way. Wanting to get it right before showing her work to anyone.”

Jonathan hummed contemplatively, stroking his beard. “And is that something you share? Being a perfectionist?”

Was he blatantly psychoanalysing you now? The hubris. 

“Oh, I’m not sure,” you chuckled. “That’s probably for my shrink to decide.”

“You seem to share your sister’s intelligence, at the very least.”

To the outside observer that would be a sweet, innocent compliment. Maybe even lingering on flirtation. But you regarded Jonathan with a similar unreadable expression as he shot you a small smile meant to disarm you. If he was under the impression that you would let your guard down around him, he’d have another thought coming. 

“Why, thank you,” you smiled. “But, one wonders, did you have anything specific you wanted to discuss about Zoe? Besides her academic progress, which as you mentioned is exceptional, all things considered,” you said, steering the conversation away from yourself.

Jonathan blinked. “Yeah, yes. I was simply wondering how she’s recovering. I’m not exactly worried about her being behind. I know she’s more than capable of keeping up.”

The fact that this killer had been able to keep such a keen eye on your sister enraged you. There was no way you could keep your sister safely locked away in a cage somewhere, you knew that. But when dangerous men were lurking around her like this, you were almost tempted to. Yet, Zoe’s happiness was the most important thing to you. And you would never in a million years do that to her. Or anyone, really. It was unnecessarily cruel. 

A little torture, a little bit of fun before ending your victims’ lives. Sure. But nothing long-term. Which is why the man sitting in front of you gave you goosebumps. Rhys had told you a fair share of what Jonathan had been up to in his previous life as Joe. And it wasn’t pretty, to say the least.

“I can honestly tell you, she’s doing remarkably well,” you answered with a genuine smile this time. “She was in the hospital for a couple of days before being released. I’ve mainly been taking care of her and her sister since then.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” Jonathan returned your smile. 

He was quiet again, gathering his thoughts. Or, he really just wasn’t much of a talker.

“Do you think she’ll be able to come back to class soon?”

“I think so, we’ve been gathering quite the collection of books that she needs to catch up on.”

“I’m sure Zoe will get through them in no time. It will be good for her to return back to normal,” Jonathan pointed out.

“Yes, definitely,” you agreed. Again, suppressing a massive surge of discomfort at his cordial words.

It felt like a natural conclusion to your conversation so you decided to stand up, Jonathan following your lead. Really, you just wanted to get out of here. The psycho gave you the creeps. 

You draped the strap of your purse over your shoulder, turning your back on Jonathan to let out an inaudible sigh as you quietly made your way to the door.

“Oh, one final thing,” Jonathan called.

You halted, schooling your expression once more before turning around to face him with a questioning frown. “Yes?”

You noticed an indiscernible look pass over him, his posture more rigid now than before. It gave you all the forewarning you needed for Jonathan’s parting blow. The main reason he asked to speak to you in private.

“Do you know Rhys Montrose by any chance?”

“I do,” you instantly replied, sincerely and light. You were certain Jonathan had seen you with Rhys, so the best option was to pretend to be the innocent woman here. 

And you were right, Jonathan didn’t look surprised at all, indeed already aware that you two were acquainted. Fucking tabloids. You briefly contemplated silently killing off their editors. You internally scoffed. Was that Rhys’ influence talking to you? Or was that just you, finally allowing yourself to take matters into your own hands. You shook off the thought for now.

“Are you a fan of his book?” You quipped, deciding that taking the lead in this conversation was the best course of action. 

Jonathan inclined his head, stepping around his desk. “Yes. His memoir was… Well, honestly, one of the best ones I’ve ever read,” he admitted, slightly scornful.

You let a small, amused smirk tug at your lips.

“You know, being a literature professor, that’s high praise. I’ll be sure to let him know,” you jabbed, trying to get a reaction out of him. 

It worked. Jonathan’s eyebrows shooting up as he quickly clenched and unclenched his fists.

“You’re friends, then?”

“We are.”

Silence.

“And you know him well?”

“I suppose I do, yes.”

You opted to answer his short questions with short, truthful answers. You didn’t want to disclose too much information but also didn’t want to seem uncharacteristically closed off. Though, Jonathan was American. Perhaps that would be his take on British culture in general. Nevertheless, you were definitely not telling him about how you and your sisters had been staying with Rhys.

“I see.”

You canted your head. “Why do you seem so interested in him?” You asked innocently, a curious lilt to your voice.

Another beat of deafening silence.

“No reason,” he cleared his throat. “Like you said, fan of his work.”

“Right. You can join the club with the rest of us,” you laughed kindly.

The defeat in Jonathan’s voice had given you the impression that he believed your pretence. More specifically, believed that you thought you knew Rhys, but had in fact not a clue as to his true nature. Which was what you needed. Zoe and Sadie would be safe as long as Jonathan didn’t know you were in on it.

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way. Zoe may be feeling much better but she still needs to take it easy.”

“Of course, of course,” Jonathan said, absentmindedly. He strode past you to chivalrously open his office door for you. You thanked him as you said your goodbyes, happily walking out of the stifling room.

You shot him one last glance over your shoulder before he closed the door behind you. His shoulders were sagged and a persistent scowl was carving its way onto his face. It confirmed your hunch that you had indeed successfully passed his test. For now.

––

The sky was ablaze with the fire of the setting sun by the time you and Zoe made it to your sisters’ new flat. 

You had prepared a light dinner, a chicken salad. You’d all dug in, and of course you still helped Sadie with cutting up her food. She complained she felt like an absolute baby and Zoe had snickered, saying she was. 

You’d laughed with them, but your mind was somewhere else. You were still going over the conversation you had had with Jonathan, analysing every tiny detail. Trying to imagine how the conversation could’ve progressed if you’d said the one thing instead of the other.

Your sisters even called you out on it, and you had to admit it was kind of ridiculous. You should go with your gut and trust that your instincts were correct. Jonathan was none the wiser. 

After dinner, when your sisters had gone off to their rooms to do god knows what, you’d sat down on the couch, gazing out into the evening sky. It had been such a beautiful day with clear skies that you could make out a couple of stars. You were quite sure it was Venus staring straight back at you. 

This was how you used to cope with your problems. Otherwise sitting on your windowsill, looking up at the stars to try to find the hidden answers to your struggles between them. You sighed, shaking your head. You no longer had to keep all your thoughts bottled up inside of you. There was someone in your life now who was willing to listen. It was still new to you, but you felt a persistent need to tell Rhys. And if you were brutally honest with yourself — you missed him. So, you reached for your phone.

<<< Are you home?

His reply was almost instant.

>>> I am.

<<< Can I come over? There’s something I need to talk to you about

>>> Of course. I’m just finishing up in my office upstairs.

Ah, yes. Tomorrow was the big day. Finally, Rhys Montrose would officially announce his mayoral candidacy. 

<<< Okay, I’m on my way

And with that, you stood up. You knocked on both of your sisters’ doors, opening Sadie’s first. You told her you’d be going out, not knowing what time you’d be back.

“Where are you going?” Sadie asked, taking off her headphones.

“To see Rhys,” you replied apprehensively.

“Oh, then I know full well when you’ll be back,” Zoe shouted from behind her closed door before opening it with a swing. 

She stood in the opening, regarding you with a knowing smirk. “Early morning hours. Perhaps she’ll even stay for breakfast.”

The way she spoke the word ‘breakfast’ insinuated all kinds of things except for a regular cup of tea and some cereal. 

“Okay,” you cut in abruptly. “I’m leaving. Bye, now.”

The echoing laughter of your sisters stayed with you as you descended the stairs and walked off into the night. You hadn’t thought of putting on a jacket, the air still warm enough. 

You took the tube to Primrose Hill, walking the short distance from the station to Rhys’ home. The lights downstairs were out, which told you Rhys was likely still upstairs working. You took out the spare key he had given you and opened the door, slipping into the darkness. Faint music came from up the stairs, so you followed it all the way up to his home office. The door was partially opened and you peeked through. Rhys was sitting behind his desk, typing away on his laptop, probably working on his speech for tomorrow.

You pushed the door open, the ensuing creaking noise announcing your presence. Rhys looked up from his work, the creases in his forehead disappearing when you fully entered the room. The makeshift bed on which you’d slept when you stayed here had already been stashed. Any remnant of you using this space as your bedroom was gone. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Rhys asked, turning off the soft rock music he’d been listening to. He stood up with a sigh, stretching out his back as he walked around his desk to meet you. 

Rhys sweetly kissed your cheek, and you faintly smiled at his gesture. He stepped back, looking at you expectantly. But before you were able to utter a single word, Rhys’ face already hardened. Apparently, he could read the worry on your face as clearly as day.

“What is it?” 

You sighed, looking over his shoulder for a moment before refocusing your attention to him. “I met Jonathan earlier today.”

Rhys was silent, a little surprised at that.

“I went to Darcy College with Zoe to pick up some of her books and we sort of ran into him. He asked if we could speak in private, and I agreed,” you began. 

You recounted what happened nearly word for word, noticing Rhys’ frown deepening and his jaw clench bitterly. His anger was slowly but surely boiling away underneath the surface with every new piece of information you presented to him.

“I don’t think he suspects me. So, we’re good for now,” you concluded.

Rhys huffed. “We’re not good, Y/N. He clearly doesn’t bloody understand what it means to back the fuck off.”

“Like I said, he doesn’t know who I am. How could he, in all actuality, know that I’m ‘off limits’?” You shot back, trying to temper his growing anger.

“That doesn’t fucking matter. He recognised you. Has seen you with me. Figured you could possibly be important to me. And then had the nerve to approach and interrogate you,” Rhys seethed.

You chewed your lip. You had nothing to say to that. Rhys was pissed off, there was no doubt about it. And, to be fair, he did make a good point that wasn’t completely unfounded. 

“You know what? I think someone needs to show him what the consequences are of daring to come near you,” he grumbled. 

Rhys turned to march back to his desk, closing his laptop with force before walking back in your direction.

“What are you gonna do?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Rhys,” you warned. 

He still proceeded to ignore you, walking past you, out into the hallway. You groaned in annoyance, following after him and firmly grabbing his wrist to pull him back to face you. 

He looked down at you with a blank stare, his eyes cold and dark. You quickly recanted your earlier observation. He wasn’t just angry. No, he was fucking livid. A part of you reeled at the sheer projection of dominance and will to protect you, no matter the cost. But this was going to end in a disaster if you didn’t intervene right this second.

“Rhys, listen to me,” you spoke softly, your other hand landing on his tense shoulder. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? He doesn’t know. Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

“He won’t know a goddamn thing ever again when I cut off his balls and put them right down his gullet,” he said icily, the vein in his neck pulsing menacingly.

“Bloody hell, Rhys. You were the one who convinced me Jonathan would be the perfect pawn in our larger plan,” you accused, starting to lose your own temper. 

“Yes. Until he wouldn’t. Until he would start running his mouth, or in this case threaten you.”

“He didn’t threaten—,” you paused mid-sentence, exasperated with him. His rage was obviously running away with him. 

You let go of Rhys, crossing your arms in defiance. “What about our last warning? Huh, what about that? You can apprise him of the bribe money and the off-shore account being set up in his name. That will make him back off.”

Rhys’ eyes flickered. Somewhere, beneath all the animosity, he knew you were right. He knew that the plan you’d come up with was still the best play. 

“He doesn’t deserve to live after—”

“No, he doesn’t. I’ve frankly never understood why you wanted him to live at all. But now he’s become an integral part to our plan. Or, our back-up plan, really. Nevertheless, we need to be sensible about this,” you implored.

His eyes shifted between yours and you only noticed then how close you were. You’d involuntarily moved into his space when you’d tried to persuade him of some rhyme or reason. But it also accomplished something else, the heat of the moment evidently heightening the slumbering sexual tension between you.

“Rhys,” you stressed, cupping his cheeks, willing him to listen. “You have to trust me. We do this together, remember?”

You felt his jaw slacken beneath your palms and he momentarily closed his eyes in defeat. You knew Rhys was begrudgingly coming to his senses, acknowledging that you were right. The mention of trust and together ultimately convincing Rhys to let the savage urge to skin Jonathan alive rest for now. 

“Okay?” You prompted.

Rhys nodded almost imperceptibly. At last, surrendering to agree with you. You’d successfully been able calm him down with your touch, just like he’d done to you many times before. The realisation made a warmth and fondness spread through you. 

It was then that Rhys seemed to clock how little space actually remained between you. He couldn’t help but longingly glance down at your lips. His anger slowly starting to become overshadowed by another powerful emotion, one which was filled with a deep yearning.

The elastic band of your stirring desires was about to snap, there was no denying it. Your pulse quickened and you brushed your thumb over his cheek to make him look up at you. You needed the verbal confirmation.

“You and me, right?”

The look Rhys gave you made an overwhelming wave of pure need for him crash through you. His eyes darkened once more. Not out of malice this time, but because of an aching want for you. 

“You and me,” he repeated, his own hands moving to cradle your face. 

You sighed softly, leaning into Rhys’ touch. You knew it then and there. You wanted him. All of him. There was nothing holding you back anymore. And frankly, you weren’t willing to let anyone or anything hold you back from getting what you wanted ever again. That time was over. 

You briefly closed your eyes and when you reopened them, you lustfully stared up at him. Rhys was powerless to resist you and without hesitating, he crashed his lips to yours.

Your entire focus zeroed in on him and you forgot about everything else — the outside world and all of its many issues and problems you faced, faded away. His soft lips moved entirely in-sync with yours in a heated tangle, devouring each other as if you’d been waiting for the other for a lifetime. And in a way, you felt like you had. 

The feeling of Rhys’ body rubbing against yours made you moan into the kiss. He groaned in response and started moving you backwards until your back hit the wall behind you. Rhys anchored you in place, deepening the kiss as his hands wandered down your body. You tangled your hands into his hair and tugged slightly, making him groan again. 

Rhys licked your lower lip and you parted your lips without objection, letting his tongue slide into your mouth to beautifully battle with yours. 

It was a possessive kind of kiss. Full of pent-up emotions and untamed desire, fuelled by whatever anger and fear Jonathan had been able to ignite within Rhys at the prospect of you being alone with that man. Even if he hadn’t hurt you. 

Rhys’ hips surged forward and you made a wanton noise at the feeling of his stirring erection pressed securely against your hip. Heat spiralled through you like a heavy, pulsing thing. You arched your back when you felt his hand slide underneath the hem of your dress and start exploring. Fuck, you couldn’t take this any longer, your patience severely lacking. 

“I think it’s time you showed me your bedroom,” you panted into his mouth.

“Mind reader.”

And before you knew it, you were stumbling into Rhys’ bedroom. You weren’t able to take in much of your surroundings, Rhys invading all of your senses. His hands were everywhere, mapping out your curves. 

Rhys bunched up the ends of your dress in his palms, roughly lifting the thin material over your head. You swore you heard the faintest rip of fabric but Rhys didn’t spare you another minute to think about it as his lips were already back on yours, claiming your full attention.

You vaguely registered him unclasping your bra with one hand. Rhys slipped the straps down your arms and tossed the undergarment to the side. His right hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple. You canted your head to the side to give Rhys more access as his full lips descended onto your neck.

You moaned, your hands moving underneath his sweater to explore the chiselled lines of his body. You made a negative sound when Rhys leaned back, taking his delicious warmth with him. A hint of a smirk played on his lips as Rhys held your gaze, slowly dropping to his knees in front of you. The sight alone enough to make you groan.

The air around you was still buzzing with an insatiable want and hunger for the other, but everything seemingly slowed down then. It felt like the world had stopped turning for a moment. Rhys’ fingers delicately traced down your calves to your ankles, fidgeting with the clasp of your sandals. When he managed to unclasp them, he urged you to carefully step out of them and you did. 

Rhys paused, looking up at you with blown pupils. “Are you sure?” 

“I swear to god, if you stop now, I will kill you.”

Rhys grinned. “The big man surely knows you’re more than capable.”

You were about to sassily retort but you bit your tongue when you felt Rhys’ warm hands encircling your upper thighs, slowly trailing towards your hipbone. He hooked his fingers under your panties, pulling them down in one smooth motion.

You were standing in front of him, gloriously naked. Rhys sat back on his heels, savouring the moment as he looked up at you like you were a gift sent from heaven. You confidently gazed down at him as you moved your hand to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. He obediently opened his mouth, sucking lightly on your thumb. You felt more of that delicious heat rush through you at the sight before you, getting wetter by the second. 

You were certainly losing your sanity and Rhys clocked it, smirking again as he released your finger. He moved forward to lick a wet trail from your stomach to your ribs, all the way between your breasts up to your neck as he straightened back up to his full height. Rhys caressed your cheek with his left hand, his right landing heavily on your waist to pull you even closer.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Spread your legs for me, darling.”

And you gladly did as you were told, widening your stance a little. His right hand wandered from your waist, lower and lower towards the place you were aching to be touched. You looked desperately into his eyes, whimpering as you felt his fingers gently part your folds.

Rhys hummed approvingly at the slickness already present between your thighs, shooting you a pleased little smile. His exploratory fingers made you grab onto the back of his neck, forcing his mouth back on yours. Rhys kissed you languorously, his index finger slowly circling your entrance. You moaned into his mouth when his thumb brushed your sensitive clit. 

He took that as an invitation to move his tongue willingly against yours whilst easily sliding a single finger inside of you. Your lips parted on an exhale at the sensation. It’d been too bloody long. You also briefly contemplated if you’d ever been this turned on in your life before. Rhys understood and spoke to your deepest and darkest desires, and it seemed that the sexual ones wouldn’t be neglected. 

The tension between you had been building for the past couple of days. Well, if you were honest with yourself that tension had been there from the start. But it started to crescendo the moment you returned from killing Lockwood. It might be twisted and other people would likely never get it, but you both did. A silent understanding between the two of you. Your bond filling itself with a yearning and desire for the other that ultimately led you to be so fucking wet right now.

Rhys leaned back to watch you when he unapologetically added another finger. His intense gaze solely focused on you as he analysed your every reaction to figure out what you liked — what would ultimately make you see stars. Insistently repeating those touches and angles that made you want to jump two feet into the air if it wasn’t for Rhys’ strong arm wound tightly around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible. 

You gasped at the delightful pressure, eagerly moving your hips to meet the thrusts of his hand. You were already so close to the edge, it was almost humiliating. But you honestly couldn’t give a damn. Not when Rhys was hovering over you, looking at you like that, hand buried deep inside of you. His thumb had been lazily grazing your clit, slowly stoking the heat building within you.

Rhys pressed his cheek to yours. “Are you going to come for me like a good girl?” He rasped in your ear.

You moaned loudly into his neck when he didn’t wait for an answer, instead proceeding to circle your bundle of nerves in earnest. He gradually picked up the speed and you clawed at his back, his fingers pumping inside of you at an unrelenting pace. Apparently, Rhys knew exactly how to make your body sing, giving you what you so desperately needed. It made you shiver when you realised this was only his hand, already starting to anticipate what would come after. 

The combination of his warm breath on your skin, the sureness of his skilled fingers and the sultry tone of his voice as he kept whispering encouraging words into your ear, ultimately teetered you over the edge. 

“That’s it, Y/N. That’s it,” Rhys panted. Your pleasure nearly making him come undone himself.

You bit the juncture of where his neck met his shoulder to keep from crying out, clenching down on Rhys’ fingers that were steadily guiding you through your orgasm. Rhys groaned and he pressed his lips to your neck, leaving behind a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses. The pulsing waves of pleasure just went on and on, seeming like a never-ending bliss you wanted to drown in.

His fingers slowed when you at last started making slight protesting sounds. It was all too much. He was too much. Rhys had arguably just given you one of the best orgasms of your life. 

You felt a little hazy, grateful for his arm around you and him supporting most of your weight. It took you a moment to fully come back to your senses, Rhys using that time to place kisses along the side of your mouth. Your eyes fluttered, feeling his hands wander freely over your body.

You were still drunk on that euphoric feeling when you moved your hands from where they were gripping Rhys’ still-covered shoulders to pull on the ends of his sweater. He was wearing too many goddamn clothes.

Rhys chuckled as he let you ungraciously yank the sweater over his head. “Was that not satisfying enough for you?”

Your hands landed on his now naked chest and you leaned in to brush your lips against his. 

“On the contrary,” you said, softly biting his lower lip. “But I need you inside me. Right now.”

Rhys’ eyes filled with lust, his full lips curling upwards, conveying all of the dirty things he wanted to do to you. Without warning, Rhys effortlessly picked you up and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. You whined when your sensitive and still throbbing core made contact with the rough cloth of his trousers.

“As you wish,” Rhys murmured before refastening his lips to yours as he walked you both over to his bed. He simply couldn’t stop himself from kissing you. You were fucking irresistible.

Rhys lowered you to his bed, quickly straightening again to discard of the remaining clothes he still wore. You let your eyes roam his physique unabashedly, taking in his naked form. You knew he kept himself in impeccable shape, and it showed. Rhys smirked when he crawled over you. 

“Like what you see?”

Rhys pressed his body to yours, making space for himself in between your thighs. You playfully smacked his chest and he pretended to be hurt, which made you softly laugh. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, leaning down to claim your mouth again. 

You felt his firm erection pressed to your lower abdomen. You’d already taken notice of the magnificent size of him when he’d self-assuredly undressed himself in front of you, but the feeling of him against your naked body was something else. You rolled your hips suggestively, the friction making Rhys moan into your kiss. He was just as desperate for it as you.

You hooked your leg around his waist and grabbed onto his shoulders before levering the both of you over, rolling Rhys until he was on his back. Rhys breathed out sharply, staring up at you.

Perched on top of his thighs, your hand found his hard and wanting cock. You gently squeezed, eliciting another delightful moan. Rhys regarded you with half lidded eyes when you moved over him, lifting your hips to line him up. You sighed appreciatively when you felt Rhys’ hands gripping your thighs to help stabilise you.

Your hips teasingly circled his cock, dragging him between your folds a couple of times to spread your wetness over his length before you slowly sank down on him. You took him inch by inch, marvelling at the stretch, holding his gaze until he completely filled you to the hilt. Rhys groaned, fingers now digging roughly into your hips. You whimpered at the feeling of being so full, throwing your head back in ecstasy. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” Rhys grunted when you involuntarily clenched your inner walls around him.

“Yeah,” you agreed, planting your hands firmly on his chest. 

You lifted yourself up and then dropped back down onto him, repeating the movements slowly and steadily, allowing your body to adjust to him and his blessed size. After a minute or two, you started to set up a fast and fierce rhythm, shoving yourself down on him with sheer abandon.

Rhys looked up at you in awe, lips parted as he let out soft grunts of pleasure. Your nails raked over his chest, leaving behind faint red lines. He didn’t seem to mind though, instead focusing on lifting his hips in time to meet your thrusts. “Christ, you’re a vision,” Rhys said, his voice rough.

You could only moan in answer to that, continuously shifting your hips to find the one angle that made you want to crawl out of your own skin. Rhys knew exactly when you did. Your nails digging into his chest as you called out his name. 

Rhys unceremoniously sat up, his abs flexing as he wrapped his arms around you, making you sink down on him a little further. “Oh, god,” you mewled, holding onto his shoulders for support. 

“I know, my darling,” Rhys rumbled into your ear. “You feel so fucking good around me.”

Rhys tangled his left hand into your hair and tugged — forcing you to bare your neck for him. His lips descended on your pulse point and you moaned when he sucked a mark on your skin.

You felt him start to tremble beneath you and Rhys’ other hand moved between your sweaty bodies, fingers finding your clit once more. The delicate circles completely at odds with the brutal pace you’d set. It was the combination of those opposing sensory overloads that did it. You came hard for a second time that night, moaning uncontrollably. The rolling waves of bliss stealing your breath.

Rhys followed close behind you, groaning into your hair as his own orgasm ripped through him. He came in long pulses, his body shuddering against yours. 

When you both started to come down from your highs, you leaned back, slowing down your movements. You noted his messy hair and the look of pure bliss on his face. Rhys shot you a lazy smile, untangling his hand from your hair to smooth it back a little. It was probably just as wild and untamed as his. Perhaps worse. 

He started to soften inside you, so you levered yourself off of him with a sigh, collapsing next to him on the bed. Rhys laid back as well and turned onto his side, immediately reaching out to pull your body close to his.

You leaned in to kiss him and he returned it, softly moving his lips over yours. There was a striking gentleness there, wholly different from the utter desperation you’d felt before. Nevertheless, it was no less meaningful. 

“You are something else, Y/N,” Rhys murmured, reverent, propping up his arm to support his head with his hand. You mirrored him, delighted at his words. You traced his chest with your finger. 

“So are you,” you whispered softly. 

His dazzling smile caused an unfamiliar, warm feeling to blossom inside your chest. You acutely realised you truly and deeply cared for him. And that feeling ran much deeper than you’d previously thought.

Rhys shifted his weight then, clearing his throat. You frowned at his sudden change in attitude, running your hand through your unruly hair. The action made him glance up at you, a sheepish look passing over his face. 

Oh, this will be good, you inwardly smirked.

“So,” he pursed his lips. “Do you agree to inform Jonathan on his kind act of sponsoring Lockwood’s latest trip to the Mediterranean, next thing tomorrow morning?” 

He already knew you would. It’s what you demanded from him before. To take a breath, see the bigger picture, and most importantly — stick to the bloody plan. Even so, this was Rhys’ way of giving in, acknowledging he’d been a little overzealous with wanting to choke the professor to death. 

It’s okay, it happens to the best of us, you thought. As long as you were there for each other, to balance each other out, all would be well.

“Yeah, I agree,” you answered with a gentle smile. “And do you agree not to do anything rash?”

“As long as I can keep you here in this bed with me — then, yes.”

You snorted. “Right. I suppose that settles it.”

“Very well,” Rhys said, low.

He reached out to touch you again, running teasing fingertips over your side. You instantly jerked back, smacking his hand away. Rhys’ hand warily strayed back to his side as he narrowed his eyes at you. 

“You’re ticklish?” Rhys smirked, devilish.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Yes. Yes, I am,” you sighed, already knowing that this insight would become the death of you at some point. The teasing and wicked nature of the man telling enough.

“Well, well, isn’t that interesting,” he said, storing away the valuable information for later.

You groaned in annoyance, making him laugh. He really was insufferable. You promptly promised yourself you would find a way to get back at him. At some point. 

Rhys moved over you then, making you look up at him with suspicion. He briefly caressed your cheek before sliding his hands down your body, the simple touch causing want to flare bright and hot inside you once more.

“What? Did you think I was done with you?” Rhys asked playfully when he noted your quizzical expression, his hands pushing your thighs wider as he settled comfortably between them. 

He pressed a lingering kiss to your sternum, fingers cheekily squeezing your nipple. You keened as his mouth slowly trailed down your body, carefully avoiding the area where you needed him most. You felt that pulsing need for him return in ten-fold and without thinking, you callously threaded your fingers through his hair before taking a fistful into your hand. 

“Stop fucking teasing, then,” you demanded, already breathless, trying to steer his head down.

“Patience, my dearest, patience. Good things come to those who wait. And more importantly — behave.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t see you exercising patience when you so much as ripped my clothes off earlier.”

Rhys chuckled, his warm breath fanning over your core as he just hovered there. You stared at him with unfocused eyes, his hands hungrily rubbing your inner thighs, keeping them spread apart. 

“I promise you this, Y/N. One day I will make you beg for it,” he vowed, blue eyes sparkling with sinful desire as he finally bent his head, never breaking eye contact.

–––– 

A/N: My sincerest apologies for the inordinate amount of smut but it’s been a long time coming.

[tarisilmarwen]

Things Starfire is not allowed to do; these rules were created specifically because she has done them before at least once

Attempt to bake the Tamaranian holiday dish of “fire-bread” at 6 am, leading to the smoke alarms going off

Throw things at the television when the news is on out of rage (she was very disappointed to find out that Earthly politicians are no better than Tamaranian ones).

Engage in public discussion over the merits of a monarchy vs those of a democracy.

Help Beast Boy shave his barely existent facial hair. With her eye beams. Like Superman.

Challenge Cyborg to more than one eating contest every 3 months (“You’re going to make him sick, and we can’t afford any more food”)

Stay up past 11 pm watching the babies in the hospital 

Take home random animals from the park (this goes double for Beast Boy)

Verbally threaten Control Freak in public with various traditional Tamaranian punishments and instruments of torture

Wonderful.

[thevampirearchive]

Let me rewrite episode 5, because they made no sense and only made us mad, reinforce them weird racist dynamic and yeah just unnecessary hurt.

I enjoyed the dialogue, I enjoyed the pacing, but I’d have cut off the politician scene and have them simply see the investigations happening / read it in the paper

I’d not have Antoinette be involved at all, rather have her be a ‘temptation’ but be shut down (or perhaps be there after Claudia left)

I’d have had Claudia leave, seek out vampires and find a clan, watch them from afar and see their ‘evil’ and realized she was better off and safer with Lou and Les. Ex. Witness them torture their prey, eachother or something. The SA was unnecessary and a weird move on their part.

I wouldn’t have 7 years go by, but rather maybe a year. Where Louis does search for her, without luck and is deeply trying to find her. Their house wouldn’t be a mess, but deprived of the light and joy that once made it a home. Louis barely eating fixated and obsessed, resenting Lestat and Lestat trying to keep it together (thinking it’s for the both of them)

Then I would have had her come back, ask for forgiveness as she did, but admit she was only there for Louis and say her piece. There would have been verbal altercation, heated. I would have wanted for Lestat to go to attack her but be stopped by Louis. Les is stronger but his full strength isn’t show till they’ve tussling, pushing and on brinks of a proper fight. Lestat would actually hurt Louis, the first and only time he’s ever done so. Instantly, I’d have the room fall silent, including Claudia who would have been begging Lestat to let Louis go. Shock on all of them, because as vile as Lestat had been, and what he was going to do (or not) to Claudia, he was never going to actually hurt anyone. But Louis is there, blood drawn, maybe even a bruise. Lestat would try to immediately apologize, beg for forgiveness and explains that he’d been pushed too far. Louis would simply hold his hand up, refuse to hear it. They’d speak quietly, Lestat would have his speach, tell Louis he never wanted this but did it for him, ask him why he would not love him HIM ALONE! Louis would get up, head upstairs and Lestat following, trying to have Louis face him but even his touch is unwanted after what he’d done. ‘Don’t fucking touch me’ he’d snap, continuing inside, Claudia closely behind, she may even be repeating ‘I told you Daddy Lou, he’s a monsters-‘ Lestat would try to ignore her, he couldn’t have what happened before happen again. The sun would start to rise and Lestat would plead but with no success. Louis and Claudia would be packed and ready to go, where, doenst matted, anywhere but here. And in the end, Lestat would stand by the door, knowing they would leave because he’d not fight Louis — not again. This was what he (Louis) once wanted and now, Lestat knows he’s ruined it. He tells him he’d never stop loving him, apologize again but as Louis tells him what he wants, ‘let me go’ — that he wants Lestat to move and to never try to seek them out, Lestat would say the infamous ‘anything for you’ and let them go.

The next episode would be an attempt of reconciliation, one where Lestat still attempts to keep away but he’s trying to make Louis and Claudia’s lives easier with what he can (money, power, influence over the town to assure the witch hunt on Louis ends so he can have his business back and do what he wanted to) Claudia would be happy, but know that as much as Louis loves her, Lestat was his soulmate and he’s never truly the same. Months would go by, maybe even a year. Claudia never forgave Lestat for turning her, even if it was for Louis. She’d plot his death, knowing if he still was alive he’d never leave them alone — always watching over them. Louis would read her diary, something he never did again after that last time. By then, he would have secretly been seeing Lestat, short instances where they would sit in silence and Lestat would attempt to mend them. Louis would want him back but never sure if he could ever trust him, forgive or forget. But by the time he felt that maybe he could, Claudia would have done it. Louis wouldn’t be mad, he would simply be filled with sorrow. The love for Claudia would never disappear but he wish things had been different, that her turning and not been how it was but instead a gift like his was (and at this point, he would have accepted what he was, slower with every encounter with Lestat) Lestat would die in his arms, even if he could have saved him, he knew if he attempted he’d loose Claudia again. “Choose me” Lestat would plead but Louis would never have made it. Lestat would have died in his arms and Louis would forever wish he had died with him.

Thé interview would have been in memory of Lestat, it would have never been something to make him be hated or have Daniel think Lestat was a monster but simply Louis love tragic love story — one he never forgot.

And that ladies and gentlemen, is how I sleep at night — creating my own versions and being satisfied to delusion-myself into believe that’s what’s happened / will happen. Wish y’all could read Vivs’ versions, it’s brilliant too! Maybe one day!

[icecoldwilliams]

|| 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 💜  ✲・*:･ﾟ✲･ﾟ:*  ˚ₓ

! Tw for discussion of PTSD, scars and insomnia. !

If Nina would ever bother to visit a therapist, she would 100% be diagnosed with PTSD and PTSD related anxiety over both the cryosleep situation and being brainwashed by Ogre. – She does her best to keep every so called "weakness" in her book below that glacial mask, but she still has her unwilling moments where that fear manages to pry itself to the surface. One example being she ironically can't stand even semi-harsh cold temperatures without her anxiety getting to her in little ways. Said ways becoming more obvious the longer she sticks around the frigid air. It's near torture for her. (in my devil verse for her this is actually a method of getting her devil side to wakey wakey ;; but I'll go more into that another time~)

^ She would also be diagnosed with episodes of insomnia. Specifically the informal term sleep maintenance insomnia would describe what she deals with the best. The main issue being she often has difficulty with staying asleep during the night due to persistent nightmares and her own hyper vigilance. – She would take medication to help her sleep through the night, but unfortunately her career comes with the risk of intruders seeking to kill her 24/7 😔

Based off of how she's depicted in an old T2 comic, Nina's body is ripped and practically riddled with scars. Most small nicks here and there from stray bullets or her sisters knives, but she does have one along her abdomen that stands out. Likely around or slightly under 16 stitches. – She has no recollection of what caused it or when she got it, whether before the cryosleep or during one of the Zaibatsu's experiments. But it is particularly sensitive, leading her to be extra protective of the area in and outside of fights. She's also all but mastered the art of covering it and the others up with makeup.

Nina is a through and through chaotic neutral at heart. For the most part she doesn't do anything unless it benefits her or someone / something she cares about, and on the surface she's a cold blooded murderer who views the world through a cynical jaded lens. But officially she is still inclined towards fighting for the good of the world. – Check her extensive list of victims, her favorite targets are actually either scum of the earth guilty of more heinous crimes than her, or corrupt politicians, business leaders and their associates.

In tweets Harada listed Anna as the best chef on the Tekken roster, saying in another it was because she learned how to impress Richard growing up and outdo Nina in one skill, he told her "what's the point in learning a useless skill? The only thing that matters is contributing to the family business." — Meanwhile, he listed Nina under "doesn't cook / unknown". So I absolutely headcanon Nina almost never cooks, but when she does - while she's not the worst on the roster - she is prone to under or overcooking *cough* burning *cough* food. She's good with a knife, but otherwise she has no idea what she's doing, and has too much pride to ask for help. Thus more often than not, eating what she makes is akin to ingesting poison 🙃

^ She'll never admit she's a bad cook though. She avoids cooking when she can, when she has to her go to excuse is always "the oven / stove / microwave is faulty."

Thanks to her job, and her sister, her son, and who knows who else always on her heels, before and after her time at the Zaibatsu, Nina spends most of her time globetrotting. New country almost every week. – But even she needs time to rest. When she needs a place to lie low, she owns a few high rise condos around the globe. Paid in full via blackmailing some of her loyalist and richest customers, all elegant and sleek in design with a mix of art deco and modern contemporary themes, filled with shades of grey, black and purple, and all typically used with rich privilege as a place to store weapons, clothes and occasionally crash. 

She has a secret passion for expensive cars and motorcycles. She's also a fan of breaking almost every road law there is so, the faster the better, use caution when riding with her if you get road sick easily. Otherwise, catch her pulling up to the tournaments in a purple Hennessy Venom F5  or a MTT Turbine Superbike Y2K 🏍💜

[6peaches]

Kim Addonizio - Happiness Report

I was happy when I was drunk one night in 1985 squatting in the already pee-wet grass next to Jill Somebody outside the graduate student poetry reading

And in spite of going off my medication I was happy today under the hot shower, and again licking cappuccino foam in front of the air conditioner before I went outside and sweated through my new shirt like a lying politician in a TV interview

I felt happy while buying the shirt though it wasn’t a pure happiness stained as it was with a price tag It’s hard to find a happy artist because art requires suffering, goes one theory nearly everyone buys into getting free subscriptions for their friends

On the wall of the museum, patrons could finish the sentence Before I die I want to ______________________ . and someone wrote be happy and another eat KFC but a third wrote cancel my life and I bet that person was an artist or at least more sensitive than the one with a bucket list that included tortured chickens I hate the term bucket list which sounds to me like molded plastic instead of stainless steel and pocked with little holes your feelings fall through

Some artist said it’s better to fall from a great height but I don’t know about that Maybe great happiness is an abyss Maybe looking down all you see is a big lake and your own face floating there looking back self-righteously so it’s probably best to crawl under a sympathetic rock

I don’t know why the Declaration of Independence talks about the pursuit of happiness when Jefferson originally wrote property Life, liberty, and property Maybe I would be happier if I owned some Some of my ancestors owned slaves and some were impoverished Italian peasants Maybe all freedoms are stained

Before I die I’d like to see some changes made but it’s probably too late just as it’s too late to drink myself to death at a young age That day at the museum I thought I want to climb to a great height and then fall through myself the way a man falls through me when I’m happy and in love Now I only want espresso and a little foam To stay in bed all day, Christmas lights blinking against the August heat Pigeons landing outside on the air conditioner walking around making soft noises and then fucking off Someone screaming in the street who isn’t me

- Happiness Report by Kim Addonizio

[kryptidrp]

" 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚, 𝙄 𝘽𝙄𝙏𝙀. "

╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧ BRUTUS A. BARLOW||THE BUTCHER 》Age: WELL over 400 years, but he looks like he could be in his late 40s to early 50s 》Race: Daemon 》Gender: Male 》Pronouns: He/They 》Sexuality: Demisexual 》Occupation: Owner of The Wolf Stock Deli/Butchery by day, criminal hunting cannibal by night. 》Height: 7"10 - 12"10+ 》Summary: An angry vengeful man who was killed by a corrupt politician/mobster and brought back to life by a sorceress looking to being magic back into the material plane. Still filled with anger and hatred from his past, he now dedicates any and all free time he has to hunt down criminals, mobsters, and corrupt individuals to slaughter and torture before butchering their bodies and selling them in his butchery. Also yes, he's a cannibal.

╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧

ABILITIES Brutus is a Daemon, which is essentially a demon who comes from the abyssal realm, which gives him by default a plethora of inhuman capabilities. 》Inhuman Strength and Agility 》 Inhuman senses (sight/smell/taste/hearing) 》 The ability to shift between different forms and sizes (The more mana/people he eats, the bigger and stronger he gets) 》Durability 》 Partially Immortal (Hard to kill, but killable, however, he can always be brought back by The Mistress, and he ages at a VERY slow pace) 》Retractable Claws/Splittable Jaws 》Able to use pyrokinesis, however normally only a little- the angry he gets the stronger he gets ╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧╤╧

[some-guy-on-the-web]

How The World Works

The world will teach you alot of things nobody in their right mind would want to learn, and it will go way out of it's way to prevent you from learning the things you should really want to know.

To learn the important stuff, you have to take a gamble on some guy on the web ranting into the void.

So this is an example of how the world works.

Rummy lets slip the military misplaced trillions of dollars, BOOM, government accounting office blows up, evidence destroyed, BOOM, other government accounting office blows up, but nobody talks about the accounting offices, they talk about Muslims on the other side of the planet, chaos ensues, weapons of mass distraction, sheep start bleating, sock puppets, Lambchop, social media alter the trends, censorship, manipulation, coercion, if you don't do XYZ you are a terrorist and everyone hates you, big brother loves you, cattle get steered into pens, articles disappear, people disappear, black sites, torture, slow-burn soft-kill depopulation, keep calm and carry on, all's quiet on the farm again, pay your taxes, three bags full.

I'll presume that makes no sense to most people, but I'm not giving any of you any fucks, because most people on Tumblr masturbate to cartoon animals. Fuck you all and the fascist bastards who brainwashed you.

I swear everyone in corporate media should be summarily executed for running slavery rings.

Politics is basically the same thing as corporate media, but less frantic, because it's antiquated, originally designed to operate on country time. A country minute can be a few seconds or a few days.

Education is the same thing but more obviously sex slavery. Teachers molest more kids than even politicians or priests. Did you think schools have communal showers because government cares about public hygiene? Then why communal showers for kids but not the homeless? Because nobody wants to fuck the homeless.

Employment is the same thing but more obviously sex slavery. Everyone wants to be an actor and everyone knows what happens to actors. You may think jobs are supposed to accomplish things, but you're wrong, you're all given jobs to prevent you from doing anything important. Employers are baby-sitters, and sexual predators, same as education, politics, and corporate media. Humans are horrible creatures who treat eachother very badly.

Your life is a lie. You are a chump. You were created by a hyper-redundant system of slavery that drugged you into stupidity even before you were born. You were a slave since Day 1 in the womb. Your mother was raised on GMO. You have no idea how to be human. You don't know how to eat, you barely know how to breathe. You were raised like like a robot. Your food is a science experiment. Your education is a science experiment. Your entertainment is a science experiment. Project Paperclip. Operation Mockingbird. Echelon. Stellar Wind. The End.

You may now resume masturbating to cartoon animals.