#it doesn't matter how tired they are tailor

[nyoomiin]

roommates: part three.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

“Me?” the boy asks hesitantly, glancing toward his companion for help.

Niwa — right, that was his name — laughs, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder and pushing him forward. “You're scaring him, my dear.”

You roll your eyes at your friend, then give the boy another cursory once-over. You were right. He'd be perfect for the garment you were designing. Beckoning him over, you grin at him as you lead him into your fitting room. “I have just the thing for you! Let me take your measurements first, then I'll tailor the clothes to fit. Niwa, I'll give you a discount only because you brought this angel here.”

“Hah! You're the best.”

Shaking your head with a fond smile, you turn toward the boy. He looked nervous, fiddling with the hem of his sleeves, but no matter — it was time to get to work.

You blink, rubbing at your eyes in an attempt to clear your mind, trying to recall the dream you just had. Yet try as you might, it slips from your grasp, the faint trace of nostalgia slipping away with the breeze.

It was blue, you think.

And that's when inspiration struck.

"It's perfect,” you murmur, holding up the finished product in your hands.

A soft, silky shawl of blues and teals, dusted with a faint shimmer — an olive branch for your roommate, so to speak. Honestly, you were getting pretty tired of him wearing the same outfit almost daily, and what better gift than one handmade?

He'd look positively angelic in it, you think. You only hope he doesn't slam the door in your face before you could give it to him. You huff. He had better like it. You hadn't rushed your commission and put all that effort into the shawl for nothing. Not to mention, the materials you used were nothing but the highest of quality. Hmph.

“What do you want?” comes his gruff response to your knock on his door.

At the very least, he wasn't outright ignoring you like he used to do a week ago. You grin, even if he can't see it. "I have something for you! It's handmade. Come and take a look at it at least. Pretty please?”

It's silent.

A minute passes, then two.

You sigh, turning away in defeat. Another day, then. Though at this rate, that day might never come at all… Well, you hadn't put in all that effort just to give up now.

"I'll leave it here by the door,” you call. Just for good measure, you give the door another rap to be sure you still had his attention. "I don't care what you do with it as long as it's not still here by tomorrow morning. Have a good night!”

You turn away to leave, but this time, it's with a petty, stubborn resolve. One way or another, he would be your friend. He had to.

(His hands ghost over the shawl, fingers trembling.

It's soft, he notes, and every thread carefully woven. The design embroidered on its edges is undeniably Sumerian, but he can tell its maker is undeniably you.

And his heart thrums, loud in his ears and suffocating in his chest. It's infuriating.

This version of you is not the same as the version of the past he had known — that he cannot refute. Yet from your smile to your needlework, down to the way you'd leave him a warm bowl of soup — how could you not be one and the same?

He sets the shawl back down into the box it had come in, only to notice a piece of paper at its bottom.

This is for you, it reads. I think we got off on the wrong start that day, so I made this for you to make up for it. I hope you like it.

He scoffs, amused at your attempts to befriend him. It had worked on him then, when he had been clueless and naive and far too trusting, but fat chance it would work on him now. You don’t even remember him, for fuck's sake.

Still, he thinks, perhaps he should indulge you just the once. For old time's sake.)

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee @briluvspnk @bunniicantsleep @featuredtofu @tragedy-of-commons @parkjayssi

#—stellaronhvnters. #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #rlly laying it on thick there but anyway

[fandomsandfeminism]

Ok, since some folks are still struggling with this: No, having a national popular vote for president wouldn't mean that "just 2 or 3 states would pick the president."

First of all, that's *basically* what's already happening with the Electoral College. Because the states are winner-take-all, it doesn't matter if you lead in a state by 3% or 30%, you get 100% of the vote. So the only states worth campaigning in/listening to are a few swing states, where you need to eek out a 1% lead to win 100% of the points.

We see this in the actual campaign event data. Two thirds of the presidential and vice-presidential post-convention campaign events were conducted in just four states in 2012 (Ohio, Florida, Virginia, and Iowa). The electoral college doesn't empower rural voters or small states. It just allows campaigns to hyper-focus on the undecided voters of swing states. So if you're a centrist in Ohio, I guess the EC was tailor made for you? But no one else benefits here.

But, would this still happen in a national popular vote, you ask? NO. Of course not.

I don't blame folks for not realizing this intrinsically. They are big numbers, and this "big states blah blah" rhetoric is pervasive. (Notice how often it's "California and New York" though, and never Texas. Ask yourself why.)

Let's assume, for fun, that 100% of the population of the country can and does vote. For rounding purposes, that's 330 million people.

Even if you could get California, Texas, Florida, New York, and Pennsylvania to vote 100% unanimously for the same person, you'd fall woefully short of of 50%, and that's getting EVERY SINGLE PERSON in these states to agree. You need the 9 most populated states to vote 100% turn out in unison to hit 50% of the population.

California (Population: 39,613,493)

Texas (Population: 29,730,311)

Florida (Population: 21,944,577)

New York (Population: 19,299,981)

Pennsylvania (Population: 12,804,123)

Illinois (Population: 12,569,321)

Ohio (Population: 11,714,618)

Georgia (Population: 10,830,007)

North Carolina (Population: 10,701,022)

But, as I've said many many times, states are not political monoliths. Despite what those red v blue electoral maps train you to think, these states aren't hiveminds.

Both of these maps represent the 2016 election. Personally, I like the first one more, since the intensity of the color mirrors the amount of votes, but the second one really drives home how *blended* our communities are politically.

In 2020- 155,508,985 votes were cast. That's 77,754,493 for 51%. How many states, at a minimum, would it take to reach that number based on how they actually voted? Well, let's go from most populated down until we hit 51%.

CA- 11,110,250 for Biden

TX- 5,259,126 for Biden

FL- 5,297,045 for Biden

NY- 5,244,886 for Biden

PN- 3,459,923 for Biden

IL- 3,471,915 for Biden

OH- 2,679,165 for Biden

GA- 2,473,633 for Biden

NC-2,684,292

MI-2,804,040

NJ-2,608,400

VI-2,413,568

WA-2,369,612

AR-1,672,143

TN-1,143,711 (we aren't done yet)

IN 1,242,498

MASS 2,382,202

MI 1,253,014

MA 1,985,023

CO-1,804,352

WIS-1,630,866

MIN- 1,717,077

SC-1,091,541

AL- 849,624 (We're still only at 68 million, by the way)

LA- 856,034

KN- 772,474

OR-1,340,383

OK-503,890

CN-1,080,831

UT-560,282

NV-703,486 (We're getting close now, I promise)

Iowa-759,061

AR-423,932 (I'm so tired of adding these numbers up)

MIS-539,398

KA- 570,323

NM- 501,614 (SO CLOSE I really thought this would do it.)

Nebraska- 374,583 (DAMMIT NEBRASKA! We're still short!)

Idaho- 287,021

And that does it! That puts us above 77,754,493 and it only took every Biden vote from the 38 most populated states.

Hardly the "Californians and New Yorkers making all our decisions for us!" reality that people decry (Never Texas. Even though we had more Biden voters than New York. But Texas isn't the standard boogeyman for a racially, ethnically, religiously diverse, queer coastal city. Even though Texas has 4 of the 10 largest cities in the country, more than California- Houston, San Antonio, Dallas, and Austin)

YES, a lot of people live in California. Yes, a lot of people live in Texas. Yes, it's super weird to me that the city of San Antonio, Texas has almost 3x the number of people in the entire state of Wyoming. (I'm sorry if you think that Wyoming's 73,491 votes for Biden should make or break the election.)

But please remember that individual states and districts still get their representation in Congress. (Which...I have some opinions about how much this actually impacts federal politics that are their own thing.) State governments and local governments still exist.

And this idea that a popular vote system, which we use for senators and governors and mayors and school boards is suddenly ~oppressive~ and ~tyrannical~ when we apply it to the presidency isn't logical. (If 70% of your town lives in apartments, you don't give folks in single family homes an extra vote to balance out their vote for mayor.)

Frankly, going to the popular vote should be a logical first step. Ranked choice ballots (for president and senate), and party proportional voting (for the house) would go a long way towards making people feel like their votes had real power again, increase voter turn out, and I think motivate the parties to better reflect the wishes of their constituents, reduce our political tribalism, and encourage third party participation.

#electoral college #you know I'm annoyed when I start doing math

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hello! Considering how you now write for Chiori, and that I highly appreciate your Genshin headcanons... I think it's about time I grant you the honor of my first ever tumblr ask 👀

How would Chiori act with a S/O who is more on the sensitive side, the kind to not appreciate harsh words, or having people raise their voices at them? (totally not me checking my own hypothetical compatibility with her)

We know she can basically use her sass to roast people on the spot (not to mention her skills in graceful arcs making) in public, though during her SQ, we also get to see a somewhat softer side from her, when in a more private environment/with friends... But she also went "ugh eww ugh" when Xavier cried in joy during the 4.3 movie event.

So... that got me genuinely wondering. Feel free to add more characters if you feel inspired/like doing that (how their behavior with S/O would change depending of the setting being in public or in private?), and have a nice day 😊

(Genshin Impact) Chiori with a softer S/O

I am honored that I am your first blog you ask! Hopefully you enjoy!

Chiori honestly does not act that differently, even in private or when she has a S/O.

She has never apologized for being herself, and that would not change no matter what.

And if someone got with her, they would know that when they decided she was the person they loved.

Even if the person she spoke to was an absolute sweetheart, Chiori doesn't mince words in the slightest.

(Chiori) "...S/O, you are not going out in those rags. Here, let me pick something out for you."

She doesn't really hold anything back because she loves her S/O, and the fact they love her means she can unapologetically be herself.

That being said, she isn't heartless.

Chiori tries to phrase things slightly more gently. Such as:

(Chiori) "What I want for my birthday? Hm, I would like new tools...Keep it a surprise? Why would I do that when you can just get me something I like?"

Key word being: tries

She's at least tactful enough to not make them cry from her usual harsh words.

In private, she can get a little more handsy than usual.

She just sits on the bed and lays her head on their shoulders, taking a deep sigh.

(Chiori) "...You must be tired too. Go ahead and rest your head on me."

Her love language is definitely acts of service than words, which goes both ways.

She'd rather show why she loves her gentle S/O, than just tell them.

And that comes across in the clothes she tailors for them, never ever skipping on any expense.

(Chiori) "This kimono will match that perfectly with that pretty smile of yours, now quit squirming. I gotta take the measurements..."

Since they don't like anyone raising their voices at them, Chiori is the first one to step in to apply verbal or physical violence upon anyone doing so.

It doesn't matter who they are, if someone tries to pick on her sweetheart, than they're going to be picking glass out of their clothes.

#genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #chiori genshin impact x reader #chiori genshin impact #chiori x reader #chiori genshin

[spiceofvy]

Hi! Can I please request relationship headcanons for BTS members with a non celebrity, female reader? Thank you ❤️

BTS - Dating a non celebrity

a/n: omg this is my first time writing about the vocal line, so i'm kinda nervous right now, but also i really like how this turned out, so i hope you enjoy it too! also i'm super sorry but i totally forgot that you asked for a fem!reader. the headcanons honestly wouldn't have been any different except for me using gendered language anyway. so i hope you still like it!

cws: sfw, gender neutral reader, fluff, nothing to note here tbh, except for one (1) slightly sexual line (hoseok ofc)

Seokjin: No matter how many prizes he wins, how much the newspapers praise him, at the end of the day the only compliments that matter to him are those coming from you. He wants to hear how much you love his voice, how good he looked, how amazed you were by his performance. He's only satisfied with his work when you declare how utterly and irrevocably in love you are with him. But don't worry, he will return all this love whenever he can, calling you the cutest nicknames, cooking for you whenever you want and believe me when I tell you that this man will show you off to everyone. He wants everyone to know how amazing you are and that you are his to love.

Hoseok: Hoseok sees his main goal in being your boyfriend and an idol in being able to spoil you rotten. Shirts from his favorite designers, tailored jeans to make sure that you legs always look perfect, the most expensive shoes you've ever worn. What's the point in being rich if he doesn't spend the money on you? And you really can't get him to stop, even if you make more money than him. He will still feel the need to spoil you. And of course drown you in compliments. Tracing his hands over your body as you try on some tight clothes, making sure they highlight all his favorite parts of you. Just to rip those clothes off of you at home later.

Yoongi: I know it's a cliche, but he writes love songs about you. And sad songs when he misses you on tour. And happy songs when he sees you sleep on the couch on the studio, feeling completely at peace with him. He just writes a lot of songs about you. You are his inspiration and his muse. Many of those songs never get released, they stay between the two of you, shared during emotional moments, followed by soft talking and sweet kisses. You are also Holly's co-parent. And in almost every photo Yoongi has in his Holly-Journal. He doesn't mind keeping you away from the public, unless it's about the basketball games he gets invited to, especially if you also love the game. He is pretty sad about not being able to also share this passion of his with you.

Namjoon: He is obsessed with your normal day to day life. Which he honestly misses a lot. Please tell him about your run to the grocery store, how overrun the subway was, the cute dog you saw today. He loves to hear about it all and will never get tired of hearing you talk about your day. He sometimes just wants to take you on walks through the city, but due to his popularity it's really hard. So he just schedules those walks to the night, when it's raining and the streets are empty. He also low key posts you on his insta. He is the king of soft launching. There are your shoes in the background, two bowls of food on the table, a sweater he's never seen wearing before on the couch, a shadow in the mirror in the background. It's his favorite little game, how well he can hide you in open sight.

Jimin: You are his number one tripod for his content. He 100 percent trusts you vision when it comes to filming his dance videos or taking his photos. Even if you have no former experience in those areas. He also takes you everywhere! This man is absolutely shameless in taking you to work with him. He doesn't even care if his explanations, why he needs you at set with him all the time are not making sense. He introduced you at one photoshoot first as his personal assistant in addition to his actual assistant, later as his translator the shooting was in korea so no need for a translator and his emotional support human okay this was probably a joke on his side. No one ever dares to object anyways. Including those times when he uses his times with highly ranked stylists to get you set up with some pretty new clothes instead of preparing for his upcoming comeback.

Taehyung: He is in desperate need for a calm spot of comfort in his life and you are that to him. Far away from all the hectic that comes with being an Idol you are his home and the place where he can 100 percent be himself. After a long day he loves nothing more than to fall onto the couch next to you and hug you tightly until he falls asleep. As you talk about your day, petting his soft hair. When he can't come home to you, he calls you in the evening when he is in bed at some hotel on the other side of the world. Just needing to hear your voice to finally calm his mind. Additionally Yeontan loves you almost as much as he loves Tae so you are the perfect dog sitter, and yes this includes managing the scheduled facetimes between the two of them when Tae is on tour.

Jungkook: Please note that he will kick you out of whatever room he wants to stream in, when he streams. Your shared apartment? No it's his personal filming studio and you live in it. I hope you are good at turning off cameras without being visible on them, because that is your job whenever he falls asleep on the camera. But all jokes aside he is always so excited to come to you after streams, asking if you watched it. You didn't need to, because you could hear him in the next room over, but just say yes, because he loooves you validation. "Did you like that photoshoot I did? What do you think about my dancing in that tiktok? Did I sound good during that performances?" It's almost as bad as Jin but Jungkook pairs it with his huge pretty puppy eyes, tearing into your soul. Also, he will tease you with his song lyrics, especially the spicy ones. Just to get really flustered by your answer afterwards.

#bts headcanon #bts #bts fluff #bts x reader #seokjin x reader #seokjin #jin x reader #jin #yoongi x reader #yoongi #suga x reader #suga #hoseok x reader #hoseok #jhope x reader #jhope #namjoon x reader #namjoon #rm x reader #rm #jimin x reader #jimin #taehyung x reader #taehyung #v #v x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook #gender neutral reader #headcanon

[ptn-imagines]

Sorry tumblr is being a butt! Anyways, if I may, I'd love to read or hear any headcanons or imagines involving reader/f!Chief with either Countess Chelsea, Hamel, Eleven, Sumire, or Garofano. Whichever one(s) inspiration strikes for you. If I could be a tad bit more specific, maybe the prompt could be something like "the ways you and the specific Sinner(s) are kind and affectionate with one another"? Could be SFW or NSFW. Sorry if this is too much, been feeling kinda down with ennui and current state of the world and all. And please, take care of yourself and write at your own pace :)

I, uh, felt inspired. To say the least. Anyway, this has made me realize that it'd probably be faster to list Sinners I can't see as autistic... Also, in hindsight, I realize you may have meant this romantically. I mean, these can be read romantically, but they can also be read platonically. I hope you enjoy either way!

The ways F!Chief and her Sinners are affectionate and kind with one another

Countess Chelsea

It's a given that she'll shower Chief in dozens of gifts. Literally dozens. Whether Chief wants it or not. You know how she is. It technically counts as an act of kindness?

Also, with all the money and influence she has, she's definitely able to get Chief invited to many exclusive opportunities. The best seats at the theater, private movie premiers, exclusive, high-society galas, you name it; Chelsea can and will get it for Chief.

Honestly, Chief does accept these invitations from time to time, because not only are they a way to get away from the strain of her work, Chelsea is able to provide a nice buffer against her usual Mania magnet tendencies. In that she can help contain any disaster that breaks out, not that she can prevent the Mania from being drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Chief is pretty sure there's no Sinner that can do that.

Finally, the most lowkey way Chelsea shows affection is by letting Chief cuddle with Sitri on those days when she's tired. Sitri may be a terrifying big cat made of gemstones, but Chief has long since found that when it comes to cuddling, Sitri is a fairly nice substitute for a fluffy, domestic housecat. She also has the perk of being big enough to be able to curl around Chief, which is comforting. It's just a matter of getting comfortable, since gemstones are not the softest thing to lay against. Luckily, Chelsea is always willing to provide ridiculously ornate (but functional) blankets and pillows.

Honestly, the number one way Chief shows kindness to Chelsea is simply spending time with her. Though it's true she can be overbearing, Chief knows her heart is good, but deeply lonely; it's why she keeps asking Chief to be her sugar baby, after all. She doesn't seem to realize that Chief prefers spending time with her just for the sake of doing so.

Also, whenever Chief does wear a piece of clothing or an accessory Chelsea bought for her, you can count on the Countess being absolutely over the moon about it for the next week. Chief feels like it should be harder to make Chelsea happy, but… it's not, it's just not. The lapidarist is just too kind-hearted, too full of love and too earnest to be difficult to please, if you know her. And Chief knows her quite well.

Finally, when Chief has a spare moment, she helps Chelsea take care of Sitri sometimes. While she doesn't have the same needs as a flesh and blood cat, she still needs a form of grooming and brushing in the form of polishing, and unlike regular cats, that is a task best suited to human hands. Countess Chelsea is always diligent in this task, but nevertheless she has yet to say no when Chief offers to help, enjoying their bonding time.

Garofano

Like Countess Chelsea, Garofano has one really obvious way she shows affection to the Chief, and that is through mending and tailoring clothes. Half of the Chief's non-work clothes were handmade by the assassin.

Garofano is also really experienced with people and the human heart. If you need a shoulder to cry on but not a flat out therapist, Garofano is pretty much the go-to, and for the Chief? She's always willing to lend an ear. One time, an exhausted Chief actually passed out on Garofano during one of these sessions, and the assassin didn't move for hours, simply holding her close.

Finally… The younger Sinners in the Bureau tend to demand Chief's attention, a lot. While there's no doubt Chief would love to spend time with them around the clock, that's not feasible… So Garofano doesn't mind stepping in to corral them. Her warm, motherly vibes draw the kids in with ease, and they love spending time with her too; Chief is eternally grateful for the breaks Garofano has gotten for her.

When it comes to returning the kindness, Garofano isn't as easy to please as Countess Chelsea, but she's also far from difficult. She has a fairly mild temperament (usually), not tending towards either extreme.

Returning favors to Garofano seemed difficult to the Chief at first until she realized that Garofano was often so busy doing acts of service for others that she neglected herself. From then on, Chief did her best to help Garofano out in small ways such as assigning someone to tidy her cell when it got a little too haphazard, or bringing her meals when she got so engrossed in a project she forgets to eat. These little things go a long way with Garofano.

Most of the Garden would like to receive flowers as a gift, and the seamstress is no exception. It can be difficult knowing which flowers which assassin prefers, but Chief's got it down to a science: for Garofano, flowers symbolizing other members of the Garden (such as poppies and cherry blossoms) are best, but purple carnations, symbolizing Garofano herself, should be avoided.

Finally, Garofano's nature is that she very rarely finds herself in a position where she herself needs to vent… But she is still only human, with her own problems and feelings. When they all become too heavy of a burden for her to bear alone, she knows she can always trust Chief to take care of her.

Hamel

Hamel doesn't enjoy being touched – which makes the fact that she allows Chief to do so a gesture of deep trust and affection. Chief is always careful not to push Hamel's boundaries with this, but even on the days where this simply means being able to stand closer to Hamel than normal, Chief is grateful and honored.

Hamel is also a very withdrawn person, but she has a very vibrant and imaginative mind. While happy with her own company, it's human nature to seek companionship, and Hamel will almost always seek it from the Chief; if there's something interesting that has caught her attention, she can actually be quite excitable in conversation.

As long as it's what she truly wants to do and not being forced upon her, Hamel loves to dance on stage for an audience; however, she's a lot more hesitant about letting others see her practice. Yet, she often invites Chief to watch her rehearsals, seeking out her opinions on each movement. Chief, Hamel feels, is not only a safe and trustworthy person, but someone who can feel the emotions of her dance just as well as she herself can.

Compared to Countess Chelsea and Garofano, Hamel is probably the hardest to read and return kindness to. Still, Chief figured it out, and it was absolutely worth it to see Hamel's rare and precious smile.

First of all, Chief makes sure that Hamel can always find a stage – and an audience that'll appreciate her. While she's not against letting Hamel perform in Eastside if she feels up to it, Chief is quick to scare off anyone who might try to exploit Hamel. She respects her dance as an expression of the self, not a cash cow, and though she doesn't always have the words to express it, Hamel couldn't be more grateful.

Secondly, Chief makes a point of checking in on Hamel a lot. The dancer has an unfortunate habit of getting lost in her own mind, forgetting completely about the outside world and sitting still and quiet for hours. It's not exactly healthy for her and often leads to spikes in her M-value, so Chief always keeps an eye out for these moments so she can “wake her up” with the shackles.

Finally… It turns out, Hamel really loves stuffed animals. Chief never imagined she'd form a habit of buying sealife plushies, but here she was; besides, the noticeable brightening of Hamel's mood when receiving a new one was worth the expenditure. Hamel's bed was covered in plushies she'd received from the Chief, though her favorite was the first one she'd been given, a stuffed jellyfish. That one has a place of honor by her pillow, which it only ever leaves to be held by Hamel.

#ptn #path to nowhere #ptn countess chelsea #path to nowhere countess chelsea #countess chelsea #ptn chelsea #path to nowhere chelsea #chelsea #ptn garofano #path to nowhere garofano #garofano #ptn hamel #path to nowhere hamel #hamel #ptn headcanons #path to nowhere headcanons #headcanons

[slash-me-please]

I am sure your tired of writing for Amanda by now but your the only person I could find that’s willing to write for her and is actually good at it 😭 spare me i’m desperate and don’t know how too request but could you do a imagine with Dom!Amanda and shes really protective over reader to the point where it’s kind of toxic, she finds out who readers shitty ex girlfriend is and does anything and everything to show the said ex that reader is hers now like: showing up at her place of work with reader, making out in front of her, really touchy, whispering dirty stuff so the ex can hear, etc. Just some examples. You can pick whether reader is fem or gender neutral it doesn’t matter to me :)

On another note: Thank you for your service🫡 I love your writing so much.

you said dom!Amanda therefore you are getting smut i am so sorry to force this on you. :) not really love u.

A/N: Sorry about the wait!! I got caught up on bills today and have been working full time and also doing schoolwork. Luckily I paid my rent + electric so i have some free time!!!

Warnings: Revenge sex trope, voyeurism/exhibitionism, bondage/shibari, fighting, jealousy, dub!con, reader being an absolute asshole, murder, use of vibrator.

Pressing your fingers against the loose fabric of a dress, your lips held in a thin line. The needle pressed through the fabric, and back again. You were focused on your work, a nice sheer fabric for a nightdress you had been working on for a while. You were a tailor for a small business which made custom handmade dresses, one of the best tailors of the six of you.

The office you worked at was small, just like the business. The six of you crowded into a medium sized room. Your boss had created you a small section to yourself, as she insisted on making you employee of the month. So you pressed your hands against the fabric, the slow push and pull of your hands against the machine kept you in a trance. You had loved your job once, and while you enjoyed what you did- there was one downside.

Her. The problem. The reason you got into fights with your girlfriend every night this week.

As you pieced together your nightdress, across from you your ex watched- eyes wide and focused on your hands. You wanted to say something, you wanted to complain. Anything. But you never did, instead opting to do your job.

"L/N!" You flinched, hand jerking forward and pinching your finger in the machine. You yelped, pulling backwards and cradling your finger against your chest. "Look what you did!" The familiar voice of your lover rang through your ears, and you felt yourself turning to look. She was barreling towards you, eyes focused on your boss, who had yelled your last name. She seemed angry, reaching foward to hold you against her stomach.

Amanda placed a brown paper bag on your table, freeing her hands to examine your finger under her "Professional" gaze. She seemed almost content for a moment, eyes narrowed in on yours. "It's just a nick, but i'll fucking murder that ratty-bastard if you want." Your head shook back and forth, eyes widened with shock. "I'm not sure that's necessary!" You whispered, turning away from her to move back to your dress. "What are you doing here Amanda?" She sighed, the back of her hand hitting the paper bag. "I brought you lunch,"

"I might be too busy eating out Jenny to get to that, sorry." You snapped, turning your head away from her. "Fucking look at her, she's fucking you with her eyes. I don't know why you're acting like you can't see that." Amanda snapped back, her arms crossing against her chest. "It doesn't matter what she thinks about me. I told you I only want you! Why does it matter if she's looking at me?" Amanda released a sigh again. "It's about respect, I don't understand why you allow her to do that." You felt your face begin to heat up, beyond aggravated with the entire situation. "She's just not even worth the fucking air! I'm sorry you're too insecure to let it go!"

You only began to feel bad when her face fell and she turned on her heel and out towards the parking lot, but you didn't dare follow her.

You can end here, or read this fucked up smut.

Vision static and dizzy, you wobbled in the chair you were tied to. The last thing you remember was getting home and your lover reaching her hand around your mouth and nose to suffocate you with a damp rag. Your throat felt dry and sore, as if you'd been yelling but you knew that you hadn't. Amanda got like this sometimes, but you knew this time was your fault.

It looked like you were in an abandoned garage, the lights were cool and flickering. You were propped on a chair, both legs tied with a spiral futomomo tie and kept apart with a spreader. You were entirely naked, and bare to the garage.

And your ex.

There sat Jenny, her eyes wide as she stared at your bare form with an underlying lust beneath that fear. Her mouth was ducktaped shut and she was chained to the chair by her ankles and wrists. You squirmed beneath her gaze, whining out for Amanda. A few moments later she made her entrance, yanking off the worn pigs mask. She glared at you with an anger you'd only seen a few times. Goosebumps erupted onto your skin.

"I'm sorry, can you let me out?" You plead, and she frowns. "Don't act like you don't deserve what you're going to get."

She made her way behind you, and you heard her shuffling a few items around. You thought for a moment that maybe she had a table back behind you, but she left you no time to dwell when you felt a cold hand grasp your shoulder.

"Tell me, Love." Amanda took a deep, shuddering breath. "Do you like her eyes on you?" You whined, head craning back to look at her and deny the accusation. "I only want you baby, I promised!" Your pleading did not phase her, she only reached into your hair and yanked your head forward. Your eyes made contact with Jenny's and she watched as Amanda's hand flicked on a vibrator and licked it.

"I want you to watch, let me show you what's fucking mine."

And with those words, she hunched over you and placed the vibrator over your clit. Your head threw back, and you yelped. "Goddammit!" Your legs shuddered against your restraints, pulling against them with a pain. "Please!" Amanda laughed, her eyes trained downwards as she watched your sex shudder against the silicone head of her vibrator. "Good girl..." She whispered into your cheek, placing a cruel kiss on your skin. Your voice wobbled, back arching as you pressed yourself impossibly closer to the source of your pleasure.

Across from you, Jenny watched, cheeks flushed and eyes dilated. Her legs rubbed together as she watched Amanda rub the toy against your clit. She treated you generously, her other hand snaking down to your throat to give it a squeeze as she upped the setting on her toy. You keened loudly, hands balling into fists as you chanted her name.

"You like this? All I had to do was force you to show her who you belonged to?" She sneered, pushing the vibrator lower. She let it sink into your hole, and she began to lightly thrust it inside of you. "God!" You cried, mouth hanging open as your climax ran up to you. "I'm so close!"

Amanda snickered, glancing up to watch Jenny stare between your legs.

Her mouth twisted into something angry, her other hand reaching down to rub your clit in circles. You flailed against her ministrations, mouth open in a wail which could not be contained. Finally, you came against her hands, legs quivering as you soaked her hands and the toy, the rest of your cum wetting the concrete floor beneath you. With that, she flicked the vibrator off and placed it back on the table, grabbing something sharper.

"Did you enjoy the show, Jenny?" You heard her breathe. You heard her walk back behind you, her hand yanking your head backwards. "Love you..." You gasped, picking your head up to give her a kiss. She nodded, fingers releasing your hair. That is when she walked past you, flipping a hunting knife around in her hand. "It'll be the last one you'll ever see."

Jenny began to push against her restraints, shaking her head no and yelling pleas. None of which appealed to Amanda, instead the smooth twist of her wrist pushing the blade into her abdomen and then actively gutting her appealed way more.

You watched the life leave her eyes and you sighed, making eye contact with Amanda and biting your lip.

"Are you done?"

She dropped to her knees, crawling forward to attach her lips to your cunt.

#Amanda Young x reader #Amanda Young x reader smut #Saw x reader smut #slasher x reader #slasher x reader smut #saw x reader #smut

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! Thank you for this blog. I was wondering if you could recommend any fics where one or the other or both at once think the other is dead?I love presumed dead fics.

Hello! You can check some previous presumed dead recs here, and you may also be interested in our #temporary character death tag. Here are some more presumed dead fics...

The Empty Flat & The Burning Bookshop by probably_publius (T)

It took a lot for Aziraphale to finally give in and give Crowley the thermos of Holy Water, and when he does, he is ladden with guilt. He can only hope that he doesn't use it on himself. In this storyline, Sergeant Shadwell takes just a minute longer to run to Mr. Fell's bookshop and misses Aziraphale after he runs to Crowley's flat. Meanwhile, Crowley is driving (if you can call it driving) to the bookshop. Aziraphale finds the demon goop and his thermos of Holy Water in Crowley's empty flat, his best friend gone. Crowley finds the bookshop in flames, his best friend gone. Warnings!!! You have been warned! Heavy angst, some swearing, reference to murder , reference to discorporation, reference to stealing, mention of Nazis, themes of and apparent suicide, themes of depression, self-loathing, and self-guilt.

Fractured Heart by Blue_Sparkle (T)

Angels are sturdy beings, but rigid and changeless and not meant to endure grief or loss. When thousands Fall and many more are slain in the Great Rebellion, they either literally break apart...or forget. Aziraphale's only memories of his lost beloved are his lover's skill at creating stars. Memories he cherishes above all else. It complicates matters when his heart starts attaching to a certain demon, but perhaps his time on earth can teach him how to heal.

Stitches by CaspianTheGeek (E)

Until now, Aziraphale's family has seen fit to ignore him slipping into the village to see his tailor-turned-lover. That is until the King dies and Aziraphale's brother decides it is time he finds a proper match. Crowley is sent to prison and Aziraphale is told he has died for daring to love the prince. Love isn't so easily stopped, and Crowley is determined to return to Aziraphale however he can. (I promise, this will absolutely have a happy ending. As all my stories do.)

Anyway, Don't Be A Stranger by Juno_Sunlit (T)

It's been 10 years since Crowley died, and Aziraphale has mourned for every single minute. It's also been 10 years since Aziraphale died, and Crowley, up in the stars, has done the same. To God's chagrin, neither is aware of the other's continued existence. Sick and tired of grief big enough to end a universe, She sends them both on a trip through their old haunts, hoping they'll meet. All is as well and good as possible until something happens to Aziraphale, and a grieving Crowley must unknowingly come to his rescue. Includes musings on existence, gentle, warm flashbacks, demonic heists of a homosexual nature, God in slippers, asshole Gabriel, tearful reunions, the inherent tenderness of loving someone ever so much, and, through all the sorrow, a very happy ending.

A Beautiful Fiction by Thestarlitrose (E)

Nineteen years after having his memories of Crowley stolen, Aziraphale encounters Warlock and has everything come rushing back to him. Together; with the help of an ex-antichrist, they embark on a journey through the Southeastern, United States to locate Crowley to bring him home, where he belongs. Chapters with smut and other potential triggers will be listed in the notes.

The Ghost of Husbands Past by A_N_D (E)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it! But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner. Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either. Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas. It’s a time of hope, love, and family. It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #angst #presumed dead #fake character death #mod d

[paluimbel]

Earlier today we saw another anti-endo post crop up on our feed and something about the phrasing pissed us off. It's important to us to try to keep discussions we engage in online relatively civil, so usually when we don't have the energy to respond politely, we just block and move on. This time it just... ticked us off enough that we need to vent.

We're tired of being told that we're stealing terms from people when those terms were never just theirs in the first place.

We're tired of seeing the same handful of misconceptions over and over again.

We're tired of strawmen and bad faith arguments we can't do anything to counter no matter how hard we try.

We are tired of people insisting that the experiences of endogenic and traumagenic systems are completely different and trampling all over systems that fit somewhere in between, systems like us.

We are tired of people who can't seem to see that this divide in the community is hurting everyone.

We are tired of systems actively choosing to target other systems instead of the societal oppression that harms us all.

We are. So. Fucking. Tired. Of systems that assume their experiences are universal, and then treat any attempt to say otherwise like it's invalidating them personally. Your struggles do not give you the right to say that our experiences, both positive and negative, are impossible.

We are absolutely exhausted of constantly feeling unsafe in spaces that claim to support systems like us, systems whose trauma played a fundamental role in their creation, and continues to shape how they function to this day.

We are tired of people seeming to think that just because we don't struggle in the same ways or as much as they do, we don't still have struggles, that we are less worthy, less in need of community and support, that we don't need to see people like us out there too.

We are tired of being talked down to by systems who think they're being kind. We know that we're traumatized. That doesn't mean we're willing to stomp down parts of ourselves that don't fit the mold of what you think that should mean.

We are tired of being terrified that singlets will think they're justified in invalidating our experiences, or prying into our trauma, because of some stupid discourse they heard online.

We are tired of treading on eggshells trying to be respectful to people who have, and who continue to, hurt us. Tired of being blamed for spreading misinformation solely by existing as openly as we safely can. Tired of having to mince words, to carefully tailor how we describe ourselves, solely to avoid being kicked out of spaces that claim we should belong there.

#The Opals #Mina #feel free to reblog #plurality #endo safe #actually plural #osdd #osddid #syscourse #syscource #mixed origins #mixed origin system #vent #plural system

[starzposts]

voxval oneshot :D I have another one that's straight porn ready to be posted but I really like this one and wanted to post it. I'm a little tired of the interpretations of Vox and Valentino I've been seeing, so I wanted to write something showing how I see him. Vox is my favorite character, so I have a lot of strong opinions and feelings about him. Well uh, enjoy!

Valentino's top set of hands drag down Vox's front, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in the fabric. His wicked smile reflects at Vox in the mirror. Vox adjusts his cuffs and straightens his bowtie; Valentino's bottom pair of hands rests at his waist.

"Look at you," Val purrs, his eyes lingering on the sleek black suit Vox had changed into for their dinner date. It's not just new and well-tailored, it's a masterpiece that accentuates Vox's every curve. Vox isn't into fashion like Valentino and Valevette, but he does like to look nice and sharp. He also knows that Valentino likes a man in a nice suit.

"You like it?" Vox asks, his voice a little husky as he eyes Valentino's expression in the mirror. He looks hungry, sending a wave of heat straight down between Vox's legs. Valentino's finger traces the embroidered red V on the collar of Vox's suit collar, the same color as Valentino's wings, and he presses the length of his body against Vox's back, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

"I like it very much," Val mumbles, bottom hands tightening around his waist. Vox smiles and checks the time on his watch; they'll be late for their reservation if Val keeps this up. Not like it matters, they're the fucking Vees. The table will be held until they arrive. "You look sexy in black, papito," Val comments, stepping back and turning Vox around to face him. Valentino crosses his bottom arms and uses one of the top ones to tilt Vox's screen up to look him in the eyes, touch lingering. "the embroidery was a nice touch," his voice is a little breathy like he's getting worked up from just looking at Vox. Vox knows he's been deemed forgiven for their fight earlier this week. He could stop the whole date and take Valentino to bed, and all would be well.

"Only the best for you, Val. You know that," Vox smiles, grabbing the hand resting on Vox's shoulder, palm pressed against the embroidery, and bringing it to his lips to kiss. Val smiles, wings fluttering and antenna fluttering happily. Vox forces his smile to remain a facsimile of soft affection, hiding away the shark's smirk that threatens to take over. Val is so easy. All it takes to get Val back under his thumb is a few sweet acts and letting him feel in control. Vox would think it's pathetic if Valentino's cooperation wasn't his goal. "Shall we?" Vox asks, offering his arm. Val laughs and uncrosses his bottom arms to hook one around Vox's.

"We shall. Lead the way, amorcito," Val giggles like a schoolgirl with a crush, and Vox resists the urge to roll his eyes. He keeps a smile on his face and leads Valentino down to the limo. He holds the door open and chuckles at how Val's cheeks get dark. Vox plays the gentlemanly role, treating Valentino how he thinks he deserves to be treated. These dates always work to satiate Valentino's need for attention. When they fight, or Vox gets too busy with his games, Val will go off the wall, and Vox will apologize and grovel in the way he knows Val likes. Then, to show his "devotion," he'll invite Valentino to a nice restaurant, treat him to the best wine, and fuck his brains out until Valentino forgives him. Vox doesn't mind displaying himself; the more Val thinks he's in control, the easier it is for Vox to manipulate him. If Val believes he's winning their little game, it means he has no real idea of what's going on. So, Vox suffers on the empty masquerade and dances the steps he knows like the back of his hand. He pretends, lies, and acts. He gives Valentino just enough to keep him where he wants.

It's all so dull, but it needs to be done.

Valentino is so fucking easy, Vox lays a hand on his knee, and Val looks at Vox like he hung the moon and stars. He thinks Vox doesn't see.

#outdated.technology #val hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #staticmoth #voxval #evil toxic yaoi #no one writes vox evil enough #hazbin writing #I don't know how tags work in this fandom help me #shoutout of commenter who said I wouldn't get harassed for posting this #valentino hazbin hotel #valentino x vox

[sappphistries]

Life Lessons

My first pic in years. Larissa Weems x gender-neutral reader. Fluff with some light flirting. Content notes: body image content.

Larissa Weems had never considered herself particularly attractive.

The immaculately pin-curled hair, precision scarlet lipstick and the plethora of tailored clothes designed to accentuate her frame helped maintain the pretence that she had her life together. And she did, for the most part.

Not just anyone could become one of Nevermore's youngest headteachers. Not everyone could handle the demands of running a school filled with magical and mythical mishaps, let alone in a place like Jericho where the reception had been frosty, to say the least.

It was one thing to stand in front of a room full of students, or to speak in the town square. It was another thing entirely to stand in front of a mirror and accept the way you looked. It was difficult for anyone, let alone a shapeshifter.

It wasn't so much that Larissa disliked her body, as much as she didn't really understand where it began and ended, as though the edges of her pale flesh were somehow hazy. When she was younger, she experimented with her looks. But whereas most of her peers experimented with fashion, she contorted her body into different shapes. She tried bodies that were larger, smaller, flat-chested and broad and hairy and long-limbed and just about every hair colour under the sun. And yet, she was never satisfied, not really.

She was tired of moulding herself to the latest fashions and besides, it never made her particularly happy. The girls in her class drooled over her ability to manipulate her body at whim, achieving feats that surgeons would charge thousands of dollars for. She never felt beautiful, but moreover she didn't feel like herself.

Larissa couldn't remember exactly when her resolution to transform her body only when she wanted to came into full force. Sometime in her late teens, but beyond that she wasn't really sure.

And now she stood in front of a mirror, in her forties, her hands placed on her hips, her brows furrowed. She sighed.

"Larissa, what's wrong?"

Turning around, she saw Y/N's face. She hadn't even heard them come in. Momentarily, she felt embarrassed, or perhaps it was vulnerability - she never really knew how to parse the two.

"Nothing, Y/N, I'm fine", she replied.

"You don't seem fine", Y/N said, walking towards her, held tilted slightly to the right. They came up behind Larissa and wrapped their arms around her waist, head peaking out behind her shoulders.

"I know it doesn't matter how many times I say it, but that' won't stop me. You are one of the most gorgeous women I have ever met and there is not an inch of you that I do not adore."

"And there are a lot of inches" she quipped wryly.

"Enough" Y/N said, firmly. "No more jokes at your expense. You wouldn't let me talk about myself in such a way."

Larissa turned to face them, placing her hands on their waist.

"Since when did you get so bold?", she cocked her head to the left, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Oh, I learned from the very best."

"Oh yes? Well, why don't you show me what else you've learned.

#Larissa Weems #Weems x reader #larissa weems x reader #Larissa weems fanfic #larissa weems oneshot #principal larissa weems #Wednesday #Wednesday fanfiction #Wednesday Addams #Gwendoline christie #Larissa weems fluff #Larissa weems edit

[crossroadsserpent]

Dating Crowley includes...

When you started dating Crowley, you had no idea exactly what would happen. Boy were you in for a surprise....

Warnings: fluff, angst, cussing, trust issues, talks of marriage.

(Let me know if you want any of these Headcanons to have their own story!)

~~~~~~~~~~

First date:

Crowley actually had to ask you out several times over the course of four months before you actually said yes.

The first date was honestly a little over the top. He took you to an extremely upscale restaurant, insisting that it was nothing.

If you don't or can't drink he won't shame you, he simply orders you something else to drink before ordering himself some form of alcohol.

If you do drink he'll order the most expensive bottle of wine.

He showered you with compliments, though he was very confused when you looked down at the table after every compliment.

You brushed it off, telling him you were just tired. He obviously didn't believe you, but chose to drop it.

When the date was over, Crowley took you home, giving you a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek with a soft "Thank you for going out with me". Then he was gone.

This whole situation was confusing. Usually Crowley was one to do anything in his power to get what he wanted, worrying only about himself. But tonight... This whole date... He was doing nothing but complimenting you and making sure you were comfortable... You didn't understand.

You shrugged off your confusion, deciding to go to bed, absolutely sure you'd never see him again after tonight.

But you did....

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second date.

He appeared at your doorstep two weeks later, holding a bouquet of deep red roses.

You froze when you opened the door and saw him standing there.

He gave you a small smile and a "Hello, love."

You began to stutter out a response but he cut you off, handing you the roses as he began to apologize for being gone so long.

"It's okay.." you responded softly.

He asked you on another date and you agreed without hesitation.

This date was much calmer, like he'd paid attention to your reaction to your reaction to the first date.

This date was a simple walk through the park at night.

You had no reason to be scared of being out so late at night since you were with the king of hell, someone who wouldn't hesitate to kill someone if they made you uncomfortable.

You both walked for two full hours as you walked.

~~~~~~~~~

Crowley gives you roses at least once a week.

He loves bringing you down to hell, having you sit on his lap while he sits on his throne.

Being a tailor when he was a human, he loves to make you clothes that fit your exact body type.

He loves having his hands on you at all times, it could be just holding your hand, it could be a hand on your waist, it doesn't matter what it is, he loves it.

Speaking of hand holding, the reason why he loves it so much is because he wasn't able to do it when he was human, no matter how much he wanted to.

He loves to watch you indulge in your hobbies. You do art? Can he watch you draw? Oh! You like to write? Can he read what you're writing? Even if you just like taking pictures with your phone, he wants to look at each and every photo.

Despite his position in hell and how he treats other people, this demon is one gentle and attentive lover.

Crowley constantly checks up on you, making sure you've eaten.

Crowley is a major cuddler! He enjoys physical touch, but yours just feels so different to him and he loves it! *

Literally almost cried the first time you snuggled up to him.

Yes, he acts all big and tough, but this man just wants to be loved, and I'm talking real, genuine, passionate love.

He does tend to get upset, yelling at demons, yelling at the Winchesters, yelling at everyone. But never once has he yelled at you, he'd hate himself forever if he ever did.

Crowley will kill for you. (Let's be honest, he probably already has, but he won't ever admit it to you.)

After a month of dating he proposes to you. It's not that he didn't like waiting, he has an eternity to wait. He knows you're a mortal and don't have as long as he does, so he wants to do everything with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Speaking of being mortal.... You were on a hunt with the Winchesters and Crowley popped in just in time to watch a rogue demon attack you, leaving you in the ground bleeding.

Cue pissed off king of hell.

He could let you bleed out.

But he doesn't

Choosing instead, to use his powers as king to turn you into a demon.

He just couldn't lose you... Not the only person who ever truly loved him.

He panics for a bit when you stop breathing, thinking it didn't work.

But it did, and you start to breathe again causing a wave of relief to wash over him.

You were alive.... He wasn't alone again..

~~~~~~~~~~

He asks (begs) you to move down to hell with him.

When you finally say yes, his excitement is very visible on his face.

Getting to have you by his side every day is a dream come true.

Hello everyone! I know it's been a while and I'm quite out of practice, but I hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading!

My requests are still open!

#crowley x reader #supernatural crowley x reader #crowley #fergus macleod x reader #supernatural #fergus macleod

[beegalactica]

living on auto-pilot // surviving the february slump

Now that we are in February, all of that 'new year new me' motivation has worn off. It feels like we are living our days floating from one event on the calendar to the next. Sometimes days just go by where we do things, but it feels like we've done nothing at all. January the 1st was the grand 'reset' button, but one month later, how are you holding up on your goals?

For me, I've found that the goals that I personalised the most and tailored to fit my attributes are the ones that have been the most successful so far, like embracing my natural hair.

Some more abstract goals have been harder to attribute success to because it feels like no matter how many smaller goals I break them down into, there is just not enough clarity or it just doesn't identify with me.

This past month, we've all faced some setbacks in some ways. I hope that you haven't let it discourage you completely. There have been moments when I didn't get what I wanted and I realised instantly why it was better that I didn't, and some where I'm still waiting for that moment to hit me, but I want you to know that everything happens for a reason. Never feel like you have to settle because you're tired of reaching out for better.

Some things that have really helped me take back some control in moments where I feel like I'm not present are:

Faith - whether you are religious or not, knowing that there is better out there for you can bring you great warmth.

Nature - the weather has been quite terrible recently, but it has made me appreciate every bit of sunshine I get

Stillness - being able to just sit and breathe without being bombarded by different thoughts is so healing

Being able to just take a step back and look at where you are, and how far you've come, is so important and can serve as a great motivator, especially during moments where you feel like life is controlling you, instead of you being in control of your life.

#lifeblr #becoming that girl #girlblogger #girlblogging #it girl #self improvement #that girl #self care #digital diary #journal

[starlitangels]

The Power of Words - Part 2

@itsyourstarboy You asked for this, Frankie. I'm here to deliver 971 words

—

Knock-knock-knock!

My brother looked up from his breakfast and glanced over at me. "It's your man," he said.

"How do you know?"

He showed me the camera doorbell's live feed. Guy's honey-blond hair was shaggy on the top of his head. He'd been shoving his hands through it a lot. He was standing on the porch in my hoodie—of course—and the low-res camera didn't show the dark circles under his eyes, but it did show the bags underneath it. He looked like he hadn't slept all night.

And, knowing Guy, he probably hadn't.

I sighed and pushed away from the breakfast bar, rubbing my eyes.

My socks slipped a little on the vinyl floor as I headed for the front door.

With a creak, I pulled the door open. "Morning, Guy," I greeted.

"Hi baby," he replied. "Can... can we talk?"

I stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind me, nodding at the pair of metal chairs my brother kept on the porch. Guy shuffled over to the farthest one and sat down. I sat on the one nearer to the door. Guy shoved his hands between his knees and clamped them together. Dahlia's December wasn't super cold but chilly enough to warrant the motion to keep his hands warm. I shoved mine in the front pocket pouch of my hoodie.

I waited.

Guy fidgeted in his seat, not quite looking me in the eye. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About the power of words. I... I hurt you. I upset you and—and it doesn't matter that I didn't mean it. What matters is that your emotional response to it was real and valid and I actively damaged our relationship by talking before thinking about the words I was saying.

"I don't consider myself stuck with you, honey. I swear. I love you and I love being with you. Any explanation I might give just sounds like an excuse and that's not... that's not what I want. I'm not actually shackled to you. I consider myself committed and hopelessly devoted to you." He said the last sentence with a bit of his usual humorous dramatics. I couldn't help but smile. He took a deep breath. "I love you, honey. I really do. And I don't want... anything I do to split us up. You make me really happy."

"Even though I never give you kisses when you want them?"

"Never is an absolute. Which makes it not true. Sometimes you do give me kisses when I want them. Usually I have to work for them but not always. And, hey, working for them just makes them all the sweeter when I actually get them, right?" He tried for a smile. He looked exhausted.

I felt my mouth curl into a small, tired smile of my own. "Right," I agreed.

Guy extracted one hand from between his knees and held it out toward me. "Baby..." His eyebrows tilted. "You look like hell. Did you even sleep last night?"

I shrugged. "Not well," I admitted. I shifted in my seat, readjusting my position, and took his hand. "It... it's hard to sleep alone when I'm used to having you there with me. Dragging me in close for cuddles without even waking up."

"I didn't really sleep well without you either," he said. He pulled my hand closer and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. "I'm so sorry for hurting you, honey. I know you don't like to express emotion much." He blinked and wiped his face as a tear fell out of his eye and started to laugh awkwardly. "I had a whole speech ready in my head. Fancy words. Pretty syntax. All carefully tailored to sound nice and make you feel better. But I don't think that speech is... right for us.

"So... I'm just gonna... not use it. I love you. I know that. I know that more than I've ever known anything else. I'm an idiot. Always have been. Always will be. You know it. I know it. But if you would do me the true honor of continuing to love me... you'd make me the happiest guy in the world." He suddenly snorted. "G—get it? Guy? 'Cause—'cause my name?" He snickered and started giggling.

I rolled my eyes—but I was smiling. "Yeah. Got it," I replied.

He kept laughing. Cracking himself up at his own ridiculous joke. I shook my head, still grinning.

After a few seconds, he calmed himself down. "Honey... can we go home?"

"God—yes please. I need a nap and I need to take it with you."

He beamed, tightening his grip on my hand. "Go grab your bag. You drove here right?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. Wanna meet me at home or do you wanna come back for your car?"

I took a deep breath. "I'll meet you at home. I don't want to have to come back for my car."

"Sounds good."

—

The second I got into bed, Guy threw an arm around me and drew me to his chest. "Do you forgive me, honey?"

I inhaled and thought for a moment. "Yeah. I think I do. The words still sting a little bit but... I know that you love me. And I do love you too. Hard as it can be for me to express it, sometimes."

Guy buried his face in the back of my neck. "There's nothing wrong with being better at actions than words, baby," he said softly. "Not everyone has a talent for vocabulary and pretty prose. And that's okay. I love you just as you are."

"I love you too. Now can we please take this nap? I'm exhausted."

He kissed the back of my neck. "Mmhmm. Me too."

Within seconds, he was lightly snoring.

#Redacted ASMR #Redacted Audio #ficlet #Redacted Guy #Redacted Honey #Starlit Fic

[magic-is-something-we-create]

GRANITE (ANNIE) MEYWIN - The Millennium Saga [Firebreathers ; Echoseers ; Goddess-Touched]

We sit in quiet stillness, the kind that always drives me to the edge of despair in a few short moments. The kind that I’ve never quite built a tolerance for, no matter how long I’ve worked on facing the fear of it. The kind that keeps me up long after dark, even on good days, scared. But it’s okay, because with Ember, silence isn’t scary. It just is.

Basics: She/her - Cis woman AroAce - 22 (~24 on Earth) Mae Elf - Metal Mage Cane user; born without one of her feet

Where she begins:

We first meet Annie when she's chattering on about all manner of gossip she gleaned from Citylady Palm, one of several clients of Annie's freelance tailoring pursuits. And, as often there is, buried among the fluff of her compulsive need to fill the silence is a series of gems: the people in power are starting to tire of the war abroad, too, and the local rebel group known as the Firebreathers is far more powerful than the Cityfamily wants to admit.

And as it turns out, she's not the only close contact available to the rebels--she just happens to be the one to find the other out first, and her social graces lead him right into the trap of admitting it through implication.

But though she knows how to run her mouth, she also knows how to zip it. And oh, she will, because she wouldn't need the patronage of the Cityfamily itself if their grip on the city was dissolved right along with the landlords.

What she finds herself confronting:

While Annie's story doesn't begin at the same time as others, her own gossip-seeking initiative leads her to chucking herself right into the worst entanglements of the lot.

Questions are, after all, at the heart of both gossip and mystery.

And when she's the first to pick up on the hints of an assassination in the making, only to find that doubting her instincts almost gets someone dear to her killed, she's never leaving another mystery alone again.

Important connections:

Family: Andy and Gabbro (triplets), Dian, Slate, Iggy, and Quartz Meywin. Aurora and Mahann Meywin-Tell (parents).

Friends: Ember, Nimbus, and Autumn Timber, K'Ron Isa and Elar, Xavi NoFather, and Magnolia Adisa. Ranina Palm (as a client).

Enemies: Ranina Palm (as a ruler), Genli Rainer (in solidarity with Ember and Xavi), and [REDACTED] (from asking too many questions of too many brutal "coincidences")

MUSIC

Themes - Vindication by Audiomachine, Rishia Theme (I) by Kevin Penkin, Night of the Wilds by Vindsvept Vibe(s) - Underworld by CYPRSS, Bloodsucker by aeseaes, CEMETERY by AViVA

#writeblr #character intro #wip intro #original writing #original character #the millennium saga #tms intros #snip #my.art

[that-left-turn]

This fic isn't ready for proper posting, but since I seem to have a bad habit of flashing my dirty drafts on Tumblr 🙈🙊 here's a small sneak peek of the setup.

If you choose to read, thank you 💞 Hope you enjoy!

✿*°⋆ ✿⋆────── CHEROKEE ROSES (a Caryl TWD: Dead City variant)

"He shows up limping, with a gash on his forehead which has scabbed over, and various visible scrapes and bruises. He's tired and dirty, swaying slightly with the breeze when Carol arrives at the gate. He's shown up without Lydia."

Lydia is abducted, whisked away to parts unknown and the shadow of Sophia looms as Carol and Daryl set out to find her.

˖✿*⋆✿

The Maggie & Negan spinoff reimagined as a storyline tailored to Carol and Daryl. Set sometime during the time jump in the series finale, "Rest in Peace."

Some of the characters from TWD: Dead City will appear, but no Negan and no Maggie. Other supporting characters have appeared on the flagship show in minor or recurring capacity. ──────⋆✿ ⋆°*✿



He shows up limping, with a gash on his forehead which has scabbed over, and various visible scrapes and bruises. He's tired and dirty, swaying slightly with the breeze when Carol arrives at the gate. He's shown up without Lydia.

"Where is she?"

Carol's heart's in her throat. She can't be dead. She can't be dead. Lydia has persevered more hardship than most, even by apocalypse standards. She's survived abuse, homelessness, famine, mutilation, amputation... She can't be dead. Lydia is the child who lived, who's thrived—the one who broke the curse.

"I'm sorry," Elijah says, as if that makes anything better.

As if Carol can't hear... feel a syncopated pressure, a whooshing in her ears of her own pulse—very much alive—while Lydia, her child surprise whom she didn't want and didn't choose but loves all the same, is lost somewhere along her courier route. A route Carol gave her, along with the same fate as all the other children.

"We fought, but they were just too strong. They took her," his voice breaks and Carol can see the toll it's taking on him. How weary and heartbroken Elijah is. She can't allow herself to feel his pain, so she can't offer him support and she has no time to expend on comfort.

"What do you mean, they took her?" She knows her voice has grown cold, softer. Deadlier. Someone took Lydia. Someone took her. She's alive somewhere out there, captive and Carol can focus on that bit. She won't fall apart if she has a goal, a mission. "Who are they?"

She knows, intellectually, this isn't Elijah's fault, that he cares for Lydia, but Carol trusted him to protect her. Lydia wasn't ready, yet, for an extended excursion, or to fight outnumbered against a superior foe. She was still learning how to master a new weapon, adjusting to the changes in her balance.

"I tried to follow." He's pleading with her, wanting her to know that he tried. Carol's been here before and trying isn't ever enough. Letting someone else protect her children—Rick, Daryl, Elijah—no matter how capable and well-meaning, in the end, her children die. She's negligent. Careless. Unfit to parent. "Got as far as some place called New Babylon."

˖✿*⋆✿

Lydia stares, bewildered, at the river. The island in the distance... At least she thinks it's an island. The big buildings, half-obscured in the fog, look imposing even from a distance. Testament of the world she can hardly remember.

They've traveled far, she knows that, hours from where she was separated from Elijah. He was just left on the ground, vanishing in the distance and Lydia doesn't know how badly hurt he is. If he's still alive. It gnaws away at her, but she needs to stay in the moment. Alert. Ready.

It's a young woman leading the group and she speaks a foreign language with the others. Lydia isn't sure, but she thinks it might be the same one Princess speaks sometimes. Spanish. She has dark hair, pulled up high on her head, like Rosita used to and she moves with the same confidence. Light in her step and vicious with her dark-bladed knives. In a direct fight, Lydia can't match her. Not anymore. Not yet. She doesn't understand their conversation, so she's at a double disadvantage.

They've encountered others along the way and their group now includes two other reluctant travelers. A younger boy and a girl who might be around Lydia's age. They ask questions and cry. Beg to be let go. Plead with their captors. Lydia smiles at them, to let them know she's friendly, but she doesn't speak. She knows the value of being silent, unnoticed. Underestimated.

There's a boat that will take them across the water and it makes Lydia nervous. When the opportunity comes to break free—and it will come—how will she cross this river? She knows how to swim, having lived on a riverboat early in the apocalypse, but she doesn't know the currents or what's in the waters. Doesn't know if she can still swim with only one arm.

˖✿*⋆✿

When the gate opens, Daryl is greeted by Ezekiel and he's suddenly filled with dread. Something's happened and Daryl breaks so abruptly he nearly clears the handlebars of his bike. "Where is she?"

The other man looks sympathetic. Pained, like he knows his words will change Daryl's reality forever. Look at me. Just look at me. He's held Carol at the loss of her children—twice—but who will hold him if Carol's gone?

"New York, probably."

Daryl stares for a beat. That doesn't make no damn sense. He squints at the leader of the Commonwealth. It's only been a few hours since he left and Carol couldn't possibly have planned a trip to New York in that amount of time, not without him knowing. They make regular forays into Pennsylvania, but it's a big damn state with a lot of Amish communities and CW intel so far hasn't extended all the way to New Jersey, much less New York. Why would she head to a place that's probably a massive walker infestation?

"Mercer is with Carol and Elijah, planning."

Elijah. The pieces fall into place. The she is Lydia, not Carol and Daryl needs to get to her. To Carol. He twists the throttle and takes off in a spray of gravel. He should thank Ezekiel, but he doesn't have time for that. Carol needs him and Daryl needs to get to her before she takes off for New York without him. Every second counts.

˖✿*⋆✿

"It's a military mission," Mercer says, "not a diplomatic one." He's speaking to Carol's back as she's busy stuffing things into her oversized doomsday bag. His eyes flick to Daryl as he enters the office. "An extraction behind enemy lines is not–" He stops when Carol turns, but she doesn't look at him. She makes eye contact with Daryl and the other men no longer matter.

She looks... formidable and Daryl nods. They will go, together. Just the two of them. Carol doesn't need comfort and she can't sit on the sidelines. "I'll get a car," he says, "Tell the kids."

"I should come," Elijah says. "I know where they went and I'm a good fighter. You need backup."

Mercer scoffs, "You can barely stand up straight right now."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Daryl can see the truth of that statement. Elijah is tired and unsteady, holding onto the back of a chair. Definitely worse for wear, but determined. Steadfast. They won't bring him, not for this, but Lydia deserves that in her life. "You heal up, so you can look after her when we come back."

He reaches out to clasp the younger man's forearm, to steady him, but mostly to extract an agreement. Elijah meets his eyes, unwavering. His grip on Daryl's arm firm as he nods almost imperceptibly. It's a promise. A pledge on his honor.

"Firepower won't help and you know it," Carol's voice breaks the moment and Daryl's attention lands squarely on her once again. "You can't bring a convoy to New York, it'll be too visible. Subterfuge is the only way to get in and out without risking Lydia."

Her breath gets shaky and Daryl can see the shimmer in her eyes, so he holds out his hand for Carol to take. Draw whatever strength she might need. She laces their fingers together when her hand finds his and Daryl smiles at them completing the gesture without breaking eye contact. Things are different now.

"Daryl is the best hunter/tracker we have and he knows Lydia better than any of your men." She looks into his eyes as she continues speaking to Mercer.

There's always a frisson of pleasure whenever Carol compliments him, even when he feels self-conscious and awkward. She's the smartest person Daryl knows, so if she thinks highly of him, he's not without worth. He matters. He matters to her, just like she matters to him.

"We're quiet, don't need words between us and Carol is the head of intelligence 'round here. No one's better at infiltration or information gatherin'." He squeezes her fingers. Together, they're enough.

Mercer sighs, resigned. He's not happy, but he knows better than to argue with the united front of Dixon. "One of the troopers, Vasquez, had family in that region. They could still be there. He'll give you directions."



✿*°⋆ ✿⋆────── Who's Who:

The trooper to whom Princess talks about toilet paper (TWD 1102 "Acheron: Part II") is called Vasquez and on Dead City, the owner of Easy Stay Motor Inn mentions "Vasquez down the road" as someone who might have sent Maggie to spy on them (DC 101 "Old Acquaintances"). The familial relationship between the two is entirely of my making—Vasquez is a relatively common name in the tri-state area, so suspend disbelief liberally and reapply as needed.

˖✿*⋆✿

Dedicated to the TWDU power brokers, McDermott, Gimple, Jorné and Zabel: "May your penis hurt when you pee."

#caryl #caryl fanfiction #dead city #cherokee roses

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 2

A Niche Narratives Fanficiton

last | first | next

2: Dangerous Liaison

His first few weeks of employment at the track blur into a seemingly endless routine of eat, work, sleep, repeat. He's out the door by nine at the latest and never back before two, often too tired to strip down to his vest and boxers before falling into bed in an exhausted slumber, only to begin the cycle again six hours later. Some days, he barely eats at all, grabbing a latke or two on his way out with a promise to come home for dinner he never kept on his lips, leaving a worried mother frowning in the kitchen.

At work, his very existence can be reduced to numbers. Bets, rates, odds and loans dominate his life as Mordecai quickly learns everything at the track is a hustle; Mr Fiores' boss controls the races from the ground up, fixing races and paying off jockeys, to lending funds at extortionate prices to the desperate hoping for a lucky break. Even refreshments (as far as liquor and treif are considered 'refreshing') are overpriced and under portioned, forcing sales all night.

No, there's nothing legitimate about anything at the races.

He barely has time to feel guilty, though; between running to different tracks, memorizing odds and horses, taking bets or paying out from his allocated cash purse, he doesn't stop as soon as the first hoof enters the stables. On top of all of his footwork, its also Mordecai's job to note it all down in his pocket ledger and run the numbers, ready to be delivered to Mr Fiores that night for review.

Weeks swiftly become months. It's grueling, unscrupulous work for little compensation, but it's enough to make sure his sisters eat well, and his mother can keep them clothed and warm. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he works, he can't seem to save any money. There's always something; medical bills, replacement pince-nez, rising food prices, broken windows or structural damage their old landlord won't shell out for.

For a while, it seemed hopeless, as if his dedication wasn't worth the exhaustion, until the day he took his mother along to try on his first tailored suit. Immaculately dressed for the first time in brand new clothes, he'd glanced at his mother. His heart dropped for a moment when their eyes met, seeing she'd been crying silently as he was measured for a collar, but a genuine smile on her muzzle as she nodded her approval allowed him to manage a smile and nod back.

She's proud, Mordecai had realized. Of me.

It made his nefarious lifestyle easier to stomach, knowing his family were more comfortable. It doesn't make the job any easier though, nor does the money go further. With his infant sister's health failing and a deficit in funds rising very month with her medication, Mordecai set his mind to getting a raise, and he's certain he knows how to do it.

Now thirteen and onto his second suit, with generous slack in the hems to be taken down as he grows, Mordecai arrives at the laundromat he once approached out of desperation. With his ledger and second notebook held to his chest, he pauses almost exactly where he had done two years prior to study the building anew, a grimace affixed to his muzzle as he adjusts his spectacles.

There's been no attempt at fixing the exterior since his last visit, and perhaps that is why, despite being a foot taller and far more confident than two years prior, the building still evokes unease in the young grifter. Regardless, he's gotten better at hiding his discomfort; the only outward sign of any emotion is a flicker of his tail as he pushes the door open with practiced ease, the jingle of the bell so familiar he barely hears it.

It's just gone midnight, still deep into gangster territory. As is usual, the storefront is filled with excess associates at small, rickedy tables playing poker. They're the boss' triggermen, his enforcers and strong arms, ready to be deployed to any home within the city at a moment's notice. They'll break noses, snap fingers or in extreme cases, burn buildings down to ensure any who slighted the organisation realise the seriousness of their transgression and swiftly settle their debts, with their lives if necessary.

They recognise the 'Little Bookie' (as Mr Fiores nicknamed his newest asset some time ago) and remain seated as he strides past them. Some men scowl, inherently distrusting of his culture and religion, while others sneer knowing it's the sole reason he works with them. Mordecai pointedly ignores them all, using the satchel bumping his hip to modulate the discomfort crawling up the back of his neck as he pushes the back door open. 

He won't let it show. He won't give them the satisfaction.

"Good evening, Mr Fiores," Mordecai greets formally upon entry, forcing himself to make brief, direct eye contact with the man to convey his confidence. No longer intimidated as bodyguards all around the room stand in unison, Mordecai removes his satchel and offers it to the nearest to search, as is customary. He'd rather willingly comply with Fiores' requirements than foreign hands wrestling his belongings from his body. "I hope you're doing well."

"You're early," the underboss acknowledges without looking up from his game, placing his hand of cards face up on the table. A royal flush wins him the pot, which he gladly draws across the table to his monstrous stack of coins and other valuables with a greedy grin, cigar dropping ash on the table as he leans forward. "I hope that don't mean trouble, Katz. I'm having a good day."

Mordecai glances at the man going through his bag, taking out individual pencils and even scraps of paper, nosing into the owner's more private thoughts without remorse. There's nothing of note in there, he knows; nothing that can lead the men back to his family or be considered as a weapon. He made sure of it, as he does every evening before handing over his ledger.

Having his things searched every day for two years hasn't made the invasion of privacy any less irritating. He frowns at the man a moment before turning his attention back to the underboss now staring him down. "On the contrary," he says with an upward lilt of his chin. "Revenue has increased, for my tracks at least. You'll find the details within the ledger."

He offers the ledger to another minion, who snatches it and gives it straight to Mr Fiores. Mordecai waits a heartbeat to let the man read and nod approvingly at the numbers before moving onto his pitch. "In addition to the ledger," he begins, now offering the second notebook to the same goon who, to his irritation, does not take it immediately. "I've isolated a trend in punter bets that if exploited correctly, could increase revenue across every bookkeeper in your employ. If you are interested, the details are inscribed in this notebook."

"Have you now?" The overweight grifter asks curiously, eyes still on the ledger as he raises a hand for the notebook. With a sharp glare at the apparently unrattled Mordecai, the goon finally snatches that notebook. Dark ears fold back under the scathing gaze, but the tuxedo's anxiety stays effectively disguised as distaste by the deep scowl on his face while Fiores skims the first few pages, then closes it with a quiet huff. "I don't have time to read an essay, Katz. Summarise it. Make it brief."

Satchel finally returned with contents intact, Mordecai slips it over his shoulder before he speaks, keeping his explanation succinct and direct. "Punters are inclined to place large bets on horses with better odds. They pay out less, but considered more likely to win, counterbalancing the concern that they will lose the excess bet. Considering the races are fixed regardless, artificially inflating the odds on more horses will encourage higher bids you know won't succeed, creating a larger gross income per horse, per race."

Mr Fiores sucks on his cigar thoughtfully, eyeing the skinny adolescent. The once fearful kid has come into his own the few years he's worked at the tracks, crafting an unshakably serious persona many of his own triggermen find unnerving. The underboss smirks, thick gray smoke seeping between yellowing teeth. "Well look at you," he praises patronisingly, a meaty hand on the notebook in his possession. "Not just a one trick pony, are ya, Little Bookie? The boss'll be very interested in this. Good job, kid."

He knows he shouldn't request anything, and what he asks for it's far too much, but Mordecai is desperate once again. Hannah's lungs have become so clogged with spores, she's barely able to breathe. The family spent every spare dime and more besides on doctors visits, only to be told there's nothing to be done; she would be fine if the house weren't dangerously infested with mold, they need to move.

Unfortunately, they simply don't have the funds to do so, nor does his current wage make that a possibility any time soon. His mother and sisters now spend as much time out of the home as possible, visiting parks or aimlessly walking block after block with Hannah in a stroller, in the hope it will help clear the infection in her lungs. That may be all they can do, but Mordicai can do more, he's sure of it.

"In return for my observations," Mordecai interjects just as Fiores motions for one of his buddies to deal a new round from what the tom assumes is an incredibly stacked deck. "I want fifteen percent of the net profits."

The eruption of laughter is immediate. Emerald eyes narrow behind pince-nez as he lets the entire room openly mock his request, only his tail belying his displeasure as it lashes the air behind him. "Fifteen, you want?" Fiores finally repeats as he recovers himself, wiping away a tear with the back of his hand. "You're a funny guy, Katz. Real funny. With cracks like that, you could be a comedian!"

Mordecai slips his hands into his pockets, his expression as severe as before. "If it were a worthless suggestion, one of your lackeys here would have suggested it earlier, correct?" It's not really a question, but a statement intended to cement his worth. The goons around the table look murderous, but the underboss himself still grins, giving his quirkiest hire an open invitation to talk. "Perhaps fifteen was too outlandish, then. Ten would suffice."

"Ten," Fiores echoes, followed by a low chuckle and a slow shake of the head. He raises his new hand and studies his chances, glancing at Mordecai over the fanned cards. "This is why no one hires kikes. You're greedy." Mordecai doesn't flinch away from the insult, quietly amused the man doesn't appreciate the irony of calling a poor man greedy while he placed multiple hundreds of dollars on a single turn of cards. 

"Five percent," Fiores finally offers as he sits back, meeting Mordecai's gaze once more as he sucks the last breaths out of his cigar. "Nothing more."

"Eight," Mordecai bites back, feeling emboldened by making any progress at all. Five percent would be above what he currently takes, almost an honest wage from preliminary calculations, but he feels he can get more. "In addition, I'll finalize an overarching ledger each day for all incomes from the track. You need only approve it."

He can see the large feline's mind working overtime now. An offer that reduces his own workload but boosts profits is hard to turn down. Mordecai has been delivering flawless ledgers - on time and in excruciating detail - for two years, an impressive resume for any teenager. Fiores need only to decide it's worth the extra cost, something the tuxedo tom is counting on the increased revenue to permit.

Finally, the obese cat stubs out his cigar and waves the tom closer with a toothy grin. Mordecai hesitates, then complies carefully, making his way deeper into the room than he ever has on previous visits. A half dozen pairs of eyes follow his progress until he's stood next to Fiores, who beams up at him like a proud father, an expression that almost raises the boy's hackles in discomfort.

"You're a veritable businessman," Fiores compliments. With heavy smoke lingering from the cigar, Mordecai suppresses the urge to wrinkle his nose in case it causes offense, a lesson hard learned at the tracks. The underboss extracts a fresh cigar from a box on the table and brings it up to sniff deeply, apparently relishing the scent before placing it inside a small guillotine contraption in the table. "Seven percent, but you don't bother me for more pay rises, even if you got more-" 

Making direct eye contact with Mordecai, he uses that exact moment to slice the tip off his cigar. Mordecai can't help but flinch at the snick of the blade. There's a tittering of laughter around the table as the lad tenses, the fear he tries so hard to bury finally breaking through the facade from the simple threat as Fiores continues. "-brilliant ideas. Sound fair?"

Mordecai swallows and belatedly nods in agreement, which seems to be enough for the underboss. He places the cigar between his teeth and pats the notebook in front of him. "I'll keep this, for reference," he says quietly. "Now go home, Katz. We're done."

He's sure he leaves too fast, the rolling chuckle of laughter that follows him a testament to his swift exit, but he doesn't care. Mordecai's perseverance has paid off, even if it's dug him deeper into a criminal underworld he entered unwillingly just two years ago. He's secured a raise equivalent to the profits of the organisation opposed to the flat rate he earned prior, which means saving to move from their slum housing to somewhere cleaner.

His reservations and fears, even his personal safety, always come second to his family's health and wellbeing. Even if it kills him someday, he won't regret the sacrifices he makes along the way.

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisy mordecai #mordecai heller #fanfiction #no beta we die like atlas may #fanfic #hurricane heller #chapter 2 #hurricane heller chapter 2 #1920s #period typical antisemitism #gangster #organised crime #tracy j butler #pre canon #niche narratives