#Displaying Model Behaviour | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amourane · 10 months ago

Text

fatal attraction

pairing: con artist!draco malfoy x police officer!reader

genre: smut

w/c: 2.5k

summary: draco malfoy was a cunning man and a wanted criminal but you couldn't deny the growing sexual tension between the two of you.

warnings: explicit sexual content, degradation, praise, fingering, unprotected sex

a/n: bringing back one of the old ones, new and improved <3

This was definitely not how you expected your first week as a police officer to go.

You found yourself face to face with a man who seemed to embody trouble itself, his shockingly bleached hair standing out against the backdrop of a dimly lit room. A smirk played on his lips, he idly twirled a mugshot board between his fingers, exuding an air of confidence that made your pulse quicken. His sleeves rolled up, revealing bulging muscles that seemed to ripple with every movement. When he glanced up, you quickly diverted your gaze, blood rushing to your cheeks.

It was obvious the criminal was handsome, with a symmetrical face and a perfectly chiselled jawline. Steely grey eyes that had a hint of amusement as though he was internally mocking those around him.

He was Draco Malfoy, a con artist wanted in numerous countries, and you had somehow managed to catch him. It wasn’t intended, you had just bumped into him and his hood had fallen off at the precise moment, giving you the perfect view of his face. A face you could never forget from all the wanted posters stuck to the walls near your tiny desk.

There was no protesting when you locked him in handcuffs, he didn’t fight when they dragged him away, nor did he complain as they treated him like a stray dog. He merely had the same cocky grin plastered on his face, one that didn’t calm your nerves.

“So.” He purred, eyes fixing on you and suddenly you felt like a small rabbit from his predatory gaze. “I haven’t seen you around before, love. I would’ve remembered such a pretty face.” His voice was as smooth as honey and you felt as if your body was on fire by the sweet words pouring out of his mouth.

“I’d advise you to shut up, Malfoy.” Your partner, Ron Weasley, growled as his eyes threw daggers at the criminal.

Draco smiled. “Or what, officer? You’re not allowed to harm me.”

He was right, officers weren’t allowed to display violent behaviour towards criminals, even if they were guilty of the most heinous crimes. He fixed his eye back onto you, his tongue peeking out to swipe over his bottom lip. You felt yourself grow hot under your uniform and you shuffled nervously.

The quick snaps flashed before your eyes and each time Ron had to tell Draco to place his board properly and not to pose like a model. There was nothing wrong with him doing what he was doing but the long, seductive gaze he shot at you didn’t make your heart stop fluttering.

And you knew, deep down, that this man was a criminal, someone who’s broken the law on multiple accounts. He had cheated, lied and manipulated his way to the top and yet you couldn’t help yourself to feel aroused whenever he looked in your direction.

As Ron dragged him away to his cell, brushing past you, he gave you a sly wink and it didn't soothe your beating heart. It was only when you got home that you realised he had slipped something in your pocket, a note in his beautiful cursive handwriting.

cell number 80, come by when you have time.

It was something so simple and yet it had tingles shooting up your spine.

That night your mind was plagued with the smirks of Draco Malfoy and the dirty things he would whisper in your ear, holding you close. His deep voice as it moaned your name repeatedly, praising you for what you were doing. You woke up in the middle of your sinful dream, panting for air and you reached for the water on your bedside.

You didn’t know how you were going to survive.

Draco threw a rock in the air, catching it as it fell back into his hand. He could hear the faint dripping of a leaky pipe as water landed on the cold floor. The cell they had thrown him in was grimy, an unknown black substance on one of the walls.

It made him sick.

The little burner phone he held in his hands, something he’d managed to sneak in, was flashing with texts.

TN: pls don’t tell me you got caught just to see the new police officer.

TN: malfoy, istg if you did i will skin you alive.

TN: seriously??? draco, she’s a cop, we can’t have that.

Theo’s texts had come through once he had switched the burner phone on and he read through all of them. Sighing, he hastily texted back.

DM: piss off i need some fun.

The reply was immediate and Draco glared at the screen, switching it off. There was no point arguing with Theo, he didn’t have the time nor energy. He grinned at the thought of you, your flushed cheeks and jittery eyes. He had seen the way you were looking at him.

You would come sooner or later.

This was so wrong. This was so wrong. This was so wrong.

That phrase repeated in your mind, echoing through your body but your feet didn’t stop as they climbed the stairs, moving to cell number 80. It was 2 am in the morning and you were on night duty with Ron but you had offered to do the rounds instead, to which he had agreed.

Now, your feet were walking towards Draco’s cell and the nervous jitters kicked in. It was as if you were back at your first day of school, your mum patting your back as she ushered you through the gates. This time you had no one to comfort you. Your shoes made soft padding noises across the silent hallway and you hoped none of the criminals would wake up.

As you passed, you saw the various people in cells, some scrawny and tall, some buff and muscly. Each cell was identical and had just enough room for a single bed and movement allowance. You were taking a deep breath once you passed cell number 79 and when 80 came into view you didn't realise you were holding your breath until you found your lungs burning for air.

Draco was lying on his bed, arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Even though he was in the prison uniform he still managed to look stunning in the ridiculous orange. He wore a plain white shirt underneath and the jumpsuit was tied at his waist.

You cleared your throat, stepping closer. He lifted his head and his eyes flickered with amusement when he saw you.

“Well, well, well.” He whispered, getting up and dragging his feet to you. “Look who came.”

“What do you want?” You asked, feeling intimidated by his tall stature even though you’re the one who’s meant to be in power.

Draco smirked, the same one that has butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“I want...you.”

The last word was said with a deep, sultry tone that had your thighs rubbing together and your panties beginning to stick.

It’ll be alright. It’ll be fine.

That was what you told yourself as you unlocked his cell doors, fingers fumbling with the keys. You didn’t know what was wrong with you as you crashed your lips onto his. Your senses overloaded and everything disappeared. Draco’s lips were soft and pillowy, and you tasted the faint green apple gum he must have been chewing.

As he pushed your back against a wall, he hastily unbuttoned your shirt, hands fondling with your breasts. The black, lacy bralette made his mind go in circles as he growled. His hands massaged the soft flesh and you moaned at his touch. The warmth spreaded throughout your body, hitting your core. You panted and squirmed.

Draco’s lips were still attached to yours and when he pressed his body against yours, you felt his cock between the jumpsuit. Your fingers scrambled to grasp at the white material, tugging it off eagerly.

Everything about him had you seeing the stars.

“Knew you wanted me.” He muttered into your mouth. “Saw the way you were looking at me, Officer L/n.”

“Y/n, call me Y/n.”

Draco grinned wickedly. “Alright Y/n.”

His lips left yours, finding a new home on your nipple. He sucked, swirling his rough tongue over your sensitive nub. The feeling had your body wriggling around and he pinned you to the wall, keeping you from moving. He gave each breast the same treatment, the same seductive licks and nips that his tongue delivered.

“D-Draco…” You let out. “A-Ahh, fuck!”

His palm came up to cover your mouth. “Can’t make too much noise, love.” His fingers trailed down to your things, ripping the clothing off of your body and he groaned at the sight of your wet panties. “All for me.”

Slowly, he slipped his hand into your panties, playing with your clit. He dipped a single finger in easily, teasing your needy cunt. You whimpered practically begging him for more. Your pussy fluttered around his finger and you desperately tried to grind down on his palm for some sort of friction but he gave you none.

“Such a needy whore.” Draco smirked, breath fanning over your face and you moaned at his words. “So wet f’me, just hear her speak.”

Another finger slipped inside and you gasped and clung onto Draco’s shoulders for support. The lewd sounds of your wet pussy filled the cell and you couldn’t help but flush with embarrassment. The criminal continued to curl and thrust his fingers, relishing in the sounds he was able to elicit. The pace he set was incredibly fast and your body failed to catch up. A strangled moan left your throat as you tried to stifle your vulgar noises.

Draco pumped his digits in and out of you, the wet sounds reverberating around the walls. He scissored you open, bending down to look at the way your pussy was dripping. The growl he let out made your knees buckle. Every single thing about you had Draco begging for more. His fingers were drenched with your juices as he continued to thrust messily.

“Fuck this. I can’t wait.”

He stripped his clothes and your pussy clenched at the sight of his cock. The flushed, red tip, leaking with precum. A whimper bubbled to your mouth and your mouth watered. You desperately wanted to suck him off but your thoughts were interrupted as he thrusted into you.

The sensation of his cock filling you up had you reeling and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Pain filled your body at the stretch to accommodate his size. Draco moaned, resting his forehead against yours, not hesitating to deliver harsh thrusts into you.

“Draco.” You whined. “Fuck, feels so good.” You said drowsily, high on the feeling of his cock.

“Yeah.” He panted, gripping your hips as he pounded into you. He watched as he disappeared into your wet heat. “You like this, love? Like me wrecking this slutty cunt?”

You struggled to find words and when you did it came out in a soft stutter. “I-I do…”

“Course you do fucking whore. That’s all you are isn’t it? A nasty hole to use, fuck I’m going to fill you up. You’d like that, my cum all stuffed inside this pretty pussy.”

You mewled incoherently, babbling at the pleasure you were receiving. It’s a feeling you never wanted to forget and as his huge cock plunged in and out of you, a silent scream ripped through your body. Only one thought was on your mind and it was Draco Malfoy, wanted criminal, fucking you in a dirty cell.

His hair fell into his eyes and you reached your fingers up to brush it away. Draco looked up, eyes filled with lust. When he met your eyes he couldn’t help but crash his lips onto yours. You let him swallow every one of your moans and lewd noises.

The harsh, hard pounds he delivered made you whimper his name over and over again. Draco loved it, he found the thing he loved hearing the most. Your voice. He urged it out of you, thrusting into you deeper, hitting that sweet spot that had you screaming in ecstasy. Your body leaned into his touch every time.

“D-Draco gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum.” You gasped, nails dragging down his back. “So so so good, don’t s-stop gonna cum, need it so bad.”

Draco grinned as his grip on you tightened and you cried out in pleasure. “Such a pretty voice. Don’t you just love to beg and scream. I’m gonna fill this filthy cunt with my cum, does that sound good love?”

You were too blissed out to properly respond with words and all you could manage was a weak nod. His smirk traced over your bare skin and you could feel his hot breath as it enveloped you. He never once stopped telling you how he was going to ruin you, make you full of him that you wouldn’t be able to forget him inside you for weeks.

The thought was enough to send you over the edge. Your body convulsed at the overwhelming feeling. Every one of your limbs felt as if it’s being tuned to the perfect melody. You gasped and moaned Draco's name, closing your eyes as you threw your head back. The harsh thrusting didn’t stop and he snapped his hips to yours faster than ever.

“Oh fuck.” He cursed, groaning at the sound of his body meeting yours. “You’re so good, such a good girl.” The low hum had your body shivering with delight.

It wasn’t long before he was coming as well, eyes squeezed shut, cursing, as he continued his shallow thrusts. Hot cum shot into your pussy and you felt a warmth spread within you. It dripped out of you. He panted, sweat glistening off his forehead and you held onto his body so you didn't collapse.

“You really are something else, love.” Draco chuckled, pressing his lips against yours. His eyes transfixed at your leaking cunt. “Fuck, look at you.”

You closed your thighs, embarrassed at the sight. All of your thoughts were coming back to you and they weighed you down once more. He noticed your worry and he cupped your face, cooing.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

You didn’t remember how you got home, nor do you remember the rest of the conversation with Draco. Everything was a blur and when you woke up in your bed the next morning, all you had left was the lewd memories of his cock pounding into you. The loud, obnoxious ringing of your phone startled you out of your dreamy haze. You picked it up, rubbing your eyes at the bright morning light.

“Y/n.” Ron’s urgent voice crackled through your phone and you immediately sat up straighter. “Y/n, something really really bad has happened. I don’t even know how and of course I don’t blame you. It's just...Malfoy’s escaped.”

Half of Ron’s rant was cut off when you notice a piece of paper at your bedside followed by an unfamiliar gun holster. It had the familiar cursive handwriting, followed by a series of digits. You gasped, eyes filling with shock.

“I-I’ll call you back Ron.” You hung up immediately, diving for the note.

Call me. xxx-xxx-xxx

#draco x reader #draco smut #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy smut #smut #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco fanfic #draco malfoy #slytherin boys #draco malfoy fic

433 notes · View notes

smuttyaf · 1 year ago

Text

The Camster Couple

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰.

wc: 5k

spanking, choking, degradation and rough sex.

It all started on the blue app with the lowercase ‘t’ in the middle. Posting seductive selfies to revealing videos, you built quite the following from these appearances.

Admirers began requesting specific posts to ache their thirst. First it was particular lingerie sets, then prolonged videos touching yourself, soon it escalated into you role playing for the naughty viewers. Reciting everything the strangers would describe on how they’d like to use and abuse you.

But even after fulfilling all those demands, still came the bombarding questions of wanting more.

The requests to become a cam girl started to pour in. The constant debate down your feed about which website you should join. Maybe Chaturbate or Cherry.tv? No… Those weren’t good enough, but you still had time to ponder the idea.

Doing live shows had its advantages and drawbacks. For one, you’re getting paid to touch yourself, your revealing photos and videos will finally have a price on them. But, that doesn’t overshadow the dispute that your face could possibly be shown for everyone to see. You were fearful that maybe co-workers, friends, or even family might find out. However, the conflicting contrast that made you excited was the option to receive gifts. Followers had the ability of viewing your wishlist on certain cam-sites. It gave them the option to go beyond just tipping the model, but appreciating her even more… honestly that feature alone made you like the idea of doing it. But, the one major obstacle that really hinders your decision is your boyfriend; the one who doesn’t know about your second life.

That’s why you find yourself here right now, lounging together in your bedroom with your teeth grinding in your ear. Your eyes flick towards him when running your finger on the notepad; clicking on the search bar, you immediately type in the link to your blog. The familiar desktop background appears making you scroll through a few post till you turn your laptop towards Harry.

“Look at this.” His attention turns towards you placing it on his thighs.

You gaze at him while his fingers press down on the arrow key to move the screen further. “What do you think?” You ask. Warmth spreading throughout your cheeks as you let your hand rest along your stomach fiddling nervously with your tank top.

“I think you want me in trouble,” Harry smirks. He goes to pass the laptop back however you halt his movements.

With nervous smile adorning your lips, his expression transitions into one of confusing eyes, questioning your behaviour.

“I think you need to look closer.” You insist, finger dragging down the notepad. He scoffs, sight trailing back to the pictures on the fuzzy screen.

Harry doesn’t even listen at first, letting himself look over your unopened tabs that range from PrettyLittleThing to Xvideos. The glimpse of porn sites didn’t faze him, what does are the tabs that read “Most profitable webcams sites?” and “Best webcam site survey.” Bushy brows lock together, his attention going back to the revealing pictures of… hold on, that looks like your lingerie set… and that beauty mark right there belongs too.

His head snaps, mouth opening slightly with chest beginning to rise with nerves. He wants to be upset, wants to shut the laptop and demand answers but the growing bulge in his pants directs him otherwise, because as much as he should be angry right now that his girlfriend of eight months was taking provocative pictures of herself to upload on the internet, he was aroused.

“Since when?” Harry mutters, swallowing hesitantly. His gaze going between you and the picture of your chest displayed on the screen.

The look on his face is giving you anxiety. Heart pounding in its cage. You’re back to biting down on your bottom lip, diverting your attention to the highlighted keys.

“It’s been two years…” You mumble, finding the bottom of your laptop more interesting in this moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrug your shoulders. You didn’t have a reason, you never thought your pictures would blow up and gain so much traction And you never thought you would get bombarding comments about wanting to see more of yourself. You groan, taking your finger away from the machine and running them through your hair, dramatically slouching your body into the bed frame.

“If you want to break up with me I totally understand.” You say, words muffled from your face burying into your crewneck. That makes a hearty laugh leave the brunette, the feeling of his hands gliding up your thigh stirs your head to peek up.

“Baby relax,” He reassures. Blinking at him you nestle deeper into his touch, shifting your body into him as the redness in your face begins to subside.

“You’re not mad?” You question, fiddling with your bottom lip. The thundering in your ear quiets down as you don’t see the angry face of your boyfriend appear. He lets out another light laugh, shaking his head and looking at you in a way that makes you sigh with utter relief.

“I —I’m definitely surprised… and a little upset… I mean you’re my girlfriend and you’ve been posting these but…” He looks between you and the laptop, his lips squeezing into his cheeks before breaking out into a sneaky grin. “You’re so sexy baby, I really can’t be mad.” He reveals, finger pinching your thigh.

The answer causes you to lean forward, arms linking around his shoulders as you press heartfelt kisses across his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry! I know, I know, I should’ve told you but… I was too scared and I’ve been doing this before I met you and… I just didn’t know what you would say,” You rant between kisses, his lips curling into amusement. The warmth of his hands run over your spine comforting you.

“Baby. Relax.” Harry replies, the tone of his voice settling your excited nerves. You quiet down, placing one last kiss on his cheek before looking up at him with shy eyes. “I’m not mad, just wish you told me earlier.” You nod at him pleasantly with smile set on your features.

Your breath draws in slowly with the quiet hum of the laptop sounding in the space. And just like before when you were nervous telling him about your promiscuous account online, you’re back to the bubbling feeling having to tell him the new escapade on your schedule. Clearing your throat, you raise up, licking over your bottom lip and locking your gaze with his.

“I do have one more thing though…”

Harry shakes his head playfully, smirk tugging along his features as he rubs your covered flesh in his palms.

“You want to be a cam girl?” He interjects. Stomach quivers with eyes fluttering in shock, you question were exactly he even got that idea or was it obvious. “It’s in your tabs babe.” Harry continues. Your cheeks go back to burning in embarrassment as you nod your head.

“Yes I want to do that but also…” His brows rise, surprised there is more to the story. “I want to do it with you.”

His features soon resemble yours with burning skin and body shifting under your weight. To your amazement he leans in, lips pressing against yours in a teasing kiss. The racing in your heart relaxes. You really had the best boyfriend in the world.

With the fondness of his lips against yours you pull away, cheerful smile shining as you hum with happiness.

“So… yes?”

Plaid pink skirt with embroidered bralette reflects across the screen as comments fill the message board.

You giggle at the viewers appreciating your half naked appearance. Thanking the many who are tuning in for your first show.

The sound of the sink cutting off in your adjoined bathroom rings through the space, it only makes you smirk at the events about to happen.

“I did say I have a surprise for my opening night.” Black letters roll in questioning the news. “I thought I would do it with a special someone.”

Harry’s footsteps sound through the room when he moves his way towards the bed. His hands going to your calves hanging off the frame and playfully tugging you down. It causes a smile to spread on your lips as you kick him away.

“Let’s start shall we.”

You adjust the frame of your laptop so it can hide Harry’s face as he slips in behind you. His fingers gracefully falling on your hip as you adjust to make space for him on the bed.

“I think they’re jealous.” Harry says, head leaning in to look at the comments reacting to him.

You watch his expression change as his eyes rake over the messages; jaw clenching with lips pressed tight together. You can tell he wasn’t pleased with whatever people were saying.

“I have to agree I’m mad too,” He responds to someone. Your face twists in confusion. “She’s been a bad little girl, hasn’t she?” His hand on your hip massages your skin roughly as you register his words.

“Not only deceiving you all, but me as well. So naughty not telling her boyfriend about what she does online.”

Biting down on your bottom lip you turn towards the screen with glint of happiness in your eyes. You know what mood Harry is in.

“She deserves a punishment, doesn’t she?” The hand on your hip leisurely glides into your scalp and grips it in his palm. Your head jerks back while his gaze is still caught on the computer; not even paying attention to what he’s doing.

“I think they’re starting to like me now.” Harry smirks, his other hand going to your breast and gripping it roughly.

The devious tone in his voice makes you whimper, eyes peering up at the ceiling as you let him grope your skin. Fingers transition from kneading it in his palms to twisting your nipples through the thin material.

“Yes, she’s been a very bad girl.” His digits pull away to slap your breast making you cry out. The sound you elect causing him to pull your head back once again, his body shifting from behind to gaze over your expression.

“Such a liar.” He says, eyes peering down as you look at him with pleasure written all over your face.

“You like being a liar, don’t you.” His hand meeting your skin again to pierce another smack against your tits. “Speak!” He orders, adding another blow.

“Yes sir.” You mutter, looking into his forest eyes and biting down on your bottom lip as he places one final slap to your skin.

“Tell me what you are.” Harry says, jerking your head, it makes you flutter your lashes up at him.

You’re too caught up between his freshly washed hair falling over his forehead and chest displaying his tattoos, that you don’t recall him demanding you to answer him again. His biceps flex when he lands another blow against your skin to knock you out of your daze.

“I’m a bad girl.” You tremble. His lips turn into a devilish grin. Hands roaming over your reddening skin.

“Mhm…” Harry hums with eyes searching your overwhelming appearance. “Across my legs.”

He relaxes his hold on your hair, letting you rise up on the bed to comfortably lay across his thighs. Your backside perched itself in the air. The ends of your skirt revealing your bare heat as his hand that once laid marks across your skin rubs against the material of your clothing.

“They’re calling you a dumb slut,” His hands go under your skirt to feel over your ass roughly. “I think I agree.” He smacks the flesh making you chew down on your bottom lip.

“Do you think you’re a dumb slut?” Harry taunts with another mark against your ass.

The atmosphere is influenced with pure lust from each swift, assertive motion of his palm lying roughly into your skin. Harry’s not even waiting for you to answer, he’s just placing blow after blow amongst your cheeks in pure arousal. The sheets underneath his hold ruffles against your body with each thrust.

You bite down harder into your bottom lip, fingers curling into the duvet as your eyes roll in hunger at the furious slaps causing hues of red blossoming under your skin.

“Dumb slut doesn’t know how to answer,” Harry cracks another heavy smack against your ass. High pitch whimper breaks through your lips when you jump at the action.

“Baby,” You cry but that only beckons another sharp slap.

“What’s my name?”

“S —Sir. I’m sorry sir.” You apologize for the mistake as his thundering smacks blaze across your skin.

“Dumb little fuck toy,” One hand leaves your cheeks and trails back into your hair. He’s tugging the strands so you can turn towards the laptop completely.

Catching sight of yourself in the camera your face is blazed red, lips bitten with tears brimming your eyes from the pain and pleasure coursing through your veins. The viewers are seeing you at your most vulnerable. Being taunted with bruises and degrading words, just for you to apologize to the one haunting your skin with waves of pain.

“Say it, say “I’m a dumb little fuck toy”,” Harry gloats. You can see in the view of the laptop his smirk as it’s the only feature that reveals his face. The palm of his hand makes another moan slip out of your mouth as it welcomes itself against your flesh.

He loves watching you wither and moan. He loves seeing your skin flourish with hues of pink from his finger prints leaving their marks, knowing that they will be there for days. He loves that with each smack of his hand you were getting off to it. He loves that if he were to move his position even lower he’ll feel your wet pussy ready for anything he has in store.

“I’m a dumb little fuck toy sir.” You whine, voice muffled from your face press into the sheets.

“Mhm…” Harry hums again, another painful slap burning your skin. “My dumb little fuck toy.” Smoothing his hand over your scorching flesh.

His grip on your hair jerks your head back, painful cry leaving your mouth as the straining sensation in your scalp makes your arms bend to pick your body off his thighs. He draws your head back even further, your legs flexing to move your position to now face him. The hand leaving heavy slaps against your ass sends one roughly across your face.

His jaw is still tense with eyes dilated in dominance. Your legs are now completely aching for his touch to spread over your pussy, just craving attention.

“Don’t you love being my fuck toy?”

You moan at the words, blinking up at him and nodding your head. “Yes sir.” You whimper, sucking on your bottom lip as he looks over your disheveled appearance.

Harry taps your face gently, lips flattening together as the hold he has on your hair pressures your face to meet his. Your tongues immediately exchange fluid as they dance against each other in passionate harmony, the feeling of his muscle running against yours has you moaning into the kiss.

The rough exchange of spit oozes between lips as you push yourself deeper into his embrace. His fingers curling into your hair welcoming your adventurous tongue as it glides against the wet expanse of his.

“I love being your fuck toy,” You mumble, pulling away and leaving string of saliva linked between you. His eyes glisten at your confession. It makes Harry smirk at you, his tongue escaping his mouth to sever the translucent connection.

The hand in your hair is breaking the sight between you both. His grip shoves your head directly into his lap, your nose digging into his crotch as his other hand goes back to rubbing your bruised skin.

“I think it’s time to put you to work.” Harry declares, his hold making you roam your face along his erection. Your breath rushing over his clothed shaft as he buries you into his lap.

The notifications of tips rings through the space. Audience entertained that you’re being degraded for their enjoyment. The thought alone arouses you, it made you moan against his cock. Followers and onlookers getting off to Harry completely doing anything that he wants to your body. Accepting the demeaning words that fuels your greed for pleasure, and letting him place as many smacks against your skin.

“Take my cock out.” He instructs, his grip relaxing as he lets you rise up to reach into his boxers.

Your hands glide over his member gracefully, fingers roaming over the thick expanse as your eyes look at him with pure adoration. Angry veins ranging in size roam under the stretched skin of him that has your mind completely hypnotized.

“Look at you,” Harry exaggerates with amusement. He gently slaps your cheeks in light taps, those motions making you smile with moan slipping out.

“Enjoying yourself like the slut you are,” He comments. His grip forcing the space between you and his dick to bring attention to pleasing him.

With fingers still lace in your hair, they effortlessly follow your movements when your head leans forward to pepper wet kisses along his shaft. Plump bitten lips smearing saliva messily over his erection, as they roam all along his length, tongue stretching around the girth.

Your hand goes to cup his balls, letting your mouth pick up motion with each descend down him. Tongue feeling over every inch, swallowing him down coating the expense of him in thick fluid from every stroke.

Your eyes flutter from the familiar feeling of him dragging down your throat. The way he fits so nicely like he was made to be there, it only makes you moan around him in pleasure. You love the way he stretches your throat blissfully, moving gracefully with the added slick. The sensation of him expending the flesh around him has your pussy throbbing for any form of treatment.

The quiver between your legs only increases when the grip Harry has in your hair is roughly forcing you back down his cock. Hips drawing slowly out of your mouth to push back in as he begins to fuck your throat. His nails curl into your scalp when he shoves your head all the way down to the point your nose is brushing against his groin, just letting you take his swift thrusts. His deep voice dripping in honey when satisfying groans pass through his lips.

“Take my dick like the good slut you are.”

Wet, obscure noise sounding throughout the atmosphere as he assaults your throat. His rough hands collecting your hair swiftly as he continues to drag your head up and down his cock. The aggressive lunges he makes with his own hips to meet your mouth causes your chest to burn for air.

Your palms tear away from his balls and run across his upper thighs, eyes barely open from the lack of oxygen running through your system. Your mind goes completely numb to the control he has over your movements.

And just as your nose brushes against his skin once more, he relaxes his grip in your locks, letting his fingers gently bring your head up. Heavy ragged breaths draw from your lips as your lungs ache in pain.

It’s only when you feel one of Harry’s hand leave from your hair to run across your face, that you feel wetness roam amongst your cheeks.

His other hand glides down your backside. Feeling over the bruised skin and slipping it between your legs to run his fingers down your folds. A hesitant breath escapes you with eyes blinking slowly at his dick glistening in your fluid.

“Always so wet for me, huh?” Index finger craving your clit around in circles.

You hum while nodding your head; your mind is in another dimension right now, you’re not even sure if you’re able to form coherent words. Your brain is in a cloudy daze, dancing between the raging sensations flowing through you.

It’s a mix between thrill and greed. You want more of Harry shoving himself down your throat till the point you pass out, you want him to push your face deeper down his cock and have your nails curling into his skin from the lack of oxygen. You want him to ruin you.

“So wet and ready to be used.” Harry states. Another finger occupying his movements, only causing your head to lean forward, broken whimper trailing out of your lips at the added pleasure you’ve been craving. “Be a good little slut for me. Won’t you baby.”

You nod your head, lashes fluttering against the hollows of your eyes while you lean forward and press lazy kisses along his dick. Harry motions continue to rub your clit around his two fingers, spreading your nectar along your folds with swiftness that you can’t help the moan that breaks through your lips.

“Say you’re gonna be a good slut for me.” His fingers continuing their fierce movements.

“I —I’m,” Voice coming out broken and damaged. Harry smirks at that. “I’m gonna be a good slut for you sir.” You manage to say, lips still roaming amongst his length.

“That’s my girl.”

His fingers leave your clit to dip between your folds and spread you open. Lengthy digits thrusting into your pussy slow. He feels the way your velvet walls sink around him, the sweet fluid that you’ve been producing since he’s been lying his hands on you, gliding down every inch of his skin as lets his fingers explore you.

You moan at the feeling of Harry slipping into your pussy provoking more filthy whimpers of pleasure, while your mouth drags down the expense of him.

You’re so turned on from the sensations coursing through you, you don’t even hear the constant pings of tips and comments coming through the chatroom. Viewers appreciate your tousled appearance and beg for more entertainment. They want more exposure of your skin being shown. They want more deafening slaps and disgraceful words, they want to see you wrecked.

Your lips wrap around Harry in a frenzy state, sucking him down your throat just the way you know he likes; tongue lying on the underside and feeling over every prominent blood vessel that blooms along his shaft, throat welcoming the thickness that buries itself deep in your throat till your nose is brushing up against his groin just like before.

As you continue to let pleasure course through you and roam down the span of him, Harry continues playing with your pussy. Lunging his fingers hungrily with your slick cascading down his fingers all the way to his knuckles, fucking his digits into your soiled box that you choke around him, only straining the burn in your throat.

“That’s my good slut.” Harry groans, his fingers curling into your heat as your eyes flutter. “Taking good care of my dick.” He continues to boast.

You hum from the gratitude, relishing in the compliment that’s given, you nod around him in acknowledgment with fingers curving gently into his skin while he continues his tantalizing motions.

“Wanna be an even better slut for me?” He questions. Your mouth drapes up the expense of him, saliva dripping from your lips as you turn to look up at him with swollen eyes and burning cheeks.

“Yes sir.” Nodding while blinking up at him. You’re sure the mascara that coated your lashes is all over your cheeks and streaked along the hollow of your eyes. You’re sure that Harry loves the damage he’s done to you.

“Gonna take my dick like the good girl you are? Huh? Don’t you want to be a good girl?” You moan at the words while nodding your head again at him. Whatever he wanted to do, you allowed. In the mind space your in, he could do no wrong.

“Yes sir.”

You let him push you off his lap and find his place behind you, handling you roughly as his hands leave your hair to position you better in the frame of your laptop. His fingers undo your bralette before pushing your back deeper into the duvet. His hands gliding down the smooth expense before tugging your skirt higher on your hips.

“Such a pretty pussy.” You hear behind you. Cock dragging down your aching heat.

“Please sir, I wanna feel you.” You moan, voice strained and raspy. Harry laughs behind you. Deep chuckle as if he’s amused by your comment. “Please sir, haven’t I’ve been good?” You beg, ass pressing deeper into his cock, that it only allows a smack to go across your cheeks.

“I don’t know, have you?” Pressing his cock between your folds to slide in effortlessly. Your walls expand around him, damaged voice moaning out swears from him filling you up completely as his hips meet your backside.

“Why did you lie to me?” Harry taunts, drawing back till his head is breached between your hole until he thrusts back in aggressively.

“Why did you lie to them?” He continues, his hand leaving your covered hips and bringing your wrist to hold behind your back.

You can only moan at the drastic strikes of his cock in you. He’s barreling down your walls aggressively that you’ve grown completely numb to the pleasure, just letting him manhandle you to the point you’re not even control of your emotions, he’s the one controlling them.

“Answer me!” He demands, his chest leaning in to grab your hair in his hands and twist your head to look directly into the camera.

“Tell them, tell me, why’d you lie.” Your eyes float over the colourful screen with black words darting up and down. There’s tears brimming your eyes at his thickness abusing your hole so roughly.

“I don’t know sir.” You whine, your free hand not in Harry’s grasp is curling into the duvet as he pounds away at your cervix.

“You don’t know?” He questions, continuing to bruise your pussy restlessly. You shake your head in his hold while whimpering at the pleasure. “You want me to give you the answer, will that make it easy for you? Hm?” He’s diving down your walls with such violation your mind is in a different place.

“Yes sir, tell me.” You moan into the sheets, the soft light from the laptop is blurry under your gaze.

“Because you’re a dirty slut. Say it, say “I lied because I’m a dirty slut.”” Nodding your head into the sheets you feel lonesome tears begin to run down your face as you let him degrade you for everyone and him to enjoy.

“I lied because I’m a dirty slut.” Crying into the sheets as he continues to stroke your walls dangerously.

“That’s right.” Harry husks, the grip he has in your hair releasing as it runs across your face wiping your tears. “But you’re my dirty slut. My dirty fuck toy.”

Shallow breaths draw in from your clit throbbing in arousal, your pussy continues to accept his thrusts that glide with ease from your nectar, walls enveloping him comfortably as he strides in with rough urgency.

He looks over your features; mascara smeared all over your cheeks, eyes trained dazzlingly at the screen beside you, chest heaving with ease as your backside sounds in the room with the fluid between your legs joining. He loves that he can push you to your limits and you still find pleasure in his devious ways. He loves that you accept his intensity with your own greed for wanting more.

“My pretty fuck toy. Only I can make you feel like this.” His hand coming between your thighs to toy with your clit. Heavy breath releasing from your chest as you dip your head in acknowledgment.

“Making you this needy over my cock. I know you love it.” You whine at the comment, knuckles going white against the bedsheets.

“Yes, fuck, sir, I love it.” Whimpering with gaze completely blurring with tears accepting his intense thrusts.

“My pretty slut.” Harry’s fingers rub your bundle of nerves in rough circles as he continues to drive your nerves up the wall.

The ringing from the laptop doesn’t overshadow the ones in your ears. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with it digging into the sheets. Your thighs quiver against his barreling ones, warm waves of euphoria coat your body in pure ecstasy from your climax overthrowing you.

Harry is grunting behind you, his movements never slowing just continuing their hungry paste. His hand that was wiping away your tears goes to land smacks against your backside to add to your electrifying orgasm coursing through you.

“Want me to make you even prettier? Want me to make you beautiful?” He insinuates, palm leaving another mark against your skin as he fucks you into the mattress.

The addicting sensation clouds over you from being completely disoriented at the assault between your legs. Brain in fuzzy whirlwinds of pleasure at the aftermath of your climax.

“Yes sir.” Whining with every jolt of your body.

“Gonna make you the prettiest toy.”

His hips lunge into you once more, thickness dragging down your walls enticingly before they pull out, his creamy seed runs down your folds in long spurts as he tugs himself off in front of your pussy.

Disappointing cry trails out of your mouth at the disappearance of his cock leaving your heat, but you can feel his cum running down your lips, and you can feel his hands roaming amongst your ass cheeks again.

“Look at you,” Harry smiles breathlessly, his grip over you making your backside face the laptop and display your ruined hole to the viewers.

“Look at how pretty you are.” His hands spreading your cheeks to showcase your pussy dripping in his cum.

There wasn’t much you could even do in the moment, continuing to let him present you as his fuck toy to your followers. The action had you actually smiling smugly into the sheets.

“My pretty girl.” Harry is leaving his place to lean over and press kisses along the side of your face.

And that is how your night ends, with the notifications blaring in the background with tips of your viewers thanking you for your first show.

480 notes · View notes

raguiras · 7 months ago

Text

Meet my Yumeship

Yay, the second part of my official Allen x Deuce ship introduction is here! (FIRST PART)

Reblogs are super appreciated teehee

The ship's blog (daily facts, rambles & more est. May 2024): @spade-of-storms

Explanation of the chart & the first part of the relationship timeline below the cut!

I've also been cooking something else up for the past few days, so please look forward to it!

The reason why Allen and Deuce's behaviour towards each other is so different in comparison to how they act with other people is actually quite simple.

These two have a ridiculous amount of kinship. Their experiences, wishes for the future, worries, opinions and morals are essentially the same despite being different, which allows Allen and Deuce to have an absolutely blind understanding and extremely easy communication with each other. Additionally, their experiences are reversed (former honor student with great self-control who's now a lowkey delinquent & former delinquent with little self-control aspiring to be a model student), which adds to them being able to efficiently help and understand each other entirely on a very deep, personal level.

Deuce is able to open up A LOT more to Allen than to anyone else due to their special intimacy. While everyone knows Deuce as a hardworking guy with regrets who wants to better himself, Allen has access to much deeper feelings because of how much Deuce trusts and relates to him. This not only sets Allen (who is my Yuu) apart from the canon Yuu, but also explains why the relationship timeline below talks about Deuce's feelings and struggles on a much more intense level than the game does.

But how did they reach this point? And how did their relationship get so intense? Here's a little bit of a relationship timeline!

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

PROLOGUE

Allen and Deuce met on their first day of school when Allen was chasing Ace. For Deuce, it was pretty much love at first sight and he immediately knew he'd love to get to know this mysterious, mildly intimidating boy — Allen radiated an aura of intelligence, confidence, extreme toughness, ethereal beauty and utter determination. Deuce was pretty much just staring at him like "...woah".

Allen displayed a lot of these very characteristics (+ maturity) during the prologue and Deuce was already admiring him a ton. This guy really had all the attributes that made Deuce nervous around someone, huh...?

Due to Deuce's extreme determination to not get expelled, Allen immediately sensed that something was off. Teens (including Allen himself) weren't usually this keen on going to school... And Deuce, too, had his suspicions about Allen due to how this mature, composed and witty boy dressed like a rebel.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

BOOK 1

When Deuce first displayed his delinquent characteristics, Allen not only comforted him, but also opened up about his own tendencies and the fact that he used to be a model student before he became a lowkey delinquent himself. Deuce was a bit impressed that Allen was just like him in a way, so his kinship towards him immediately grew. However, the second Allen offered to help him with his impulse control and talk more about these topics, it was absolutely OVER for Deuce — not only was Allen pretty and smart, but also similar to him and willing to give him a safe space despite barely knowing him.

For Allen, this was a fairly unusual gesture as well. He's often apathetic and doesn't usually offer to help people nor relates to others. However, seeing that Deuce struggled with the exact same thing as him in a different way, Allen didn't even have to think about it and immediately knew that he wouldn't regret talking more to a rare person with similar experiences and thoughts. Maybe they could help each other in a way...?

Shortly after these events, they already started talking about their experiences together. However, it was mostly Allen asking questions about Deuce first, trying to keep his own past in wraps. Deuce's past and his regrets felt familiar to Allen, and he admired Deuce's aspirations to become a model student. He did, however, sense that something was off.

As they hung out more during Book 1, Allen's secret suspicion that Deuce tried too hard to be someone he naturally wasn't slowly confirmed itself already. Deuce expressed a dislike towards hard topics from class and struggled heavily with his homework, yet kept saying that he had to do well. What came off as someone being ambitious and working hard to others was the beginning of self-destruction in the eyes of burnt-out former honor student Allen, and he decided to keep an eye on Deuce. Additionally, Allen offered to tutor him, which Deuce excitedly accepted.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

BOOK 2

Between Book 1 and Book 2, Allen's brain decided to randomly let him relive the pain he had experienced as a bullying victim back in his world in great detail. That exact night, Deuce came to Ramshackle after a fight with Ace, wanting to ask Allen if he could stay over. This was when a violently crying Allen opened the door... and Deuce's suspicion that something was wrong with Allen was confirmed, too. When Deuce asked him about what had happened, Allen decided to finally open up about his past — after all, the other boy had done the same — and it only made Deuce's feelings grow. Allen assumed that he was being perceived as weak for crying, but to Deuce, it only made him even stronger. Enduring all that unjustified hatred and still carrying on with confidence... it was nothing short of admirable to Deuce. Additionally, he felt both saddened and incredibly angered hearing how Allen was severely bullied and almost driven over the edge because of something he couldn't control. This boy was so beautiful and special... why did he have to suffer? Was he doing better these days...? That night, Deuce made a silent promise to himself that he'd protect Allen.

The two kept spending lots of time with each other, talking and developing more and more trust with every sentence. They were so similar... two delinquents perceived as scary who both wanted to prove others wrong, be admired, craved meaningful relationships, hated bullies, had experiences with anger issues, wanted justice to prevail, and struggled with school in some way... and this wasn't even everything yet. Additionally, Allen started showing Deuce some effective ways of handling impulsiveness that worked on himself, too, and Deuce was intrigued. The two also didn't hesitate to rant together, which allowed both of them to let off steam and be angry in a safe environment while being fully understood by the person in front of them.

Allen also helped Deuce with his studies more often. However, Deuce sometimes kindly declined his offers and simply asked Allen to supervise him instead, wanting to learn and study by himself in order to prove himself that he could indeed achieve better grades through his own effort. Allen silently watched out for Deuce not pushing himself too hard because he could sense that what looked like hard work on the outside was tied to something much deeper on the inside...

When Deuce walked in on an annoyed Allen one day, he found out that the blonde boy had "messed up" a drawing and blamed himself for not being a good artist. Deuce comforted him and thought that Allen's art was genuinely amazing, but what the boy said next shattered Deuce's heart. "I don't care if I'm good... apparently I can only be someone if I'm the best at something. And I'm far from being best at anything. I'm doomed to be a nobody, I guess." Never in a thousand years did Deuce expect the current Allen — the seemingly perfect, confident, calm, tough and effortlessly beautiful Allen who often had a sly smirk on his face — to think about himself like this. After asking if this was the only thing Allen felt insecure about, the boy decided to open up further and tell Deuce how he also despised his own appearance. The blue-haired boy was genuinely shocked because to him, Allen was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and he couldn't care less about Allen's rather unique body either. How could he show Allen that he was actually stunning...?

In return, Deuce also opened up about his own insecurities to Allen on a deep level — something he had never done before out of fear of being made fun of. While the Ramshackle student wasn't surprised, it still hurt him to hear just how lowly Deuce thought he was... What sounded like a motivated "I don't have a lot going for me, but I'm doing my best!" to everyone else had always been a "It hurts to have nothing other than negative traits going for me and I hate myself for the fact that I don't improve at anything no matter how hard I work" in Allen's eyes, and here was the direct confirmation. If only Deuce could see that all those 'negative' traits he had were actually admirable and useful...

The two ended up having an extremely heartfelt talk that mostly consisted of them showering each other in genuine compliments and admiration. Deuce had never been able to see the things he hated about himself in such a positive light... and his heart was yet again beating like crazy.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

BOOK 3

When finding out that Deuce had made a contract in order to get better grades, Allen got even more concerned due to the boy's desperation and decided to finally have a heart-to-heart talk with him about how hard he was pushing himself. Allen knew that being a model student was a role Deuce was forcing himself into too hard and that it was prone to go wrong, especially considering how Deuce's natural self was quite different from it. Since part of Allen's trauma stemmed from being an honor student himself, overworking himself a ton, and having to deal with a ridiculous amount of highly unrealistic expectations and passion, he didn't want the same to happen to his friend — but if Deuce neglected himself and paid attention to nothing but his honor student persona, it was prone to happen one day. Allen told Deuce that there was no shame in accepting help, and the Heartslabyul student eventually saw that relying on himself only wouldn't help with improving his grades. As a result, Deuce started accepting Allen's offers to assist him fully, and Allen immediately came up with some original study methods and mnemonic bridges tailored specifically for Deuce. Additionally, Allen wasted no opportunity to tell Deuce yet again that he didn't have to change the core of his being in order to become the person he aspired to be, and that Deuce's "negative traits" were actually helpful assets.

Whenever Deuce wasn't busy at the Mostro Lounge, they would study together. Allen made sure that it was enjoyable and fun for the already stressed Deuce and paid great attention to his wellbeing. Every time Deuce was about to fall back into his old behaviours due to the stress and feeling of betrayal stemming from the entire Octavinelle situation, Allen reminded him of the impulse control methods or introduced Deuce to new ones. At other times, they would find a secluded place where Deuce could safely let off steam... Slowly but surely, the Heartslabyul freshman was able to get his anger under control.

The second it was obvious that Allen needed a new temporary residence, Deuce immediately knew that he wanted to share a bed with him. He accidentally mentioned this thought to Ace, who then teased Deuce about a possible crush on Allen. Deuce obviously denied everything and said that Allen was merely his best friend, but deep down, he knew that Ace was completely right. When Ace later suggested that Allen shared a bed with either him or Deuce and Allen denied in order to stay at Savanaclaw, Deuce's heart ached a little and he simply laughed it off.

By now, Deuce and Allen were much more touchy, too. Allen usually hated it when people touched him, but Deuce was an exception due to how close him and Allen already were at this point. And every time Allen touched Deuce, a firework went off within the Heartslabyul student's heart...

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

BOOK 4

Allen didn't understand why he was suddenly feeling empty at the knowledge that Deuce left for home during the holidays. He was merely a friend, right? Why did his two-week departure sadden Allen...?

The second Deuce read Allen's SOS message, he immediately packed his things and stormed off. He would've done the same for other friends, but certainly not reacted this impulsively... and knowing that Allen was in a tricky situation literally freaked him out. When his mom asked Deuce why he was leaving for school in the middle of the holidays, the teenager explained everything to her... and finally admitted that he loved Allen. Dylla was the first person to know about Deuce's massive crush and immediately pulled him into a hug.

Deuce was extremely fidgety and nervous during the entire travel back to NRC and Ace couldn't miss it. When he said that "Allen was merely in a difficult situation, you should chill", Deuce verbally lashed out at him and went on about how great Allen was. Ace then brought up his suspicion that Deuce liked Allen as more than a friend again, and Deuce simply replied with "So what if I do?!" this time. Needless to say, the rest of the ride was packed full of teasing and jokes at Deuce's cost...

The minute Allen and Deuce reunited, they shared a lung-crushing hug and felt their hearts race like crazy. Deuce was incredibly happy to see that Allen was doing okay, and Allen suddenly felt much happier...

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

That's it for now! The happenings from Book 5-7 and everything after that up until they finally start dating are going to covered in my next Allen x Deuce post. I hope you liked it! ♠️🌪

If you have any questions about the ship or want to draw them, please do not hesitate!

188 notes · View notes

artifacts-and-arthropods · 1 month ago

Text

Snake-Mimicking Sphinx Moth (Hemeroplanes triptolemus): the caterpillars of this species are able to mimic snakes by turning upside-down and inflating the area around their head

It's very common for moths to engage in mimicry during the larval stage of their development, and their caterpillars are often known to mimic snakes. In most cases, they'll simply mimic the snake's eyes (or eye) and its general morphology, but there are a few species that take their disguises to a much higher level, mimicking the snake's eyes, scaly texture, coloration, posture, and even its behavior with such a startling degree of accuracy that the tiny, harmless caterpillars are often mistaken for actual snakes.

Hemeroplanes triptolemus is probably the most famous example of this.

Above: a caterpillar of the species Hemeroplanes triptolemus displaying its defensive posture

This species of sphinx moth can be found in the rainforests of Central and South America. When threatened, the caterpillar suspends itself from a twig, turns its body over to expose its underbelly, tucks in its legs, and inflates the anterior segments of its body in order to mimic the shape of a serpent's head. As the body segments expand, several markings on each side of the caterpillar's body are exposed, mimicking the eyes and nostrils of a snake.

Above: the caterpillar is shown hanging upside-down; its actual head is visible near the tip of the "snake nose"

As this article explains:

At the slightest hint of danger—be it a stooping bird or pouncing lizard—the sphinx moth caterpillar begins its masquerade. Dangling from a twig, it reveals an underside patterned in faux snakeskin and eyespots that appear to glisten. By sucking in air through tiny holes in its surface, the caterpillar inflates its head to create the illusion of a triangular skull swollen with venom glands. If the shape of a deadly snake isn’t enough to startle away a hungry predator, the caterpillar will lunge as if to strike. And despite the larva’s comical lack of any actual weaponry, the strategy appears to be effective.

Above: detailed photos of the "snake's head"

This disguise is only present in the final instar, which is the last stage of development before the caterpillar undergoes pupation and then matures into an adult moth.

Above: the adult form of Hemeroplanes triptolemus

As I've said before, moths are some of the very best mimics in the world. I've also written posts about wasp-mimicking moths, moths that mimic jumping spiders, a moth that can mimic a broken birch twig, a moth that disguises itself as two flies feeding on bird poop, another snake-mimicking moth caterpillar, a moth that mimics a curled-up leaf, a moth that mimics a cuckoo bee, moths that mimic hornets and bumblebees, and a moth that can mimic the leaves of a poplar tree.

Sources & More Info:

BioGraphic: Snake Fake

National Geographic: This Harmless Caterpillar Looks Like a Pit Viper

Animal Behaviour: Defensive Posture and Eyespots Deter Avian Predators from Attacking Caterpillar Models

University of Nebraska: Mimicry in Insects (PDF)

Ecology and Evolution: Outstanding Issues in the Study of Antipredator Defenses

#entomology #arthropods #lepidoptera #snake-mimicking sphinx moth #hemeroplanes triptolemus #sphinx moths #caterpillars #moths #sphingidae #hawkmoths #mimicry #animal camouflage #evolution #defense mechanisms #animal facts #bugs #insects #mind-blowing moths

116 notes · View notes

suzannahnatters · 1 year ago

Text

Let Your Knights Weep

One of the big things I've had to train myself out of when writing medieval historical fiction?

The stiff upper lip.

This used to really bewilder my editor, who for some time attempted to nudge me away from having my grown men weep and wail and blubber, but for me it's an essential part of the setting. Whether in grief or fear, medieval people did not hold things back.

Here are some of my favourite quotes to explain.

First, a couple from two great 20th century medievalists:

CS Lewis in his Letters put it this way:

“By the way, don't 'weep inwardly' and get a sore throat. If you must weep, weep: a good honest howl! I suspect we - and especially, my sex - don't cry enough now-a-days. Aeneas and Hector and Beowulf, Roland and Lancelot blubbered like schoolgirls, so why shouldn't we?”

Dorothy Sayers, in her fabulous Introduction to her translation of THE SONG OF ROLAND, speaking of Charlemagne discovering Roland's body on the battlefield:

Here too, I think we must not reckon it weakness in him that he is overcome by grief for Roland’s death, that he faints upon the body and has to be raised up by the barons and supported by them while he utters his lament. There are fashions in sensibility as in everything else. The idea that a strong man should react to great personal and national calamities by a slight compression of the lips and by silently throwing his cigarette into the fireplace is of very recent origin. By the standards of feudal epic, Charlemagne’s behaviour is perfectly correct. Fainting, weeping, and lamenting is what the situation calls for. The assembled knights and barons all decorously follow his example. They punctuate his lament with appropriate responses:

By hundred thousand the French for sorrow sigh; There’s none of them but utters grievous cries.

At the end of the next laisse:

He tears his beard that is so white of hue, Tears from his head his white hair by the roots; And of the French an hundred thousand swoon.

We may take this response as being ritual and poetic; grief, like everything else in the Epic, is displayed on the heroic scale. Though men of the eleventh century did, in fact, display their emotions much more openly than we do, there is no reason to suppose that they made a practice of fainting away in chorus. But the gesture had their approval; that was how they liked to think of people behaving. In every age, art holds up to us the standard pattern of exemplary conduct, and real life does its best to conform. From Charlemagne’s weeping and fainting we can draw no conclusions about his character except that the poet has represented him as a perfect model of the “man of feeling” in the taste of the period.

OK, now let's dig into some quotes that I found just in Christopher Tyerman's Chronicles of the First Crusade and Joinville's Life of St Louis:

Truly you would have grieved and sobbed in pity when the Turks killed any of our men....

As for the knights, they stood about in a great state of gloom, wringing their hands because they were so frightened and miserable, not knowing what to do with themselves and their armour, and offering to sell their shields, valuable breastplates and helmets for threepence or fivepence or any price they could get....

When Guy, who was a very honourable knight, had heard these lies, he and all the others began to weep and to make loud lamentation....

They stayed in the houses cowering, some some for hunger and some for fear of the Turks....

Now at vigils, the time of trust in God’s compassion, many gave up hope and hurriedly lowered themselves with ropes from the wall-tops; and in the city soldiers, returning from the encounter, circulated widely a rumour that mass decapitation of the defenders was in store. To add weight to the terror, they too fled…

In the course of that day’s battle there had been many people, and of fine appearance too, who had come very shamefully flying over the little bridge you know of and had fled away so panic-stricken that all our attempts to make them stay with us had been in vain. I could tell you some of their names, but shall refrain from doing so, because they are now dead.

I could go on looking for quotes in all the other medieval literature I've read, but that would be beyond the scope of this Tumblr post.

In the meantime, this leads me to make some comments on how trauma was perceived.

In Jonathan Riley-Smith's The First Crusade and the Idea of Crusading, the author discusses the mental breakdowns suffered by the first crusaders during the second siege of Antioch, which caused many of them to flee at the moment of direst need:

In these stressful circumstances it is not surprising that the crusaders were often very frightened. At times, indeed, they seem to have been almost paralysed by a terror that they themselves could hardly comprehend. … When the crusade was bottled up in Antioch by Kerbogha's relief force it was gripped by such blind panic that there was the prospect of a mass break-out and on the night of 10 or 11 Juney 1098 Bohemond and Adhemar had the gates of the city closed. It is worth noting that many of those whom later chroniclers, writing after the events in comparative comfort in Europe, vilified for cowardice and desertion seem to have been treated more charitably by their fellow-crusaders, who must have understood what pressures they had been under.

In conclusion: the way we feel about things today in the English-speaking isn't necessarily the way people felt about things in the past (and this goes for other cultures, real or imagined, too). I'm continually catching myself writing people with stiff upper lips and emotional reservations, and having to remind myself that the culture was different back them. If a grown man wanted to weep, he could. That's a good thing. (Oh, and my medieval historical fantasy? Check out the Watchers of Outremer series on Amazon or wherever books are sold!)

#history #writing #historical fiction #medieval history #medieval #middle ages #historical #masculinity #history of masculinity #toxic masculinity

872 notes · View notes

novlr · 1 year ago

Note

How do you write characters who ignore their feelings

When you write characters who ignore their feelings, you delve into a complex psychological landscape that, if done well, can resonate deeply with readers. These characters are walking contradictions, their emotions simmering just beneath the surface. This tension between their inner experiences and external expressions makes them fascinating and relatable to readers.

Behaviour

Disregard their own emotional well-being

Focus on logic and facts

Appear stoic or unfazed in stressful scenarios

Engage in compulsive behaviours as a distraction

Will take on burdens without complaining

Avoid conversations about their feelings

Can be reliable in a crisis

Immerse themselves in work or hobbies

Seen as cold or insensitive by others

Exhibit control issues, and micromanaging tendencies

Interactions

Difficulty forming deep, emotional connections

Uncomfortable with physical displays of affection

Struggle to empathise with others’ feelings

Change the subject when discussions turn emotional

Appear indifferent or detached in social settings

Perceived as blunt or straightforward in their communication

Offer practical solutions to problems, rather than emotional support

Have a small, close-knit circle of friends, if any

Inadvertently hurt others by dismissing their emotions

Often seen as the ‘rock’ or ‘anchor’ by their peers

Body language

Cross arms or create physical barriers when emotional topics arise

Maintain a steady, controlled posture

Rarely exhibit nervous ticks or fidgeting

Minimal eye contact during emotional conversations

Often have a rigid or stiff walk or stance

Avoid touch or recoil slightly from unexpected contact

Neutral or hard to read facial expressions

Look away or distance themselves from emotional displays

Rarely cry or show signs of emotional distress in public

Likely to control voice pitch and volume meticulously, even when agitated

Attitude

A practical and no-nonsense demeanour

Often skeptical of emotional reasoning or decisions

May seem dismissive or cynical about sentimentality

Value strength, self-sufficiency, and independence

Pride themselves on not ‘giving in’ to emotions

Can be incredibly self-disciplined and focused

View emotional displays as weaknesses or inconveniences

Have a strong drive to maintain composure under pressure

Sometimes accused of lacking passion or enthusiasm

Can come across as disinterested or aloof

Positive story outcomes

Learn to acknowledge and accept their emotions in a healthy way

Build stronger, more genuine relationships through vulnerability

Find themselves more at peace after emotional breakthroughs

Gain respect from others for their growth and emotional maturity

Overcome past traumas that caused them to suppress their feelings

Develop a more balanced approach to problem-solving

Become a role model for others struggling with emotional expression

Facilitate a cathartic moment that resolves a central conflict

Experience personal breakthroughs leading to unexpected joy

Discover hidden strengths through the acceptance of weakness

Negative story outcomes

Relationships may deteriorate because of emotional neglect

They could face a breakdown from accumulated stress

Might cause unintended harm to themselves or others

Risk becoming isolated because of their lack of emotional openness

Can suffer from health issues related to suppressed emotions

Might miss out on life-changing opportunities because of fear of vulnerability

Could be overtaken by their emotions in a critical moment

May lose the trust or respect of peers who crave emotional honesty

Potentially fail to resolve a major conflict because of emotional barriers

Their growth as a character might stagnate, leading to a tragic outcome

Helpful Vocabulary

Aloof

Detached

Dismissive

Stoic

Impassive

Restrained

Unflappable

Resolute

Suppressed

Guarded

Inexpressive

Dispassionate

Self-contained

Unemotional

Nonreactive

Disconnected

Inhibited

Controlled

Reticent

Reserved

306 notes · View notes

lilacxquartz · 5 months ago

Text

TO SAVE A BROKEN SOUL • suguru geto x cursed spirit fem!reader

ao3 • masterlist • mdni < previous chapter • next chapter >>

summary: despite this place being your new home, you couldn’t help but feel more lost than ever before.

trigger warnings: uncomfortable scenes & disturbing implications (but nothing graphic yet)

Chapter 3: Human?

It took a while to adjust to the strange new environment that was supposedly your new home, but that feeling of not belonging never went away.

You still felt lost; and being forced into this life, being forced to resign to roam around the select spaces that he permitted you to go—felt dehumanising somehow. As though you were a caged animal on display.

It wasn’t as though you could just leave either, much to your continued frustration. The entire vicinity seemed to be packed with people that he called his family, yet they didn’t take as kindly to you.

The looks they fed you spoke volumes, labelling you as someone, no, something that simply just didn’t belong, at least not in their perfectly constructed world.

The younger girls that you met with before had initially attempted to mimic the behaviour of such people. You supposed that these people were their role models, dispelling their fabricated hatred over to you and expecting the still impressionable minds to follow suit.

Personally, you found that sort of thing to be strange in humanity, quite ugly, actually.

How odd was it that time and time again, that humans were often the cause of their own assigned hatred.

No wonder you existed.

The younger girl who carried a plushie in her hands tried to offer you kindness instead, just a simple smile that was soon squashed under the gaze of a bystander.

“Don’t pay any attention to something so filthy,” an older woman hissed, although she couldn’t have been that much younger or older than Geto. You watched as she ushered the girls away from your sight, muttering something hateful under her breath. “This thing is worse than a monkey and it doesn’t belong here.”

Suguru however passed by, curious as to what the commotion seemed to be just outside. He found it odd that Manami was scolding the girls and dismissively interacting with you, finding that he didn’t quite like when others tried to discipline his daughters. They were both well mannered enough, so what could possibly be the reason?

With a deep sigh, he stepped in to intervene at the scene. “Honestly, enough with the theatrics,” he said to the woman, gesturing his hands to have the girls return to his side, “you’re acting like I don’t bring things in here without a purpose.”

You watched him in the background as this whole scene unfolded, almost curious about how he treated others and especially to someone he claimed earlier to you was essentially like family.

Suguru wearily tried to read more into the situation. In truth however, a part of him did acknowledge that this sort of environment went going to be right for you because of your nature, but also, because not everyone had the capacity to understand. It wasn’t Manami’s fault for being uncomfortable around you, she was already on the fence about his own stored spirits. Maybe after witnessing what you were capable of succumbing to after the incident on the stage, he shouldn’t be allowing you to freely roam to begin with.

This caused him to conclude something in his mind, deciding to speak a notch louder as though to reel in the attention of the other bystanders as well, “Remember, any interference with my own plans means that you’re committing treason against the cause, which will be dealt with accordingly, regardless of your loyalty.”

Despite the threats and warnings he dispensed, you couldn’t help but feel as though there was a hint of possession in his tone. While it didn’t feel as though he was actually defending you, there seemed to be something ever so slightly more behind his words that carried a different sort of weight.

You could feel it, even.

Some sort of tension that hung in the air as he spoke.

All of this revelation and yet you still didn’t understand your place here, though. The way he addressed you, the way he spoke to them—it felt more as though as you were a pest—rather than the promised salvation he kept labelling you as.

Instead, you found yourself believing the words people claimed you to be.

Filthy.

Disgusting.

Maybe even a monster.

~~~

It didn’t take too long for Suguru to lead you away from the prying eyes of his own community however, leading you off into what he dubbed to be a supposed safe sanctuary within his own personal quarters. The girls were conveniently displaced for now, sleeping elsewhere on the grounds.

You couldn’t help but feel worried about his intentions as he led you into his bedroom, feeding you ill-intended promises that nobody else can get into the room.

You simply just didn’t understand the sentiment, you supposed.

Some lingering tension continued to brew in the air the longer that he kept quiet, but then he broke the stagnant atmosphere by pushing you gently towards the corner of the room, forcing you to take several steps back.

His eyes darted around the twisted corners of the bedroom, his voice adopting an amused tone as he began to explain your circumstances to you, “This part of the room is quite interesting, actually. I had someone manipulate it for a… special reason.”

“A barrier…?” you cautiously asked, unable to see the cursed energy that was otherwise presently keeping you contained.

Suguru laughed softly as he shook his head, “Close, but not quite. You see, it allows humans to pass by freely, however, as for you…”

You narrowed your eyes as he trailed off, immediately getting an uneasy feeling as he let the implication fester. You took a few experimental steps forward, finding that an invisible wall blocked your path, no matter how much you tried to force your way past it.

“It’s for your own good,” Suguru spoke in an attempt to assure you, his voice however once again taking on a possessive edge. “This way you’ll keep safe, unable to stray away where you don’t belong again.”

Your reaction this time was visceral as both his words and the invisible wall quite literally held you captive. “I-I don’t like this.”

“Stop resisting,” he replied, his voice carrying a flicker of warning, something in his tone that hinted at something darker, “or would you like me to remind you what I’m capable of should you try to disobey?”

Wanting to hold onto your life, you resigned to a weary sigh. You accepted your fate for now, supposing that as long as you remained alive, then that’s all that mattered for your survival instincts.

You wanted to live.

You wanted to return back home to your unrestricted forest, but you couldn’t. Instead you were forced to remain confined within the shadow of a man crazed, without a single clue of what his intentions truly were.

Just before leaving completely, Sugutu stopped to tell you something else, “I’ll come for you when I need you.”

With that, he left you all alone in the manipulated pocket in his bedroom as a reluctant guest, where you hoped for nothing more than to leave, already certain that you were long overstaying your welcome.

~~~

It was night when he returned to you, finding you in an almost dormant and eerily still state right where he left you. He thought that you looked almost similar to a statue rather than as living, breathing being. Such a feeling was only confirmed further as he reached to touch you, finding that your skin felt firm beneath his touch, although not quite like stone, perhaps closer to hardened clay.

Noticing you opene up your eyes, he took a step back, feeling slightly startled. “It’s almost creepy with how still you can get.”

“I’m not like you, that’s why,” you replied coldly. “I can pass through time like this, sometimes even years.”

He snorted in response, feeling a little fascinated. “So… what? You can hibernate?”

You nodded albeit warily, noticing how his eyes settled on you once again. Much to your continued dismay, you watched as he took a step forward again, pushing his palm flat against your chest, as though searching for a heartbeat to remind himself that you weren’t a human.

Feeling uncomfortable, you tried to step back, finding that you had nowhere to go as he kept you locked in place against the wall. Suguru studied your features closer, feeling both fascinated and uneasy the longer he stared.

“You’re pretty, I’ll admit that much,” he softly told you, “but uncanny.”

His feelings of almost conflicted desire continued to both manifest and stir the longer he looked into your eyes, finding your appearance just as alluring as unsettling at the same time. Perfect, yet frightening.

His fingertips lightly dabbed over your face, carefully tracing over your skin. He took note of how unblemished your flesh seemed to be, so soft, so smooth—nothing like touching a person at all.

“Do you feel emotions?” he asked flatly.

“I do,” you replied calmly, “just not in the same way that you do.”

Suguru could only furrow his brows in deep thought, an unreadable expression forming on his face. For someone who saw you to be so lowly in his company, his touch was so gentle and almost even kind. He couldn’t help but feel mesmerised by your cursed marks, following the bleeding lines down the clothes you wore.

He had seen it before, when he watched you bathe; washed marks sitting over your skin like spilled ink, swimming down the contours of your flesh like cursed watercolour.

He couldn’t help but stare at you in awe; his eyes lingering—settling—on you, his gaze haunting and almost starved.

Finally however, he pulled himself away again as soon as the conflict returned. His voice quickly abandoned the softness from before, adopting a colder, rigid edge, “You’re just a cursed spirit though, aren’t you? You were born through human negativity, so while you think you can mirror what it’s like to be a person, you’re nothing actually close to a real person… are you?”

You didn’t reply, watching him stir away within the confines of his own hateful rhetoric.

“You’re less than…” he trailed off for a moment, surrendering to the hate he broke up earlier. What a hypocrite. “Less a monkey. Simply filth. You’re nothing more than dirt beneath my shoe.”

And despite dishing out those choice words to you, there was something that warred within his mind as he stared at you, as if to imply that he didn’t actually mean what he said. It was as though he told you these things as a way to convince himself not to get any closer to you.

Suguru simply didn’t know how to deal with all of this though, especially as his fascination with you slowly crept into something that closer resembled obsession instead.

It was driving him crazy.

It was as though he wanted to both control and consume you at the same time.

Was it because of what you were?

Because of what he could do…?

He turned away from you momentarily as those sorts of thoughts continued to invade his headspace. While the manipulated space meant that you couldn’t harm him in his sleep should he lay to rest, he found that’s not what actually bothered him.

No. Instead it was the realisation that he didn’t actually mind having you in the same room, being the problem instead. In fact, the idea of you being somewhere else, such as freely roaming the temple, was a prospect that bothered him much, much more.

Steeping away and climbing into bed, he shook off those thoughts before taking one last look at you.

Despite his inner conflict, you remained as till and passive as ever. Completely indifferent and more importantly, unaffected by his tormented desire.

If only you knew just how much he wanted to take you right then and there though, even despite his unease and what he would claim otherwise.

Oh, how Suguru longed to do so right now actually, but stopped himself because of one little thing that bothered him.

When he asked you if you could feel emotions, you told him that yes, you do.

So does that mean you would feel sadness if he forced you?

Hurt?

Anger?

Or being what you are, would you feel anything at all?

~~~

this is part 2 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

115 notes · View notes

sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

Text

My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

The joke's on you - we are salt and you are the wound.

Summary:

Ellie confronts your abuser, and after years of torment, you finally feel free.

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Hurt and Comfort. Can be read with or without considering the canon events.

Word Count: 9,600

The Last of Us Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: reader uses she/her pronounces, the reader is a lesbian/does not date men, themes of abuse and abusive relationships, domestic abuse, ‘love at first sight’ trope, could be considered ‘soulmates’ trope, hurt and comfort, the reader is being abused by a family member and is saved by Ellie,the reader is being emotionally and physically abused by a family member, evidence of emotional manipulation/brainwashing in the reader character, the reader character has injuries from physical abuse, trauma, becoming free from abuse, depictions of violence (fist fighting between Ellie and the abuser), mentions of guns and gun violence, there is elements of Joel and Ellie’s relationship in the background and this could be read with or without considering the canon events (their emotional falling out), mentions of alcohol, drugging someone against their will (done toward the abuser), threatening someone’s genitals with a knife (done toward the abuser), kidnapping and intimidation through violent threats (done toward the abuser), mentions of hanging/choking/suffocation, use of lesphobic slurs (I think ‘rug muncher’ is the only one?) (from the abuser towards Ellie), Joel and Ellie making a kidnapping (and potentially murder) plot together, this has a happy/hopeful ending.

A/N: Another re-post of a fic I really, really love. This one is particularly deeply personal to me. Whenever I write about the concept of abuse, it’s very emotional for me, but this one has some more personal touches - because it is about abuse coming from a family member and how it can be difficult to part from that because you rely on them for survival and resources that keep you alive. Often times when people think about abuse - or when abusive relationships are modelled in media, it is a romantic relationship, and they display how a person can go from sweet and romantic and turn into a monster, and how it manipulates the victims emotions and makes it difficult for them to leave. And I do think that is an important story to tell, but one equally important - the story of an abuser who is a constant in your life, and makes you dependent on them for survival, and it causes you to rationalise all of their poor actions and behaviour because you need them. You want them to be a good person in your mind because you don’t know how to sustain your life without them.

Another deeply personal touch on this fic - the title. It is titled after a Fall Out Boy song, and you guys might know - I fucking love Fall Out Boy. I feel like all of their songs have a direct cord to my soul. But this one in particular is so special and tender for me. I was struggling with what to title this fic, and I was going through a playlist of songs that I listen to frequently - and this one came up. Although I believe the original intent of this song is about a cheating spouse, for me, it brings up feelings of how I think of my abuser. Especially the lines ‘I’m the kind of kid that can’t let anything go, and you wouldn’t know a good thing if it came up and split your throat’ and 'this is me wishing you in to the worst situations’.

I feel like it is very accurate, because Ellie is someone who is very 'wearing her heart on her sleeve’ and through this fic, she wants to be emotionally detached and leave the situation alone, but she can’t. And it turns her heart into this weapon against her, and ultimately, against the abuser. Because it is only of the fact that she cares so much about y/n that she wants to hurt the guy at all. And it also works to describe y/n’s feelings, because she hates that she has emotional attachment to her abuser, but she does, and it makes her feel as though her heart is a weapon against herself. So yeah. I hope you enjoy this fic, and if you relate to it somehow, I hope you can heal.

...

Ellie didn’t believe in love at first sight.

She was the type of person who thought it was cheesy - some made-up bullshit built for movies and books to sell people on the type of story that would never actually happen. She founded herself on facts, and though she knew realistically it would never happen in her lifetime, she thought that space travel was far more factual than something like love at first sight.

Until she met you.

And yeah, it probably wasn’t love - at least not true love - until later on. But there had to be some reason that she stuck her neck out for you like that. There had to be something drawing her to you like that. Maybe it was that fabled invisible string. That unspoken thing that made her want to die and want to kill for you, especially within the first ten minutes of meeting you.

You were with a group taking refuge in Jackson. In such a small town, rumors were rampant. The group had been in town for less than a day and people were already whispering about whether or not Maria was going to take in such a large number of people on such short notice.

Personally, Ellie didn’t care. She knew that Jackson had the resources to support new people and she knew that Maria would make the right decision. She was a good leader; she would sense if the group were good enough people to stay or not. She wouldn’t knowingly let in any dangers.

But then, Ellie started to care very suddenly, very much - when she met you.

When she saw you, the very first thing she noticed was your smile. She didn’t think she had ever seen someone smile with such intense, genuine joy. It was something that instantly twisted her gut into knots - filled her with those cartoonish butterflies as she took in the sight of you.

You were standing along the edge of one of the fences, near a small, green pasture for the animals in town. It was a small wooden fence that came up to your hips, around an area that was sectioned off to keep the baby cows in so they could graze. You were leaning on the wooden panels, admiring those little cows with awe, a smile on your face a mile wide as you watched the animals stumble around happily in the field. It was a beautiful spring day, with a light breeze kissing against your skin, and plenty of bright green grass for the cows to snack on. It made the sun seem so much brighter with your smile under it.

Ellie couldn’t help but find herself drawn to you.

She was supposed to be on her way to return her rifle to the gun shed after patrol. But instead, her feet carried her to you, almost entirely against her will. And soon she found herself standing barely a foot away from you, leaning on that same fence with one hand and staring at you with a big idiotic smile of her own.

You gave a small jolt when you finally took your eyes off the cows and noticed her staring. Ellie panged with guilt. She hadn’t realized how unintentionally creepy she was being. She didn’t know that it was a programmed response on your part - an ingrained jumpiness that you couldn’t help.

She swallowed around the dryness in her throat, struggling for words, and she was thankful when you spoke first.

“You guys have everything here.” You said, bright and excited as you put your eyes back on the grazing pasture. “It’s the first time I’ve seen baby cows before.”

“We - uh - we also have sheep.” Ellie tripped over herself to say this, shouldering the strap of her rifle to point beyond to a spot where the sheep’s pasture could not be seen. “And there’s greenhouses, and horses. My horse is named Shimmer. You can come and meet her if you want!”

Ellie almost felt stupid, rushing to say all of this, rushing to impress you. If you liked Jackon’s plentiful resources, then perhaps if she pressed just how fantastic and resource filled the place was, you would want to stay.

She found herself wanting you to stay. Very badly.

You bit your lip, slightly shy, and let out a nervous giggle. You didn’t want to turn her down. But years of warnings in a closed off echo chamber had made you weary of strangers. Even seemingly kind ones.

“That would be nice.” You told her quietly. “Maybe later.”

Ellie thought she was coming on too strong. She kicked herself internally because of it.

She had no idea that you were hesitant to be friendly - hesitant to get too close because of the ‘consequences’ you had seen in the past. In your eyes, Ellie seemed like a lovely, friendly person, but you didn’t want to get hurt for trying to make friends. Even if you felt a spark of attraction towards her, you could never pursue it. You didn’t have the room to do so.

Ellie simply nodded at you, the pain of rejection curling in her gut as she began to walk off. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she heard it.

Yelling - a brute voice disrupting your peace.

When Ellie turned around, there was a man. Someone who would have been otherwise average in his looks, if not for the violence he wore so boldly, obviously uncaring of who saw him. His face was tight with anger as he crowded into your personal space, grabbing a hold of your wrist and screaming at you relentlessly as though you had greatly offended him.

She wondered how someone like you - someone so sweet, who took wonder in baby cows, could ever do something to warrant such a visceral reaction of anger from someone.

Ellie gripped her rifle tightly.

A voice in her mind told her that it was none of her business, but another quickly argued back and said that you didn’t deserve to be treated like this. It said that she should step in. She felt frozen as the two sides warred inside her. For a few moments, she simply watched on, taking in the one-sided conflict between you and this man with horror swimming inside of her.

Your reaction was the worst part.

Your face immediately shifted from that excitement, awe, and wonder that the baby cows gave you and contorted into pure pain. Tears welled up in your eyes and pure fear overtook your entire body. Your spine coiled up, as if to protect your internal organs, but you made no real moves to get away from this man.

He spouted at you about ‘wandering off’ and ‘what have I told you before’, ranting on and on as if you had made some horrible mistake by taking time out of your day to admire a grazing pasture full of animals. Ellie was just about to unlock her knees and charge over there to do something about it when a vial, angry eye caught hers over your shoulder.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” He barked at Ellie.

Those simple words were all it took to trigger something in Ellie.

At a moment’s notice, all of her logic flew out the window, and she found herself consumed by the impulse of her rage instead. She shed off the strap of her rifle, leaving the heavy object on the ground behind her in case it might impede her as she barreled toward the man like a raging bull.

“Why don’t you tell me, asshole?!” Ellie fired back, entirely nonsensical.

But both of them, ill-tempered, were beyond talking at that point.

He stepped around you and went to open his mouth again and Ellie took a swing. She easily made contact with his jaw, but he absorbed it well. Her knuckles stung as she pulled back and landed another hit on his cheek, most definitely leaving a nasty bruise.

Ellie was caught off guard when a large fist collided with her face.

She would never be the type to say that men shouldn’t hit women simply on principle. Especially not in this case, because she had swung first.

She was shocked simply because of the sheer force behind the hit. It wasn’t just to get her off of him - it was vengeful.

Though her skull was rattled, when he moved his hand up again, Ellie caught his wrist and hit him again. Still feeling that blinding rage, she took him to the ground. His nose felt like mush under her knuckles and she wouldn’t have stopped - if not for someone forcefully pulling her off of him.

She wanted to yell when she found out that someone was Tommy. But he quickly dampened any of her protests.

Tommy then gave her a long lecture about ‘first impressions’ and handling her temper during ‘misunderstandings’. He told her that being a part of their family meant that even unintentionally, she represented Jackson as a whole. Regrettably, Ellie felt guilt curling in her stomach because of his words. Even if the guy had it coming, she hated Joel or Tommy looking down on her with disappointment.

And some time during that long, droning speech, you and that man slipped away. Ellie had a very bad feeling in her gut because of it.

She had a feeling that he was nothing but a cause of pain for you.

But of course, she had no outright proof of that. Aside from your tears. But you weren’t even there to tell Tommy your story. And what story was that? That you had been yelled at? How the hell did that substantiate Ellie beating a man up?

She had nothing more to go on than a gut feeling.

So rather than telling Tommy about any of the things she suspected, she accepted everything she had said, she apologized for losing her cool, and then (after he gave her a hug, patted her on the head and said ‘it’s okay, kiddo’) - she turned and walked away.

When she returned her rifle to the gunshed, Jesse asked if something had happened on patrol to cause the bruises on her face and make her expression so sickly, and she quickly shrugged him off.

Ellie felt intensely guilty for not doing something more. She felt bad for not simply asking you what was wrong, for not handling the situation like a real human being. She had no clue why she couldn’t simply be calm when she saw you so upset like that.

She didn’t even really know you. She just had a feeling that you were too good to be treated like that. Something deep in her gut was screaming that you did nothing to deserve it.

The group you came in with split up. Some of them made their way down to the coast with the intention of fishing, perhaps finding and fixing up an old boat, and some of them stayed.

Ellie took notice when you and the man who had yelled at you stayed.

She also took notice of the fact that whenever she saw you around town, that man was never very far from you. And whenever he lingered around you, you were much different from the girl she had met that day near the pasture. You were slumped down, never rising to your full posture, constantly tense, and incredibly quiet. You never spoke a single word to anyone other than that awful man. You never even made eye contact with other people.

Ellie spent weeks watching you from afar, attempting to see if you were okay, looking for some ‘evidence’ that you weren’t. Some hard proof that she could bring to Tommy and Maria, something to show that she wasn’t insane for attacking that man. And it wasn’t until the spring rolled into summer, and Ellie’s bruises from the incident had faded, that she found time to speak to you again.

There was a time when Ellie caught you without your ugly shadow - when you were by the coops, feeding the chickens, imitating their clucking and laughing to yourself.

“I think you’ve got a career as a chicken caller.” Ellie chuckled as she walked toward you.

You smiled when you looked up and saw her.

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “I just like them because if they say mean things to me, I don’t have to know.”

Ellie felt a lump rise up in her throat at the pain behind your words.

It left an awkward, painful silence for a moment before you spoke up again.

“Look, I’m sorry about before.” You told her. “If you thought you had to defend me, or…” You continued staring at the grainy feed on the ground, pointedly not looking at Ellie. “I piss him off. Often. He was just having a bad day, and I-”

“That’s no excuse for him to yell at you like that.” Ellie cut you off. She rushed to get the words out, desperate for you to know this at the truth. “He’s got a temper, doesn’t he?”

“So do you.” You chuckled. It wasn’t genuine laughter.

There was a twinge of fear in your voice. It made her nauseous. She never wanted you to fear her the same way that you clearly feared that horrible man.

“I’m sorry.” Ellie said quietly, intense guilt overtaking her. “I do genuinely apologize if I scared you. I just… I couldn’t stand to see you crying like that.”

“I totally get it.” You snorted, painful humor lingering in your voice. “It’s so annoying. But… sometimes I can’t help it.” Though you kept your voice steady, these simple words spoke volumes of pain.

Ellie wanted to ask why. She wanted to ask if there were more days when he pushed you to tears.

“I’m sorry that I’m such a crybaby.” You told her. You tried to laugh this off, as though it was just a funny trait of your personality, and not a fault of pain being inflicted onto you.

Ellie shook her head vigorously.

“No.” She quickly corrected you. “That’s not what I meant.”

Confusion knitted over your features. Ellie fought hard to find the words to explain it.

“I was angry because he made you cry.” She explained. “I was pissed off because he upset you, and - and, I know it’s stupid. I don’t even know you. But you don’t deserve that.”

Hearing those words for the first time was a truth so radical it almost tore the ground from underneath your feet. After years of being told that you weren’t worth the trouble - that the food you consumed was a burden, that the bullets used to protect you were a waste - being told for the first time that you didn’t deserve such treatment… you felt like the words didn’t belong in your ears.

“What?” You looked at her with pure shock overtaking your expression, a most genuine and raw reaction. “You really care that much about me being upset?”

This gripped Ellie’s insides worse than anything else. You could barely conceptualize someone caring about your feelings this genuinely.

“Yeah.” She admitted quietly. “I do care.”

This left your face tight with contemplation, intense thought. Ellie didn’t want to leave room for you to get too caught up in it, for you to overanalyze her genuine gesture. So she came up with something else.

“So… did you still wanna meet my horse? Maybe we could take her out for a ride?” Ellie posed.

You seemed hesitant. But eventually, you decided ‘fuck it’ - you might as well have some fun. Especially if it meant spending some time with someone who actually seemed to care about you.

Ellie took you to the stables and introduced you to Shimmer, and officially introduced you to herself, as you did in return - which seemed odd after all that had happened. But it was nice to finally have a name to go with your pretty face. It was nice to finally hear your laughter as Ellie made an age old joke about hay and horses.

After you took a while to pet the horse and get acquainted with her, Ellie got permission to go past the gate. She took you on a slow trot on the outskirts of Jackson. She had butterflies curling in her stomach the whole time as you gripped her waist, sitting on the back of the horse, and you smiled brightly and complemented how peaceful everything was.

When the two of you got back from the ride, you kissed Ellie on the cheek, and she nearly squealed with happiness.

And then, she didn’t see you for nearly a week afterwards.

She thought she had done something wrong, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with that awful man who barely let you out of his sight.

The next time she did see you, you were walking along closely behind that wicked man, your eyes low to the ground. And when she called out your name, you didn’t look up to greet her.

The sweet summer turned into fall and Ellie felt the guilt gnawing at her more, especially when she noticed the days or even weeks when you didn’t seem to come outside. Days when you didn’t show up to do your chores and were supposedly sick, days when nobody else seemed to care why you were missing.

There was that voice in her head. ‘She’s just a girl.’ The voice said. ‘It’s just a crush. It’s none of your business. You should just move on.’

Ellie couldn’t bring herself to listen to that voice. For some reason, she felt this thing gnawing deep in her gut - something that said you needed her.

Against her better judgment, Ellie went to the house she knew you were staying at, and knocked on the door.

She wasn’t surprised when you answered. You peeked through the door with only half your face showing, utterly terrified.

“What are you doing here?” You barked.

Ellie had a feeling that your anger was a formation of fear, and it wasn’t entirely directed at her.

“I was worried about you.” Ellie admitted shyly.

You opened the door further, hesitantly, and then pulled Ellie inside before you shut the door and closed all the locks. Ellie felt her stomach twist when she noticed you looking through the curtains, as though you were afraid for your life, looking out for danger.

Ellie had a distinct feeling that she knew what that danger was.

A giant lump formed in Ellie’s throat when you turned around and she saw it - that black eye, swollen and bruised, glaring at her. It was the part of your face you had been blocking with the other half of the door. There were other things she couldn’t see. Scrapes and bruises and hand shapes swats over your arms and torso, covered by your purposefully baggy sweatshirt with long sleeves.

“Just stop.” You said, turning to Ellie, your voice quaking with the intensity of your emotions. “Stop worrying about me.”

Ellie’s jaw tensed. She would find that intensely difficult - practically impossible.

“No.” She easily told you so. “I care about y-”

“Stop.” You said, a harsh cry in your throat.

It was too painful for you to consider. The idea that someone sweeter and nicer existed in the world and cared for you. The idea that the way of life you had known for years wasn’t the only way to survive.

“Look, I like you.” You added on. “You’re really sweet. But you don’t want me. I’m sure you can find someone else-”

Ellie stepped forward, her fingers brushing so gently over your cheek, right underneath the swelling of that awful black eye. You were so entirely startled by the pure gentleness of the touch that you let out a choked off sound from the back of your throat, almost a sob.

“He did this to you?” Ellie asked, her voice deadly calm and quiet.

You refused to answer.

“Is he your fucking boyfriend?” She prodded, her voice even sharper and more offended now.

You scoffed, pulling away from her touch. You thought she was jealous of the idea of you having a romantic partner. But in fact, she was deeply offended at the universe, she was in turmoil at the idea that someone would even consider hurting you when they claimed to love you.

“My brother.” You told her, the word almost sounding like poison on your tongue. “I would never choose someone like him. But I’ve been stuck with him for as long as I can remember.”

“Oh.” Ellie said quietly.

It was not a possibility she had considered. But she knew that there had never been any romantic connotations to the interactions between the two of you. Only danger, intimidation, and pain.

It was almost a worse fate, in a sense. The idea that you had been saddled with him because of genetics, that you couldn’t escape him because of obligation, or being forced to survive together.

“Yeah, oh.” You repeated, tears clutching the inside of your throat. “And really, it’s none of your business. He’s always taken care of me. He takes care of me, so-”

“This is not taking care of you.” Ellie argued sharply, gesturing to the mark on your face. “If you need someone to take care of you, I’m right here.”

You rolled your eyes at this. Again, you thought it was jealousy. That it was her trying to make herself seem appealing as a romantic partner.

You didn’t know that she was serious, that she would give you the world on a silver platter if given the chance.

“And I sure as hell won’t hit you.” Ellie added on.

“That’s easy for you to say.” You scoffed.

“That’s easy for me to do.” She fired back. “Not beating the people you love is the bare fucking minimum. In case no one ever told you that.”

Her last words were intensely sharp, but struck a chord deep inside of you. It caused your stomach to churn with harsh realization, something you probably already knew that was brought to the surface and waved in your face:

This was not a life that everyone lived.

“I can’t do this right now.” You huffed quietly, shaking your head.

You were still swimming deep in denial, hating the idea that your life was founded entirely on pain. But Ellie would fight through all of that pain to get to you.

“Come on, how long is it gonna be before he kills you?” She asked, the words quiet but devastatingly striking.

You remained painfully silent.

“What kind of life is this for you?” She spoke up when you did not reply. “There’s so much more out there for you that doesn’t involve your asshole brother.”

“Look, you know nothing about him.” You said sharply. “You don’t know what kind of life he’s had. You don’t know what he’s been through. What we’ve been through. Some of the things he’s saved me from.”

Ellie could only imagine what was going through your mind. Obviously, she had seen some of the darker things the world was capable of. She knew that if your brother had saved you from some of those horrors, it made him look like a saint by comparison.

She wanted to scream that you didn’t have to go through this. Life didn’t have to be like this. Absorbing his hits and being a target for his anger wasn’t necessary for your survival.

“Usually it’s my fault anyway.” You sighed. “I meant what I said before. I have some weird talent for pissing him off.”

Ellie was downright insulted at this.

“It is not your fault.” She rushed to say, her throat straining with the intense passion behind the words.

You found it difficult to believe her.

Any reply you could have mustered was drowned out by the sound of heavy boots coming up the porch.

“Get out.” You barked at Ellie, panicked. “Get out, you have to leave.”

You shoved Ellie out the back door before she could argue, and the sound of more screaming and an ugly collision of a hand on flesh made Ellie clench her fists to avoid charging back inside. She had to tell herself one simple thing - she wouldn’t be able to explain a murder to Maria or Tommy.

She wouldn’t have to.

And there was maybe only one other person in town who would understand.

She went right from your place to Joel’s, and he seemed too pleased about her being there in order for him to really question it. He seemed even more pleased when she asked for his help.

When Ellie explained the situation, she was surprised that Joel didn’t want to take it to Maria. But they both knew that she was diplomatic. She had an entire town to think of. She couldn’t be chasing down people’s personal problems, and she couldn’t be known for doling out vigilante justice. She had to make people in Jackson feel safe, and she didn’t think that civilian trials and public executions would be the way to do that. And as far as Ellie knew, nobody in Jackson had ever acted up like this before. Maybe they were just good at keeping it a secret. (That thought scared her more than anything.)

Joel suggested something about a quiet smothering and a shovel. Nobody would ever find the guy’s body, he reasoned.

Ellie didn’t want it that way. Even if the guy was a piece of shit, he was your only family. She knew that in some fucked up way, you would miss him.

No - it needed to be his choice. And he wasn’t going to make the right choice on his own. So they had to guide him to it. Well, they had to force him to it and shove his face in the damn right choice.

And then, if he didn’t make the right choice - then they would go to Joel’s version, a Plan B, and they would get the shovel.

Her and Joel talked it over for hours, making a solid Plan A. When they were both finally satisfied, Ellie left out the back door to head to her place to finally crash for the night - when had it gotten dark out?

She paused in her tracks when she saw you standing at the bottom of the few stairs that led up to the porch.

You had a large sweatshirt hood pulled up over your head, and in the minimal light from the back door’s bulb, Ellie could see that your eyes were entirely startled. Your cheek was sporting a fresh, wicked bruise that hadn’t been there before. Your lip was busted, and you had the neck of the sweater pulled up, half hiding some marks on your neck.

Clearly your brother had come home furious about something. Perhaps he had seen Ellie leaving. She partially felt guilty about it, and definitely felt more secure in her plan.

“I - uh - I ran into Dina, and she said I could find you here.” You said, motioning off to where you must have spoken to Dina, muttering nervously because Ellie had been standing there for a few moments staring you down with sadness in her eyes and had not spoken. “I was gonna knock. But… I…”

‘I got nervous.’ The words were lost on your tongue. You knew it sounded strange. Being afraid to knock. Being afraid to ask for help.

Ellie walked down the steps to meet you on the ground, and you didn’t move away when she reached up and brushed a gentle thumb across your lip - not quite touching the area when it had been split open, but clearly scorning it in her mind.

She wanted to suggest something about running away, but she knew Joel would just come after her. The easier solution would simply be to get rid of the awful man who had done this to you.

You grabbed her wrist and leaned into her hand. She cupped your cheek then, holding you so tenderly that it almost hurt. Your body was so unfamiliar with sweetness, with comfort.

“I can’t do this.” You sobbed quietly. “Ellie, I can’t do this.”

You weren’t feeling brave enough to leave the familiar, the thing that bound you in pain and torment.

“Yes, you can.” Ellie told you firmly.

She gently tilted your head up, forcing your gaze toward hers.

“Ask me.” She told you.

You both knew what it meant.

‘Ask me for my help.’

‘Ask me to get rid of that monster, and I will.’

You let it bubble inside of you. The words swelled up inside of your throat, and a wicked sob escaped, causing hot tears to leak down and touch Ellie’s hand before you got it out.

“Help me.” You croaked. “Please.”

“I will.” Ellie told you firmly. “I’ll get rid of him.”

She leaned in then and planted a kiss on your forehead, something sweet enough to render another sob from your throat. When she moved to pull away, you reached around and grabbed the back of her shirt, clutching on tight to keep her there, pulling her into a hug and holding her to savor the precious temporary moment you were able to be away from your tormentor.

“Ellie?” You said her name, and she hummed a response, still leaning with her lips gently pressed against your forehead. “I know - I know it’s so stupid. But… I don’t want him dead.” You told her. Ellie had predicted as much. “I just… I want him gone.”

“It’s not stupid.” Ellie assured you. “I understand.”

By the time Ellie got everything together, the cold was just setting in.

The first snowfall had just hit Jackson, and she had made sure to keep a close eye on you in the interim. You told her over and over again that you were going to be fine.

A few times you even went back on your ask, you told her that you and your brother were getting along much better. Ellie’s gut churned on the days when you smiled and told her that things between you and your brother were getting much better, that he was making an effort to control his temper, that you could see him making ‘big changes’.

On for another fresh wound to show up on you and when she would ask you about it, you broke down crying and declared that it was all your stupid fault.

Ellie knew that he was never going to change. And it only made her more firm in her convictions to carry through with the plan that she and Joel had carefully laid out.

Gathering the supplies needed for her plan wasn’t as hard as she originally thought.

The pharmacy in Jackson was surprisingly easy to steal from. She found a pharmaceutical journal in the library; finding out which drugs could knock out a grown man and memorizing the names of them - not that hard.

And then Ellie took an easy fall during one of her patrols, wincing and whining about the pain in her twisted wrist far more than she felt it, getting the nurse to unlock the drug cabinet to give her some tylenol with codeine. Then she ‘accidentally’ knocked over a tray with a bunch of stray pieces on it, and she got what she needed out of the unlocked cupboard like clockwork.

She wasn’t sure if the people in Jackson were naive, or if she was far too used to being a criminal.

Her wrist had healed up nicely by the time everything else was ready.

Joel thought it would be wisest that they use his basement.

He explained to Ellie that they could use an old military technique - shut out all the light, take away anything potentially familiar about the room, make it naked and bare and anonymous so that it would seem like a random place that could be anywhere.

It would be right in town, but the prospect of seeming so far off, so ‘in the middle of nowhere’ - it would be a good part of the scare tactic. They spent some time cleaning out the basement, putting garbage bags over the windows, and draping the room in plastic tarping - partially to scare him, and partially, just in case.

Joel got a bottle of cheap whiskey that he watered down some, and Ellie poured out the bottle of pills onto the counter with the intention to crush them all up and mix them with the alcohol.

“Christ Ellie, that’s enough to take down a goddamn horse.” Joel commented.

Clearly, it was too many pills.

Ellie took a handful of them - half, and put them back in the original bottle. When she looked up at Joel again, he shook his head. Still too many?

“Here, let me.” He said, gently shouldering her out of the way so he could make the mixture himself.

“You act like you’ve done this before.” She commented.

“You act surprised that I’ve done this before.” He replied.

He did have a point. Especially considering that when Joel had met Ellie, he had likely been expecting her to be a large bag of drugs, and not a child who needed to be smuggled.

Joel put back a much bigger portion of the pills, only leaving four tablets that he began to crush up to be mixed in with the drink.

“The alcohol is gonna magnify the effects of this stuff. A lot.” Joel explained, emphasizing the last words. “You kept saying you didn’t wanna kill him. So you don’t need to give him an overdose.”

Ellie nodded. It was a good point. She felt lucky to have his help with this.

Joel scraped the crushed up tablets - now a powder - into the bottle, and put his thumb over the opening to seal it while he shook it up, making sure it was well dissolved before he put the cap back on.

“Remember. Pour one for yourself, but don’t fucking drink from it.” Joel reminded her.

It was a mental tactic. Pour two glasses, so as to not seem suspicious, but don’t take a sip.

Joel handed her the bottle, and they walked over to your place.

Ellie made sure that Dina was keeping you busy with spare chores, things she supposedly couldn’t do without your help, ensuring that you would be out of the house for the night and wouldn’t miss your brother gone. Ellie went around to the front door and Joel went to the back, waiting for her signal.

She knocked on the front door and when your brother answered, she waved the bottle. She apologized for the two of them having gotten off ‘on the wrong foot’ when he first came into town. She claimed that she wanted to set things right with him.

He looked her up and down with suspicion, but opened the door. He fetched a couple of glasses and Ellie did as Joel instructed - poured one for herself after she poured one for him, took it in her hand, but didn’t sip from it.

He eagerly knocked the first drink back and Ellie hated the fact that he didn’t pass out right away. He poured himself a second and she forced herself to make an attempt at conversation.

She asked about one of the pictures he had on the mantle over the fireplace - a framed photo of him and some woman. He grunted, saying that it was ‘his bitch’ but ‘she was dead now’. The way he spoke about women made Ellie want to hurl. This caused the conversation to lull into him asking if Ellie had a boyfriend.

She shrugged it off. Especially seeing as he didn’t seem like the most accepting type if she told him why she didn’t have one. Then he looked her up and down as though he was inspecting her. As though just because she didn’t have a man in her life, that made her an available prospect for him. Ellie clutched her glass so hard she thought it cracked.

He took more gulps of his drink, and then he mentioned you. He said that he had seen Ellie talking to you.

He wasn’t clever about his intentions. He wanted to know why someone who was clearly friendly toward his sister wanted to be on his good side all of a sudden.

Before she could make up some lie, the drugs kicked in. He became hazy, and made a slurred thought about his liquor tolerance being higher normally before he dropped to the floor, out cold.

Ellie knocked on the back door for Joel, and they had his unconscious body halfway down the basement stairs when Tommy’s voice came into the house, shouting for Joel. They both gave each other that ‘oh shit’ look and Joel dropped the man’s head like a sack of potatoes. He rushed up the stairs to talk to Tommy before his brother could come to them.

Ellie dragged the dead weight the rest of the way, and she listened as the voices carried through the house. Joel was getting called out for an emergency patrol route - a large horde of Infected had been spotted near the west watch tower.

Tommy asked for Ellie too, but Joel lied and said that he hadn’t seen her.

As Joel was gathering his things to leave, he went to the top of the basement stairs. He gave Ellie one last firm, knowing look. It was an out. She knew that if she wanted to, he would stay back and help her clean up the mess, and they would find some other way to go about things so she wouldn’t have to go it alone.

But she was firm in her convictions.

“I’ve got this.” She told him, giving him a nod.

He nodded back and then closed the basement door.

She picked a steady beam in the ceiling.

She dangled off it with her body weight to make sure it wouldn’t budge (even though your asshole brother was probably a good hundred pounds heavier than her). And then she put him in the noose Joel had tied, with the rope tied precariously around the beam.

She had more than enough slack on it to make sure that he wouldn’t choke while still unconscious from the drugs. As tempting as it was to simply kill the man who had been abusing you for years, this was about scaring him. This was a warning. An attempt to get him to make the right choice. His hands were tied behind his back, making him unable to get away.

As he came around to consciousness, he began to groan and squirm, and Ellie wasted no time in putting her plan into action.

She went to where she had the other end of the rope tied, fashioned to some hook that might have been used to hang up tools or something else at one point, and she untied it and hoisted him up. He choked furiously as his breath was cut off by the noose, and Ellie made sure he was far enough off the ground before she grabbed something else important - the stool.

When preparing, Joel had intentionally cut off two of the legs, making it wobbling and unsteady. She put it underneath him and guided his legs to it, and then he took a wheezing breath as the pressure was released from his neck while his feet wobbled on it unsteadily.

“What the fuck?” He barked out, obviously trying to sound intimidating when he was so breathless. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re fucking insane!”

Ellie took a step back, looking up at him with a neutral expression. He was entirely powerless. He couldn’t swing and hit her, he couldn’t run. If he jumped, he would hang himself. He was completely at her mercy, and he had to listen to what she had to say.

In regards to the question, she shrugged.

“Maybe.” She said simply. “I just wanna talk.”

“Oh, you wanna talk?!” He growled out the words in anger, still trying to sound lager and more powerful than he was.

And then, all too predictably, he swung out his leg in an attempt to kick her.

Ellie easily dodged it, and the motion made him unsteady on the stool. Both his legs fell off, and she simply watched as he struggled, hanging freely by the noose for a few moments. He sputtered and choked, kicking around frantically to get his feet back on the stool. It was a wonder that he didn’t knock it over.

Eventually, he did get back up to stand on it before he passed out. He continued to choke on the air, veins bulging in his face from the effort. All while Ellie stood back, arms crossed, staring at him condescendingly.

“That was stupid.” She commented quietly.

“Fuck you!” He choked out.

“Look, the way I see it, you have two choices. Maybe three.” Ellie explained.

He glared at her with absolute poison in his eyes, but remained silent and still, other than the tremors in his legs as he struggled to balance on the stool.

“Option one: you continue being a petty bitch, so I leave you here.” She told him simply. “You can test your endurance for a few hours, maybe even a few days. But no one will find you, if they come looking at all. And eventually, your legs will give out from exhaustion and you’ll hang.”

“Y/N will come for me.” He replied confidently. The devilish smirk that spread across his face gave Ellie the urge to smack him.

“No.” Ellie argued, just as quick, just as confident. “You really think Y/N is gonna be able to find you?”

This was the mind game Joel had talked about. He was right in Jackson, right under your nose. Would he shout for help, or would he believe that he was out in the middle of nowhere, stranded somewhere that you would never be able to find him?

His silence was all too telling. Ellie resisted the urge to smile, knowing how important a firm, intimidating face was in this situation.

“Option two,” She continued on, taking his silence as a sure sign that he didn’t like option one. “You can listen to what I have to say, and you can get agreeable about it real fast.”

“What’s option three?” He asked.

Of course, he didn’t like option two either. He didn’t like being agreeable.

But Ellie had a feeling that in a few minutes, option two would be the one that he’d beg for.

“You say something I don’t like,” She got her switchblade out of her back pocket, and clicked the switch to show off the sharp, shiny blade. “And then I kill you.”

There was a pointed moment of silence as he looked between the sharp point of her knife and her unforgiving, deadly calm expression. For a moment, his enraged face wavered, and then came fear. It was just a flicker, but Ellie saw it as weakness. And she was going to exploit it.

“What the fuck do you want?” He barked.

“It’s very simple.” Ellie explained. “Leave Y/N the fuck alone. Get your shit, leave town, and get as far away from her as possible.”

“That’s my sister.” He argued. “That’s my blood. You can’t just expect me to abandon the only family I have, I-”

“If you respected her as your family, you wouldn’t fucking beat her.” Ellie cut him off, the words turning to poison on her tongue.

He looked intensely caught in that moment, his expression becoming ghostly. As if he somehow hadn’t figured out that this whole thing was about his abusive ways.

“What? You don’t like me ‘cause I protect her? ‘Cause I look out for her?” He immediately switched, swelling into that self righteous, taunting person he was with you. “You wanna fuck her, don’t you? You fucking self righteous rug muncher, think you know what’s better for my own sister than I do! What the hell is wrong with you? You-”

As he ranted, Ellie stepped forward and hesitantly grabbed the waistband of his pants. Clearly, the message wasn’t getting through to him.

And though it was something more disgusting to her than blood, guts, viscera, even the smell of an old moldy building - Ellie yanked down his pants in one swift movement, trying to ignore the sight of it in front of her. She placed her switchblade right at the spot where his dick met his inner thigh, simply resting it there.

The feeling of the cold metal in such a sensitive spot easily shut him up. His stomach clenched as he held his breath, likely waiting for Ellie to cut him.

With him on the stool, it was hovering at around eye level, and she tried her hardest not to look directly at it. For you, it was worth it. That’s what she told herself.

“Listen carefully,” Ellie told him, her voice still low, still deadly calm. “You are going to agree to my terms, or they’re going to find your body missing this.” She threatened him, gently nudging the blade upwards, not yet cutting into flesh.

He gasped, shock and horror crashing through his system. He continued to struggle with balancing on the stool, struggling not to lean into the knife by accident and maim himself by mistake.

He looked at Ellie with terror in his eyes, but oddly enough, he didn’t say anything. Ellie considered it progress.

“I’m going to be very generous,” She said lowly, making it sound like a threat. “You have twenty four hours to get your shit, and get the hell out of Jackson. I don’t give a fuck what you tell Y/N. In fact, you don’t have to tell her anything at all. Just disappear. I don’t care where you go. Just get the fuck away from here. The farther, the better.”

Ellie paused, letting her words hang in the air for a moment.

“If you’re still in town by sundown tomorrow, I will kill you.” She said. “If you tell Y/N about this little incident, I will kill you. If I see Y/N later and she has a single scratch on her-”

“You’ll kill me.” He quickly finished off the sentence as he thought she would say it.

Ellie shook her head, putting on a wicked grin of her own for the first time during the conversation.

“No.” She said, a chuckle peeking through her voice. “I’ll make it slow. I’ll make you beg for death. I’ll make you wish that you had taken this very fucking generous first offer.”

There was another silence, filled only by the wobbling legs of the stool rocking against the ground, and the man’s anxious breaths.

Ellie wondered if he was stupid enough to decline her generosity.

“Okay.” He finally agreed.

Ellie hoped that she wouldn’t have to follow through on her threats, but she wouldn’t hesitate to.

She took her knife away from his crotch, leaving a small nick on his inner thigh that would hopefully serve as a good enough reminder of what he was supposed to do.

Of course, the temptation to hurt him more brutally was there. She knew that if Joel came home and she was covered in blood - he would help her clean up. He would help her hide the body. But Ellie knew that this was about something bigger than herself, her own rage, her own guilt.

It was about keeping your conscience clean.

She knew that if you ever found out that she had killed your brother, no matter the reason, no matter the situation - the guilt would fall back onto you. You would spend the rest of your days wondering how you could have done things differently to solve a problem that was never your fault. So she would take the burden of guilt or fault off of you, and force it onto him - where it belonged. He would get to live, but he would never go near you. Not ever again.

After thinking about all of this for a moment, and calming herself, Ellie unceremoniously cut him down, letting him fall into the middle of the floor with a grunt. She pulled his pants back up and shoved a bag over his head. The bag something else that Joel had woven into the plan - another scare tactic.

She kept his arms bound behind him as she struggled to lug him all the way across town without getting caught. He struggled against her hold and spoke up every now and then, demanding to be released, but Ellie simply kicked him and told him to shut up. It worked well. It seemed that he was truly afraid of her, because he was much more docile now than the man who had risked hanging himself to kick her in the head.

She dumped him on the back porch of your house and cut the ties on his wrist. He could feel stupid later for the fact that he had been in town the whole time, not secluded off in the woods someplace you would never find him. He yanked the bag off his head and looked up at Ellie with pure scorn in his eyes, and she held up her knife once more, reminding him just how sharp it was as she left him with some parting words.

“Sundown. Tomorrow.” She told him firmly. “Or Y/N won’t even find the pieces of you scattered out in those woods.”

Ellie was surprised when he didn’t say a single word, didn’t even hurl any insults at her back as she walked away.

She had no idea that he was happy to cut his losses, thinking that you weren’t worth the trouble if Ellie was willing to kidnap, threaten, and eventually kill for you.

Ellie went to bed early and hoped that everything had worked.

She woke up from a deep, hazy sleep to pounding on her door.

She struggled to get out of bed, thinking there was some kind of emergency. She flicked on a light and opened the door, and you came rushing inside.

Ellie almost didn’t see you through her sleep dulled eyes, her lids still half-closed, but she recognized your voice as she closed the door behind you.

“My brother is gone.” You said, your voice edging between worry and fear. Ellie thought you might be relieved. She didn’t know that you were still tentative - scared that he might come back, terrified it was a trick. “It’s just - he just packed up all his things, and when I woke up, he was gone. And he left me this note.”

You thrust a piece of paper into Ellie’s hands, and she blinked her sticky eyes open a few times in order to read it. She scanned over the messy writing, barely absorbing it. It was some bullshit about how Jackson ‘wasn’t right for him’ and he felt ‘suffocated’ and he was going to travel to catch up with your group who had gone to the coast, he thought he was a man of the sea, blah blah - but you needed to stay in Jackson, because it would be safer for you.

“It’s a trick.” You announced as Ellie read over the words. Your voice quaked, your throat tight with fear. When Ellie looked up, tears were dancing in your eyes. There were sharp scratches on your neck - they were scabbing over, and a greenish bruise on your cheek that was fading. “It’s gotta be a trick. He’s testing me. He wants me to - to follow him? Or he’s coming back, or-”

Ellie tossed the paper aside, uncaring of where it landed, and then stepped toward you, grasping your face with gentle hands.

“It’s okay.” She said calmly. “He’s gone.”

She echoed the words you had said that night, letting you know that she had miraculously granted your request.

If it was true, then you would consider her a guardian angel. But you almost couldn’t bring yourself to believe it.

“You did something.” You said quietly. It wasn’t accusing. It was a simple truth. You swallowed thickly. You waited before you asked your next question. “Is he dead?”

You would have hated to think that Ellie would go through so much trouble to frame his murder as him simply leaving town.

“Would you hate me if he was?” She replied.

Strangely enough, you had no clue how to feel.

Ellie saw the warring on your face, the years of pain tethering in your soul, and hoped to release you from it.

“He’s alive.” She sighed, a heavy awful truth floating from her lips. You looked somewhat relieved, but then that fear pricked into your big, sad eyes once again. “He’s not coming back. I can promise you that.”

If he did, Ellie would kill him. But she didn’t speak those words to you.

You lunged forward then, tightening your hands around her back, squeezing her with intense, passionate ferocity as you pressed your face into her shoulder and began to sob. Ellie held you dutifully, trying her hardest to be gentle with you, petting smoothly over your back as her heart ached at the sound of your cries. She had no idea that it was relief - pure relief exhaling from your lungs, the feeling of finally being able to breathe with the presence of that dark tormentor no longer hanging over your life.

“Thank you.” You sobbed, clutching onto her shirt. “Thank you, Ellie. Thank you.”

…

When Joel came back from his patrol, he asked where Ellie had buried the body. She sighed and told him that the guy had made the wise decision to leave town. Completely of his own accord. He shrugged and said he didn’t care either way - he just wanted to meet the ‘lovely young woman who was worth going through all the trouble for’.

Ellie invited you over for steaks at Joel’s house a few days later, and artfully dodged all the questions about whether you were dating or not.

…

A few months later, when winter thawed out and spring had come around once again, Ellie had taken you beyond the walls of Jackson once again, both of you delighting in the purity of everything nature had to offer, and your newfound freedom.

“Is it just me or is the air out here… fresher?” You posed, inhaling deeply as you threw your head back, truly basking in the nature around you.

Ellie giggled at this, and you threw a smile back over your shoulder at her. You walked along the path, bobbing between the trees and enjoying the greenery as it thawed out from the snow.

“It’s the mountains, there’s nothing but fresh air up here.” Ellie chuckled. “As far as I’m concerned, it beats living in the city. That place stunk to high hell. People piled on top of each other, old rotting buildings, no trees anywhere.”

You let out a small laugh at this. It wasn’t Ellie’s greatest work in comedy, but your lungs felt much lighter these days, and she soaked up the sound like the new saplings soaking up the sun.

She had also noticed your choice of attire for the day. For her, there was still that small nip in the air, something indicating that there might be one last frost left to the year, something that made her want to wear a sweater. But you had worn a short sleeved tee shirt with your jeans, and Ellie preened at the fact that there was not a single bruise anywhere on your skin. Some old scars that she could never have the hopes of reversing, but more and more lately, your smile outshined all of them.

“Ooh, look at this!” Ellie came to crouch at a small patch of grass, what you didn’t recognize as thick reeds that were somewhat special to her.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Joel taught me this.” She noted, making you even more intrigued.

Ellie plucked one out of the dirt, and held it between her two palms before she held it up to her two lips and blew - it made a sharp noise like a duck’s call, and you instantly began giggling at this delightfully strange sound.

“Okay, how did you do that?” You asked, kneeling down beside her.

Ellie grabbed up another one and put it in your hands, positioning them well. After a nod from her, you put it to your lips and gave a hard breath. You dissolved into laughter once again when it made that strange sound.

“I love that.” Ellie commented, absolutely beaming herself.

“What? You play the guitar but your favorite instrument is grass?” You joked.

“No.” She replied. “I love that smile.” She told you, motioning up toward your face. “That’s why I fell in love with you.”

“Els.” You murmured quietly, unable to truly explain the wave of emotion that came over you - being intensely thankful for her saving you, changing the course of your life, the swelling of love you felt for her and how it only grew with time.

Ellie didn’t need words. She leaned in and kissed you then, and you - for the first time in a long time - relaxed into her love and let yourself be happy.

From time to time, you were tempted to ask what exactly it was that she had done to make your brother go away. But as the months ticked on and your relationship developed - as Ellie helped you navigate your freedom and enjoy the sweeter things in life, you found that you truly didn’t care.

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot, so please do not ask about a sequel or a continuation for it, because there won't be one. If you liked it and you want to comment on it, please comment on the body of work that I have written. Or feel free to check out the many other works I have written on my TLOU Masterlist. Thank you!!

#sundrop writes #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #the last of us

244 notes · View notes

ilariyalavorowrites · 9 months ago

Text

Stalking Me, Stalking You (CSI Nick Stokes) Part three

Imagine: You never saw it coming, you never knew he was there until the moment he struck. For months, this individual had stalking you from the shadows, trying to find a way into your life. Never quite able to but in his mind, time was running out and soon enough you would be completely out of reach. This was the moment to act, to ‘rescue’ you and steal you away.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, hurt but eventual comfort. Suffering, lots of suffering, slow-moving plot, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

Pairings: Nick Stokes x Reader and Reader x OC (one-sided)

Word count: 3,068 words

Universe: CSI

Reader gender: Female

Part three of ten

Tagged: @just-call-me-the-old-hag @horsedragonllama @space-helen @kneelforloki @flopiboni

Previous / Next

Monday, Midnight

Greg and Morgan sat side by side, as Archie worked his magic on the various clips of CCTV. Each of the three larger monitors displayed different parts of a timeline that had been created by the day shift’s visual and audio tech Franklyn. They watched as their friend exited her known and preferred coffee shop with her piping hot beverage alone. This had been the last place that she had seen when Officer Sawyer had taken the barista’s statement.

“This is the only first clip that Dayshift obtained after the warrant for her finances came through” Morgan stated with the matching report in hand. The short clip showed nothing out of the ordinary. There was no one tailing her, no strange car parked with a window partially wound down with the driver trying to look casual as their eyes trailed after her.

“It confirms the Barista’s statement at the very least” Greg replied as his gaze shifted to the second screen. Archie paused the first clip and then slid the cursor to the play the next one.

All of them were teetering on the edge of professionalism. Trying their best to push aside their personal feelings. They needed to try at the very least to view the evidence collected like any other case. It was going to be a long night especially as Greg and Morgan had been the ones assigned to review what was already there for this shift.

The plan was for hands on deck over the next few shifts, to hand over the new details and brief the incoming day shift at the end of their night then repeat the process with a fresh set of eyes the next night.

“This one isn’t the greatest quality, it’s a wall-mounted camera from one of her neighbours that was discovered by the door-to-door interviews” Archie stated as the pixelated footage started. Both Morgan and Greg noted the timestamp, it had been captured at 2:30 in the afternoon.

“This camera will only record when the motion detection is triggered as you both know” Archie reminded them as they all watched as a battered, Silver Chevrolet Cruze drove past. It did not match the make and model of the car that the Detective had, which had yet to be located even with the BOLO that had been put out with all the necessary details. It had vanished into thin air.

Notes from the lead CSI Ava Dane stated that none of the neighbours had recognised the car when they had spoken after reviewing the footage. One neighbour had commented that he noticed the vehicle when he had returned from home at around 3:10 but he had heard tyres screeching loudly about twenty-five minutes later and when he looked at the window, it was gone.

There had been a slight skid mark noted and photographed from outside that particular address which had been run through the system and matched commonly used wheels. It had the first dead end.

“Franklyn managed to recover a partial plate after cleaning up the image, I won’t be able to get much more than that due to video quality” The tech apologised, knowing that this was not what the two of them wanted to hear.

“It’s a start at least” Morgan responded, trying to remain positive as she turned to the next report. Her eyes rapidly moved over the data displayed there. “It looks like the day shift ran that plate, there’s a fair few listed but they eliminated half”

As her eyes drifted down the page, they stopped over one particular name. As memories of the case that she had worked on came flooding back. The Detective had been waiting for her at the scene.

Vaughn Mikhailov was a two-bit drug dealer, he and his older brother Artem had been targeted and shot at in a drive-by gangbangers after they had tried to move in on the turf of another local dealer. The initial warnings had been ignored by the pair, and this had led to the car being targeted. Vaughn had been in the backseat, he had barely been clipped by a single bullet in his left shoulder but Artem hadn’t been as lucky.

He had died at the scene, bleeding out whilst waiting on the paramedics. Vaughn had been cooperative to a point, but eventually, he just screamed at her friend when she had in his eyes failed to get justice for his brother.

It was not always possible to reach a satisfactory end to every case, it had been one of those which slipped through the crack when the leads had all run cold. Morgan remembered that her friend had noted that this had not been her first rodeo with either of the Mikhailov brothers.

“The first time I met them was when I was working the beat, I arrested Artem for soliciting a working girl and Vaughn for dealing. Both of them had rap sheets as long as your arm. It's their mother, I feel for each time one of them ends up in court”

There had been sympathy that lingered as she listened, as it turned out their mother had raised both the boys single-handedly after their father had run off. She had tried her best but they had been drawn into the fast-paced lifestyle of wheeling and dealing. As she watched, the detective informed the woman of her son’s death.

“What is it, Morgan?” Greg asked, noticing that Morgan had not spoken and became transfixed by one of the reports further in. He leaned, to see what she had been reading. It was the list of cars compiled by the plate search.

“Vaughn Mikhailov,” She said looking up to meet his gaze. Greg’s gaze narrowed perplexed as he did not recognize the name. However, before he could reply, Morgan beat him to the punch.

“It was a drive-by shooting case, I worked a few weeks back and she was the lead detective assigned work to the case alongside me” She started, knowing that she would need to give him more than that if they were going to start to seriously look at him as a potential suspect.

“He and his older brother were targeted after trying to move into another dealer’s turf. His brother died at the scene. He was far from happy with how things went but he had a chip on his shoulder as she had arrested him more than a few times in the past” Once she had finished speaking, Morgan waited for Greg to process the information that had been dumped upon him.

“So he held her responsible for not finding his brother’s killer then. Greg asked, Morgan nodded before one last comment. “He had an axe to grind”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------Tuesday, 4 am

With one hand poised, Nick firmly knocked upon Russell’s closed office door. In a roundabout way, he had expected the text summoning him to the supervisor’s office but not this soon. He had hoped that he would be one way approaching Russell but then again, at least this way soon enough everything would be out in the open.

This was not the way that he had hoped that this conversation would be initiated. He knew that she had already started telling her partner and fellow officers about her boyfriend whenever she had a spare few minutes. She had also scheduled a meeting with HR on the day that she was meant to be returning to work. Nick then would approach Russell around the same time as she would have been seated down with HR. Effectively killing two birds with one stone

This had always been their plan when things became more serious between the two of them. Multiple discussions had arisen, on when, where and how they approach their collective jobs regarding their romantic relationship and the potential impact on both of their jobs that would need to be addressed and solutions put into place.

She had planned to offer to be moved from Graveyard to Swing or Day if no other compromise could be reached. Where it would be possible for both of them both work the same shift pattern without any issues. Departmental policy had previously torn Sara from the team when her relationship with Grissom came to light, they had wondered how it would have played out for them.

Yes, they were still colleagues working alongside another one, but not under the same direct supervisor. They crossed over for Homicide and Forensic evidence collection and investigation came hand in hand. Without one, you couldn’t have the other.

“Come in” Russell’s voice called from behind the door, bringing Nick back of his thoughts as he pushed the handle and then the door inwardly. “Hey Russell…” He greeted the man sitting behind the desk but what he hadn’t expected was Catherine being in the room, standing off to one side behind Russell.

“Shut the door Nick” Russell continued as he went through the motions of crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him and moved further into the office to stand before the pair staring straight at him.

“I know this is about Detective..” Her name rolled off his tongue, one that had fallen on his lips many times before. “Look, I know that I should have told you..” Nick started to try and explain the position that he had found himself in.

“Nick, I need to know that you’ll be able to recuse yourself if you cross that emotional line where you start to lead your heart, not your head. For as long as you can remain objective then you still work on the case but the moment, that you step over that line. I will remove you and you’ll be treated just like every other significant other or next kin on every other case that had past through this department” Russell spoke with a conviction that could not be ignored or overturned. This was a promise that he would not go back on.

Nick quickly nodded, happily agreeing with his supervisor’s conclusion. “This will have to be logged with HR and I’ll arrange the meeting shortly” Russell said before turning to Catherine. “Anything you want to add?” He said, pulling her into the dialogue. Catherine had been quietly observing the short back and forth between the pair.

“Nicky, from here on out, we’ll be watching closer. Please understand, that we want to bring her home as much as you do. Still, we have to follow the rules and ensure there nothing can be challenged further down the line” Her words held a warmth that Nick had felt before, the familial love that had developed and grown over the many years that they had worked together. Once again, Catherine was looking after him, all whilst balancing the integrity of the crime lab and their necessary work on top of that. It was a well-practice balancing act that she had perfected over the last decade.

All it took would be one step in the wrong direction and it would come tumbling back down. That could not happen, no it would not help.

------------------------------------------------------------------------Tuesday 2 am

As the night rolled by, evidence was processed, reviewed and reported, with the new findings and avenues to venture down next added to the ever-growing list.

The one initially weak lead that had cropped up early in the shift strengthened as prints from the scene which had been set running whilst the sun was still up bore fruit. Morgan’s theory now seemed more plausible as the same name popped up once more, this could not just be a coincidence in the name of bad blood.

Morgan turned to Greg, still trying to wrap her head around this as there were still too many variables that did not make a lick of sense. She could understand the steps taken to enact some twisted form of payback by breaking into the detective’s home and destroying everything that she might hold dear. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood splatter or trail to imply that they had been lying in wait for her to return.

With the crime scene photos laid out on the table between them, this felt much like the pieces of a puzzle waiting to be put together to reveal the image displayed upon the box when a handful of key tiles were missing, creating holes in the image. “This isn’t the primary scene, there is no indication that she ever came back. Two separate indications with one connecting factor, her” Morgan said, churning over the thoughts in her head out loud as she tried to make any sense of it all.

“What do we know about Vaughn Mikhailov, beyond his last arrest report?” Greg started before listing off what had been discovered thus far “His prints are all over this crime scene, his car matches the mark and model spotted on the neighbour's CCTV but why would a dealer break into a cop’s home in broad daylight?” He posed the question to Morgan, the blonde’s face twisted in confusion as she tried to gather together a logical answer but found none.

“How did he find her address? That’s what bugs me unless he tailed her previously but according to the neighbour’s statement” Morgan replied, fishing out the relevant document from the box on her side of the table and turning to the right page. “That car had never been caught on camera before that day and those cameras had been up for more than six months”

“The only way that we’ll get satisfactory answers is that Vaughn Mikhailov needs to be found and brought in for questioning” Morgan nodded her head in agreement, the two-bit criminal had a lot to answer for.

“Brass put has BOLO out on Mikailov’s car”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------Tuesday, 4:30 am

The blinding flash of blue lights and screeching sirens were not out of place as the convoy of vehicles pulled up in front of the homestead. Its chain link fence had seen better days, half still attached to the poles that marked the edge of the property and the rest lost within the depths of the tall grass that desperately needed cutting.

The property itself was registered to one Nikolai Mikhailov, the cousin of their prime suspect. It was not out of the ordinary for Vaughn to crash on his cousin’s sofa when his mother threw him out for the third time that week. Officers had called the property in the past, more often than not on matters of public nuisance or disturbance. Nikolai loved to party well into the small hours and was not shy about using violence to silence any complaining neighbours if they dared to call the cops on him.

Detective Captain Jim Brass surveyed the scene from behind the cruiser’s side door and soon found what he was looking for. With the garage door half enough, it was plain to see the car parked within, its license plate matching the suspect’s known vehicle of choice. No lights could be seen from the street as Officers tentatively approached the front door, ready to burst through the door and apprehend whoever was on the other side.

With the fury of valkyries leading the charge, the officers breached through the threshold as calls of LVPD came and went as Jim watched them disappear inside. This had to be it, this had to be the end of the road.

He was not the only one listening in, as the Officers inside cleared the scene. The investigated interest ran through from the bottom straight up to the top. She was one of them

‘419’ The code of a dead body came crackling over the airwaves, a dead body had been discovered. A chill rushed through him as he envisioned the very sight of her lying there, with empty, glazed-over eyes staring up at him as he wondered why.

’It’s not her’ The voice of Officer Mitchell soon followed as Jim released the breath that he hadn’t known he was holding back, then again he wasn’t the only one. Nick stood silently by, with bated breath as Morgan and Greg left with kits in hand. This was their scene now as they had been the ones to discover the connections that led to this.

Hodges stood in the doorway, reading the scene before him. The air was still tense as they all waited for the relief to set in but yet that felt too premature. The lab tech cleared his throat to try and catch Nick’s attention. He watched for a moment then tried a different approach.

“Nick, this was left at Reception for you” Hodges called into the room, as he held out the unstamped manila envelope for the other man to take. Nick Stokes was scrawled across the front in a large and unfamiliar hand.

Nick frowned, he was not awaiting any post as he took it. “Thanks, man,” He said as he turned it over, inspecting it from every angle. There was nothing about the envelope that stood out, it was a standard A3 office stationery that was stocked by countless suppliers but the question arose of who had sent it.

As he carefully opened the sealed flap and reached inside, Nick quickly found the content. A series of photographs which he slid out. Hodges slid up beside him as he turned over the first which revealed little other than what he already knew to be true.

“Is that…” David questioned at the sight of his friends and colleagues locked in a rather passionate embrace. “Yes,” Nick curtly replied, annoyed at the very prospect that they had been followed and their privacy had been invaded like this as he turned over the next one.

It was the last one that drew a shocked gasp from Hodges, as he shook with a rage that he hadn’t felt for some time. The sight of her bound and unconscious in the boot of an unidentifiable vehicle with the words I WIN STOKES, SHE IS MINE written in bold, block capitals across the top of the image.

Each had focused upon her, she was the object of this maddening desire. A tail had been placed as her routine was documented. He held pride of place in a number of the images, whether he liked it or not.

He was taunting him, this was just his opening move.

80 notes · View notes

fault-classic · 5 months ago

Text

It's been a little while, what have I been working on?

My latest work went into making some pretty significant tweaks to the battle results screen. Really starting to tie things together now, but it's not quite finished yet! That's not all, though.

Back in May I was experimenting with RPG Maker's "weather" system. I had implemented a map-specific "overhang" layer that framed the edges of rooms with black space. That prevented weather effects - like snow particles - from displaying beyond the boundaries of the room.

The frogs are just my debug objects for turning the snow on and off.

But it's not like I wanted it to snow indoors - after I had the overhangs figured out, I rewrote the behaviour and graphics code for the "snow" particles to create these dust particles that float around aimlessly.

This ought to make the catacomb interiors feel appropriately dusty - and make the environments feel less still and lifeless in general.

They even display on the battle screen... though sometimes they tend to crowd around the left side of the screen because of the panning and sliding during the battle intro animation. I'll have to fix that at some point.

During May and June, Vito got a complete set of battle sprites and an attack animation.

And so did Yolei. Oh, and the dog enemy is also new.

The dog enemy is very evasive, but also cowardly and not very tough.

It is capable of the "flee" action, something that slimes and skeletons will not do.

At the end of June I added a MAJOR quality of life feature. When Ashley is facing something on the map that can be interacted with or talked to with the action button, a quotation bubble with an exclamation mark will pop up above their head. No ambiguity! No more pixel hunting or mashing the action button in front of every random tile!

I didn't save any screenshots in July, it was a busy month I guess. But in August I got back to work.

Remember this old sprite? From February of 2023?

Well, I'm revisiting this enemy type with more practice under my belt. Here are some gifs I recorded as I was figuring them out and implementing their assets and abilities.

As armored enemies, they are very hardy - the weaker party members will have a hard time damaging them with basic attacks.

In addition to their basic attacks, all undead enemies can perform a skill that inflicts "fear" status on one party member, which depletes their morale over time...

Here's the same battle running with the mood lighting and dust effects turned on. While I was fiddling with the code, I was also able to configure the target animation to not play if the skill misses. It looked sloppy otherwise.

At some point I put a big, animated door on the front entrance of the debug dungeon. I used this door as a testing model for other interactive doors to use later.

I also spent the last few days of the month filling out Nana's spellbook with some more spell animations. "Dazzle" inflicts dizzy on the entire enemy party. Dizzy enemies have a chance of hitting the wrong target with their basic attacks - including their own allies. Hitting a dizzy target with a basic attack will also knock them down and stun them for one turn.

"Fume" poisons one enemy with a cloud of noxious gas, dealing damage over time.

I should of course note that since skeletons don't breathe, they can't be poisoned in the final game - I was only using this one to demonstrate the animation here.

that's all for now!

#rpg maker #indie game #game dev #gamedev #pixel art #sprite work #animation

45 notes · View notes

peskellence · 6 days ago

Text

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 5.5K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

They arrived at Cedars Motel just after 9:30 a.m. The lobby was devoid of patrons, and its squalid conditions left little ambiguity as to why. It was the sort of establishment that would appeal only to the most desperate of passers-by—or those involved in illicit activities.

The owner was evidently aware of their target clientele. A digital touch display was mounted on a nearby wall, one of the few furnishings that appeared to have been purchased within the century. A roulette wheel spun on the screen, a blur of red and black, before transitioning into an image of two scantily clad women. They were locked in a provocative embrace, winking coyly at the camera.

The fluorescent pink of the advertisement clashed with the sallow yellows and browns that otherwise dominated the room. Nines muted the visual assault with a swift feedback adjustment, then turned his attention to the reception. Even the staff were reluctant to linger, with the front desk equally abandoned as the rest of the facility.

As he scanned the vicinity for a bell or buzzer, Reed wandered toward the digital display. With the urgency of a tourist on vacation, he dragged his fingers across a rack of magazines beneath it. This seemed an unlikely spot for their witness to hide, with it equally doubtful that any evidence would have been concealed there.

In a superficial attempt to 'inspect' something, the human pulled one of the publications from the shelf and brought it to his face. The calibre of material he had selected was no surprise.

While the cover wasn't entirely in focus from Nines' current vantage, the bare skin and scarlet lace were unmistakable.

"Our perp sure has some refined taste…" Reed punctuated the remark with a snort, flicking to the next page. "Classy digs, don't you think?"

Nines held his tongue, desperate to point out that the current behaviour hardly proved any more refined.

Then, his systems alerted him to something: an unusual detail concerning the models his partner was shamelessly gawking at. The faultless smoothness of their skin, despite minimal photo editing and subtle flares of light which traced the contours of their temples.

> ENHANCING OPTICAL UNIT MAGNIFICATION…

> SCANNING DOCUMENTATION.

> SCAN COMPLETED.

> PUBLICATION TITLE: ELECTRIC DREAMS — ISSUE NO. 226

> HEADLINE ARTICLE: 'Your girlfriend's jaw might get tired – but ours won't! - Why Android Sex Is Still The Best.'

It was curious that Reed had felt drawn to this particular publication, given the ample range of choice. One filled to the brim with artificial bodies—flawlessly manufactured to mimic intimacy, lust and satisfaction that was inherently false.

Yet here Reed was, completely engrossed. His fascination with a dark-haired HR400 proved particularly pronounced, their already sparse wardrobe dwindling with every swipe of his finger. This continued until he was revealed in full, legs spread, striking a shamelessly evocative pose.

The detective made a low noise, somewhere between a hiss and a whistle. His vitals spiked, barrelling wildly out of control:

> ALERT

> RAPID BIOPHYSICAL SHIFT DETECTED

> HEART RATE ESCALATION: 75 BPM → 115 BPM — TIME ELAPSED 2.7 SECONDS

It was clear that the admiration of his partner's physique had not been an isolated oddity. Reed found a certain allure—an excitement—in the temptation of something that should have repulsed him. Whether or not he consciously recognised this remained unclear.

What was clear, however, was the gross inappropriateness of indulging in such material whilst on duty. The RK900 sought to correct this—on the slim chance that a customer might present themselves, witnessing the uncouth display.

"I would advise that you close your mouth, Detective."

Reed's jaw, which had dropped a disconcerting distance from the rest of his face, promptly snapped shut. He glanced up at his partner, brows raised, protesting the interjection, "Are you seriously telling me to shut up? I hardly said anything."

"I wasn't suggesting that you 'shut up,' although it would certainly be a bonus if you chose to do so—I just fear you may have to pay for that item if you continue to soak it in your drool."

Irritation veered sharply into embarrassment. A faint flush crept up his cheeks as Reed hastily set the magazine aside, all but propelled from his hands. "Great. You've got jokes now. Just what I need."

Sarcasm thickened every word, though Nines detected the faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Some part of him, however grudgingly, had found humour in the remark.

The enjoyment was fleeting, buried by discomfort. Reed rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he muttered, "Let's just find the owner of this dump and get the hell out of here…"

Nines tilted his head, a hum of consideration escaping him as he filed the response for future reference. Strategic flirtation could prove beneficial going forward—seeking to redirect wandering attention, keeping his partner in line...

Experimentation would have to wait. For now, Reed was correct. They had more pressing matters to attend to, not being helped by the owner's persisting absence.

The desk remained empty, with the staff door behind it tightly sealed. Nines doubted the flimsy plywood had muffled any part of their discussion; fledgling impatience exacerbated as it occurred just how unsavoury their current conditions were.

Beyond the unsightly furnishings, mildew and rot crept up the aged plastered walls. Running a finger across one, the surface crumbled, falling apart like rotten pastry.

"I agree it would be best to limit your exposure to our current surroundings. There is a dangerous concentration of fungal spores in this room; it could be hazardous to your health."

Reed clicked his tongue. It was clear that he'd wanted to say something—perhaps relating to the myriad of toxins he routinely invited into his body—but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he directed his focus towards the reception. A hand emerged from his pocket, encouraging Nines to take the lead.

The android was unsure if the intention behind this had been affability or idleness. Nevertheless, he accepted, his primary objective taking precedence on his HUD:

> LOCATE CEDARS MOTEL OWNER.

He made his approach, studying the desk more attentively. Overturning abandoned letters and leaflets, clearing a path through the expansive debris, until the dull yellow flicker of an overheard bulb caught against something metallic. Partially obscured beneath a pile of unpaid bills, a tarnished call bell caught his attention. It was so heavily weathered that Nines was surprised it produced any sound at all when pressed.

A shrill chime sliced through the air, utterly useless in achieving its intended purpose. There was no sign of movement, and Nines might have considered the possibility that the proprietor had expired—if it hadn't been for the vital signs detectable through the wall.

He pressed the bell again, this time with greater force, in line with a firm verbal address. The RK900 hoped this might inspire a greater incentive to respond—while simultaneously assuring that they were not debt collectors:

"Detroit Police Department."

"Whoever's hiding back there, they're deaf," Reed complained. He reeled from the unpleasant sound, hands pressed to his ears. "That thing is loud as fuck."

As though responding to the criticism, the unseen figure stirred. Biophysical mapping tracked their movement to the closed passageway. A silence descended between the partners until, at last, the soft creak of the door revealed their witness.

An elderly man emerged, ambling aimlessly toward the desk. It soon became apparent that his arrival was coincidental—he seemed completely unaware of the officers idling mere feet away.

SCANNING SUBJECT…

SCAN COMPLETE.

ANDREWS, WALTER.

BORN: 05/11/1965 // REGISTERED BUSINESS OWNER — CEDARS MOTEL LTD.

CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE.

Andrews hummed absently under his breath, eyes scanning the cluttered desk without any clear direction. He shuffled around, brow furrowed in mild confusion, until he appeared to find what he was looking for—an empty mug, half-adhered to one of the many scattered documents.

As he tilted forward, Nines detected weak feedback pulses emanating from his ears. Upon closer inspection, the source was identified as twin devices nestled beneath tufts of overgrown hair:

HEARING AID(S).

COMPONENT BATTERY LOW — FUNCTIONALITY IMPAIRED.

As spindly fingers reached for the cup, Reed cleared his throat. His fist was brought dramatically to his mouth, with his elbow pointed outward. Sunken eyes lazily tracked the motion, their ashen grey magnified by a pair of thick glasses.

Andrews responded as though the officers had materialised out of thin air. He jerked back, clutching his chest in alarm before fumbling to regain his composure. Readjusting the collar of his moth-eaten pullover, his thin lips pulled into a wiry grin.

"Apologies for the wait, sirs." His attention flitted meekly between Nines and Reed as he offered them each a cordial nod. "I must have dozed off…Are you looking for a room? I have a King Size left—great rates."

"Detroit Police Department," Nines repeated coldly, hoping the man would hear this time. "Officer RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 - 87, and Detective Gavin Reed."

Andrews seemed put out by the forcefulness of his tone. He blinked slowly, bleary gaze absent of comprehension. There was a twitch of movement in his mouth, calling attention to the deep-set wrinkles in the corners.

Then he hummed as though to indicate he understood the situation.

"Oh, right, of course. Are you looking for a room...officers?"

He did not, still labouring under the assumption that he and his partner were prospective customers.

The assumption was brazen, bordering on insulting, and Reed appeared equally stunned. His eyes widened, belatedly grasping the full implication of what was happening.

Nines might have teased him—suggesting that they consider the offer later, should he feel so inclined—but the required humour promptly deserted him. He leaned across the desk, inches from the perspex security visor that bordered the counter. His badge was pulled from his pocket and pressed to the barrier with an authoritative thud.

"Mr. Walter Andrews, your assessment of this situation is deeply misguided. We have no interest in a room. We are here on professional matters."

The hotelier's strained smile vanished, wiped cleanly from his face as his sallow complexion deepened. Desperately, he scrambled to mitigate the fallout of his mistake.

"I-I'm very sorry to have caused offence! I thought perhaps you were doing a role-play and wanted me to go along with it. It happens more often than you'd—I didn't actually think you were—"

Fortunately, the android was not made to interrupt the blathering. It was unclear how much more scrutiny the man's weak constitution could bear. His partner took charge, stepping forward with a huff of exasperation.

"TMI, buddy." He joined Nines by the perspex divider, offering Andrews an out with a smooth redirection. "We want to know if anyone suspicious checked in on the night of January 13th—think you can help us with that?"

Andrews seemed relieved, swallowing a nervous breath that had lodged in his throat. He ran a hand distractedly over the unkempt stubble on his chin as he tried to recall the date in question.

"Well, most folks who check in here are a little... suspicious," he muttered, his tone shifting back to apprehension as a spike in his heart rate betrayed his unease. "Nothing illegal, mind you! Drunk businessmen, ladies of the night...that sort of thing."

> WITNESS PROFILE UPDATING…

> ANDREWS, WALTER.

> CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE.

> MAINTAINING PREMISES FOR CRIMINAL ACTIVITY (SUSPECTED)—FURTHER INVESTIGATION REQUIRED.

"Prostitution is not permissible in Michigan, so the arrangements you have described are indeed illegal." Nines dismissed the witness summary from his HUD, optical units refocusing. "Not that it is of immediate concern. The individual we are looking for would have been alone. Do you have any check-in records that we may review?"

"Well, yes, of course, I do…but I wouldn't usually share them. Customer confidentiality and all."

It seemed convenient that Andrews was now concerned with legal technicalities.

His thumping pulse rate continued to escalate as he made a superficial adjustment to his eyewear. "Mind telling me what this is about, officers?"

"It concerns a homicide," the RK900 informed. "This information may be critical in assisting our investigation. Your cooperation is appreciated."

"Homicide? As in murder?" The man spluttered. His hoarse tone raised several octaves, cracking unpleasantly, as he clutched at the front of his stained sweater. "I haven't heard anything about that. Is it public knowledge?"

"The story has been broadcasted on several networks."

"Was it a man? A woman? God, my niece Julie would've been out that day. She's only eighteen and such a dainty thing. It just kills me to think that something might have happened—"

The inane drivel grated against his acoustic modulators. Had the man not been so visibly frail—and the divider not present—the RK900 may have felt inclined to throttle him.

"Mr. Andrews."

"I'm looking at a screen most days and nights. Except when checking guests in—or driving Julie home—"

That said, the flimsy plastic hardly provided any real protection. The android was confident that he'd have no issues scaling past it.

Or breaking through.

"—She helps out with the cleaning on Fridays, you see. I would think I would have heard if something like that had—"

"It was an android." Nines interrupted, resisting his more violent inclinations in favour of raising his voice. "The records, please."

The torrent of verbal excrement halted. Andrews' attitude had shifted, the mania tapering as tension eased from his hunched shoulders. He spoke with an airy quality, almost like a sigh, as though the added context brought tremendous relief. "Oh, oh yes, that's—"

Then, trepidation returned to his eyes as they met with a disapproving glower. It seemed to dawn on him that this stance may have been ill-advised when addressing this particular officer.

"W-Well…that's a shame, isn't it?" he quickly backpedalled, his lips sputtering like a faulty motor. "I mean… It's very…"

His words trailed off, the stench of uncertainty mingling with the room's heady must. His gaze flitted desperately to Reed, silently pleading for support.

The detective ignored him, staring fixedly at the cork noticeboard above his head.

"…Sad," Andrews finished weakly.

He then turned to busy himself, hobbling along his workstation and sifting through mountainous piles of junk. Eventually, he craned to reach something haphazardly propped on a stack of boxes—a leather-bound ledger with a bent spine, the word 'Guests' embossed in neat script on its cover.

He wiped it with the back of his loosely draped sleeve, brushing off some residual grime before sliding it beneath the plastic partition to the android.

Nines yanked it roughly towards him, prying it from the tips of outstretched fingers. He set it on the desk and started flipping through the pages. Must and dirt filled his nostrils, intensifying the further he progressed—until he halted at entries relevant to their investigation.

He analysed the check-ins, isolating those that aligned most closely with their developing timeline of events. Unsurprisingly, many of the names appeared aliases, as cross-checking local housing databases yielded few results.

Handwriting samples were equally unhelpful. Their culprit had gone to great lengths to disguise his penmanship, with none of the writing resembling the threatening messages at the crime scenes.

The RK900 leaned closer, studying every scrawl and ink blot in meticulous detail, willing them to reveal something. Given their target's penchant for riddles—and taunting law enforcement—it was almost certain he had left them a message:

> ACCESSING SUSPECT PROFILE

> SEARCH PARAMETERS: COMMUNICATION PATTERNS.

> ANALYSING…

> LINK(S) ESTABLISHED: MORALISTIC EXTREMISM — ASSERTION OF TRADITIONAL IDEALS — RELIGIOUS/SPIRITUAL REFERENCES.

He placed these criteria at one end of his neural pathway as he sought to establish the next point of deduction. Assembling the scattered fragments of his reasoning into something sensical.

> KNOWN ALIASES — THOD GRAWS.

> ASSESSING FOR HIDDEN CODES AND MEANING...

> DETERMINING POSSIBLE SYSTEMS.

> PROBABLE RESULTS:

> ANAGRAM, CAESAR CIPHER — USAGE: COMMON IN ENCODED COMMUNICATIONS.

> APPLYING SEARCH CRITERIA 1...

> GENERATING RESULTS

In the background, he was vaguely attuned to Andrews and Reed conversing, though the details escaped him. The letters shifted in multiple directions, ordered and reordered in rapid succession. They became a frenzied blur of movement as results tallied on the right-hand side of his optics:

> GHOST WARD.

> WART HOGS.

> DAGS THROW.

This continued until one in particular struck as significant—connecting seamlessly to the established criteria—and he promptly suspended the search.

> GODS WRATH.

He stared at the phrase. The neat diagnostic typeface gnawed at his thoughts, filling him with a complex mixture of hopefulness and foreboding.

Dismissing all superfluous data from his conscious view, he redirected his focus back to the book in front of him. Its blotched, yellowed pages were now perceived through a new lens of clarity, the threads of logic weaving together as he repeated the same deductive process.

The name practically leapt from the page, its letters joining those that swarmed like locusts in the enclaves of his mind:

> HANS STIVER.

Nines recorded a snapshot of the text, storing it with the rest of their evidence before pulling back sharply.

"He was here."

The motion startled Reed, and it took a moment for him to process the words. As their meaning sank in, the defensive tension drained from his shoulders.

"...You're kidding me." He lunged forward, palms slapped onto either side of the sign-in book. "This guy was seriously dense enough to use 'Thod Graws' in two different places?"

"He didn't use the same name," Nines clarified, noting the confusion knitting between the human's brows the longer he squinted at the pages. "But he may as well have done."

He then looked to Andrews, who appeared dismayed to be the renewed centre of attention. The RK dismissed this, pressing a finger to the guestbook and urging him to look.

"Do you remember this man?"

Reluctant to argue, the hotelier leaned forward, obediently studying the page. It was a struggle, given his already impaired eyesight, exacerbated by the numerous spots of grime on the perspex.

"Who, Hans?" he asked pensively, his mouth curled into a frown. "He was a strange one. I couldn't get two words out of him. Paid with cash and went straight to his room."

"Do you remember what he looked like? This may be of crucial importance. I implore you to think carefully."

"It was raining that night. He came in wearing a hood and refused to pull it down…" Andrews' lips pulled inwards, although Nines was confident he'd heard some muttered beratement about 'the youth of today.'

"I asked if he had an ID, but he said he'd left it at home—I never got a good look at his face."

Emerging optimism strained as the android encountered an impasse. He searched for a way around it, adapting his approach to draw whatever he could from the spotty witness account:

> ACCESSING CASE EVIDENCE...

Images blossomed in his peripherals, creeping forward until they formed a scrolling banner across his visual scope. He studied them closely, searching for potential identifiers that might jog Andrews' memory…

Reed was faster, gleefully seizing the opportunity to outpace him. His tone carried preemptive confidence as if he already knew the answer:

"Let me guess. He was wearing a black raincoat?"

Andrews reeled back, his bulging eyes and gaping mouth speaking volumes about the accuracy of this assessment. "W-Well, yes, actually, I believe so—but how did you—"

"Psychic," The detective quipped before retrieving a tattered notebook from his jacket.

Flipping through the pages, he passed through droves of illegible scrawlings and crude sketches until he landed on a blank sheet. Fishing a well-chewed pen from the ring binds, he poised to take a statement.

"Who was on the desk the following morning? Anyone who might have seen him check out?"

The initiative had been unexpected—and was not strictly unnecessary, given the RK's ability to record and transcribe audio feedback in real-time. Nonetheless, he allowed Reed to proceed, indulging in his perceived victory.

He listened along, prepared to field any gaps in the account:

"Well, I was here all day, but…" Andrews faltered, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. Slowly, he gestured to a small metal panel mounted on the far wall, a slot cut in the centre. "I have a drop box for early morning checkouts. Got to sleep sometime, you know?"

> ANDREWS DID NOT SEE THE SUSPECT LEAVE.

> RECALCULATING APPROACH…

> SUGGESTION: ESTABLISH OTHER POSSIBLE WITNESSES.

"Does anybody else work here, or is it just you?" Reed asked, surprisingly in sync with Nines' own neural processes.

"I mean, there's Julie. I did tell you about Julie, right?"

No words passed between the partners, though the android could sense a mutual disdain developing for the tangent.

"She's a lovely girl, always helping me out, going to college in September. Sharp as a tack, that one. I could ask if maybe she saw—"

Reed was the first to break. He shoved the notebook back into his pocket with a groan, mostly unused. "You know what? Never mind…"

Nines resumed the lead, reluctant to leave empty-handed after the profound feat of mental endurance that had carried them this far.

"Would you have any CCTV records from the night in question?"

"Well, I've got the camera up there…" Andrews gestured to the corner of the room with a weak flourish that failed to inspire confidence. "But it's grainy as sin. You can't make out anything but blurs and squiggles. I'm not sure what good it'll be."

"Regardless of its quality, a copy of the footage would be appreciated." Nines straightened his back authoritatively, eager to conclude the mind-numbing exchange. "We can analyse it ourselves to determine its usefulness."

"Well, I wouldn't know how to make a copy, but I can give it a go…never got to grips with this newfangled technology. If you ask me, it just makes everything more confusing."

Nines hummed, glossing over what could have easily been taken as another insult. It seemed pointless, seeking to educate a man teetering on the brink of senile dementia. Instead, he lifted his hand, retracting the skin to expose the chassis beneath—a quiet demonstration of what, precisely, his 'newfangled technology' was capable of.

"If you could show me to the hub, I will be able to download the data myself."

"Oh, right, yes, I forgot that you—uh—" Andrews fumbled, reassessing his words before he said anything else potentially contentious. Or got himself arrested. "That androids could do that."

With a stiff nod, he opened the bolted gate beside the desk and slid it back obligingly.

"This way, please."

While he had hoped Andrews' assessment was a consequence of technological ineptitude, the man had proved frustratingly correct. Nines reviewed the security footage as they stepped onto the street but found himself unable to decipher anything but mangled contortions of pixels.

"So much for a quick in and out," Reed complained, groaning loudly. "If I had to listen to another word about 'lovely Julie,' I was going to blow my brains out."

Nines huffed at the theatrics, his amusement growing as he watched Reed recoil from the cold. His chin was buried in his jacket, nose peeking over the zipper.

"Perhaps you were too dismissive—this Julie could have been a valuable witness."

"That seems pretty unlikely."

"I don't know, Detective. I hear she's rather sharp."

Then Reed's irritation faltered. He leaned back, exhaling a rogue chuckle into the air, the sound carrying like smoke until it vanished.

"Seriously, did you download a sense of humour? Because you are full of them today."

"Nothing I have said has been in jest," the RK countered. It was a selective truth, punctuated by a light shrug. "I am simply being transparent."

"Surprised you didn't rip that guy a new one the second he started spewing useless bullshit. I thought you were designed to intimidate."

> Do not be mistaken, Detective. I was highly tempted.

He relented from vocalising this particular cognitive strand, maintaining an appropriate degree of professionalism. "I was designed to intimidate criminals, not harass civilians. Well, that, and also to—"

His voice was claimed from him.

Its absence was jarring and unceremonious as the world around them was plunged into darkness.

Nightfall had arrived without warning, and Nines was forced to scramble through it, unable to see anything ahead. Then, like the beam of a torch, a set of large, fearful eyes cut through the shadows.

“̸̾͜"N̷̲͍͒͑͌̌̕9̵͙̀̉̌́̒͝—̸̮̪̐

̵̠̈

̵̹̳͈͈̱̹̉̉̽͗̓P̴̺͈̠̬̙͌̀/̵̗̺͎͈̲͈̿͑̇̾̽͌#̷̡̛͔͍̪͓̥̄͒̚͠@̸̪̘̮͚̈́̈́s̴̿̃́̂̈͝ͅ#̸̺͚͇͈̅͑͂͊̌̏ ̷̩̠̐d̵̜̠͎̪͚̍̔́͝͠9̸̳̲̥̺̔͊̈̕ń̴͈̝͠5̶̭̥̅—̸͕̍͊̒͘”̶̔̂̿͐͝"

̴̦̅

̴̘̻́͑̓͒͘

̵̢̩̜̱͕͐̅͛ͅ>̷̡͚̄ ̵̳͉̗̈́̌̓͝E̷̽͜X̷͉͓̂ͅẸ̷̛̥͋̈́̆̽C̵̳̩̽̉̎̋̏̑U̸̩̖̐͗̕T̶̪͇̫̗̪̼͆Ë̵̻́̇̊͝

Blue.

It flooded his sightless gaze—a chaotic kaleidoscope of pixels—until it coagulated and dripped in thick, viscous lines down his hands.

The liquid slipped from his splayed fingers, pooling at his feet, dripping until each trace was gone, and the puddles faded from view.

Invisible to all who looked, but with stains that permeated his skin. Remaining there forever, visible only to him.

"...Nines…?"

A flash of light and day returned. The android reeled back, clutching his temple, blinking in the harsh winter sun.

Reed was staring at him, his hand offering some protection from the oppressive rays as it waved inches from his face.

"You're not glitching on me, are you?"

The lingering tendrils of his nightmare taunted him. Skating across his arms and legs, threatening to tighten their hold and drag him back into the void.

Then they receded, and he was safe—for now—able to press ahead.

"I am not," he lied evenly, hoping his performance indicator would not betray him. "My diagnostics indicate that I am functioning normally."

"Right," Reed spoke flatly, his tone brimming with scepticism.

For a moment, it seemed he might relent, allowing the matter to rest. This was before he proved steadfast in his commitment to privacy invasion.

"...Are you sure? You're acting twitchy."

"If I were experiencing a fault that may inhibit this investigation, I would certainly be aware of it."

Even with the efforts to conceal his deceit, Nines couldn't hide the spidering cracks in his facade—ones that Reed pounced on with irritating precision.

Perhaps it was juvenile to bemoan this ability, given the man's profession, but Nines couldn't bring himself to care. His priority was ending the unwelcome scrutiny as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps it is best we focus on that rather than the intricacies of my program, which I can assure are beyond your comprehension."

Reed hissed through his teeth, the sound teetering between offence and mockery. "Jesus, okay, touchy much?"

The RK900 refused to dignify this with a response. He trusted his partner must have retained some of what had been discussed the previous day—the limitations of his program, including his scant tolerance for matters he did not wish to discuss.

Reed ultimately relented. He kicked a loose pebble across the sidewalk, scowling bitterly—a petulant child who had failed to get his way.

"Fine. If you wanna talk business, what did you mean when you said our guy 'may as well' have used the same name? Because I checked those sign-ins, and I didn't see anything close to 'Thod Graws.'"

"Our culprit is fond of codes." Nines' attention flitted briefly to the data he had collated in the motel before returning to his partner. "His preferred method for alias generation appears to be anagrams. When reordered, Thod Graws translates to God's Wrath. This new name, Hans Stiver, has similar connotations."

Reed frowned, pausing to retrieve his forgotten notebook. With a grunt, he scrawled out the name. His brow furrowed as he bent over the page, letters scratched out and reordered, frustration simmering beneath his focus.

Minutes passed before his posture stiffened. His hunched shoulders snapped straight as a spark of realisation lit up his ruminative gaze.

"Holy shit, you're right."

The confirmation wasn't necessary. Nines had run multiple self-tests to finalise his computation. Still, a small sense of satisfaction came from having his findings validated.

"Your computer brain got anything for that gibberish from the other day?" Reed asked, lifting his eyes from the papers, genuinely curious. "The weird binary shit?"

"It wasn't binary. Had it been, I would have deciphered it instantaneously—"

Nines fought to maintain his composure, but hints of resentment slipped through. Heat crept across his face as his core temperature steadily rose.

"Truthfully, I'm unsure of the system used. While I possess advanced deductive capabilities, code decryption is not one of my primary functions. An oversight on Cyberlife's part, perhaps."

"Yeah, I'll say. What kind of detective bot doesn't have a built-in code breaker?"

The comment tightened his jaw, far from appreciative of Reed's decision to 'kick him' while he was down.

"At any rate," Nines continued, voice levelling back to its usual neutrality, "it may take me a little longer, but I'm confident I'll crack it soon."

"We can definitely add 'religious nutjob' to the suspect profile, anyway. Hell of a lot else we've got to go on…"

The RK900 refrained from mentioning he had already done this, not wishing to jeopardise his partner's burgeoning interest.

"I wouldn't suggest that we have nothing."

The assurance was ineffective, the scowl etched on the man's face deepening significantly. "What are you, fucking high?"

"I am incapable of getting high. They have yet to replicate the effects of human narcotics on androids. Although I hear Thirium-based alcohol is—"

"You knew what I meant, jackass," Reed challenged coldly. "Just face it—we've got no DNA, no reliable witnesses, and no more leads. Unless that footage is of the killer holding up a signed confession, this feels like another dead end."

The android bristled, mirroring the man's sour expression, as he was faced with the looming possibility he might be correct.

It was doubtful further analysis would draw anything salvageable from the footage. That being said, while tracing the killer's call had yielded little results, the data presented could still prove beneficial in guiding their movements. A different approach would be needed.

Nines considered the events that had predated the phone call: where their culprit may have been before checking into Cedars and whether retracing those steps could reveal anything new.

As he assessed the TSU transmission for any overlooked details, his attention shifted to the surrounding buildings. Among the drab streetscape, a shock of red drew his focus. Formed in bold lettering on a weathered storefront:

> MIKEY'S PHONES AND ELECTRONICS.

He was pulled from his analysis, the discovery sparking a new hypothesis. Their trip, it seemed, had not been wasted—having brought them to what might be their next significant lead.

"Perhaps not," he concluded, a satisfied quirk tugging his lips. "We can assume that our culprit used a burner phone when they arranged the HR400's services. He would have needed to purchase the SIM somewhere, as well as the phone itself—how convenient that a store nearby could provide him exactly what he was looking for."

As Reed followed the explanation, his gaze drifted to align with his partner's. Upon catching sight of the storefront, he received the information with far greater scepticism.

"Detroit is a big fucking city," he said bluntly. "Our perp could've bought that SIM from anywhere. Even if we had a hunch, we'd have no way of tracing it. Thing is probably long gone."

"Maybe so, but the log collected from the suspect's call provided more than a location—

The phone used was a 2013 Samsung S3. If it so happens that a phone of that model was purchased in that store, with a prepaid SIM included, in the days before the murder..."

"...It would seem like one hell of a tidy coincidence," Reed grunted, begrudgingly conceding the point. "Alright, tin-can, I'll bite. But if you're wrong about this, I'll fucking dismantle you."

"Duly noted." The smirk tugging his lips grew before it was suppressed. It occurred that their current opportunity ought to be seized promptly, lest it slip from their fingers.

"I suggest we act quickly. We have failed to check in with the Captain for quite some time. No doubt he'll wish to receive an update."

#oh we are so back #apologies for the incredibly long hiatus #dbh #detroit become human #dbh nines #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic #gavin reed x rk900 #dbh fic

17 notes · View notes