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assorted shitty people

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme
☆ little steps meme
☆ affectionate physical contact meme
☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy
☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU
☆ melodrama is ultimate tier
★ SHIPPING AND FILTHY THINGS:
☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh
☆ things I won't rp: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character
☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty
☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

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[But what if he likes Shouta my boy? How unfair. He chuckles anyway, satisfied just to have Aizawa in his lap like this.

Now, as for a tip... how can he make it sound like an education thing but imply a sexy thing? This is his greatest challenge as a teacher yet.]

...Study?

Study.

[Try harder, babe.]

Study!

[Babe!! Just give him sexy detention already, this is crashing and burning.]

Study me?

Mm. Slightly better.

[He'll take it. Aizawa leans in, kissing him slowly, long pulls and short pushes, his hands plunging beneath his shirt. He does it slowly, fingers sliding against his body, lingering against his scar, the bump of his ribs . . . studying him, in short.]

Are you saying I didn't pass?

[Oh, he's trying his best. For you, Aizawa. He tilts his head to kiss him back, relishing in the slow and steady pace of it and the touches against his skin, gentle but certain. Purposeful, and that thought is enough to make him shiver.

But Aizawa need only concentrate on touching him, not kissing, so he pulls back to kiss down his jaw to his neck once more. Until he gets a scarf in his face, but he'll deal with that when he gets there.]

You're ridiculous.

[A scoffing dismissal, but he can't help smiling faintly. And then a grin, larger, as he leans in to kiss him senseless. He's still got to take care of him, after all, can't forget about that, he'd be an absolute shit boyfriend if he didn't get him off, now come here--

They stay up far too late after that. Not just fucking (although that's a great deal of what they do, tangled limbs and muffled moans, his mouth dragging over every inch of Ling he can reach, gripping his hips and pinning him down just so he can marvel at the size difference between the two of them, on and on and on), but talking. Aimlessly, stupidly; chatting about nothing at all, because after a heavy conversation, it's good to reconnect. To assure one another that yes, things are still all right. That they're still all right, and nothing has changed, not really.

I love you, Ling says more than once, but it's only once they turn out the light and he's gathered his boyfriend up close that Greed can return the sentiment. Soft, murmured against the back of his neck, a sweet little secret for just the two of them.

The club starts, and that keeps them busy for a little while. It's hard work being a manager; harder still when he has to keep an eye out for Ling, working with his hands for the first time in his life. He makes for a good waiter, though; people like him, he's cheerful and agreeable and quick, and he gets plenty of tips. Greed's going to train him as bartender soon, because he'd do wonders back there.

Weeks pass. It's dull, but in the best possible way; dull because life is simple and easy, dull because they go to work and come home and spend time together, and life takes on a wonderful, steady pattern. They move back into his apartment, and oh, that does wonders: it's much easier to get on when they've an entire loft to share.

They're in his loft that night. It's two in the morning, which means the club is still open, but at least they're not at work. Which doesn't really sit well by Greed; it's one thing for a waiter to have the night off, another for the manager to be sitting at home. But he misses hanging out with his boyfriend when they're not at work.]

Hey.

[He glances over. He's in the kitchen area, trying his best to do something with some rice. Possibly it will be fried rice by the end of this. Who knows.]

Nobody's been bothering you at work, right?

[Amestris is nothing like Xing; in Xing the families are everything, to be outside one of the ruling families is to be nobody, and it's a life people have embraced wholeheartedly, with sharpened knives and loaded guns and blood spilled in the family name as easily as cash changes hands. In Xing you know where you stand, at whose feet you kneel, whose boots you have to lick to stay alive another day. Amestris is nothing like Xing—they don't flaunt their power so overtly in Amestris. They keep it secret and hidden, waiting like a nest of snakes to rip each other's throats out behind amicable business.

In Amestris there's only power in the dark. Sometimes power shouts, like it does in Xing, and sometimes it whispers— Amestris is the latter case, and Ling Yao hasn't yet decided if he really likes it. When the Yao family branches out (and honestly, sending him to Amestris is probably some kind of punishment for his many indiscretions, but whatever), it's a lengthy adjustment period to how business is conducted here. He's uncertain - yes, there are less outright attacks on him and his people here in Amestris, but at least in Xing no one smiles at him before going for his throat. It's simpler when people are honest with each other, he thinks.

And that's only half of it. The other half he expects, being a young leader in a territory that is very much not his own, it's a bloody mess he's forced to carve through the underworld to place the Yao family on top and stay there, comfortable—as much as they can be, in this life. Amestris underestimates him and his family, and he's shown time and time again that that just isn't going to work out for them, and yet it keeps happening...

The good, upright citizens leave him mostly alone. He knows Roy Mustang has two reputations: the model citizen and the deadly dangerous man, all of his people are the same. They have an understanding after a crisis that forced them to have each other's backs, and Ling is happy to let it stay that way. The government goons are more annoying and more persistent, although none among them are a real threat except for the handful of psychopaths that are allowed to wander around the city instead of being locked up for life. Ling's people know to give up and get the hell out if someone so much as breathes the name Kimblee, because the only thing more dangerous than being in that animal's path of violence is listening to him talk.

It's a precarious balance, life in Amestris' seedy underbelly, creeping into the polite world above. Loyalties shift at the drop of a hat, and honestly, Ling is getting tired.

This place. For fuck's sake.

But it's business as usual lately and mostly quiet, aside from the pesky knowledge whispered in his ear that some young upstart is trying to knock over his clubs, and repeatedly. Ling knows he doesn't like that; it's rude, first of all, and means he has to spend extra time fixing the things these rambunctious nobodies keep messing up, which is tedious at best. No one can seem to give him any answers about this little group (it would be insulting to call them a gang, few as they are), either; who are they? What do they want, other than to annoy him?

Why aren't they dead yet?

It happens only a few times; a club is hit and there's a fight, guns and knives drawn, and yet his secret admirers escape with flying colors. It occurs to Ling too late that they're definitely doing this to get his personal attention; there are more valuable things to get in the way of than his clubs, so it has to be about the spectacle.

But fine. If it's one more person out there who wants to test his mettle, so be it. He hasn't gotten to do anything interesting in a while, so when Lan Fan finally produces verifiable information about one of this group's hideouts and whispers of a plan to strike the next club, Ling goes straight for the dramatics. He empties the club, first, leaving the place looking like it'd been deserted mere minutes ago for the little rabble-rousers to find and wonder about.

Then he strolls down to their hideout and makes himself comfortable, putting his feet up and waiting.

(He overshoots by about an hour and spends it sagging in the chair he's chosen, groaning to nobody about how bored he is, but he recovers in time.)

When someone finally comes back, Ling is playing idly with a pen from the shabby desk he's claimed, flipping it over his fingers and glancing up, unconcerned. He's a sight to behold in this dirty, windowless den, all shined shoes and polished buttons, coat hung up on a nail sticking out of the wall behind him, wearing just enough crisp, expensive fabrics that it almost seems like a challenge, a "come and mess me up if you can!" He starkly does not belong there, and that's part of the show, too.]

Evening! Busy night?

[It is not, actually, the worst raid the As-Of-Right-Now-Unnamed-Gang (formally the Devil's Nest crew, formerly Greed's Gang, their title put on hold until they can figure out what the hell they want to call themselves that sounds both cool and intimidating) has ever gone through. That prize goes to the one time they'd found themselves mugging this young blond girl, really cute looking, all curves and long hair, only to find out she was some kind . . . fucking martial arts specialist or something? Jesus, he still doesn't know what she was; he just knows it'd cost them all a pretty penny to get fixed up after that disaster of a mugging. He'd nearly lost a tooth over that.

That, he still feels, had been distinctly unfair. Guns and knives are all well and good, but what's the world coming to when some busty girl knows how to slam a trash can lid into your mouth?

Anyway.

So going into a club that's deliberately deserted isn't the worst thing that's happened to them. Definitely not the most embarrassing, although there's a general sense of lost momentum as their yells echo through empty rooms and enthusiasm turns towards a shuffled sort of awkwardness. They grab the liquor as a point of pride, but then head out, because clearly sending a message is pointless. This was a note to them, an acknowledgement of their efforts, and despite his irritation at a night of fun lost, he can't help but be pleased.

They're being noticed. It's all starting to happen now.

So though he comes up short as he sees a man lounging around in his office (so small, so petty, dirty and dim, but he'll get there, he'll make his way up, it just takes time), there's a part of him that isn't surprised. That's even excited, a quiet thrill that rocks him from head to toe.

He knows that man. He's been dying to catch his attention for weeks. And now he's here, looking smug and in control, quietly taunting and yet for all the world as though he's just a businessman, pleasant and unthreatening.]

Yeah, a bit.

[Greg-- no, Greed, he's Greed now, even in his head-- says it slowly as he comes forward. He's got a gun at his side and a knife in his back pocket, and though he's not nearly as big as he'd like to bed, he's at least pretty strong. But that won't do him much good; if even half of what he's heard about Ling is true, the guy's ridiculously quick on his feet.

(He's younger than he thought he'd be. Still older than Greed-who-isn't-Greg-anymore, but he's . . . oddly appealing. Attractive, which isn't a source of shame, but that he really shouldn't be feeling for his rival-maybe-boss).]

Took you long enough to come find us. I'm honored, though. Didn't think I'd get the boss himself coming down.

[Oh, Ling thinks, when the little upstart comes fully into the light (as much as he can, poorly-lit and dusty as it is down here), he's tiny. Not physically, he isn't some whelp fresh out of puberty or anything, but he's so young. And Ling is young himself, shorter and more slight than most people in their kind of life should be to strike an imposing figure, but he's proven himself time and again to be a force to be reckoned with despite whatever he may look like. This guy— he can see the growing pains in the edges of his body language, the way he wants to be taken more seriously than he's earned, the way he tries to make himself look bigger and tougher and completely casual all at once when faced with someone like Ling.

Because, well, Ling could have a knife across his throat in seconds, if he really wanted to. It wouldn't be that hard. Then the boy's groupies would either retaliate and get themselves killed or scatter and be out of his hair anyway— it would neatly tie up this distraction he's been putting up with.

But maybe there's something worthwhile in there, behind those dumb sunglasses (throw those away immediately); Ling wouldn't go so far as to say he sees himself just a few years ago in this lanky young thing, trying to play with the big boys far too early for his own safety, but... maybe something like that.

So for now his eyebrows go up, like Greed's totally-not-at-all-intimidated-for-real attitude is a surprise; like he believes it, which he does not. He spins the pen a few more times before tapping it against his knuckles, scrutinizing Greed all the while. Fresh-faced and terrible at hiding where he's concealed his knife, hmm—]

I wanted to see something for myself after all that fuss! ["fuss"] Admittedly, I was expecting someone with a bit more finesse...

[It's kind of adorable, in an annoying way. He can't help but wonder why him, why the Yao family instead of one of the other big gangs around town. Is it only ambition, trying to go from the bottom to the top in one straight shot? Or is it because so many of the others are busy lying to each other, whereas Ling Yao will come down to someone's office personally to complain?

There's a beat, and he shifts to cross one ankle over the other where his feet are still propped on the desk. He isn't going anywhere, but,] Ah, am I in your chair?

Yeah.

[Yes, obviously, he is, because that's the biggest, best desk here and Greed's the leader, so, yes. But he's not going to be a prat and play into that kind of questioning, so--]

Make yourself comfortable.

[There's a lot of areas he's lacking in, but give Greed this: he knows how to look as though he's unaffected. Oh, there are tells, yes, and possibly Ling can spot them, but at least to someone average, the way he shoves his hands in his pockets and leans up against the wall looks entirely natural.]

Though it's kinda rude to go into a man's home and talk about finesse. It got your attention, didn't it? Besides, I'm a gangster, not a fucking cat burglar.

[He's already comfortable, thanks much!! He was uncomfortable before, during that extra hour he showed up too early, but luckily there are no witnesses or he'd lose some of his cool cred right now.

Anyway. He laughs, because Greed is not a gangster, he is a young man with a gun and some mean friends. Please.]

It's rude to keep trying to get my attention the way you've been doing.

[Chipper, like he's chatting about how they missed their weekly lunch date. He doesn't need to point out every one of Greed's tells, especially when he's trying so hard. He only lacks instinct, it looks like, not skill— and skill can be taught.]

So, now that we're both being rude to each other, what do you want?

To work for you.

[Does he say it too quickly, too eagerly? Perhaps, but he doesn't care. It's not a weakness to reveal, not after all he's done. He has big dreams and bigger ambitions; to work for Ling is just the start.

(And it is work for Ling, not the Yao family in general. It's an important distinction).]

You're still expanding here. But you don't have anyone from Amestris working for you, not really. All you have are treaties. And even if you speak the language, you don't get the culture, not yet.

So. I can help you. And in exchange, you hire me and mine, we work for you, everyone's happy.

You want to give me cultural exchange tips.

[That's what he's getting here, out of this deal? Because - and his presence sitting at Greed's desk, when Greed and his handful of people have only annoyed him and not done any real damage should be enough evidence - what else is he getting from taking a bunch of nobody miscreants under his wing? He could read an Amestrian tourist guidebook and lean on a few of Mustang's people if he wanted to sink his teeth into the culture.

It isn't that he doesn't see the advantage in having someone more native than he is in his employ. He'd be a fool to stick to the usual Xingese customs and refuse on principal, sticking closely to borders that don't exist anymore when he's already here.]

You're quite the little ambassador, aren't you? What makes you so special? I don't even know who you are!

[He sighs, exasperated, and it's only mostly for show. Greed will have to do a lot better than that if he wants to sit for the interview.]

Yeah, but see, you do.

[he grins, all confidence, like Ling hadn't just echoed him incredulously.]

You at least know me enough to come down here and find me. Which I'm betting means you at least know my name, and a little of what I've done.

[Which, beyond Ling's clubs, isn't much yet. Little things, protecting neighborhoods and hitting up rich assholes for easy money, nothing like he wants.]

And what makes me so special is that maybe I'm not the only one around trying to get your attention, but I am the one who got it. I know this place better than you ever will unless you have somebody to advise you, and I'm good at what I do.

And so is my crew. You're never gonna find people more loyal.

[He's more well-spoken than Ling expected, and that's probably the bulk of why he's still bothering to listen. And alright, Ling can't exactly deny that his attention has been thoroughly gotten when he's sitting right in front of him, but still - such attitude. He's toying with being almost impressed; it doesn't show on his face, but while he's still looking at Greed with the same half-bored, half-arrogant grin, he's stopped fiddling with the pen for now.]

I know what you call yourself, [he says, amused. Greed isn't a real name, sweetheart.] And I know where your crew took my liquor after I was kind enough not to hurt you, so now you're costing me more than time and business, and nobody would complain if I hurt you after all.

[He gives Greed a look that's almost pitying, and wiggles the pen at him.]

Your friends are loyal to you, not to me. So you're the one I have to wonder about.

You really think I'm going to all this trouble just to betray you?

[He ignores that quiet jab to his name. No, it isn't his real name, but what does it matter? He's sure plenty of gangsters have changed their names.]

That'd be stupid. If you hire me, you're not going to put me up high so quick, so what's the point? It'd be easier to just send an assassin after you than do a whole scheme that'd last for years that might not even work.

[He tugs off those awful sunglasses, revealing eyes so blue they might well be purple.]

So yeah, mine are loyal to me. But I'd be loyal to you. And maybe they're not the biggest or the flashiest, but they are the best.

[Sunglasses out of the way, Ling is inspired to hire Greed on the spot. No, but he does notice his very blue eyes. They're pretty; maybe he should keep the glasses on after all.

Anyway, he hums, waving his hand back and forth to indicate that he hasn't decided yet what he thinks Greed is really going to do. He doesn't trust Amestrians as far as he can throw them, and maybe part of their culture is pissing him off until he agrees to a playdate like this, but that doesn't inspire much confidence, either.

He's almost entirely certain Greed doesn't have assassins, but he won't say it.]

How do you know I won't throw the baby out with the bathwater? [The baby. Haha. He shifts to put his feet on the floor and pats the corner of the desk.] Come here and take a seat.

[Whether or not he actually comes, Ling goes on,]

So why me? If you think my family is easy to manipulate just because we're foreigners, I'm going to be insulted.

[Part of working for Ling will be, ostensibly, following orders. And yet Greed hesitates for a moment before coming here, perching up on the corner of the desk, one leg a little higher than the other as he rests his foot against the armrest, his pretty blue eyes blatant in the way they run over him.]

Even if I did, I'm not stupid enough to admit it.

[Just saying. But no, he doesn't.]

You, because you're a lot different than anyone else here. Definitely from any Amestrian, but different from any other Xingese people I've met. And I think part of that difference is that you don't think shit oughta be done the same way it's been done in the past, just because it used to be done that way.

[Hm. Probably could have said that more eloquently.]

[He's bigger up close, but not by much. Ling looks back at him with the same half-grin as before, pointedly not shoving his foot off the armrest to posture wildly about showing some respect. Maybe Greed will like that— after all, he's apparently after Ling for his politics, and that's more than slightly unexpected.

He wonders where Greed got his thirst for change from; boys don't just wake up one day and decide to become gangsters and chase after powerful and dangerous people. It must be a very sad, sympathetic story.

One day he might ask.]

And you have big ideas, huh? Well, you're a pesky thief and I don't trust you.

[Just killing him and his crew is still on the table. Hmm.]

Do you trust anyone before you hire them? I gotta start somewhere. I'm not asking to be given a key to your personal suite--

[Although, he thinks, he wouldn't mind one, boy,]

--I'm asking you to give us a chance.

A little trust would help...

[He isn't looking for sycophants, but Greed and his crew haven't been the most amicable people to deal with, so far. For a moment he considers Greed, the things he could use him for (and how, but not that kind of thing—), whether or not this little venture will actually benefit him in the end.

Lan Fan's going to be furious with him, but she isn't the boss—]

How about a test run? There's someone I want kept off my back while I move a few important shipments.

[Despite his earlier assertions, there was a part of him (young, foolish, stupid) that had rather hoped Ling would give him something huge to start with. He'd look at him and instantly give him a chance based on . . . whatever. His pluck, maybe. His spirit. The innate knowledge that this guy was a cut above everyone else.

But! It's not to be, and so he ignores his momentary disappointment and leans in.]

Yeah? Gimmie a name and a time.

[Aw, he's enthusiastic. That's cute. It almost makes Ling feel bad about what he's about to propose, very casually:]

You know Kimblee, right? [Of course he does, he's a local, there's no way he couldn't know just who that is.] He's going to try and get in my way again, and I don't have time to play around with him for this one. All you have to do is keep him busy.

So, what do you say?

[He stares at him for just a moment too long, his eyes narrowing as his smile drops off his face. He knows damn well what Ling's doing: a trial by fire in the worst way possible, sending them after a psychopath like that. Keep him busy, yeah, Greed can think of a bunch of ways to keep him busy, but he generally frowns upon the mutilation and torture of one of his own . . .

They'll figure it out. In the next instant he's got a wide grin on his face.]

Easy. You don't give a shit what kind of distraction, right?

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the critically acclaimed open post

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i'm calling this one "the maltese dick"

is that what you called your final paper

i did write 6 pages about a cigarette being deeply homoerotic, so more or less yes

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ipad really wanted "gangsters" to correct to "gagsters" so ig that's a goal

they just do zany jokes, it's really pathetic

the two stooges

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