crime is lord

tears me up when artemis vehemently defends his father, a distant mega crime lord who is arguably abusive (not really arguably, he shaped artemis as a young child into something a child should not be) so much that he has himself convinced he is a good man. colfers attempts at parental redemption later on irk me in this, but at the same time im glad theyre there. im glad that artemis through his own redemption helped turn his parents for the better, but i dont like how his parents badness isn’t talked about beyond artys broken heart (which only happened like twice)

Watching the gradual escalation of Roosterteeth’s pranking is fascinating. It starts with simple things like “Michael puts wet bread on Gavin’s desk” or “Gavin burns down a minecraft house”.

Then came the more advanced pranks, Ryan making Gavin’s desk vibrate, everyone changing Ryan’s gamertag.

And now we are at a point where the achievement hunters built a complex apparatus to raise Jeremy’s desk up to the ceiling, and Blaine flew Burnie and Chris out to LA for a fake investment meeting just so Blaine could make Chris think he was in the middle of a government raid on a crime lords mansion.

I mean, where do we go from that?

Luke Skywalker (the lgbt community) initiates a plan to rescue Han Solo (socialism) from the crime lord Jabba the Hutt (capitalism) with the help of Princess Leia (the feminist movement) and Lando Calrissian (the black community). After Luke (the lgbt community) survives his battle with Jabba’s Rancor (congressional opposition to the Employment Non-Discrimination Act), Jabba (capitalism) sentences him and Han (socialism) to death by taking them to the great pit of Carkoon (the senate), where Luke (the lgbt community) frees himself and battles Jabba’s guards (the republican party). During the chaos, Boba Fett (the increasingly disestablished evangelical christian middle class) attempts to attack Luke (the lgbt community), but falls into the Sarlacc pit (the subprime mortgage crisis)

So don’t be alarmed if he takes you by the arm
I won’t let him win, but I’m a sucker for his charm
Trouble is a friend
Yeah trouble is a friend of mine, oh oh

This gay mega block is taking over my life



On 8 March, 1921, the battered body of a young boy aged between five to seven was discovered floating in pond in Waukesha, Wisconsin. He had been bludgeoned to death before being dumped in the pond. It was theorised that he could have been in the pond for a number of months before being found. He was wearing expensive clothing which indicated that he may have come from an affluent background. He became known as “Little Lord Fauntleroy.” Despite coming from a seemingly wealthy background, nobody ever claimed his body. He was displayed at a local funeral home and a $1000 reward was offered to anybody who could identify him but this failed to generate any information and his true identity, or why he was brutally murdered, remains unknown.


All For The Game

Neil Josten is the newest addition to the Palmetto State University Exy team. He’s short, he’s fast, he’s got a ton of potential—and he’s the runaway son of the murderous crime lord known as The Butcher.

Signing a contract with the PSU Foxes is the last thing a guy like Neil should do. The team is high profile and he doesn’t need sports crews broadcasting pictures of his face around the nation. His lies will hold up only so long under this kind of scrutiny and the truth will get him killed.

But Neil’s not the only one with secrets on the team…….

Story Shard 639

After the tragic loss of her daughter and husband, a mother allows herself to drown her despair in alcohol for years. Until a group of kids show up and drag her into trouble they refer to as adventure. And she Where the f*** are these kids parents you are going to get yourselves killed, no you should not try to take on a crime lord, oh my god put that sword down.

Mr. Barnes (Part 1 out of ?)

(A/N): Here’s that mafia AU you guys! 

Summary: Living in 1940′s Brooklyn as a crime lord is all fun and games until someone falls in love

Warnings: for now just swearing and brief mentions of torture

Originally posted by fvckmxk

   Bucky huffed on his cigarette as he walked down the empty streets of Brooklyn, a crooked little smile upon his face as his dress shoes clacked against the pavement. He’d had a business meeting only a few hours before but his newer- partner- had taken a little more negotiating than others. 

   “Good evening officer,” Bucky smirked as he tucked his bloodied fist into a handkerchief, hiding the already scabbing wounds. The officer gave him a polite smile and gently tip of his hat as he walked down on the road, attempting to hide the way he nearly quaked in his shoes as he walked off. Bucky chuckled dryly as he puffed a little bit of smoke into the air, watching it curl up beautifully only to dissipate a few moments later. With a gentle sigh Bucky continued on his way, bypassing half the slums of Brooklyn and slowly, nearly leisurely, made his way to the nicer, bigger houses in the Brooklyn area. 

   The lights to his house were on and a figure stood in the doorway, their arms folded over their chest as the looked out into the road with no doubt that distasteful eye of theirs. 

   “Dot,” Bucky smiled as he made his way up the steps to his home, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek. “Hiya babydoll,” 

   “You’re late,” She sighed, tucking a red curl behind her ear. Bucky gave her a gentle smile as he flicked his nearly burnt cigarette into their rose bushes. 

   “Business ran a little later than usual, seems like old Danny won’t be able to sell secrets for a bit,”  Dot smiled, a twisted little thing as she got up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. 

   “You cut out his tongue, didn’t’cha?” She asks with an almost morbid curiosity. Bucky smiled as he pressed another kiss to her cherry painted lips, letting her sweet taste fill his mouth. 

   “Mh, It was only fair, was it not?” Dot smiled even more, her hands sliding up to grasp at Bucky’s blood stained tie. 

   “Such a dirty boy Mr. Barnes,” She chuckled in an almost sultry tone. 

   “You know it,” Bucky gave her a little wink as he stepped away from her, waltzing into his warm kitchen. “Ah, doll, you made me dinner?” 

   “ ‘Course I did Baby, I even warmed it up for ya,” Bucky turned to Dot with a mock fond smile, an almost coo falling from his lips. 

   “You’re so good to me Dot, what would I do without’cha?” Dot smiled, an almost girly chuckle falling from her lips as her cheeks dusted a light pink. 

   “I suppose starve, you don’t ever seem to have the time to stop and eat,” Bucky smiled, turning back to look at the food with an almost ravenous look. 

   “Of course I would,’ 

    (Y/N) walked down the street, their jacket pulled around their freezing form tightly as they breathed in and out shallowly. Damn, they hated their stupid asthma and they hated stupid winter. With a wheezing little breath (Y/N) turned a corner, marching right out onto main street. (Y/N) eyed the little bakery just down the block, it’s soft lights an invitation to get out of the cold, an invitation (Y/N) would accept. With a smile (Y/N) walked as briskly as they could to the shop, pulling open the old wooden door. 

   “(Y/N),” Mrs. Rogers, the baker, smiled out at (Y/N) with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. “I was wondering when you were going to stop by today,” 

   “Sorry,” (Y/N) gives her an apologetic little smile as they remove their mittens and hat. “Asthma’s been acting up and I got here as fast as my horrible lungs could carry me,” Mrs. Rogers gave them a sympathetic smile as they browsed over the baked goods, their fingertips gently reaching out to brush along the glass. “How’s Mr. Rogers doing?” (Y/N) poked their head up from the case just long enough to give Sarah a look before ducking back down again to look at the cookies, cakes, and breads. 

   “He’s just fine deary, thank you for asking,” 

   “And what about-” The name catches in (Y/N)’s throat, as though stuck by some invisible force. “What about Steve?” Mrs. Rogers sighs, her bright eyes losing their shine. 

   “I don’t know (Y/N), he’s hardly ever visiting, he doesn’t ever write to us, we only ever see him on the streets smoking with some hooligans.” 

   “I’m sorry,” Is all (Y/N) could provide, their tone coming across as sympathetic. “It happens to the best of them,” 

   “These….these gangs are dangerous aren’t they?” (Y/N)’s head perks up again, a look of remorse crossing their winter touched features. 

   “Yes Mrs. Rogers, very dangerous,’ Sarah sighs, hanging her head in shame. 

   “That boy is going to be the death of me…” A brief look of pain crossed her features before she was suddenly perking back up again, her cheery smile returning (even if it was a bit more plastic this time). “Well, what are you going to be having sweetie?” (Y/N) gave her a small smile as they point to a loaf of bread, the steam still slowly rising from it. With a smile Sarah retrieves the loaf, placing it in a small bag for (Y/N) to take home. 

   “Tell your mother to come visit sometime, god knows she needs to get out of that house every so often,” (Y/N) chuckled as they placed a few coins on Sarah’s nearly pristine counter top before they reached over and grabbed the still steaming loaf of bread. 

   “I’ll be sure to, I’m sure she’d love to catch up,” 

   “And mind that asthma of yours! I don’t want you dropping dead on me!” Sarah calls after (Y/N) as they exit the shop with a wave, a small smile plastered on their dusted cheeks. Sarah smiles as she places the money in the register, listening to the satisfying little chime that issued when she dropped the coins in. Her thoughts drifted to (Y/N), of poor sickly, stubborn (Y/N). God bless their soul she loved them, but in this world, with their ailments she doubted they’d last very long. And oh how right she’d been…

    Bucky walked through the freezing streets of Brooklyn with a lighter in his hand, his thumb flicking over the tiny flame over and over again, almost tempting fate to burn him but he knew it wouldn’t, even fate was scared of Mr. Barnes. With a little satisfied smirk Bucky flicked the cap closed and placed the lighter back in his pocket, right next to his Brazilian imported cigarettes. His eyes linger on the small rounded material as he turns a corner, his feet carrying him down the familiar main street but suddenly his freshly polished shoes are colliding with some force, another person to be exact. 

   Bucky grunts a bit as he grabs onto whoever he bumped into, gripping them to steady not only himself but them as well. 

   “Sorry there kid, I didn’t even see you there-” Bucky’s sentence trails off as he looks up, his blue gaze connecting with one of the most gorgeous faces he’d seen in his life. Their eyes were brimming with tears, no doubt due to the harsh air, their cheeks and nose were dusted an almost innocent pink color, and their outfit, albeit old and shabby, complimented their rather sweet look very well. 

   “I’m sorry,” They whisper, their voice rather hoarse. “I wasn’t looking were I was going and-” 

   “It’s a-okay kid,” Bucky gives them a gentle smile as he dusts off their shoulders. “Nobody got hurt,” 

   “Well uh- thanks for sparing me a lecture about being mindful,” (Y/N) smiles sheepishly, their face suddenly contorting with pain as they turn their head to the side and cough up a raging fit. If Bucky didn’t know any better he’d say they were dying, hacking their lungs right up into the crease of their arm but suddenly the fit ends and they look at him again, giving him a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” (Y/N) whispers, their voice even more hoarse than before. “Um, thanks again though Mr…?” They trail off, waiting for Bucky to supply them with an answer. Bucky chuckled a bit, shaking his head in almost amusement. Oh, this was always his favorite part, telling someone his name and watching the life and color drain from their face, watching the way their eyes would dim and their smiles would fall. 

   “I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes, and you are?” (Y/N) suddenly gulps, their eyes widening just enough to let Bucky know that they recognized his name. 

   Bucky Barnes- mobster and leading crime lord of Brooklyn 1944

Me explaining how I see kpop groups
  • Block b: silly boys being silly... but like, while also being crime lords
  • Monsta x: it's like a frat had a meeting one day and decided 'bruh, we should be a boy band'
  • And then they were
  • Bts: mama jin, papa namjoon, and grandpa yoongi looking after the rowdy children
  • Vixx: they're kinda kinky
  • Got7: the group that blew my 'no shipping real people' policy right out of the water
  • Btob: they're literally so pretty one time my friend asked me if they were women
  • Exo: I feel like there were more of them at one point...

Griselda Blanco, also known as The Cocaine Godmother”, “La Madrina” and “The Black Widow”, was one of the most notorious drug lords of the Medellin Cartel in the 1970’s and early 80’s era. While Pablo Escobar was still a small-time thug in Medellin, Griselda Blanco built up a multi-million dollar cocaine empire between Colombia and the USA. There were several reasons why the teenage runaway from Medellin became one of the mightiest women in the history of drug cartels. Blanco was creative and revolutionized coke trafficking, on one occasion she managed to smuggle drugs sewn in clothes of her own line of underwear. On the other hand, she was known as a criminal mastermind with a spider web of ruthless affiliates, and feared for her cruelty and mercilessness. The total number of murders she either committed herself or ordered through contract killers is still unknown, but it is estimated that she was responsible for up to 200 murders, 40 of them in the USA, including the death of a two-year old boy in 1982.

Griselda was born on February 15th, 1943 as the daughter of a field worker and a landowner in Cartagena, Colombia. She grew up among thugs and sex workers in the slums of Medellin, her mother being a part-time prostitute who was physically abusive towards her. At the age of 13, Griselda joined a youth gang. It is believed that she committed her first murder around that time, when she shot a 11-year old boy that she and her gang had kidnapped from a rich family. Between the age of 14 and 20, Griselda, who had run away from her abusive mother, started working as a prostitute herself. She moved to New York with her first husband, where she started to build up a flourishing trade in cocaine. By 1972, Blanco was controlling New York’s entire cocaine market.

In 1985, Griselda Blanco was arrested in a cocaine trafficking case in New York City. All in all, after her charges for murder had to be dropped due to technicalities, Blanco served roughly 20 years in several US prisons before she was released and deported to Colombia in 2004. Eight years later, on September 3rd, 2012, Blanco was assassinated by two unknown men on a motorcycle in a drive-by-shooting. Ironically, she herself had “invented” motorcycle assassinations in Colombia. Griselda died in a way reminiscent of the numerous murders she used to order during her reign - she was shot in the head twice.

anonymous asked:

What If one of the fakes had a high school reunion or something like that and just took the crew and it somehow ended in a shoot out with the cops.

Let’s just be clear, it’s not a pride thing. Geoff has never cared what people said about him, not outside a professional sense anyway; he knew exactly who he was, what he was capable of, even before he’d taken an entire city to its knees. So it’s not that he felt the need to prove himself, it’s just that there’s something particular about high school trauma, isn’t there? Something that lingers, even when it shouldn’t, something that emerges from even the most upstanding adults when thrown back together for a reunion, the bullies and the bullied, all desperate to show what they’ve become.

Geoff’s last high school was nothing like he’d ever been to before, a snobby upper-crust hellhole he was only in because his Ma’s third husband pulled some strings, and the other students were quick to point out just how much he didn’t belong. Between the tattoos and the smoking, the lazy looks and slow sneering drawl, it was always all too easy to label Geoff a loser, a drop out, trailer park trash everyone knew would be washing their cars one day. Never mind that he scored higher than most of his cohort even when skipping more or less every class, never mind that he is possibly the most well-read crime-lord in the country, back then he had an image and teenagers are relentless. Not that Geoff was all that phased even at the time, only a year or so away from the day he picked up his first gun and never looked back, but it’s the principal of the thing.

So when an invite forwards through from an email so old he’d forgotten he’d even made it Geoff has to laugh. Then pause, consider, hatch an utterly ridiculous idea, and laugh some more. Because he might not care, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy ruining the night for all the pathetic stuck-up nobodies he went to school with; rubbing your success in everyone’s faces is what reunions are for, after all. The fact that it has a theme, that it is masquerade of all things, really just cements Geoff’s resolve to drag his crew halfway across the country into one of the strangest nights of their lives.

Everyone knows the option to bring a guest to these events is, in reality, the offer to bring a romantic partner, singular, but it isn’t technically stated. There are no rules barring Geoff from RSVP-ing for 7, so that’s exactly what he does. Sure he receives a few increasingly less polite emails suggesting he’d been mistaken but he doesn’t even bother opening them, doesn’t try to clarify that he is bringing his friends, his family, not his entire harem. Let them talk; they’d do it anyway. Plus, it’s not like the Fake’s aren’t all entirely too pleased with the suggestion, cackling hyenas who spend the next few weeks laying it on thick, batting their eyes and blowing Geoff kisses, picking out increasingly absurd meet-cute stories to tell his scandalised classmates. Between creating new identities and playing dress up in masks and suits they couldn’t be happier.

Masks or not they catch every eye in the room when they make their entrance and why wouldn’t they; Geoff and his unusual request must have been the talk of the rumour mill and identity hidden or not clearly this must be Geoff, it’s not like anyone else brought along 6 dates. As stage whispers hit a dull roar it’s obvious no one was prepared for what they were seeing, perhaps imagined instead stained tank tops and a string of strung-out baby mama’s, not expensively tailored suits and an attractively refined entourage. Paying the noise no heed Geoff swans into the room with Jack looking elegant on one arm, Gavin at his most Ken-doll glamorous tucked under the other, flanked on either side by Ryan, Michael, Jeremy and Ray, all dressed to impress.

Shock and jealousy aren’t good looks on anyone, let alone rich brats turned elitist yuppies, so Geoff’s classmates behave just as poorly as he’d anticipated, years and newfound maturity doing nothing to stop the tittering laughter, the sneers and judgmental looks, fake pleasantry and condescending questions. But then, his crew didn’t exactly play nice with them either.

Ray and Jeremy immediately beeline to the food table and bar, respectively, and each set themselves up and settle in for the night; loud, obnoxious and tactlessly talking about everyone around them. When asked about themselves or their relationship to Geoff they’re both frustratingly vague, Jeremy chattering away without saying much at all and Ray simply staring people down until they can’t bear the tension.

Michael and Ryan set off together to explore the room but quickly separate to accommodate their vastly different methods of surveillance. Ryan skulks into the background, ducking numerous attempts to catch his interest in favour of fading into unlit corners and empty nooks, frightening the life out of anyone trying to slip away for some private time. Michael, on the other hand, seems determined to be the life of the party, cheerfully making conversation only to laugh in the face of every so-called achievement, ruffling feathers and causing major offence wherever he goes.

Gavin slinks off like a man on a mission and doesn’t come back for over an hour, offering no explanation for the absence beyond a dangerously self-satisfied smirk. His work becomes obvious soon enough anyway, once the yelling starts; Geoff’s two main high-school tormentors, mentioned only in passing stories over the years, simultaneously having huge, public, relationship-ending blow ups with each of their significant others. What are the odds? Across the hall Gavin laughs, all tinkling glass and sparkling charm, smoothly working the room like Michael’s mirror opposite.

Jack stays at Geoff’s side all night, hackles raised into something abnormally cold and unimpressed any time someone comes up to speak to them, protective instincts in full force no matter how often Geoff claims to be unaffected. He fills her in on all the worst gossip about those who approach, and as the night progresses and general unease begins to spread Jack mellows, sinking back into something sweet and mocking, somehow even more unsettling playing docile arm-candy than she was rabid guard dog.

Throughout the night the Fake AH Crew remain a key topic of every casual conversation; they might have been regardless, even this far from Los Santos no one can get enough of their scandals, but with the huge heist pulled just last week there was no way to avoid it, everyone has their two cents, their praise and condemnation. It’s too funny, the whole crew killing themselves trying not to break character, to laugh or correct or manipulate the conversation but all their self-control is well rewarded in the end.

Half the room removed their masks less than an hour into the night; too difficult to eat and talk and drink in, too vain to keep their hard earned looks covered, so it’s not at all strange when the Fake’s start to follow suit. Jeremy and Ray start it, the newest member and the one caught on camera the least often, casually dropping their masks mid-conversation. They each get a confused squint or two, a double glance, a few individuals trying to place them, remember how they’d met before, why they were so familiar.

Next came Gavin and Michael, having goaded each other out onto the dance-floor they were playing as much as they were moving to the music, laughing and grappling and generally making a bit of a scene. They snatch off each other’s masks as they play and the looks double, because alone they’re each distinctive but together, together, people have seen those faces together, somewhere they’ve seen them and so often together..

Last is Jack and Geoff, more graceful than their counterparts and moving with far more purpose they reveal their faces in the centre of the room and, like a party trick, they instantly catch the whole room’s attention. Out of context, in ones and twos where they don’t belong, the members of the FAHC could be mistaken but no one in the country would fail to recognise Ramsey and Patillo, the kingpin and his right hand, rulers of the most well-known gang in the US. And here they stand, casually mingling at a high school reunion.

In the calm before the storm the crew gravitates back towards one another, can almost see the cogs turning around them, the lightbulbs flickering on in a slow ripple spreading out across the room, disbelief and the first hint of horror swirling together as people start unconsciously reaching for their phones. As Ryan slips back out and wanders over, the last still masked, always masked, the chatter seems to crescendo then crash into something still and almost silent as a room full of entitled trust-fund babies recognise their own terror.

Finally uncovered and flanked by his family Geoff’s grin creeps across his face, slow and violent and more confirmation than anyone needed as he lets the oppressive tension sit for a long moment, arms spreading out to his sides like a magician revealing a clever trick before he breaks the silence; Surprise motherfuckers.

Guns are pulled from jackets and from there it’s all running and screaming, no honour or courage, just a stampede for the exits to the sound of cackling laughter and the occasional aimless pot-shot. The Fake’s aren’t looking for lives, not worth the hassle really, and this job certainly has no monetary reward beyond the wallets Geoff’s filthy little thieves have no doubt absconded with, but the fear in the air is delightful and even the sound of incoming sirens can’t ruin the mood. If anything it only hypes them up further, all savage grins and ramping excitement as they make for doors, reloading their weapons and pumping themselves up for a whole new police force to terrorise, Geoff’s magnificent little miscreants.

On the way out they pass a wall of yearbook photos, blown up large and captioned with names and all the old superlative awards. Ryan stumbles to a halt and snorts, snatching one off the wall and tucking it into his jacket to take back to the penthouse, though not before flashing the Lads a glance at that all too recognisable face, sending them into peals of screeching laughter as they pour out into the night. Geoffrey Fink; Least likely to succeed. 


I’m heading to Atlantis to join Dan Abnett and Stjepan Sejic is coming with me! 

Written by DAN ABNETT • Art and cover by STJEPAN SEJIC • Variant cover by JOSHUA MIDDLETON
“UNDERWORLD” part one! In this extra-sized anniversary issue, former terrorists have replaced the Atlantean police. Crime lords control huge swaths of the kingdom. And a deadly undersea arsenal is trained on the surface-dwellers. All is as King Rath commands—and yet whispers persist of a rebel in the slums of Atlantis: A hero with the potential to change the world. A whole new era of AQUAMAN begins as master storyteller Stjepan Sejic (Sunstone, Death Vigil) joins series writer Dan Abnett for Arthur’s boldest and most harrowing adventure yet!
On sale JUNE 21 • 40 pg, FC, $3.99 US • RATED T

anonymous asked:

Hello! Sweet dear Mod Kay, our sweet lawfully good reader got lost in one of those dangerous downtown neighborhoods and stumbled upon a weird looking dude. She tried to reach Ben - her boyfriend - but his phone was off. Clutching to the strap of her bag, she ran into an alley. He followed her, but before she could scream, his face collided with the wall and the fist of a much bigger, masked man, visibly enraged.

(PART 2) As the man was done with the mugger, he approached the terrified, trembling reader and pinched her chin with his, lifting her face so she looked him. “Don’t leave your boyfriend’s side. Ever.” He spat, his voice distorted by the vocoder of the helmet.

Hello, everyone, I am back. Again. Finals are done. I’m moved back home. I’m settling in. I’m hoping to get back to a regular writing schedule but I will be also taking some time for myself to write for my other fics, too. Gotta keep the balance. 

Your fingers trembled around your phone as you rushed down the dark street, eyes wide and searching the dark behind you as one of the shady looking individuals leaning on the building corner extinguished his cigarette against the wall of the building, his head turned towards your retreating form. 

Once you turned the corner of the building, your shaking hands finally unlocked your phone and going to your contacts, you hit Ben’s number immediately. With the receiver at your ear, you listen to the low buzz as it rings, your head swiveling back to look behind you. 

Just at the last second, when you turned another corner of another building, you see the silhouetted figure of the man as he followed behind you. 

“Come on, Ben. Come on. Please…” You whispered under your breath, pacing picking up to a very fast walk as you loop around another building corner. Again, though, you can hear the footsteps behind you and your breathing speeds up. 


“Ben! Oh, thank God! I’m—“

“—uh, Ben can’t come to the phone right now. If you want, leave your name and number, that would be cool, and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks.” Your heart sunk in your chest as the recording played.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath before you were pulling the phone from your ear. Glancing back, you found that the guy was behind you and was walking just as quickly as you were, trying to catch up

Heart pounding in your chest, you hurried along, fingers frantically typing out the emergency contact for the police. You didn’t press call, though. Not yet.

You were sure you were about to emerge out onto another public road and things would be okay. It didn’t hurt to be safe, though. 

Still, watching the man behind you, you faced forward once more as you rounded another corner and ran into something, causing you to yelp in surprise. 

Hands gripped your upper arms and your eyes were so wide as you looked up into the face of a towering individual clad head to toe in black. He wore an intimidating helmet that seemingly covered the entirety of his head, the man’s shoulders hunching forward slightly to make him seem predatory. 

The footsteps behind you came closer and then stopped entirely. 

“Hey, bud. Why don’t you fuck off? Let go of my girl and we won’t have any problems.” 

Your… girl?” The voice rumbling through the strange vocoder is so deep and sent a shudder down your spine. The masked face turns slowly back to you from where he held you tightly. 

Your eyes went wide, “No! No, please! He’s not my boyfriend, he’s chasing me! Please, sir!” 

“Dude, seriously. Let go of her,” there was suddenly a hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you out of the black shadow’s grasp and yet the helmeted man stood firm. 

Suddenly, however, you were being pushed to the side, stumbling and catching yourself on the rough brick wall. There was a thud and a cry of pain as a half moment before you turned back, the looming black figure grabbing hold of the man from where he was doubled over, your follower being slammed into the wall a few feet from you. 

You think you’re so scary? Going after defenseless women just for the fuck of it? You sick fuck,” the vocoder growled out as the helmeted man slammed the other back into the wall, hard. “Listen here you little punk bitch. There are far scarier things out on the streets than you. Things and people who would eat you up and spit you out. I would sleep with your fucking eyes open if I were you…” 

Helmet was then pulling the man of the wall and throwing him down onto the ground, your stalker tumbling along the ground, scraping up his hands and knees as he fell to the rough ground of the alley. For good measure, helmet kicked him hard in the side, sending him to the ground once more as he tried to get up. 

Helmet knelt down close to the man, squatting deeply so that he could be at ear-level with the other man as he struggled to clamor to his feet. 

Run…” he growled lowly into the man’s ear, “Run for your pathetic little life.” 

With that, your pseudo savior let the man up, your follower disappearing into the night, hobbling away as quickly as he could manage with the internal bruising he’d just received. 

You couldn’t help but feel mildly relieved now that he was gone, only for the masked man to turn slowly back to you. It was almost eerie how slowly he turned his head towards you, the sightless void of his visor burning into you from where he stood a few feet away. 

And suddenly your heart was pounding hard in your chest again as the looming man stalked towards you slowly, his shoulders still hunched slightly almost as if to intimidate you. 

You wanted to run—bolt—out of there and yet you were seemingly frozen in place, your mind just then realizing how dangerous the man in front of you was. How effortlessly he had manhandled your follower and beat the ever loving shit out of him. 

You swallowed thickly, keen on running, only instead to turn your head to see six other black glad figures at the end of the alley, no doubt having watched the scene unfold. Every single one of them had on some sort of mask or helmet on, their faces disguised and their clothes varying in shades from black as night to graphite gray. 

A massive shadow fell over your form and your wide eyes snapped back to the man, your terrified gaze fixated on his covered face. 

You jerked slightly when a leather clad hand was touching your jaw, his index finger and thumb pinching around your chin to lift your face further so that he could look at you. 

“Don’t leave your boyfriend’s side. Ever.” He growled lowly, the vocoder of the helmet rumbling in the silent alley. “Now, go home. Before someone else decides they want to try for a piece of you. Understand?” You nod frantically in his grasp, your eyes still wide while your fingers were a vice around your phone at your side. “Good. Go.” 

He released you then and just as he said, you made a beeline for it, opting to head towards the mass of people in black at the other end of the alley. They parted for you wordlessly, all of them just shadows in the night as they all watched you hurry on by without so much as a glance back out onto the busier street. 

You don’t know when you started to but when your legs burned from running, you slowed down a bit, your chest heaving. You don’t know how far you’d gone but the alley was clear down the end of the long street behind you. 

You wanted to bend over and catch your breath when suddenly, the phone in your hand was vibrating. You didn’t even take time to look at the name before you answered it, your eyes still frantically searching the dark street for any other threats. You were still quite shaken. 

“Hey, angel. You tried to call me earlier and I didn’t answer. Sorry about that. Was busy at the shop. What’s up?” 

You nearly cried when you comprehended it was your boyfriend’s voice coming through the phone, “Oh, my God! Ben—I-I… Holy fucking shit, Ben.” You sobbed, tears springing to your eyes. “I-I can’t even talk right now. I’m-I’m scared and someone was chasing me—”

“Woah, woah, baby. Breathe. What’s wrong?” 

“I-I told you. Someone was chasing me and then there was this like… like this fucking gang that came and beat the shit out of him and I-I’m just… I’m still shaking, Ben. I’m so scared.” 

“Holy… fuck. Okay. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. I’m really scared, though.” 

“Where are you? Do I need to come get you?” 

You looked down the street, “I’m not too far from home. Just a few streets over from the subway.” 

“Okay… Jesus,” he swore under his breath, “Go home and I promise I’ll be right over, okay? I’ll be there in a bit. Stay along the well-lit roads until you see more people.”


“Be safe, baby. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Benny.” 

Sighing, Ben handed the phone to one of the knights, the helmet held under his arm suddenly heavy in his grasp. 

“She okay?” 

“Yeah,” he answered, handing his helmet off to one of the others. “Pretty scared and shaken but she’ll be okay. Won’t be going out at night alone for awhile.” He shrugged out of his heavy moto jacket and handed it to the same knight. “I’m gonna go be with her. You guys shouldn’t need me anymore tonight regardless.” 

“Sounds like a plan, boss,” the first knight said, handing back the phone. 

The infamous Kylo Ren pulled his tight black long-sleeved shirt over his head, revealing his bright red Jurassic Park tee underneath. He looked down at his legs and the black skinny jeans and converse would have to do. 

“Get work done tonight, guys,” he murmured, stalking down the dark alley with his phone in his hand in case you needed to call him again, seeking more comfort before he could catch up with you.