There Existed No Law In Sparring Within The Port Mafia, Just No Death. And Even Then, Forcing One To

there existed no law in sparring within the port mafia, just no death. and even then, forcing one to the brink of it was always discouraged and yet occurring at a frequency she'd suspect only due to her presence. they'd gotten too comfortable, too dependent on her ability that they mock the power of death, the meaning of it. they spit in its face with every unnecessary means of violence, of near - overkill for the sake of gloating. what was victory when it was not genuine, born for appearances and not in gravity ? if not for the research opportunities each injury provided, she would have outright rejected their demands to be healed — let them sweat, squirm, writhe under the power she wielded. but, he, demon prodigy — or so they say, having been slotted alongside him more often than she'd like, he'd become the source of her intrigue. and now he had her pinned, lack of that foolish hubris most of the members carried. it was different with him, his confidence was factual. and she could not break him.

short gasp escaped her lips from the impact, flat of her back hitting the mat with a dull thud and she could've fought back more, used the momentum to attack him anywhere else he wasn't paying attention to but instead she relaxed further, muscles softer under his touch. ends of her lips twitched, slightly curving at the ends. she made no effort to squirm under his hold, not even to test the extent of the pressure he maintained. it was a rarity to be in such a position and she would allow him the once - in - a - blue - moon chance to soak it in. “ mmm, valuable lesson. thank you. ” velvety smooth, octaves settled and balanced as she shifted under him comfortably, bending at the knee. magentas flickered towards the small cut on the side of his cheek from where her nails must've grazed him. “ you're bleeding, you know. or do you like it when it's something i point out ? ”

sparring with yosano had its advantages, at least when dazai was slammed into the floor, she'd have to pay special attention to him afterwards and tend to wounds she purposefully inflicted. it was interesting, and dazai felt he learned quickly what to expect when she huffed and blew a stray strand of hair from her face, shuffled her weight onto her back foot and breathed in before lunging for him. her timings were impeccable, and though her techniques weren't ground - breaking, dazai struggled in evading her advances and a few times had ended up sprawled beneath her before both retreated to their respective corners of the makeshift arena, only to begin again. no shame to be had in losing to her, humiliation would only serve as a greater deterrent and cause greater mistakes, and after all, this was for fun if nothing else.

⅋ @leventar, yosano akiko . . . “ too rough for you? ”

her voice swam into the forefront of his mind once the blow from the cement floor had subsided in waving over him, dazai peeled open his eyes to meet her gaze with lips pressed together, sparing a look to the wrists she'd pinned beneath her palms before tutting, and in an instant hooking a leg around her to turn the tides. in a swift movement, he had her underneath him with a roll of his eyes, one knee applying pressure just above her elbow, other hand mirroring her earlier position, her wrist in his palm and pressed to the floor. the press of the rest of her body had been weaker, almost as though she'd expected him to give up after taunting him ⸺ not likely. nothing to prove between them, but dazai would be a fool to let her walk away with so many victories under her belt. simply, he'd been waiting for the right time to strike, and yosano had provided the perfect opening. “ you shouldn't gloat until your opponent is fully incapacitated. that's just common sense. ”

i’m one clownery away from going back on my secret shanghai blogs and dragging @qismet w me

ripped nylons and stolen skirts, scuffed black, leather boots that she'd been duct - taping and painting black just to pretend the soles were new — painted nails tug at the seams as she takes in the noise of the gallagher house as just that — noise. much more preferable to the noise at home, where the glass shattering was the result of a shady visit to a neighborhood clinic instead of one of his siblings dropping a dish in the sink. there was dysfunctional and there were the milkoviches, and mandy wanted what they had. pried into the small opening of space that'd hardly existed for her, nestling deep enough that it'd prove more work to remove her than letting be.

the question left her lips the way smoke burns, charred and strained. couldn't look at him, not out of fear or guilt but rather shame or the mortifying ordeal of simply being perceived. she didn't want to be weak. she'd considering taking those words back until he nudged her, short huff emitting through and pale, viridescents find themselves meeting icy blues. the cold of the winters that'd passed by now. “ there's this stupid club i want to get into. the like, the kind where they blow smoke up each other's asses an' shit. ” toe of her boot kicked at a small rock over the cracked, aged cement. “ i think they're stupid as fuck and i'd rather eat glass than associate with 'em but i made a bet with mickey an' he's being an asshole about it. ” there was a brief pause before she added, “ i have to ... write shit, do interviews. dress ... not like this. ”

✉ → "if i ask for your help, are you gonna make a big deal about it?" / @leventar

the question is so out of this fucking world that the inhale on his cigarette is stopped mid - drag, the smoke congesting his throat on its destructive path to his lungs.

"you wanna ask for help? shiiit."

plucking the cigarette from between his lips, his mouth curls as he exhales and blue eyes squint against the afternoon sun. the cherry - red tip is pressed against the wood of the step that they sit on outside of his house to join the rest of the scorched marks, the rare warm early spring chicago day tempting them to the front porch. voices leak from underneath the front door, the typical yelling that always exists in different contexts, and he rests his elbows against his bent knees.

"is it illegal shit? if so, how illegal?"

the question needs to be asked. it's said so casually that it's like the words are rehearsed in that exact order, repeated in several conversations. he nudges her with his elbow, ducking his head down to meet her averted downward gaze.

"hey, i'm fuckin' joking. only a little though. what's up?"

❙⠀ ⠀ 𝒊.⠀ QUINLEY, ADELAIDE.⠀⠀⠀.𖥔 ݁ ˖⠀⠀“⠀⠀it’s a fucking mess, to be honest with you ...⠀⠀” ⠀⠀[⠀. . .⠀]⠀⠀@fablelike .

slender digits pressed into sore temples, irritated from the onslaught of dead ends piling up after the other. in a more literal sense than anything, hazels drifting from adelade's towards the crime scene in which a crowd had begun to grow around the yellow tape, in which carts were being hauled out of the bricked house and a sobbing, an older woman stood off the side as she mourned the loss of her family members. she could remember how they both tried to help, tried to get through to her, but to no avail. their world existed with skepticism to cope for the unexplained, and tommy had called it then — death had loomed, and it would take its victim sooner than later. only it'd broken the pattern they'd previously established, and left nothing but more questions than answers they could even begin to theorize with. the rain was constant, unending and heavy as it threatened to pierce through the black umbrella shielding the both of them, toes of their shoes damp from exposure. “ i couldn't even pretend to give up if i wanted to. i feel like whatever it is, whoever it is, is making a joke out of us. ” words short and choppy, fluctuating in volume as she found her footing, attention carefully fixated on the detective's as she spoke. “ we need to get into that house. ”

thinking about revamping the elysian gv i had a year or so ago w a new server . hm