#Films That Hold My Mind Hostage

[ernsportfolio]

Salt of the Earth by Herbert J. Biberman

The struggling reality of not being seen as an individual but also a person. this Beautiful films goes over two main topics at hand during the time and still currently today in certain worlds. the necessity to be treated with the same respect as another person no matter the color of ones skin and origin of mother land. the second issue trying to be resolved is that of cultural respect from the men in order to feel as an equal rather than another lesser than person.

Here is Short response to the film: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-CSL81DqBp52ZdCoRDQWaexVuYqVHOGF_cHRPx-i7Vk/edit?usp=sharing

[herejusttosufferalong]

Sorry, this is probably a boring read and I get it, if it doesn’t warrant posting.

I just saw the posts about the A at a glass window at London premiere and JD and N playing board games in a pub etc. and it made me think.

There a loads of little bits about A coming out, she was there during the tour, she did that etc. First thing that came to mind for me was: this is in the past, this is not today. I know she is around today, I know there will be more L A stuff coming, ig launch, proper couple stuff etc. But the things we get bothered about now re. A during the tour: they are in the past, they do not reflect things as they are today.

It shows to me: there was trouble during the tour and there is trouble today. I’m with unraveling anon here: currently there is something going on in the L A and friendly gang universe, and it’s not wedding planning for L A.

As many here I think, L N caught some feelings during filming S3, I don’t think it got physical but feelings were there. Took a break, L HBS happened, N living her best life. 2024 the tour happens, feelings for L – who by now had acquired an 🐜 – came back quickly. For N it took a hot minute but at some point there was no use denying it, the world and their mother could see it and hear it. Oh what to do with A now? I reckon, N never thought her to be a serious thing and that may be because L sold it exactly that way.

Several A appearances / actions on SM, I still look for one that was not on some level cringeworthy, lemme know if you find one. Girl is insecure and acting out and L does very little to put his b..ch on a lead. He behaved like the fool in love he is – with N that is - on the tour and likely did not exactly do lots to reassure A behind the scenes, besides the occasional FH stay.

Premiere London, L obviously had to do something for A, had set up or at least signed off the walk of crap 🦀but could he be arsed to even do that properly and commit afterwards on some minor level? You tell me.

He obviously wants to or has reasons to hold on to A. But why look like a damn hostage about it all the time? Surely after London he could have just be much more relaxed with her, hey, be fake-papped again plant a kiss on her, hold her properly. By now they could be an established couple to the world, the fandom outrage would have died down, they could live their relationship openly. Nope, hostage situation vibe it is.

Meanwhile N – and I never thought this would happen – goes MIA, she currently has the lowest public profile since I follow her and I just can’t help but get hurt / annoyed vibes from her. It’s truly telling that her friends seem to rally around her and even appear to troll A not do discretely. And she has a little sad vibe to her since the tour ended and I hate that. Might of course be because S3 chapter closed, might be L, I think whatever it is – N for sure was not happy with how London premiere night played out.

And don’t get me started on JD: m’dears, he aint her boyfriend, he is the gay-bestie and I am so happy she has him in her life right now. Do get over it please.

I guess what I am rambling on here is: A is here to stay for now. Here in my country 🐜s usually disappear when fall goes in to winter, so let nature take its course. And in the meantime, let’s do our best to not give her any attention, because that’s what she wants desperately. And let’s support N and L, they deserve it so.

And thanks to blog queen for letting us squat here until better times arrive!

NO NOTES

💜🥃

[itsmebytch001]

Yes, here I am asking myself shit beacuse I am loosing my mind.

(Not really)

Yan Dad Miguel X adpoted daughter who trises to keep out Miguel from his overbeaing love so she baracdes the door to her room????

Hello Me!!! (I'm not mad, just odd)

Miguel Had snatched you out your own universe a few months ago, keeping you in his flat, under constant servelince with the only company you had was LYLA, she was fine but you needed somthing more than her, and Miguel.

When Miguel was home he was lovely, truly unsettling but lovely. He brought you presents like clothing, flowers, jewllery and books! He

would kiss you on your cheek (if You'd let him) and hold you tight.

And at this point Miguel had been gone for three days, LYLA had been good company, shown you films, played games with you, done some dress up all that. And to be honest, you dreaded the time Miguel, or Papa (he made you call him) would come back, it was supposed to be this afternoon, you had made dinner for the both of you as knew it was expected, plus he had been out for 3 days doing god knows what and he must have been tired after all that he should't have to cook for himself aswell.

Honestly you are beggining to feel like a platonic house wife.

Why should you cook, really? You don't owe him aything, he put you here! keeps you here like a dog, treats you like your mad whenever you call him out for how absurd this all is!! You are not his daughter, you are not an alt Gabi and yet he behaves as if you, and almost adult are just a quivering little leaf lost in the wind with out his fatherly guidence!!

The heavily secured door opens, and here you start again to grittedly smile at him as he enters, holding is arms out to you, expecting a hug.

Miguel: "Ahh Y/N! Iv'e missed you dear!

Y/N: "Hey Miguel"

He tiredly sighed and wagged his finger in your face.

Miguel: "Y/N we have been over this, It's Papa"

You turnded around back to the stove to pile up his food, rolling your eyes with your back to him.

Y/N: "Yes papa" You said as genuliey as you could, he bought it!

He sits at the table where you bring him his food, then your own as you sit infront of him acroos the small table, sulking to yourself, my god you were lonely, missing friends, work, your Mum. Miguel in the beggining would always press to you that a young girl having a fatherly mentor was good, so it was fine that he would just appear at your work to pick you, show up at your home to scould you for not cleaning your room, throw out your lunches to replace with the ones me had made for you beacuse his were more nutrious, that it was okay when your boss was being a dick that he then turned up at your work to beat his arse, it was all just his fatherly love!

Now you are here, alone, and trapped.

As you pick at your food he notices your unhappy face.

Miguel: "Mija, why the long face?"

Y/N: " I told you to stop calling me that"

Miguel; "Excuse me?"

Y/N: "I'm not your daughter, I'm not an alternative of your daughter, we aren't even blood!"

Miguel: "Y/n, don't be rude now, we may not be blood but we are family, and as your guardian It is my job to look after you"

Y/N: "Two things, My guardian is supposed to be my Mum, and This-*Gestures to sourdings* Is not taking care of me this is holding me hostage!"

Miguel appears irratated.

Migeul: "I put you here beacuse your mother is reckless, you are reckless! I knew That I could provide you with a batter life!"

Y/N: "THIS IS NOT A LIFE!" You yell throwing your hands up!

Y/N: "And how dare you talk about my fucking Mum! she tried, she was there, she supported me, and YOU just swooped me up, disreagted everything she did for me to sooth yourself for what you are now doing to me!"

Miguel: "ENOUGH!" he yelled slamming his hands down on the table, shaking it, though you ratinally knew he wouldn't hit you, that did't stop you being afraid.

Miguel: "Go to your room"

Y/N: "fuck you Miguel"

Miguel: "Go before I drag you!"

Y/N knew he was serious, so she went begrugged.

Slamming the door behind her, she heard Miguel from the bottom floor yell.

Miguel: "Don't you dare slam my doors in my fucking house!"

Y/N: "I AM NOT YOUR FUCKING GABIRELLA!"

You heard a smash...

Then a silence.

You know, ratinally it's out of cheacter for him to hit you he never would really, but your silly institcs come it.

...barracde the door.

so you did, with chair, a book shelf and a chest of draws the door is slealed.

About half a hour later you hear a soft knock, on the other side Miguel is leaning on the door, full of remorse.

Miguel: " Y/n, I'm s-Listen you were very rude down stairs but I shouldn,t have smashed anything, or swore at you"

You don't answer, you are to angry.

Miguel: "...Y/n?"

...

Miguel: "Answer me Mija"

How dare he call you that, again you think. You remain silent and you hear the door hanlde giggle.

Miguel: "ay, Mija open this door!"

Y/N: Please just go away!"

Miguel knew the door had no locking mechanism, you must put somthinh heavy infont of it.

Miguel: "Not before you open this door right now!"

He knows with his strengh he could really just bust though the door right now, but he wants you to open the door, he wants you to let him in, to him its proof you love him enough as your 'father' to allow him in.

Miguel: "Mij-"

Y/N: "Shut The FUCK UP!" You are so tired of that fucking title!

Miguel snaps, and bursts though the door in one fatal swoop.

The rubble of your bookshelf, chair's and other things clatter aroud your room smashed inot little spliters of wood. You cower on your bed, tucking away from him under a blanket like a little girl. As he body relaxes and he stand's all tall and looming like, he intiannly thinks he'll just yell at you, lecture you about rescepct and saftey for awhile and then cuddle you for awhile, hold you like a baby and carry you around.

But once he actually looked at you he saw how you turtled into yourself, shaking and crying, tensing even more as you heard him walk over to you. truly it saddned him to see you vulnarable, but also awoke a real fathery insticnt to comfort you.

laying on the bed with you he pulled you into him, cowering as he wrapped his arms arouund you, pulling you into his chest as he sighed into your hair.

Miguel: "I'm sorry My love, I'm sorry I scared you so, shhhhhh I say, It's okay, papa is sorry"

if it werent for how truly scared you are, you have told to fuck off again, but until then, all you could do is cry into miguels chest terrified as he tenderily stroked your head and back, shushing you ever so slight.

[changenameno]

Bitter Truth (One-Shot)

(Complete)

Summary:
You knew that August Walker was a dangerous man. Of course he was. As an Agent, he had to kill people. But you’ve always assumed he only did it, to protect and for the greater good, until you knew better…
Without question, your fiancé, was John Lark. Psychopath. Mass Murderer.

Pairing: August Walker & Fem. Reader

Warnings: ANGST, no comfort all hurt

Word count: 1K

A/N: I apologize in advance but also I kinda hurt myself with that one so…🙈🤷‍♀️….As all my other stories so far, it’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/reblogs are much appreciated…Thank you❤️✨

! Neither August Walker, nor Mission Impossible: Fallout are my own creation!


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Packed bag in hand, tears were streaming down your face, probably looking exactly as pathetic as you felt. August wasn’t standing far off, only a few steps away from you.

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He knew the moment he came home that something wasn’t right. On a normal day he would have come home to your sweet voice happily greeting him and the delicious smell of whatever you’d cooked for dinner.

But not today. Today it had been eerily quiet when he stepped foot into your shared home.

All his hard training, made him immediately assume the worst, or what he’d thought the worst would be. Someone had found him and held you hostage in the house.

Soundlessly he locked the door behind him, pulling out his gun. He continued down the hallway, his instincts telling him to turn left and into the living room, instead of going upstairs.

His electric blue eyes scanning every detail of the room, looking for clues. For a fight, for anything out of the ordinary.

There was a lot to take in, and all of which was out of the ordinary. On the usually empty, huge coffee table, lay opened letters haphazardly strewn across it. The phone abandoned on top. The TV switched on, playing a scene repeatedly, albeit muted.

Again and again, his own furiously contorted face stared back at him from the screen. Showing not August Walker, but John Lark during his last successful mission. Holding the detonator of a bomb in his right hand. Minutes before the hospital would explode and everyone within would be no more.

A million thoughts raced through his mind, a million possibilities of what had happened. But one thorough glance at the letters — which at closer inspection was only one letter — told him the truth.

He proceeded towards the table and lifted up the first page, beginning to read.

|| Dear soon-to-be Mrs. Walker,

Or shall I say Lark? ||

August’s eyes widened, lips tight, face now mirroring the fury on screen. Who dared? Who had filmed him and found out who he was? Just to destroy, the only precious thing he’d ever held close to his heart.

Then he heard it, uneven foot falls coming down the staircase, someone sniffling all the while. At once setting his body into motion. As if on autopilot, he put his arm with the gun in hand, behind his back and headed toward the hallway.

Drowning in your misery, you didn’t notice him right away. But when you did, you froze, staring at the man you’d called August.



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Packed bag in hand, tears were streaming down your face, probably looking exactly as pathetic as you felt. August wasn’t standing far off, only a few steps away from you.

Neither of you said anything. His silence confirming what you already knew.

Blurry-eyed, your gaze wondered up his impossibly sturdy legs, to his broad chest and finally reached his handsome bewhiskered face. Swallowing thickly when his sapphires were already fixed on you.

Desperately wanting it all to be a lie. Hoping beyond hope he could explain everything. Wishing it, to be untrue.

Yet for the first time his eyes held nothing but the whole truth. August tried blinking away the burning sting of the forthcoming tears.

Inhaling deeply to somewhat calm the chaos in your head and heart you finally broke the silence,” You know, what hurts most?”

He stayed silent, shocked at how frail and distant you sounded. As if you were far away, detached from reality, from him, drifting off into the cold abyss of indifference.

“Mmh? Not the lies. Oh no, not the lies. But the fact that you made me fall in lov-ve with you,” your voice slightly wavering on the very word you despised most at the moment.

His forming tears threatened to spill over, with every broken word you whispered. Tearing at the pieces of his own shattered heart.

You continued with a pained smile,” Made me fall in love, with a mass murderer.” Disgust clearly reflected on your face, making him grip his gun tighter, his right hand still behind his back. Knuckles turning white.

He couldn’t let you go. He couldn’t. You’d be a huge risk, knowing the truth. His right hand began to tremble, finger on the trigger. The internal battle he fought, came to a swift halt, as he heard you, unlocking the door.

Your back was to him, your left hand holding the door open. Before you took another step, you turned to face him one final time. Eyes raking over his figure, widening as you took in the tell-tale signs of his position and stance. Was he going to shoot you?

Against you better judgement a sad, soft smile curled your lips, breathing, “Goodbye, John Lark.”

Then you slipped out, closing the door behind you.
You were gone.

He stared, unblinking at the spot your lovely face had been in, seconds prior. Hearing a loud clang, as his gun hit the wooden floor.
Collapsing onto his knees. Crumpling.
Tears freely streaming down his face.

Truly the worst case scenario had just played out in front of him. The entire time his throat so constricted with grief, he’d been incapable of uttering even a single word…


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Taglist:
If you're interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me!❤️✨

[violetmuses]

Versus - A. Aretas (Part III) 💔

Title: Versus - A. Aretas (Part III) 💔

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: One decision will change everything.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

Part I ❤️‍🩹

Part 2 ❤️‍🩹

=====

2024

Shortly after your home settled down from those unexpected visitors, this doorbell rang once more.

Checking that RING camera again, you realize that Armando returned to the porch this time.

“What, did y'all forget something?” You barely opened the door, almost nervous.

“C'mon…” Aretas tried.

“What?” You don't even understand his point, not yet at least.

“I don't have much time before leaving, but we're doing this together.” Armando grounded reality.

“Say less.” You vowed, rushing to prepare for the battle yourself.

******

Outright monster James McGrath veiled his dark operations by working through one abandoned alligator park located somewhere deep in Florida.

“Armando's with Callie! Trail ‘em.” Mike Lowrey gritted his teeth amid crossfire and set your instructions for the mission.

McGrath just kidnapped Mike's wife Christine and even took Captain Howard's granddaughter Callie hostage. You fumed, raging from within.

___

“We're right here!” Callie lifted both palms for your vantage point just in case.

Yet wounds riddled Armando's body as this tree anchored his weakened presence.

“She…put me down by this tree. I'm okay…” His accented English struggles through pain, rightfully so.

“Kay…” Nodding down toward Armando, you're still protective despite everything.

“Hands up, Detective!” Marshal Judy Howard prompted your attention.

Raising both hands slowly, you turn around as expected.

“Mom, please don't hurt anyone!” Callie reveals tears, noting Aretas and you. “Armando saved my life and the detective looked out for us.”

“Move out of the way, Callie.” Judy continued staying armed.

“Mom, no!” Right when Callie shouted once more, Judy pulled the trigger.

Your body fell backwards as red dampened this tactical gear.

Yet, one lethal bullet pierced directly between your eyes, marking Judy's instant plan.

“Let me up, let up!” Right away, Armando wants Callie to help him stand from the ground, but immediately signals his father. “Mike, Mike!”

Seconds later, Detective Mike Lowrey joined this spot in the wilderness alongside Marcus Burnett as Judy keeps holding that firearm.

“What the fuck?!” Mike and Marcus shouted over this permanent view of your dead body.

“What happened?” Mike glanced toward Judy, both distraught and angered.

“I aimed for Armando but…”Judy revealed the truth about your death. “She wanted to protect him and Callie…”

“Aw, damn!” Genuinely crying, Marcus knelt toward your body this time.

“We can't call it in. Everyone will see Armando first.” Judy sniffled after holstering the firearm.

“What do you suggest?” Mike sought true guidance.

“Go. Leave with Armando before I change my mind.” Judy held her daughter Callie, but Mike understood this point.

Leave before everyone freaks out.

====

2025

Despite everyone marking calendars regardless, time slowed down.

The Miami Police Department lost joy while Marcus and Mike stopped laughing together.

Even your pictures still greeted desks at the precinct, showing camaraderie and highlighting true friendship.

“Listen to this, man.” Bringing his cell phone, Mike walked toward Marcus one afternoon.

“Hey, Lowrey! It's my day off.” Your laughter chimed this old voicemail. “Are we still planning cookouts for the department? I'll be there, just don't let Marcus eat Skittles. See you later, bye.”

“She'd sit in the corner with a plate now.” Marcus almost chuckled to avoid pain.

Memories could last forever.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XX.

GIF by bestintheparsec

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The night of the ritual.

WORD COUNT: ~9.1k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: dead dove: do not eat!, kidnapping, mc is held hostage, allusions to SA (nothing explicit. will be explained later on), hallucinations, humiliation, wound care, hurt/no comfort, crime thriller vibes are vibing, demon worship, cult ritual, supernatural elements, non-consensual drug use, angst, whump, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i'm missing any other tags please let me know.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i’m going to hold y’all’s hand when i say this... i am putting paloma through it 😓 i was initially going to just bang everything out and post it in one big chapter, but as i was writing... i just felt like it would be better if we let the suspense of it all do its thing and end with a cliffhanger. i am a sucker for ‘em, even if they’re so frustrating (in the best way possible) 😭 i hope that all the lore revolving the cult has been concise and strong enough to hold up during the ending bit of this. i wish i could say things are going to get better from here but they’re not… they’re actually going to get worse 🤠 as always, feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it 🖤

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

When ten minutes pass, Javier brushes it off. She’s probably just caught up in something. It’s nothing to worry about.

But when twenty minutes roll by, that’s when the unease creeps in. He starts pacing the living room, fighting the urge for a cigarette, glancing at the clock.

Where is she?

By the time half an hour has come and gone, he’s dialing the library, wondering why Paloma hasn’t come home yet. The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. His stomach tightens, and he wills himself to remain calm. She’s probably fine.

At the hour mark, Javier’s behind the wheel, speeding into town. Maybe she’s still upset from the argument they had earlier, and instead of coming home, she went to Tammy’s.

But when Tammy tells him she hasn’t heard from Paloma for a few days now, a knot twists in his chest.

Panic threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. He can’t let it consume him—not yet. Not until he has a real reason to worry.

But she has that damn habit of disappearing to sulk in random places when she’s upset. And that habit is gnawing at him now.

He drives to every spot he can think of, the abandoned tracks, the clearing behind the cemetery, the creek—but there’s no sign of her.

That terrible feeling grows, heavy and unshakable. He marches into the sheriff’s department, jaw set, not caring who sees the frantic look in his eyes.

He storms the file room, ripping through boxes. His hands tremble as he plucks out the file he’s searching for.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath, jaw tightening as the photo of Paloma’s mother stares back at him.

Now, he has a reason to panic.

He should have known when he first laid eyes on it. The familiarity of her features—her eyes, her hair, her smile; it was all too close to Paloma. Too close to ignore. But he had, all because his mind was completely elsewhere at the time. Now look where that got him.

It’s like a scene from a horror film, where everything snaps into place too late.

The recent victims; brunettes in their mid-twenties with similar features, similar backgrounds—they resembled her.

The staged chamber, the gore, the man who killed himself.

All of it was leading to this, tying up the gruesome mystery with a neat little bow, like a gift Javier wishes he could burn. They had been played—manipulated, distracted from seeing the bigger picture.

Whoever orchestrated this whole thing has been after his girl from the very beginning.

He fights the urge to smash his fist into the nearest wall, to tear down every shelf in the room in a fit of blind rage.

But what would that solve? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rage won’t lead him to her. Fear won’t undo what’s already been set in motion. All he can do is cling to hope, even if it’s slipping through his fingers.

The ultimate goal of this fucked-up cult—their twisted mission—is to birth the flesh reincarnate of their so-called, bullshit deity.

His blood runs cold at the thought of Paloma being used in some horrific ritual, being touched, violated, forced into madness.

He’s shaking, on the verge of a panic attack, his heart slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape. But he forces himself to breathe—slow, deep, steady breaths, locking the perturbation away. 

Javier puts out an APB, his voice tight as he details her car, her appearance. Every word feels surreal, like it’s not really him saying it, like he’s watching someone else’s nightmare play out.

Romeo’s going to hear this, and he’s going to have to explain how they missed all the signs, how Paloma has been in danger this whole time.

The weight of it presses down on him like a thousand pounds of guilt.

Gathering what he needs and delegating some of the overnight officers at the station, he frantically drives to the Leighton house.

He’s already chain-smoked half a pack. That nasty habit he’s been trying to shake is clinging to him. The file in his hands feels too light for the bomb he’s about to drop.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this? How do you tell someone their wife’s past is tangled in a nightmare, and that their daughter—a woman they both love—is at the heart of it? How do you stay composed when you’re barely holding yourself together?

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

Javier’s barely set foot out of his truck when Romeo’s fists twist in his shirt, shoving him hard against the vehicle.

The impact rattles through him, but all he can see is the wild, desperate look in the sheriff’s eyes—a terror that matches his own but runs even deeper, cutting into every line on his face.

“Romeo, listen to me!” Javier’s voice is authoritative, that familiar guarded wall of stoicism building as his trademark defense mechanism to the absolute anxiety that’s gnawing away at his body. “This is gonna be hard to hear—I’m barely making sense of it myself—but I need you to listen if we’re going to figure this shit out.”

Romeo’s grip tightens, then slowly loosens, and Javier seizes the moment, shoving the older man back, no longer giving a fuck about keeping the peace.

He yanks the folded photo from his jacket pocket and holds it up, letting him get a clear look. “Tell me. Is this Paloma’s mother?”

Romeo’s gaze flits to the photograph, and the recognition that floods his face is immediate.

His fingers snatch the photo from Javier, and his expression cracks, aging him in just a matter of seconds. “Where did you get this?” His voice is barely a whisper, “What the fuck is going on?”

Javier’s own dread deepens. “From the old files,” he says, voice hollow. “The ones from the original group. She’s connected to all of this. They both are.”

He takes a breath, then begins to explain everything he knows. He lays it out, bit by bit—the tangled web of what Paloma had uncovered, the twisted threads that pointed to this cult, the fake leads that had kept them chasing shadows. Every word feels like glass in his throat.

Confusion, fear, anger—every emotion etched on Romeo’s face makes Javier feel like he’s the one who has failed. 

“Did you know about any of this?” he asks, though he already knows the answer from the lost look in Romeo’s eyes.

His mouth opens, then closes. He seems to gather himself, shoulders dropping under a weight he’s only just begun to grasp. “None. When I met Abby… she was just a woman startin’ over. She’d moved into a small house near the church. Said her parents had passed and she needed a fresh start. Picked a random town—that’s how she ended up here.” The sheriff’s gaze drifts to a place Javier can’t reach, caught in the bittersweet memory of his late wife. 

“Paloma said she found this out by going through her mom’s things,” he says carefully, each word a stone dropping into his gut. “But I don’t think she was telling me everything.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy and loaded as they lock eyes in an unspoken understanding.

They need answers, and every second they waste is another second Paloma could be slipping further away.

“Before we make accusations,” Javier says, forcing himself to stay grounded, “we need to dig through their belongings. There has to be something there—a lead, a hint—something that’ll tell us who’s behind this.”

“But you already know who it is, don’t you?”

Javier’s eyes darken, and his jaw locks as one name barrels into his mind, clear and hateful: August.

The red flags he had dismissed, convinced they were just a byproduct of his hate for the guy, now stand out like beacons.

He meets Romeo’s gaze, a grim certainty settling into his features. “I believe it’s Augustus Dixon and his group.”

Romeo’s face twists with anger, and he grits out, “Motherfucker—” His fists clench, his whole body radiating fury.

“Be pissed off later. We’ve got a job to do.”

They stalk up the stairs, both men moving with purpose—Romeo heads for his wife’s things while Javier makes his way into Paloma’s room.

It feels surreal, even wrong, to be rummaging through her life like this. The last time he’d been in this position, it was in Jessica’s room, and even then he could see the resemblance her space shared with Paloma’s—but he’d never thought he’d be here, seeing his girl as a victim.

His fingers skim over a leather-bound book tucked away on the top shelf in her closet, hidden behind a jewelry box. It’s as if she’d placed it there purposefully, stowed away out of reach.

When he pulls it down, he realizes it’s a scrapbook brimming with photographs and clippings.

Inside, he finds images of Calmana, surrounded by groups of men and women, all dressed in matching, traditional attire. A towering cathedral looms in the background, religious iconography scattered throughout—symbols he now recognizes from his research.

Maps, faded with time, span several pages, and in the center lies an intricate, sprawling family tree with Paloma’s name written at the bottom.

He spots envelopes tucked between the pages, each one addressed to her in cursive hand.

He calls out for Romeo, and the sheriff is by his side almost instantly, his expression a twisted mix of hope and dread.

“What’d you find?” 

Javier silently hands him the scrapbook, keeping the envelopes for himself. 

One by one, he opens them, unfolding each paper. His breaths come out ragged, and he feels his stomach drop as he reads.

They’re love poems—explicit, filthy in their adoration. Line after line, they detail all the things August wants to do to her, each word penned with obsession.

The praises he lavishes on her, how he calls her a spectacle, the power he insists she wields—it’s like poison seeping into Javier’s mind. 

His hands start trembling, and the implications tighten around him like a noose.

Romeo, sensing his agitation, reaches out, his voice rough. “What’s that—what did you find?” 

Javier jerks the papers away, swallowing hard. “Trust me. You don’t want to see these—not now.”

“Let me see them, Javier! Goddammit, my daughter is in danger!”

Before their back-and-forth can spiral any further, Javier’s walkie talkie crackles sharply, an officer’s voice coming through:

“A dark green, 1970 Buick Electra matching the APB put out an hour ago has been found in Lake Fraiser alongside an unidentified female body.”

The air thickens and shatters as Javier and Romeo lock eyes, both of them wearing the same look of wide-eyed horror. 

“Romeo—” Javier tries, reaching out, but the man is already out the door, the scrapbook falling from his hands and hitting the hardwood floor with a hollow thud that reverberates in Javier’s chest.

He mutters a quick fuck and scoops it up, rushing after him, yet the sheriff is a blur, tearing down the driveway with the kind of desperation only a father can muster when everything he loves is on the line.

Now that he’s left alone, Javier grips the railing, and the weight of it all—of losing her—comes crashing down. His heart’s splintering, his chest tight, mind skidding out of control.

This is what he’s been running from all along—failure… loss… grief. Now it is all coming back, circling like vultures, ready to take the one thing that’s ever brought him true happiness.

But he forces himself to breathe, to anchor his mind to the one cold comfort he has left. “He wouldn’t kill her. He needs her.” The words taste bitter, chilling him, but they hold him steady.

Paloma is at the center of this plan—there’d be no sense in taking her, just to end it so abruptly.

Despite everything, he finds a sliver of reassurance in that cruel logic. He clings to it with everything he has, because right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Javier pulls up to Lake Fraiser, where the scene is a flurry of first responders, flashing lights reflecting off the water’s dark surface in sharp reds and blues.

He parks haphazardly, barely cutting the engine before he’s out of the truck, heading straight toward the area cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape.

His heart slams against his ribs as he spots Romeo, kneeling by the edge of the lake beside a body draped in a white cloth, his face blank, almost empty.

Javier’s eyes dart to the surrounding officers, scanning each one, trying to get a read on the situation before he speaks.

“Is it her?” His voice breaks the stillness.

Romeo doesn’t look up, his gaze locked on the covered body. “…No.”

Relief floods through him, dizzying him for a moment before his gaze lands on a tow truck pulling Paloma’s car away from the scene. 

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to swallow back the bitter uncertainty rising in his throat.

Romeo stands slowly, brushing the dirt off his hands, his expression hardening as he relays, “Just got a call from the hospital. Our girl from the woods finally woke up. Tonight of all nights.” He chuckles dryly. “Asked to speak with me specifically. So I’ll head that way tomorrow after she’s been stabilized properly… which means you’ll be in charge of all this.” He gestures around them vaguely.

The pulsing emergency lights cast fractured shadows over their faces.

“It’s best for you to step back momentarily. Clear your head. You’re too close to this,” Javier adds quietly, “She’s your daughter.” And while Javier is her lover and every inch of him is fraying at the edges for her, he understands that his pain won’t amount to the agony that Romeo is drowning in.

The sheriff’s silence stretches, words hesitating on his tongue, until finally, with a quiet confession, he murmurs, “I was too harsh on her. On you. I was an asshole, and if it’s any reconciliation—thank you for tryin’ to get her out of this shitty town.”

Javier’s caught off-guard but doesn’t show it, the self awareness on his behalf is appreciated. “I’d do anything for her.”

Romeo studies him for a moment, as if measuring the resolve behind his words, then he nods, his expression taut, “Gonna start combing through everythin’ back at the station. Probably call Olsen, see if he’s got any cameras ‘round the library so we can get a timeline goin’.”

These two men are similar in that regard, backing themselves into their jobs to mask the turmoil inside. They talk through some of the procedures before Romeo is pulled away by other officers, leaving Javier to handle things here.

He forces himself to switch gears, to summon every bit of authority he has left to do his job. He’s got a dead body to assess, a team to command, and then—then he’ll focus everything he’s got on finding Paloma.

Paloma stirs awake, the pitch darkness of the early morning pressing in from all sides.

She’s disoriented—a dull ache in her head and the sting of thick, abrasive rope biting into her wrists.

Her hands are suspended and bound above her, tethered tightly to an old, rusted pipe overhead, which creaks slightly as she shifts her weight.

She can feel the grit of dried blood matting her hair against her temple, the aftershock of Sloane’s vicious hit with the bat ringing sharp behind her eyes. Her boots are missing, leaving her barefoot against the cool concrete ground.

As reality sharpens around her, she realizes this isn’t a dream and it nauseates her, instilling panic in her heart.

She barely remembers the car ride or the way they dragged her down here, everything muddled from the hit she’d taken until she’d finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Now, the throbbing intensifies as she tugs instinctively at the ropes, her wrists burning, but no amount of pulling loosens her bonds.

Frustration and terror mix, unwieldy coiling in her chest and tears sting at her eyes despite her attempts to fight them back. She doesn’t want to imagine what they plan to do to her.

She knows Javier and her father have to be looking for her. They must be tearing themselves apart with worry. She can almost hear her father’s harsh reprimands and Javier’s quiet, determined rage—they’re relentless when it comes to protecting her. 

They’ll find her. They have to.

The cellar door creaks open and she freezes, her pulse skittering as August, Sloane, and Gabriel descend the stairs.

The dim light barely touches their faces, but she doesn’t need to see them clearly to know what they’re capable of.

She tries to hold her head high, pushing back the tears, refusing to let them see the fear that’s boiling inside. She won’t give them that satisfaction, not if she can help it.

Their footsteps echo against the walls of the basement. August stops just close enough that she can feel his presence invading her senses, suffocating, his familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, P,” he drawls, voice dripping with the charm that managed to slither its way into her heart.

What she once found magnetic in him is now hollow, a mask that hides something so unfathomable. 

“Pretty nasty cut ya got there.” Sloane’s voice drips with fake sympathy. Her eyes glint with that special brand of cruelty she’d always kept hidden behind a guise of friendship.

The satisfaction in her tone is unmistakable, like she’s savoring every moment of seeing Paloma in such a vulnerable state.

The urge to spit in their faces, to lash out, is almost unbearable, but she remembers her daddy’s lessons, advising her to stay calm, to never let them know how afraid she really is.

Every word of advice he’d ever given her about self-preservation hangs heavy in her mind. 

She keeps her face blank, her mouth a hard line.

“Silent treatment, huh?” August steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers are inches from her forehead when she sees the sick satisfaction in his eyes, and she can’t suppress the involuntary grimace as his fingers hover over the gash near her forehead.

The moment of weakness feels like a win for him, his smile widening as he grazes her wound, pressing just enough to send a wave of pain radiating through her skull and a fresh stream of blood to trickle out.

Sloane watches her reaction, faux innocence weaving through her sneer. “You make for a pretty damn good damsel in distress. Thought you’d put up more of a fight, if I’m bein’ honest. You really disappointed me, doll face.”

Paloma’s grip tightens around the rope until her knuckles ache. She wants to tell her off, to fight and scream—but instead she just turns away, refusing to even look at them.

August’s hand cups her chin as he forces her to meet his eyes, eyes that once held promises of affection and loyalty now filled with something so dark and consuming.

His fingers dig into her soft skin. “I need you to look perfect, little dove. All stitched up and pretty.” His thumb trails along her chapped bottom lip. “Gabriel,” he calls, not even glancing back at the other man, “Tend to that. Tonight’s a big night, after all. Lots to prepare for.”

There goes that trepidation again. Her mouth twitches, half-ready to break her silence and demand to know just what the hell he’s talking about. But she’s already committed to keeping quiet.

Gabriel lingers behind them, shifting uncomfortably, the first aid kit clutched tight in his hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as usual, eyes flicking from Paloma to his partners, some part of him clearly unsettled yet too cowardly to intervene.

He’s her best shot of getting out of here, she just knows it.

“‘S’okay, you ain’t gotta talk,” August’s coos. “I actually prefer you like this—makes things a hell of a lot easier. The others…” He snorts, shaking his head.

How many other unfortunate women had been dragged down here, suffering at his hands?

“Too squirmy, too squeamish—like fuckin’ pigs.” His laughter is mirthless and Sloane joins in with loud, exaggerated snorts that mimic a pig’s squeal. The sound claws at Paloma’s ears.

There’s this twisted admiration in his stare as he studies her. “That’s why I knew I needed to have you. No one else on this planet holds a candle to the magic you have, Paloma. You should stop bein’ so scared and embrace it.” He murmurs, dropping his voice to a whisper.

His hand snakes down from her jaw, tracing her neck, lingering in an unsettling crawl between her breasts before settling at her hip.

His fingers dig in, and she flinches, her body stiffening in revulsion. He smirks at her reaction, savoring her discomfort like a fine wine.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, alright?” His tone is falsely tender. "Gotta make sure everythin’ is perfect. Can’t afford any fuck ups now—I’ve been way too patient for this."

He steps back at last, allowing Gabriel to shuffle forward with the kit in hand.

With a jerk of his chin, August motions for Sloane to follow him. She blows Paloma a mocking kiss and winks with a saccharine sweetness that really piles on the hatred that burns a little hotter for her specifically.

The heavy cellar door slams shut, casting them back into dim silence as the first pale light of dawn begins to creep through the basement windows.

Paloma’s heart pounds as their shadows disappear, leaving her helpless in the creeping morning light.

“What are you goin’ to do to me?” Her voice is hoarse, each word scraping her dry throat like sandpaper, but she can’t keep quiet now that they’re alone.

Gabriel wordlessly drags over a stool, placing the first-aid kit on top. He opens it, sorting through supplies as though she isn’t even there.

Paloma yanks at her restraints, the old pipe groaning in protest. “Fuckin’ say somethin’,” she snaps, anger edging her desperation. “It’s the least you could do—just… tell me.” She hates the pleading tone that slips through, the last thread of her control unraveling as she imagines what fate awaits her.

His gloved hands move to clean her wound, and she clenches her jaw against the sting, glaring at him as if she could force him to talk through sheer will. He’s careful and practiced, clearly having done this before.

“The Crimson Rite,” he mutters, brows furrowing as he concentrates, his voice a barely audible murmur. “It’s where the conception will happen… on the altar of incarnation.”

Paloma’s heart stumbles, her mind racing to piece together the fragments. “What the fuck are you even sayin’?” Her voice wavers, but there’s no denying the chill in her spine.

She knows what those words mean on their own, but together, they paint a picture she’d rather not face—the harrowing reality of how August truly plans on using her.

“August’ll explain,” he replies, brushing her off with the indifference of a man following orders. “He’s better at that shit than I am. I just do what he asks and stay outta the way.”

“Like a fuckin’ coward,” she spits.

The needle pauses, its sharp tip hovering an inch from her skin, and he raises his eyes. “You get all lippy with me, but keep your mouth shut around them? What, I ain’t intimidatin’ enough for you?” 

She holds his gaze, defiance simmering behind the exhaustion in her stare. “Nothing about you’s intimidatin’ enough to keep me from tellin’ you exactly what I think.”

His lips twist downward, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he resumes stitching, each tug at her skin rougher than the last. 

“At church that day, you were warnin’ me, weren’t you?” Her voice is barely a whisper, the memory of that awkward conversation rattling in her mind. “S’not too late, Gabe. You can still help me outta this… We both can be outta here ‘fore the sun comes up.”

There’s a lapse, just for a second, in his eyes—something she wants to believe is regret, a part of him she hopes she can reach.

The sliver of optimism she’s mustered might awaken that dormant part of him buried under layers of August’s bullshit and the bitterness life has forced him to swallow.

But he shakes his head slowly, avoiding her gaze as he finishes stitching her wound, his hands deft. “You don’t get it. Don’t matter if I do the right thing. He’d find us—he always does.” He sprays her wound with a numbing mist then covers it with a small gauze.

“He wouldn’t find us,” she insists, her voice fraying. “Daddy would protect us. He’d make sure we’re safe.”

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? He promise you that or somethin’? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, you don’t look all that safe.”

A bitter, frustrated cry escapes her as he begins to pack up his kit, her pleas bouncing off him like stones against steel.

“Please, Gabe, don’t leave me down here alone,” she chokes out, and the words twist something deep inside her, pulling her further into a desperation she’s been trying to keep at bay.

“Breakfast’ll be down in a few hours,” he mutters, almost as if talking to himself, keeping his voice low and detached. “Probably get you a shower at sundown so you ain’t all sweaty and grimy. Needs you all fuckin’ pristine.” The last words slip out like a hiss, a disgusted edge in his tone. “S’gonna be a long day for you down here. Scream all you want; ain’t nobody around worth a damn to hear it. You got a better shot at rubbin’ the skin off your wrists than gettin’ out of that rope.”

Paloma snaps, her control breaking in a flood of panic and fury as she yanks at her restraint, her wrists burning as she curses him, calling him every name her mind can summon.

The words pour out in a desperate torrent, trying to cut him, to provoke something human out of him, anything.

But he stays silent, barely flinching, his face a mask as he gathers his things, turning his back on her without a word. 

When the cellar door finally slams shut, it echoes through the basement, and her last shreds of resolve crumble as she sinks into sobs.

The thoughts come in fragments, jagged and bitter, cutting her deeper than any wound.

The way things were left with her father—how they’d argued and he looked at her with that final, dismissive silence, like she’d become a stranger for daring to chase her own life beyond their town.

The love that took root so unexpectedly, so completely with Javier. He came into her life at the perfect time, pouring a rare, tender kind of intimacy into her soul; the kind that made her feel seen for the first time in her life.

He was a good man who’d endured his own share of hardships —and she let their last conversation end in anger and frustration. She’s just like her father.

Perhaps if she had told him the full truth about how she came across her mother’s past, she wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

This mess—it’s her inheritance. Not a blessing like August wants her to believe, but a curse Calmana left behind, the forced sins of her mother she didn’t choose but can’t escape.

Her suicide is starting to make more sense.

It all makes her feel like a lamb at slaughter, her life never really hers, and now her blood and body are an offering to feed whatever he believes she’s meant to bring to life. 

The promise of an explanation later on hangs over her like a guillotine. Does she even want to know? Will it make a difference?

She got herself kidnapped by trusting them all, falling for August’s romantic words and impressive knowledge. All of his lies. She’d thought she was smart enough to see through him, to keep a grip on her own heart, and instead, she’d unknowingly let him manipulate her.

Sloane was right—she is the helpless damsel she always denied being, someone who hadn’t fought hard enough to save herself. 

Paloma has to believe she’s got people searching for her, that they’re smart enough, relentless enough to find her before night falls. She has to cling to that hope, however fragile, because right now it’s all she has.

Her cries fill the empty space around her until exhaustion claims her in silence.

The basement is her prison as the sun traces its lazy arc above.

The day drags on in a haze of stale air and the natural sounds of bugs chittering about. On occasion, she’ll hear people walk by or see their shadows through the small windows.

She's trapped here, the only visits marking the hours coming when Gabriel brings a bucket for her to relieve herself—like she’s some kind of animal—or sets down a tray of food she refuses to touch.

“You need to eat,” he says, setting the tray with her dinner on the floor. His hands working on cutting the thick rope binding her wrists, each tug and scrape freeing her a fraction at a time.

“What’s the point? M’gonna die anyway,” she mutters, exhausted but still pissed. “Won’t matter if I’ve got a full stomach or not.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not goin’ to die, Paloma. You’re too important to all this. How haven’t you realized that yet?”

“Oh, forgive me if I haven’t picked up on all your twisted bullshit,” she snaps. “You all speak in fuckin’ tongues and riddles. No one’s told me a damn thing that makes any sense.”

At last, the final fiber of rope snaps, and the weight drops from her wrists. She lets out a low, relieved sigh as her arms fall to her sides, stiff from the hours of suspension.

The ache in her shoulders is intense, and her wrists are lined with red from the coarse bondage.

“Don’t try anythin’ stupid,” he warns, his voice low. “They might not kill ya but they’ll hurt you in ways that’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She doesn’t doubt it, so she reins in her impulses and instead glances at the food, the bitterness slowly giving way to resignation.

If the chance to escape comes, she’ll need her strength. She takes the cup, drinking greedily, barely noticing the water spilling down her chin—it’s just a relief to feel the dryness ease, something grounding in a nightmare that feels endless.

The meal tastes dull, but she swallows it down anyway, each bite a fight to hold onto her sense of self, to stay sharp.

Gabriel watches her with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“I tried leavin’ years ago, when August first started buildin’ the group.” He looks down, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “But he caught me at the train station. Gave me the ass-beatin’ of my life. Locked me up in a shed in the middle of the woods for days, left me there until I learned my lesson. I swear, I lost every bit of myself in that dark place.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “After that, I never thought ‘bout leavin’ again... not until he got his sights set on you.”

Paloma’s chewing slows, her eyes flitting over to him, reading the conflict etched in his expression.

For August to treat Gabriel, his so-called “brother,” with such brutality to keep him in line... it makes all too much sense now, why he is August’s silent shadow, obeying every command.

“His obsession with you is different. Everythin’ suddenly became different. He has this way of makin’ you submit to him that gets me wonderin’ if all this Eurynomos shit is actually real.”

The twisted loyalty, the deep-seated fear that’s tangled around them like shackles, intertwined with stories of divinity.

She’s barely scratched the surface of what August is capable of.

“That’s terrible,” she whispers, sympathetic to what he’s been through. “I’m sorry... ‘n I get why you’re scared, but there’s two of us now. We could make a run for it, slip away while we have the chance.”

Her food is forgotten as Paloma edges closer, her gaze steady and imploring. For a moment, he genuinely considers their escape.

But the heavy, thunderous creak of the cellar doors breaks through the moment, both of them jerking apart.

She scrambles backward until her back presses against the cold, damp wall, her heartbeat racing as Gabriel stands abruptly from his stool, his face hardening again. 

It’s only August this time, his usual shadow—Sloane with her biting sneers—thankfully absent.

He strides down with a bag in one hand and shower supplies in the other, eyeing her like she’s some prized possession he’s been itching to inspect. 

“Unrestrained, ate her dinner, and didn’t even try to run? My, my. Little dove, you’re such a good girl.” He passes the items to Gabriel as he steps closer, and she hates the way she’s wedged in a corner, wishing she could melt into the wall or skitter away like a mouse.

He crouches, gently moving the gauze out of the way, his sharp gaze examining the stitches worked into her head wound. “S’lookin’ better already. Now, let’s get you a shower. I can smell you from here, and, sweetheart, it’s not exactly appealin’.”

“Fuck you.”

He smirks, the cruel curve of his lips almost congratulatory. “There she is. Glad to see that fire hasn’t died just yet, my love.”

With a vice-like grip, his hand latches onto her arm, dragging her up to her feet and across the basement to a sad excuse for a shower—no curtain, nothing remotely resembling privacy, just exposed plumbing and mildewed tile. He shoves her into the cramped space, gesturing at her with a command that chills her: “Strip.”

Her stomach tightens, and she squares her jaw. “Turn around.”

A laugh bursts from him, sharp and mocking. “You think you’re in any position to make demands? You may be special, darlin’, but that don’t mean you’re runnin’ shit. Now strip, or I’ll tie you up and rip that little outfit off myself.”

She grits her teeth, fists clenched. “No.”

His smile vanishes, replaced by a darker, crueler expression.

In a flash, his hand is around her throat, shoving her harshly against the slimy tile, the back of her head meeting the hard surface making her cry out in pain.

Her breath snags as his grip tightens around her neck, the cool press of a switchblade grazing the scar on her hip, making her pulse hammer in her ears. “Don’t push me,” he growls, the blade’s edge nicking her skin just enough to sting. He knows exactly where she’s sensitive, and he revels in her flinch. “I’ve told you—I don’t like hurtin’ you, but I will if I have to. Strip. Now.”

He releases her, the air rushing back into her lungs, making her cough.

Her hands tremble as she peels away her clothes, starting with the long, flowing skirt that puddles around her ankles, leaving her in just her underwear and camisole.

August’s eyes rake over her, and his silent demand pulls at her last nerve.

She swallows back her tears, fingers shaking as she slides the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor and then stepping out of her underwear, kicking the pile aside.

Now entirely naked, her arms wrap protectively around herself to shield what she can. She looks away, the sting of indignity making her skin crawl, willing herself not to cry.

August steps forward, adjusting the shower’s dial, and the pipes clank and groan as water finally bursts out of the rusted shower head, icy at first. She shivers, her teeth clattering, and only once the water turns warm does the chill ease up.

A snap of his fingers brings Gabriel closer, setting the shower supplies within reach. August then places them at her feet, his mocking gaze never leaving her as he drags a worn wooden chair up, seating himself like a perverse audience settling in for a show. 

Paloma doesn’t move, clinging harder to her body, her nails digging into her own skin, praying he’ll lose interest and turn away. But he just smirks. “Don’t be shy, P. Not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” His tongue drags over his lips, blue eyes glittering darkly, drinking in her discomfort.

She would rather die where she stands than have him touch her, lingering his hands over her body like a wolf savoring his meal. Slowly, reluctantly, her arms fall to her sides, shoulders curling inward, as she begins to wash herself.

The hot tears mix with the water streaming down her cheeks, each drop hiding the sobs she’s swallowing.

August’s stare trails over her figure, his smirk deepening every time she flinches under the weight of it.

He doesn’t hide his hunger, watching her every movement—the rise and fall of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the sway of her shoulders as she soaps herself in silence.

Gabriel’s eyes stay firmly on his boots, shame evident in his posture. 

Finally, she shuts off the water, chest heaving as she swallows down the humiliation, covering herself again and feeling his satisfaction lingering in the room like a toxic cloud.

A towel lands at her feet, and she grabs it, pulling it around her trembling frame, feeling like her skin might crawl right off her bones. 

“Got this dress made just for you,” August says casually, standing then pulling out a white dress and red flats from a worn bag. He tosses them onto the chair he’d just been sitting in, not making any effort to move or look away, and she swallows back the lump in her throat.

She’s barely holding herself together, her fingers fumbling with the towel as she dries off, eyes darting between the two men.

One won’t meet her gaze, too timorous, and the other stares at her with lecherous eyes.

She slips on the dress, it’s something she would’ve picked for herself under different circumstances; calf-length, delicate ladder lace along the trim, cap sleeves, and three charmeuse red ribbons that match the shoes.

But the beauty of it feels like a cruel mockery against the ugliness of this moment. 

“You look so beautiful,” August purrs, “Get a good look at yourself.” 

She’s forced in front of an antique mirror, the glass warped and cracked, but she can still make out her reflection. 

The dark circles beneath her eyes, bruised skin, the way her hair clings to her damp skin, the faded pallor of her face against her outfit—she looks like a ghost.

His hand slides to her shoulder, pushing her hair aside as he leans in, trailing his nose against her skin and inhaling deeply. “You smell like summertime.” He presses his lips to her neck, and bile rises in her throat.

Then, he pulls back, her mother’s cross pendant in hand, fastening it around her neck with a satisfied smile.

Her heart clenches once she sees it. She’d left that at Javier’s, tucked away safely with all the other things she moved out of her childhood home in preparation for their big trip.

The thought of August being in his space, doing God knows what, gets her alarmed. “What did you do to him?”

August looks momentarily confused by her query, but then his smirk grows as he eyes the pendent and sees that look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your precious narc. He ain’t been home all day. He’s out there, sniffin’ around for you like a lost dog. Thought about killin’ him, but… I think he’d suffer more thinkin’ he failed you. Just another life he couldn’t save, huh?”

The words press against those bruising, sore spots on her heart. She scowls, throwing back as much defiance as she can muster. “You wouldn’t get close enough to try.” Her voice trembles, but she knows Javier and what he’s capable of. 

He just shrugs, the malicious glint in his eyes unwavering. “Maybe not. But Sloane?” He grins, knowing how even mentioning her gets under Paloma’s skin. “Now, I think she could.”

He doesn’t give her time to respond, moving to bind her hands again, this time in smooth silk restraints that feel uncharacteristically gentle against her wrists.

Time moves in slow motion, she becomes unresponsive, like a melancholic statue, as he brushes her hair, fussing over her appearance as if she were some doll, changing the gauze over her stitches.

Her hope of getting out of this has diminished. Gabriel won’t help her and August has run the two men competent enough to figure this out in circles, so tangled up in deceit to find her.

The evening melts into night, shadows deepening when he finally leaves, just to return moments later with a steaming cup of tea that smells rancid and earthy, like decay.

“Drink up.”

She shakes her head, refusing it, but he pries her mouth open, forcing her to swallow the scalding liquid. It’s bitter and burns her throat, her tongue singed as she swallows unwillingly. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad,” he taunts her, wiping away some of the remnants that spilled from the corner of her mouth.

The effect is immediate; her mind hazes, thoughts swirling, until her body feels sluggish, as if it is no longer tethered to her.

Just as her vision starts to fade, a red, body-length veil is draped over her, the fabric casting her world into blood-hued darkness.

“I need to see it again.” 

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose at Romeo’s request, fingers then pressing hard against his closed eyes as the footage gets rewound. 

It’s the only evidence they have—a single security camera capturing what transpired. The grainy video shows her crossing the street, pausing, and then August and his accomplices stepping into view. She runs, disappearing off-camera for what feels like a lifetime, before being dragged back and shoved into the bed of the truck.

Each time Javier watches, another shard of him breaks away.

Romeo shifts beside him, watching the screen with unrelenting focus. He’s insistent, searching for anything, some small clue to pinpoint where they went.

Javier, though, is at his limit, fighting the urge to hurl the screen across the room.

“Romeo,” he begins, a little strained, “we’re not going to find anything new here.”

“We missed shit before. Can’t afford to miss anythin’ now.”

They’d spent the whole damn day combing through the trio’s hometown, hoping for any piece of intel, some breadcrumb that would lead them to the group’s hideout.

The search had been maddeningly fruitless. Fayette’s local authorities helped spread the word, but there was nothing, no tracks, no whispers, no real leads to follow.

Every registered address tied to the three was a dead end. Their only childhood homes, a trailer park, had burned down over a decade ago, leaving no trace, no history to sift through.

Everyone close to them—parents, guardians—were either dead, in prison, or admitted. The few family members with any sense had cut ties long ago.

“They were hellraisers,” the retired sheriff had muttered. That’s all the town could say, the simple acknowledgment that the trio had always left destruction in their wake.

The only useful piece of information they dug up was that August had left his job at a local grocery store to work for some woman, an outsider no one really knew.

She’d shown up, taken August with her, and he’d returned a few years later with a more hardened resolve, recruiting Sloane and Gabriel.

After torching some local acreage and serving time for arson, they’d vanished from Fayette until the recent spree of murders started.

“He’s been planning this for a long time, Romeo. They knew how to hide; they’ve done this before.” Javier mutters, frustration simmering in his tone.

They’d tried running a partial plate of the truck, only to come up short once again.

Javier moves near the blinds, unable to keep watching her kidnapping, glimpsing the sea of people that make up their search parties gathered in their too small department.

The faces blur together, civilians and first responders alike, all waiting for direction.

“It’s probably best if you go to the hospital and get Harper’s statement. She’s cleared to talk, right?” 

Romeo takes a beat longer to respond, clearly grappling with his own anguish. “Yeah. Got the official call ‘bout ten minutes ago.” 

“If anyone’s got something to give us that can break this open, it’s her.”

The room is quiet except for the low murmur of voices spilling in. The tape finally ends and Romeo’s gaze falls to the corner of his desk, where a lone photo of Paloma sits; she’s grinning with his cowboy hat perched high on her head, radiating joy.

He stares at it like he’s trying to draw strength from that moment, then he slowly picks it up, pressing his lips together in thought, handing it over to Javier.

“Here. This is the one I used for the flyers.”

Javier swallows hard, taking it, his thumb grazing over the image, his own heart sinking. This is the Paloma he can’t let slip through his fingers, the one who belongs right here, laughing and safe. Not wherever she was now. 

Romeo’s tone holds firm determination. “Do what you gotta do. For her. You understand me?”

Javier just nods, no words left to offer in the face of everything unsaid.

The sheriff lets out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that speaks of too many hours awake, too many close calls, too many second chances lost to bad luck or timing or whatever fate is left to them.

He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders, steeling his expression as he leaves the office, moving through the throng that instantly swells around him.

They close in with questions, worry, and hope—all of it colliding in one tense space.

Seeing them converge on Romeo, Javier takes a steadying breath and steps out right behind him, his presence commanding even in his silence.

He straightens, letting the authority in his stance speak for him, his gaze hard as he begins relaying their plan with swift, unyielding precision.

The world tilts and sways as Paloma returns to half-consciousness, vision still muddled from the drugged tea that has her head feeling like it’s filled with lead and limbs sluggish.

She’s seated upright in an ornate, over-decorated chair with her hands still bound in front of her. She tries to blink away the fog clouding her mind, but the red veil over her face continues to shroud her vision.

Her stitched wound throbs faintly, then suddenly, she’s being lifted and carried by four indistinct figures.

The swaying motion makes her sick, but she’s too weak to cry out, her voice nothing more than a ghost lodged in her throat.

She starts to feel the dampness of the humid Texas night pressing into her skin, the scent of flowers floating in the air, sickly sweet as it mixes with the distant smell of incense.

She’s paraded down a candlelit path where kneeling figures line the walkway, bowing in silent reverence. The sound of murmuring voices hums around her like a distant, dreadful lullaby. 

Finally, the procession stops, and her chair is lowered to the ground.

Her surroundings feel unreal, like a fever dream she’s trapped inside. A dark shadow moves in front of her, reaching to pull her to her feet. She tries to make out their face, but it’s just a dark, hollow blur.

Her legs tremble as she takes a few shaky steps, guided by an iron grip that steers her from the soft earth to a hard surface. Somewhere to her right, she hears a voice—August's—so sharp that it almost makes her ears bleed.

“We have to capture this moment.”

Paloma’s body is positioned, hands adjusting her like she’s an ornament rather than a person. She can barely keep her knees from buckling, her body swaying as they try to hold her up.

Her mind is a mess, every thought tangled, every movement slow, as if she’s moving underwater.

She falls, just as she hears the flash of a camera, her legs finally giving way, but hands grip her before she hits the ground, lifting her, steadying her as her head lolls to the side.

Then, in one swift motion, the veil lifted from her face.

August stands there, close enough that she can see every cold line in his face, conforming into possessive delight. 

He’s dressed to match her, red bows on his collared shirt, the same lace design on his pants.

Her skin crawls as his fingers trace the side of her face, his voice a leering purr. “My special little dove.”

He pulls her close, spinning her so that she faces their creation in her honor. The white marble gleams in the halo of the candlelight, surrounded by a sea of blood-red spider lilies, their spindly petals stretching out like claws.

Candles of every size and shape cast their shadows over the altar, illuminating the intricate carving of their emblem, miniatures and other offerings strewn about.

“All for you,” his lips brush against her ear.

The hands surrounding her are unyielding as she’s lifted and maneuvered onto the cold slab, the hard surface unforgiving beneath her back.

Her wrists are freed only to be tied again, the silk binding each one to a small stone pillar at each side.

Her ankles follow, strapped to the pillars near the end of the altar, legs bent slightly and spread, leaving her trapped and exposed.

Her breath quickens, each ragged inhale catching in her throat as the reality of her fate crashes down with brutal clarity. The red veil is drawn back over her face.

Tears blur her sight, mixing with the snot and sweat as she starts to sob, desperate cries spilling from her lips, pleas tumbling out in a desperate stream that echo out into the vastness of the field.

“Please… please, let me go. You don’t have to do this, please.” Her words come out strangled and slurred but she’s ignored. She jerks against her restraints, each movement growing weaker as the drug saps her strength.

August stands before his followers, his voice low yet electrifying, every declaration steeped in reverence and simmering triumph. 

“For centuries, we have waited in the shadows, prayed in whispers, bound by oaths that our forebears swore. Those before us dreamed of this moment, yet they were weak, too fearful to claim what was rightfully theirs. We will not repeat their mistakes. The bloodline of the first, the birthing bloodline, flows through her veins, and she is ours. Eurynomos will have a body made of flesh and bone, a place in this realm, because of us.”

Paloma shakes her head side to side, desperate to block out August’s devious words. Just as a surge of strength flares within her, sharp fingers dig into her shoulders from behind, pressing her back down, anchoring her in place.

Through the haze of drowsiness, her blurred vision lands on Sloane, looming over her with a short, black veil shrouding her face. Beneath it, Paloma can make out an expression as evil as it is watchful.

“No more dreams. No more consuming or offering flesh that rots before dawn. Our devotion, our patience, has led us here. We are the last of our kind—the ones who bring forth the new age. Now is the time for fulfillment. Now is the time to step into the eternal night and bring our deity home.” 

His gaze sweeps over the bowed heads, the flicker of candlelight dancing in his eyes as his words coil around them like a vow.

Sloane relinquishes her hold, seemingly fading away.

He approaches her slowly, each step deliberate, his hand drifting up the length of her body. His fingers come to rest on her cheek, stroking gently, almost reverently.

August leans in, his nose brushing against hers, and without a word, he presses his lips to hers, a slow, possessive kiss over the sheer material of the veil.

She wants to pull away, to resist, but she’s trapped within herself, her will slipping as though he’s holding the reins to her very soul.

When he pulls away, his voice lowers to a rhythmic timbre, the words twisting together in an incantation she can’t understand.

Each syllable makes her sink further into delusion, the compromising position heightening her vulnerability. 

The weight of her own helplessness crushes her as she lies there.

Suddenly, the speaking stops. An unnatural silence blankets the moment, thieving sound until it’s just her shaky, pitiful cries. Even the cicadas quit their insistent chirping.

Paloma blinks, barely able to see through the veil, but she watches August step back until his figure is swallowed by the darkness beyond the altar. 

She shivers as a chill wind flows over her body, extinguishing the flames around her and plunging her into the night, save for the heavy, luminous moon hanging full and merciless above.

Two glowing eyes flicker into view at the far end of the clearing. They hover, eerie and inhuman, watching her with a predatory patience.

A twig snaps in the shadows. Her breath catches. Another snap, closer this time.

Blood rushes in her ears, but above the pounding, she hears something else—labored breaths, thick and wet, the sound too guttural to be human. 

Her body locks up and quivers as a shadow casts up to the very heavens, emerging from the backdrop of trees, its form towering and monstrous. It seems to stretch endlessly, merging with the dark sky above, as if it could reach out and seize the lunar sphere.

Paloma tries to scream, but her body is frozen, paralyzed in a state of unholy dread.

Her eyes widen, tears leaking silently, her throat closing tight as the figure moves forward.

The dark, hulking mass leans over her, and she feels something press down on her belly, then sharp claws caress her bare legs, creeping upwards, scratching at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Her chest tightens as if she’s having a heart attack, fright coursing through her like poison. She can’t breathe, feeling herself teeter on the edge of consciousness.

Black spots swallow her field of view as her eyes roll to the back of her head, and in that instant, she’s slipping away, her mind yanking her away from this horror, casting her into the darkness of her own making as she loses herself, the terror too great to bear.

[shyvien]

Here are 100 random quotes from Beelzebub!

Sourced from the OM! Wiki, chats, devilgram, screenshots I found, etc. I made this list to help with studying to write the characters in character. (Not really proofread, sorry if there are mistakes. Also, there may be spoilers. If so, they're minor spoilers)

✧༺⚜️༻✧

“You look tasty.”

“*sniff* *sniff* You smell good.”

“I'm fine. I'm sure it'll go away. It's nothing new. Whenever Belphie gets sad, I get sad, too. That's probably what's happening now.”

“ Sorry, that was a really strange question to ask, wasn't it? Forget I said anything.”

“Cool, this works.”

“Huh? This is an interesting feeling. I'm finding it hard to relax.”

“I'm hungry, but I feel like another part of me is full.”

“It looks like someone's having fun. I'm glad.”

“So. hungry... You look delicious.”

“That tickles.”

“You are what you eat. You know what that means, right?”

“You can touch me. I don't mind.”

“Yeah. Tie it nice and tight, okay?”

“Standing watch at the gates means being ready for anything. So, I'm going to do some combat training like this.”

“Oh, hey. Perfect timing. I was hoping you'd spar with me.”

“I want to poke his cheek, too…”

“..This feels..really close, huh?”

“It's all because of the custard.”

“That's the spirit! Nice form, MC.”

“Great! You did it, MC! Not many people get it on their first try. That was amazing.”

“The light's turning the sea orange. It's like waves of delicious orange juice are rolling onto the beach.”

“Can I hold your hand...?”

“I don't know... Either way, I'm heading to the kitchen.”

“…I take it this means we're heading for something much more intimate than just partners in crime… One thing's for sure, MC... You and I are going to be amazing together.”

“I want you to film me while working out. If my form's not right, I won't be able to work the right muscle groups the way I want to. It shouldn't be tough getting here. Just ask somebody out on the street for directions.”

“I'm not constantly eating all the time. I'm only constantly eating sometimes. There's a big difference.”

“It said that in the human world, lovers who don't kiss at least once a day are destined to break up. Is that true?”

“I'm glad you mentioned something besides how much I eat. Thanks.”

“But there's no way that I'lI ever forget what you did for me then. And if you or MC are ever in trouble, I'll be there for you. Next time, l'll be the one saving you.”

“I'II protect you if something happens. Don't worry.”

“If that will make you smile… Heh, good. You smiled. I want to see your smile more. I would do anything if it means I get to see you smile like that.”

“Were you lonely? Don't be mad.”

“My face feels like it's on fire. I hope I can cool down before we get to class.”

“I’m going to take you as my hostage, MC. I don't want the Fallen Angel's Tear anymore. I've decided to rob you of MC here instead.”

“Take care, MC. We'll meet again...before my stomach growls.”

“Could I nibble on you just a bit? Just a taste.”

“What's that? Some sort of dessert?”

“The more I think about it, the more I start drooling.”

“The cookies I was saving in my pocket for later... All that's left are crumbs.”

“That explosion sent whipped cream flying everywhere. It's all over you too, MC. You're covered in it from head to toe. ...Which actually makes you look even more delicious than you did before. I was trying so hard to resist the urge to nibble. But now that I see you standing in front of me covered in delicious whipped cream, I... I…”

“It's just too much to handle! First things first, we've got to do something about all of the whipped cream you've got on you. Otherwise there's no telling when I might lose control and just...”

“Your lips? MC, it almost sounds like you want me to give in to these urges... Still, your lips look so soft... How can I say no? ..See? I knew it. They are soft. And sweet. It makes it really hard to stop. It's like...I can't get enough of you…”

“…Sorry. I was trying to stop you from falling…but we both ended up falling.”

“Are you comforting me..with a kiss on my cheek? Thank you, MC.”

“…I admit it. I'm jealous of the people who get close to you, MC.”

“This is so embarrassing.”

“You're so weird. But, thanks.”

“My feelings are still a mess... Can I hold you, MC?”

“You know, I was just thinking I was hungry. Come here, l'm going to take a few bites out of you two.”

“‘Do not eat’… It says ‘Do not eat.’ ‘Do not eat’…That's what it says...

“Don't blame me if the contents of these pages keep you up at night.”

“*gulp*... Whoops. I may have just, um...eaten that entire book…”

“You really are... Hm. I don't know how to say it. Mysterious? Strange? Incredible?”

“Do you want to sleep next to me? Not that I mind. But if there's something else you want, don't hesitate to say so.”

“Fun? No, no time for fun. This is about getting candy. This is war.”

“I… can't take it anymore. This is your fault. Your blood smells so good... Too good...”

“You want me to feed you? It's really sweet. Here... *munch* Oh, whoops. I didn't mean to eat that. Let me try again... Don't pout, I'lI be careful this time.”

“Pancakes!”

“Check out those buns!”

“I've put him in a sleeping bag for easy transport, so someone else can drag him along.”

“Yeah. He's just lost faith in humanity more than usual, that's all.”

“…You're so warm--inside and out.”

“He fell asleep hanging from the bar...? That's some grip.”

“Qu-Quit it, MC! Th-That tickles...! Hahaha! Stop…! Okay...okay. I promise to stop tickling you. Just no more tickling me back, please!”

“It's a little embarrassing holding you this close. You can probably hear my heart beating. But, it does make me feel happy.”

“It's really nice to see that my workouts are paying off. And now you can count on me to carry even heavier stuff. It'll be good training.”

“I'm working out in my room right now. Something welled up within me, and I got the sudden energy to lift 10 times as hard. I can't do all the stuff I want to unless I have a spotter, though. That's why I want you to come here and be my workout partner. Oh yeah, I'll be hungry from lifting, so can you bring some food with you as well?”

“...I don't know what happened in there, but whatever it was really messed with Belphie... I'm not letting that thing get away with this.”

“You bet. I'm going to destroy that bogeyman.”

“When push comes to shove, I know they've always got my back. My family is what drives me. Wanting to keep them safe makes me strong. I'm going to have to work harder at protecting them from here on out.”

“Hup...! Hah! ...Heads up!”

“You'll always be the only one on my mind. ...Okay, you and tasty treats.”

“You sure have been paying attention, huh? I'm always looking at you, too. But, now l'll be watching you even more, so that I can draw you from memory.”

“Use my power, MC. My power is yours to command. Everything I do, do for you and for Belphie! Evil spirit, sinister and foul! In the name of Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony ...be gone!”

“It's strange. Normally when I'm hungry, I'd be going into a rampage right now.”

“Calm down, Levi. That cake just fell into my mouth by accident, that's—“

“You're the only one who will always have my attention, MC, now and forever.”

“Thank you. This candy tastes like the Destroyed Devil Burger I wanted but was sold out. Is this your way of letting me try it? You don't know how happy this makes me.”

“*munch* *nom* Sorry, I ate it before I could say thanks. It was great. I appreciate it.”

“Don't barge in on my mealtime.”

“I just might eat you from the head down. ...You don't seem that delicious though.”

“You don't want to see me angry. I'll just get even MORE hungry.”

“Was that an earthquake? Ah, nope. Just my stomach.”

“Aahh, this is taking too long... If I die from starvation it's your fault.”

“Geez, you left me so hungry I almost ate YOU.”

“Do that all you want. I'm not giving you my food.”

“Hm, that... felt pretty good.”

“It looks...mouth-watering.”

“And...I like how touching you makes my heart speed up.”

“I can't wait to dig into some freshly grilled meat!”

“Got you! Nope. I'm turning the tables on you. ...Tickle attack!”

“Ah... Ahahaha! Wait, I- Hahahaha! Come on, give it a res--Pfft! Ahahaha!”

“...I did some of my combat training blindfolded, actually. So, this kind of brings me back.”

“I thought so. You look good. I'll buy it for you… A matching look? I've never done that before, but why not?”

“This can't be happening...say it's not happening! I'm scared…..! Please…..don't go anywhere, MC... Please, I'm begging you, don't go...”

“…I think I've calmed down a bit. I feel a lot better with you in my arms. But...this isn't fair. I'd like to also see you getting jealous of people who get close to me. I wouldn't mind. I'd like to see that side of you too.”

“Oh, I know. If I sit next to you, then you won't feel so self-conscious, right? Hang on, try lying down on the bed. Okay, good.”

“You can't even throw a pillow far enough to reach me. You should give up before you hurt yourself.”

“Open your mouth then. Say "aah" Well? Tasty, right?”

“Don't stop, MC. Kiss me more…”

Extras! (It’s hard to pick just 100 y’know?)

1. “Were you waiting for the perfect time to kiss me? That's adorable. It's my turn next.”

2. “Belphie, you've got that dead look in your eyes again.”

3. “My feelings for you won't change, not even after a thousand years...no, a million years.”

4. “It's sort of like...you're more special to me. Do you understand what I'm trying to say? ...Up to now, I always felt like I was hungry for something. I'd eat and eat and eat, but I still wasn't satisfied, so I'd eat more. But when I'm with you, it's like that hunger is suddenly gone. For once I feel strangely satisfied.”

5. “I hope I'll always have you here by my side, just like I have them. From here until…..forever. No matter how I might change in the future.”

6. “When I feel you in my arms like this, it lets me know for sure that I really am alive.”

7. “Even though as a human, your life is a lot shorter than that of us demons. And yet you still tried to save me. ...That meant a lot to me.”

8. “Where do you think you're going? Whoa, I don't think so. I'm not letting you go anywhere.”

9. “It's all right, MC. Just listen to my voice, MC. Forget about everything else...”

✧༺⚜️༻✧

𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

𝒮𝒽𝓎 𝒲𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒𝓇 ༝༚༝༚

[theverystrangegirl27]

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ Triple Fun That Way

Summary: After starring in Alex's show The Idot Box with Keanu, some dormant feelings arise, and the influence of weed helps you act on the impulses that you've denied for so long.

Warnings: smut, threesome, oral (m receiving), recreational drug use

You knew Alex from NYU, striking up a casual friendship that had lasted for a good few years as you both came up in the industry.

When he asked you to be in a new bit for his show, The Idiot Box, you were excited- not only to be working on such a fun project, but to be reconnecting with an old friend.

Keanu, who you knew in passing and from the movies he and Alex had worked on together, was your co-star.

You could tell it made Alex happy, old friends combing with new friends, and you liked Keanu.

He was funny, soft spoken, and gentle with you when the scene called for him to thrash you around a little, his villainous persona so ridiculous you had to bite your tongue to keep from giggling.

The bit was simple but funny- Keanu playing the overly cartoonish villain holding you, the helpless damsel, hostage. Alex, dressed in a ridiculous outfit of his own, attempting to rescue you while also trying to keep the show rolling into the next bit.

It was silly, fun in a way you haven't gotten to experience in your career as of late. You've been cast in a lot of dramatic, emotionally taxing roles, so Alex's goofiness was a nice change of pace.

You're standing by one of the monitors after shooting, watching the replay of the scene you just filmed when Alex comes up behind you.

“You critiquing my performance?” He asks, giving your shoulder a nudge with his own. You look back at him with a grin.

“Oh absolutely, somebody's gotta keep your ego in check.”

You turn back to the monitor, pretending to look for a mistake to point out. It's hard, because Alex hardly gives less than his all.

“Ah ha!” You exclaim, pointing out the way Alex stumbles a little up the hill in the scene.

“Sloppy footwork, Winter. What do we pay you for?”

He clutches his chest, tossing his head back in mock distress.

“You wound me, Y/N.”

You laugh, eyes following the bounce of his curls and the way his mouth turns upwards in a smile. Your heart gives a sharp tug that you tamp down.

Of course you've developed a bit of a crush on Alex. After being friends for so long, it's only natural.

He rocks back on his heels and glances at the monitor for a second before looking back at you.

“Keanu and I are gonna head back to my place after I get a few things done around the set, you wanna come?”

Butterflies begin to flutter around in your stomach, and you nod.

“Yeah, that sounds fun.”

Alex smiles in return.

“Cool,” He says, running a hand through his hair. When it springs back into place over his forehead, the butterflies intensify. “Keanus's gonna head over now if you wanna catch a ride with him, I should only be like fifteen minutes.”

You look over his shoulder to where Keanu is talking with a stage manager, hands in his leather jacket. You swallow, suddenly a little nervous.

You like Keanu, but he's handsome in a way that really intimidates you. Despite his gentle and kind demeanor, his intensity makes you nervous and- to your embarrassment- turns you on.

You can't help but feel a little ridiculous, having a crush on both Alex and Keanu. You were a professional, not some stupid school girl.

You smile wide, hoping to hide your nerves.

“For sure, I'll see you back at yours!” You say, and Alex looks content with that as he heads off to talk with the camera man.

The stage hand and Keanu have just finished talking when you reach him, his focus now solely on you.

He looks pleased to see you, and that does little to quell your nerves.

God, he's so pretty.

“Alex said you were heading to his, mind if I tag along with you?” You ask.

Keanu smiles, and you can hear your pulse as it thumps in your ears.

“Totally, you ever been on a bike before?”

You shake your head, but you're up for anything.

He reaches out a hand, and you take it, the weight of his palm in yours warm and oddly comforting.

He's got that smile aimed right at you, and you know you're a goner.

He looks over your head and sends a wink in someone else's direction, and before you can turn to look he's pulling you towards the parking lot.

The whole way to Alex's, you've got your hands under Keanus's jacket, his heartbeat steady under your palm.

Alex's apartment is nicely furnished, couch comfortable as you and Keanu sit together.

You watch as he sparks up a joint he found in one of Alex's kitchen drawers, extending it upward with a triumphant laugh.

“You're sure he won't mind?” You ask.

Keanu chuckles.

“Nah, he'll probably be a little jealous I'm smoking with you alone, though.”

You furrow your brow, confused.

“What do you mean?”

Keanu pauses to take the first drag from the joint, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling his answer.

“C'mon Y/N, you know what I mean.”

You have a suspicion, but you want to hear it from Keanu.

You shake your head, taking the joint as it's passed to you.

Keanu raises an eyebrow, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips.

“You and Alex go back a long time, think about it.” He says as you take a hit.

You exhale, the heady, thick scent of the joint slowly filling the room as you pass it back.

Just as you open your mouth to respond, the front door clicks open.

“You guys started without me?” Alex calls from the entryway, and Keanu laughs.

“Snooze you lose, dude.”

You can't help but smile as Alex comes into view.

He sets his keys on the kitchen counter, sighs, and flops down on the couch next to you.

Keanu reaches over you to pass the joint to Alex, their arms crossing in front of you.

“Thanks,” Alex mumbles, taking a puff and looking down at it. “Where'd you get this, anyway?”

Keanu shrugs, leaning back.

“Under your spoons in the kitchen. You gotta find a better hiding place for your weed, man.”

Alex rolls his eyes, exhaling and passing it to you.

You feel both of their eyes on you as you purse your lips around the joint, suddenly aware of how close both men are.

It makes you feel a little warm and fuzzy around the edges, the weed slowly creeping up on you.

After about a good thirty minutes of smoking, talking, and joking around, you're pleasantly high.

You lean a little into Alex's side, his arm up and around the back of the couch.

You shake your head when the joint comes back around to you, knowing your limits. You don't want to get too high, knowing that this is one of your few chances to hang out with Alex before you both get too busy.

You notice that as Alex reaches over you to pass the dwindling joint to Keanu, a look passes between them.

Your mind races a bit, wondering what that look could mean. It was subtle, a simple quirk of an eyebrow, a wry smile- that could mean anything.

You hum in surprise when you feel Alex's fingers playing with the length of hair that rests across your shoulder, his arm looping around you.

“You changed your hair since the last time we hung out.” He murmurs, eyes heavy lidded as he looks at you.

You shrug.

“It's for a movie.”

From your other side, Keanu shucks off his jacket, the leather warm when it briefly presses against you.

You have a slight suspicion they're plotting something, but you have no idea what.

“What movie?” Keanu asks, one foot resting on the coffee table, his elbow on the back of the couch.

“Some romantic comedy,” You explain, wrinkling your nose. “I'm a little nervous, there's this whole sex scene I'm supposed to do and-” You shrug. “I don't know if I'm gonna be any good.”

Alex shifts at that, turning into you a little.

“Look at you all grown up,” He teases, that easy, lazy grin you love so much spreading across his face. “Little Y/N, taking her pants off on camera.”

You roll your eyes, hitting his chest.

Keanu hums, thinking.

“Is this your first sex scene?” He asks, looking at you and then at Alex.

You narrow your eyes, not sure if you're paranoid from the weed or if these two really are conspiring.

“Yeah, I have no idea what I'm doing.” You admit, laughing and running a hand through your hair.

Keanu watches you with parted lips.

“Let's practice, then.”

You rear your head back, eyes wide as you let out a startled laugh.

“What?”

Keanu sits up, leaning towards you.

“We can show you what to do, give you some tips.”

His face is suddenly really close to yours.

“Y'know, practice.”

You furrow your brow, glancing at his lips.

Alex's hand settles on your thigh from your other side, and you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

His eyes are a little red, lids lowered as he looks at you with that easy, knowing grin.

It dawns on you suddenly as you turn back to Keanu.

“You two freaks planned this, didn't you?”

Keanu tilts his head to the side, but his smile says it all.

“Planned what?” He asks.

You roll your eyes, smiling.

Feeling emboldened by the weed and the tight squeeze Alex gives your thigh, you take Keanus's face between your palms and lay one on him.

Keanu makes a soft sound when your lips meet, but parts them as you pull him closer.

He's soft with it like you knew he would be, his palm coming up to rest at your waist.

When you pull away, you both grin at each other, eyes over bright and playful.

Alex shifts behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Gonna leave me hangin’ beautiful?”

You turn, Alex cupping your cheek with one hand and pulling you in.

You've wanted to kiss Alex for years now, dreaming of it when you'd lay awake in bed.

All of those fantasies pale in comparison to the real thing.

His hand against your face is warm, guiding you into the kiss gently. His lips, a little chapped, work against yours, and you feel yourself sinking into Alex's side.

You maneuver yourself up onto your knees and then settle in Alex's lap, letting him pull you closer by your waist.

The kiss becomes hungry, tongues meeting and lips parting with wet, sensual sounds.

Keanu reaches a hand into Alex's hair and pulls him away from you, his own lips finding the blond’s and you smile, leaning down to kiss and bite at Alex's neck.

Keanu and Alex make out above you, their lips shiny with spit and their tongues licking into each other's mouths.

You shift a little in Alex's lap, feeling yourself getting wet.

They break for air, both grinning.

You play with the hem of Alex's shirt, looking up at him with big eyes.

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours.” You tease, and he smiles, a dazed expression on his face.

You lean back, watching unabashedly as Alex sheds his shirt.

Once it's tossed away, you lean forward with your hands on his chest.

“How do we wanna do this?” You ask, nipping at his bottom lip.

Keanu leans in from the side, his lips finding yours.

Alex makes an interested sound, his hands trailing up your shirt.

“I think you'd look real pretty on my dick, Y/N.” He breathes, helping you lift your shirt up and over your head.

You hum in response. You look at Keanu, the way his chin length hair falls in front of his eyes, how he's looking at you like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

“And you?” You ask, your thumb swiping over Keanus's lips. He parts them, his tongue running over the pad of it.

“You ever been to Paris?”

You laugh, the sound of it reverberating through the apartment, and Alex joins in as he nuzzles your neck.

“That was so bad.” You say through your laughter, moving to kiss Keanu again.

Keanu smiles into it, and you gasp a little as Alex takes your nipple into his mouth.

Your hand finds the back of his head, fingers tangling in curly blond hair as Keanu takes your jaw in his hand, deepening the kiss.

It's hot, the room getting stuffy with the weed and the scent of sex. Eventually, you all rearrange yourselves, peeling off layers of clothes and revealing supple, sweaty skin.

You find yourself back on Alex's lap, facing away from him this time.

His fingers reach in front of you to play with your pussy, your legs spread wide as Keanu stands before the two of you.

He's looking down at you with dark eyes, his hand around his dick as he watches Alex's fingers dip into you.

“Knew you'd look good like this, baby.” He breathes. “Like an angel, I swear.”

You feel Alex hum in agreement, his chest hot against your back as he bites at your neck.

You bite your lip, a sigh escaping you as he thumbs at your clit. You're sopping wet, your skin overheated from all of the attention you're getting.

You feel lightheaded at the prospect of both of these men taking you. Alex's dick is right at the entrance of your pussy, hard and warm against your skin.

When you take it in your hand, he groans a little, the tip slipping into you. You sigh, eyes falling shut as you raise yourself and slowly sink down onto him.

“Shit,” Alex grunts, head falling back against the couch.

Keanu steps forward, offering his dick up and you smile before you take the tip into your mouth, looking up at him through your lashes.

You roll your hips, Alex's hands guiding your movements as Keanu thrusts shallowly, hand in your hair.

You close your eyes, losing yourself in the moment and just feeling.

Alex's hands are warm on your waist, his hips raising to meet yours. He's making these gorgeous noises- soft gasps and moans that send sparks up your spine.

Keanu's hand in your hair tugs you up and down his dick, controlling yet gentle. His dick hits the back of your throat every now and then, spit and precum dripping down your chin as your throat makes this wet, clicking sound.

It's so hot, the two guys you want the most wanting you just as much.

You furrow your brow, moving your head to take Keanu deeper and relishing in the way he moans your name.

Alex bucks up into you, making you choke a little on Keanu.

“Sorry, Y/N.” Alex chuckles breathlessly, hot and high and horny. His hands pull you down onto his dick, not letting you pull up, just grinding upwards.

You moan around Keanu, the vibrations making the dark haired man throw his head back in pleasure.

Tears leak out of your eyes but you can't bring yourself to care. The way both men are dicking you down has your mind melting in the best way, your orgasm creeping up on you as Alex's dick assaults your g-spot, your legs shaking when he gets two fingers on your clit.

“Fuck, you gonna come baby?” Alex asks through gritted teeth, hands starting to rock you back and forth.

It makes you gasp when Keanu pulls his dick out of your mouth, a string of spit connecting it to your lips.

“Oh my-y god,” is all you can get out, Keanus's dick slipping against your mouth and diving back in.

Keanu laughs, tongue peaking between his teeth.

“Yeah she is, man.” He grabs your head, holding you in place as he fucks your mouth.

“Mmm,” you moan, loud and tearful as you look up at Keanu.

“God, when you look at me like that,” He trails off, shaking his head with an awed grin, biting his lip as the tip of his dick hits your throat again.

Alex groans loudly from behind you, his mouth dropped open as your walls squeeze tight around him. His fingers work frantically at your clit, touch made slippery and smooth by how wet they're making you.

“Gonna come inside, baby,” Alex tells you, your brain too scrambled to really register what's happening.

Your walls clench, your breathing coming in fast and shallow as your orgasm hits its peak.

Keanu takes his dick from your mouth, watching your face.

“Alex,” You almost sob, thighs shaking as he dicks you down good, pulling you so that your back is pressed tight to his chest.

“C'mon, Y/N, c'mon,” He encourages, voice raspy and hot against your ear.

Your orgam rolls through you, your eyes finding Keanu's as you come. Lips parted, eyes filled with tears, you feel yourself clench rhythmically around Alex, who's letting out his own gasps and sighs as he comes deep inside of you.

“Holy shit,” Keanu breathes, his dark eyes blown wide with lust.

You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, reaching for him.

“Want you to come in my mouth.” You tell him breathlessly, and who is he to deny you?

You work your hand up and down his dick, mouth following close behind.

“Fuck, you gonna swallow, baby?” Keanu asks, groaning low as you swipe your tongue over the head.

“She's a good girl, of course she will.” Alex says, his hand stroking down your back as his dick softens inside of you.

You like the weight of it there, making you feel claimed by him, something you had always wanted.

Keanu pulls you forward, your nose buried in his pubes, and he holds you there as he comes down your throat.

You make a point to swallow every last drop.

The three of you take stock of each other, sticky with come and sweat, smelling of weed and sex.

Alex raises an eyebrow.

“Shower, anyone?”

Alex's shower is definitely not meant for three grown adults, but you somehow make it work, washing Alex's hair while Keanu does your back.

It's sweet, making you sentimental and a little sorrowful that it can't be like this all the time.

You voice your opinion aloud when the three of you are all sitting around the living room again- Keanu with his feet up on Alex's coffee table, and you tucked under Alex's arm.

“Who says it can't be?” Alex asks, and you look up at him, hopeful.

“We like you, you like us, we like each other.” Alex explains, connecting the dots. “Who's stopping us?”

It hits you then, what Keanu had meant when he told you to think about Alex and your relationship, how it's progressed as you've gotten older.

Alex wants you just like you've been wanting him.

You can't help the smile that stretches across your face, leaning further into Alex.

“You two should come with me for my movie, make sure I'm putting all that ‘practice’ to good use.”

Keanu laughs, and Alex pulls you in tighter.

“Baby, we'll be there.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

so um, i wanted to rant in here for a little bit. so far, i have loved your dybmn series and this makes me think that the way you write your characters complexities is so good. i’m a little afraid of sharing this as everyone here seems to love dybmn spencer.

because god, spencer is so unfair and insufferable. reader is insecure but not as unbelievable unbearable as spencer, i understand if i might be misinterpreting this but it was easy to deduce he would be the one projecting his own insecurities on reader.

it annoys me how he won’t give her the opportunity to truly enjoy her body as she wants to sexually engage with him. he claims he wants her and cares for her pleasure but sometimes it doesn’t really look like it, it feels like some sort of manipulative traumatic tactic to actually hold her hostage even though he says he’s not.

it’s contradictory. just because everything went wrong with elle, which is WEIRD considering his whore phase doesn’t gives him the right to expect that much from reader. god, he’s a profiler. he might not be able to actually read minds but i’m pretty sure he’s perfectly capable of picking up clues with his IQ.

specially during her first fucking time with a man. how would he want her to tell him she loves him if she’s still soooooooo inexperienced? literally how? i feel bad for reading it this way but the andromeda chapter fucked me upppp. there were all sorts of theories going on my mind after i read it.

she knows nothing about relationships and is constantly put into the dangerous position of wanting to please him, he never forces her but it’s pretty obvious she TRIES. how is that not enough for him? and it’s not just the sex, he has always had her affection at his disposition (i say this according to the way she’s agreed to accept his invitations to events like the bar or film festivals, the way she’s constantly kissing him without being sexual and always asking for him).

nevertheless, i’m really excited to see how the series will be evolving as they go. every chapter comes up with something new and i love that we’re able to theorize about it. i just really hope we get a big apology from spencer because….

i’m keeping this one:

💐

thank u so much for taking the time to share ur thoughts!! I rlly appreciate it lovely!! and honestly i don’t think you’re alone in disliking dybmn spencer😭 he gets a lot of hate!!

me explaining stuff abt reid below👇 there are reasons for him being the way he is it’s not ALL inexcusable i promise!!

he is honestly probably more insecure than reader. one thing a lot of people have asked me is “how does it make sense for him to be so traumatized from what happened with elle and still have slept with a ton of women after” and honestly psychologically speaking it’s really not a reach that he would have done that! often when people are really insecure about themselves they seek reassurance and validation from other people, and sometimes they go about getting that validation through sex! i imagine since elle he’s never had a real committed romantic relationship and it’s all been very casual hookups, sometimes w the same people but never breaching into romance territory (don’t mention maeve idk if she’s canon or not in dybmn universe lol)

and I don’t think he’s holding her hostage, he just truly can’t imagine that she loves him back. and if you think about it he has every reason not to. his affection hasn’t been reciprocated or received well for most of his life (elle, his dad, his mom, jj (sorry for bringing up jeid)). even if you’re receiving all the input that someone likes you, if you hate yourself enough you’ll go to crazy lengths to not believe it.

i agree that it’s not super healthy, but he knows that! in my mind that’s actually why he told her on the phone that they didn’t feel the same way—he was trying to essentially be like hey girl you should know im pretty sure you don’t like me as much as i like you, and that’s fine, but if it makes you uncomfortable then we should talk about it because i don’t want you to feel like there are terms and conditions on our relationship that you didn’t understand.

also it might be helpful to realize that in some ways spencer really is not more experienced with romantic relationships than she is. he had a situationship with elle that never went anywhere and a bunch of hookups (and maybe maeve but even if that happened it was like a fake relationship lmao they were e dating and I don’t believe he really loved her but that’s a post for another day). but he doesn’t know how to exist in a healthy relationship with a partner who really cares for him any more than she does. most of dybmn is from readers perspective and she FEELS that he’s way more experienced but that experience is pretty much limited to sex which is obviously a big hang up for her so not surprising that she focuses on it so much and his experience seems so vast. but yeah romantically he is also a late bloomer and fairly stunted. he’s kinda figuring it all out for the first time just like she is!

so anyway that was me defending reid for four paragraphs!! but also maybe he’s just an asshole idk men suck why am I defending one of them

thank u again for giving me an excuse to talk abt this!!! ily

[ernsportfolio]

The Pawnbroker by Sidney Lumet

an inspiration of filmography that can lead others to tel a tale of personal misery and cultural guilt. unraveling throughout the film you discover the main character is reflecting on his life choices and the realization that he feels dispatched from is culture. not only is it a source for a beautiful film but it's cinematography brings a culmination of color, visuals and a musical score that grounds the character and viewer to feel as equals.

Here is a response to a question raised by professor when I watched the movie:https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GN64F19RUwGZg8Hmpd8H-0kgsH0ArbU26xmYatRa9SA/edit?usp=sharing 

[liliumsabyss]

Hello I have once again found myself rereading the Newt fics and my love for them continues to grow. However thoughts have been thunk and I need protective Newt in my life. I’m happy to let you run wild with whatever ideas you want, if you can’t think of any here are some ones that have been floating around my mind:

Newt protecting reader while they escape the maze. Newt protecting reader at the WICKED facility (probs not what it’s called but can’t stop and think about that right now). Newt protecting reader from himself while he has the flare. Newt protecting reader from Teresa/WICKED after the betrayal.

Anything you want, I’ll take it all.

All the love for you and your work ❤️

Protecting and Patching

FEM DNI, I SWEAR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

Newt(TMR) x Male Reader

Word Count: 1.96k

Tw: Maybe OCC Newt, Blood, Injuries, Mentions of Death, WICKED, Swearing, Weapons, General TMR Violence, Film Newt, Based on Both Novel and Film

A/n: Hey again! It makes me so happy that you enjoy the fics so much! I really like the idea of Newt protecting the reader at the WICKED facility especially since my love of that scene in both the films and novels is just <3<3<3 I love that scene so much of course I love Newt more and he’s just so great in the scenes even if it’s very subtle he does a lot of the shit in the scenes. I had so much fun writing this to the point that I rewatched the scene like eight times to include all the little detail things that happen since I just wanted to capture the feel of the scene and Newts character in that scene since it’s like their first time with face to face peril of WICKED. I had a load of fun writing this and I also learned that Thomas Brodie-Sangster the guy who plays Newt is one of the voice’s of Ferb from Phineas and Ferb I don’t know if I love this fact or if it makes me want to cry. Anyway I hope you enjoy and all the love to you! Thank you so much!

The boys flooded out of the vent into a dark room that was made of dark concrete floor and bright white concrete brick walls that were decorated with metal pipes winding and weaving into the florecently lighted hallways. The group stood antsy waiting for Thomas to give the next instructions, (Y/n) rocked on the balls of his feet, Newt quickly stepped closer to the other. Thomas started heading down the hallway.

“ Wait, go ahead I’ve got something I need to do” Aris calls out to the rest, one replying they will go with him.

The boys started sprinting down the hallway, Newt making sure the (h/c) haired male was beside him. The sound of footsteps pounded through the wall and the group turned the corner only to be met with a lady in a lab coat. The blonde quickly stumbled back making sure to put himself slightly in front of his lover blocking him subtly from the woman. 

“ What are you kids doing-“ The lady started before being cut off with the howl of sirens projecting from overhead siren lights flashed yellow. The lady’s face quickly contorted as the boys seized her holding her hostage as they continued their sprint through the corridor. They turned a corner (Y/n) being in front of the blonde when the ones who had passed the corner skidded to a stop. A man in all black with what appeared to be a large gun shouted a hey before raising the weapon and opening fire. Newt grabbed the (h/c) haired arm pulling him back clutching onto as they started to sprint the opposite way.

“ Are you ok!” Newt tried to shout over the chaotic shouts and pounding of footprints but it didn’t reach the other as he froze looking away towards where the man had come from. The blonde turned to see what the other was looking at, Minho was stopped several feet away with his fist tightly clenched, some let out calls questioning what he was doing at a time like this. Minho turned around letting out a yell as he sprinted full speed hurtling towards the wall as the man came around the corner. He kept through the air his knees close to his chest as he soared into the man taking him off guard knocking him into the concrete walls rendering him unconscious or dead. (Y/n) couldn’t exactly tell as the group surged forward Newt grabbing his arm dragging him along. Thomas had picked up the gun leading the group of boys through the winding hallways as they still kept the woman in the lab coat hostage.

A large metal door stood in front of them quickly being opened as they surged in seeing five very startled people in lab coats. Thomas holding up the large gun waving it between them screeching ‘where is she’ repeatedly. Newt turned to see (Y/n)’s face, he was biting his lip trying to push down the fear but the blonde could still see it in his eyes which had widened at Thomas’ sudden act of aggression. Newt quickly stepped in front of the other pulling his own arm behind his back to grab the (h/c) haired male's hand looking back raising his eyebrow. (Y/n) just gave the other a nod. Thomas had passed the gun to Minho who continued to keep the WICKED employee’s at gun-point. Newt ran forward grabbing a long strip of cloth attempting to tie their hands together as Thomas retrieved Teresa from the medical bed. Then suddenly someone standing next to the (h/c) haired male shouted ‘they’re coming this way!’ (Y/n) looked petrified turning towards the window in the door right where he had been standing. 

“ (Y/n) get back!” Newt screamed, his eyes widening in fear as he pushed through the crowd in the room towards the door. (Y/n) quickly sprinted out of the way, the blond pushed over a nearby metal examination table it made a loud clatter that shuddered through the already clambering room. There was a loud screech as the table was pushed by Newt up against the door barricading it. 

“ BACK EVERYONE GET BACK!” Someone shouted as a loud crash was heard, reinforcements crashed into the door trying to bash it open. (Y/n) turned at the sound of the panging of glass only to see Thomas thrusting a stool into the glass attempting to break it only to be unsuccessful. Newt looked with terror at the door as the WICKED guards were so close to breaking in so close to getting them all and then what would happen would they be killed like their so called rescuers or would only some of them be killed, would one of them be himself or even worse (Y/n), that future could not exist, he picked up another stool hurdling it towards the glass with Thomas. The loud sound of a shatter filled the room as the glass rained upon them. The boys leapt through the empty window frame that still had remnants of glass. Newt kept turning as the (h/c) haired male shakily attempted to climb through with the blonde spotting him, he however stepped on a piece of glass piercing through his foot the tip covered in blood appearing at the top of his shoe. The male let out a quick yelp falling forward onto Newt who luckily caught him.

“ Can you walk?” Newt said worriedly looking between the other’s shoe that was covered in blood.

“ I think so…” (Y/n) seethed, clenching his teeth. The blonde slowly lowered the male's legs to the ground still keeping his arms around him to take some of the weight of his foot. Newt looked up at (Y/n), (Y/n) giving a curt nod, his arm still stretched around Newt. Then they hear a loud crash. The (h/c) haired male didn’t even get a chance to look back before Newt had started sprinting, still supporting some of (Y/n)’s weight. The group sprints through the hallway being led by Thomas, Newt and (Y/n) towards the front of the group running on pure adrenaline. They all ran through a door. A man in a black ski mask with blank eyes stood there with a large gun which must have been the standard for WICKED. Thomas with little hesitation shot the man with the weapon he had been holding. Suddenly they hear the thundering footsteps echoing down the hallway from the WICKED employee’s. Someone yells shit as they race off again, they finally get to the access door all of them clinging desperately to the large industrial door. Thomas frantically swipes the ID card into the access slot, the door buzzes and a red light flashes denying access. The doors metal jaws stay clamped, some slap Thomas’ back yelling word’s of rush such as ‘c’mon’ and hurry up, but once again Thomas tries are futile as he once again frantically swipes the card it fails buzzing a sound of denial and flashing red. They hear the heavy footsteps of guards looking down the hallway and they see Jason surrounded by guards in tactile equipment heavily armed and holding up shields. Newt quickly pushed (Y/n) into the corner of the wall as gently as he could keeping in mind his injured foot shielding him from the rest as he turned to face the guard’s. Thomas quickly started walking towards Jason ready to open fire shouting at him to open the door only for him to respond with a threatening ‘you don’t want to do this’. Newts head whips behind him making eye contact with the (h/c) haired male whose hands were placed on the blondes back shaking, Newt looked away avoiding making the other more terrified he looked desperately back at the card slotted only one thought pummeling through his head how were they going to get out of this. Then as if a higher power heard Newt’s thoughts the heavy metal door screeches open its heavy jaws. Newt gives a cry of relief like most of the group as he throws (Y/n)’s arm around him, (Y/n) lets out a hopeful smile before they stumble through the door. Thomas lets out a few shots before his gun becomes jammed, throwing it at Jason and his security personnel. The metal door starts to shut slowly sliding down, everyone is screaming for Thomas to get there and in the little gap between the metal teeth of the door and the floor Thomas slides under. Jason hits the window of the door angrily as Thomas flips him off. (Y/n) still clasping onto Newt sticks his young out briefly mocking him as wide smiles spread onto the boy’s faces. They start at full speed sprinting through the large warehouse-like room stopping when they approach the large metal gate that stood a steel or iron giant whatever material it may be in front of them towering twenty feet standing between them and their freedom. Thomas quickly pulled a red lever allowing the doors to steadily open heavily, dragging open a greyish-blue smoke swirled past the door as the group flooded out.

Once they got to safety Newt and his lover separated from the group. The blonde still supported the others' weight as they hobbled to a corner where the two could sit. Newt carefully helped the other sit on the floor hoping that the pain had decreased and the bleeding stopped. He looked up at the other for permission as he went to take off (Y/n)’s shoe the (h/c) haired male nodded. Newt tried to take his shoe off as carefully as he could looking up at the other male who was biting his lip trying to not show how much pain he was in. Newt slid off the shoe to see a several inch wide gash going straight through the (s/c) skin of (Y/n)’s foot . It was bloody but didn’t appear to be bleeding as much as it was, being mostly caked in dried blood. Newt quickly took a flask of water that he had picked up earlier pouring the water on the wound. (Y/n) squirmed clenching his fists in pain.

“ I'm sorry love, I'm sorry.” Newt apologized, trying not to look up at the other in guilt. The blonde quickly tore apart part of his white cotton shirt’s sleeve, he gently held up the (h/c) haired male's foot using the cloth as a makeshift bandage wrapping the wound tightly letting the foot go carefully. The blonde then slid next to his lover putting an arm around him. 

“ This hurt’s like a shucking bitch!” (Y/n) whined to Newt waving his leg in the air.

“ It looks like we will be limping together for the time being.” Newt chuckled slightly making the rare joke about his leg only for (Y/n) to give him a bewildered look and a slight nudge. (Y/n) grabbed Newt hand interlacing them, Newt pulled their hands towards himself raising them slowly to his lips kissing (Y/n)’s hands as he peered at them with his honey brown eyes he gave out a short amused hum seeing the others bashful face.

“ We should get some sleep.” The blonde said hugging his lover slightly more into him, the (h/c) haired male leaned his head against Newt's shoulder with Newt reciprocating the action leaning his head against the others head.

“ Goodnight Newt”

“ Goodnight (Y/n), love”

The two drifted off into sleep in each other's embrace, the other boys shaking their heads at the lovesick couple leaving them alone as they continued to their shifts making sure not to wake the pair.

[xxavengingangelxx]

Long Way From Home 2/?

TRIGGERS: Implied attempted suicide/self-harm, torture, threatened rape. Dark fic! OC is POW and Graves is a war criminal. Link to part 1 below! This is DARK so I'm still not sure how it'll do but it seized my mind and has to come out. Let me know what ya'll think!

When you woke up your body was hurting everywhere. Your head continued pounding. Your ribs protested when you sat up. It was hard with your hands still ziptied behind you. You realized you were against a concrete wall. But that was all you knew. It was pitch black besides a large air conditioning control screen on the wall adjacent to you. It read 60 degrees Fahrenheit. You shivered because your clothes were still drenched. They were probably doing it on purpose to keep you uncomfortable.

You didn’t even know how much time had passed. Your mouth was still taped shut and you found that especially frustrating. You wanted to holler and curse out the bastard who next stepped through that door.

A heavy door swung open and the dim lighting from the hallway made your headache worse.

Graves. Piece of shit. Piece of traitorous shit.

He was holding something.

A video camera?

“We got somethin’ Shepherd.”

“Better be good.” The voice from the other end said. Shit, Shepherd was in on this too? He approved of this shit?

Lights clicked on and you squinted although your eyes adjusted fast than you expected. The bastard was filming you.

You heard Shepherd laugh as Graves pointed the camera at you. “You got 141’s puppy?” He asked, dark humor in his tone. “The one who follows them everywhere? That cute little thing?”

“She bites, though,” Graves chuckled.

“Teach ‘er not to,” Shepherd responded. “She could be useful.”

“Now see that’s what I told her. She doesn’t wanna believe me.”

“Listen young lady,” Shepherd spoke to you directly. You couldn’t see him but he could clearly see you. “Oh,” he paused. “Jesus, Graves you did a number on ‘er.”

“She won’t talk.”

“She will,” Shepherd said, so sure of himself.

You shook your head. And with your defiance you leaned forward off the wall, brought your ziptied hands to the side of your hips and gave them both the middle finger.

Shepherd and Graves laughed. It wasn’t a laugh of humor.

“Spitfire,” Shepherd said.

“Yeah, I gotta teach her some manners,” Graves responded.

“Do what you have to. I want her working for us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep her alive. She’s gonna be our bargaining chip.”

-

Graves closed the video camera, giving you a cold, unforgiving glare. “That was your superior you flipped off,” he snapped.

You shook your head. Fuck no he wasn’t your superior.

“Let’s knock you down a few pegs, huh?” Graves walked towards you, knife in hand.

You tried to scoot back but the cold cement wall behind you stopped you.

He knelt in front of you, grabbed your shirt and pulled you off the wall. He left small cuts on your forearms as he sliced through the zipties binding your wrists.

That was all you needed. The adrenaline from earlier was making a comeback and you immediately brought your hands in front of you. You launched a punch, which he blocked easily.

He stood up and so did you. You wasted no time in peeling the heavy tape off your mouth and off your face. The rest of it was still tangled in a sticky mess in your hair. You were sure you had red marks on your face from where the tape had probably peeled the top layer of your skin off.

“You filmed me like a fucking terrorist would film a hostage,” you snapped.

“There’s that mouth again,” he sneered. “Why don’t you put it to better use?”

You gritted your teeth at his sexual advance and lunged at him. He launched a punch but you blocked it, sidestepped him and delivered a round house kick to his stomach. He felt the impact through his vest.

“Still got some fight in ya,” he said, “That’s okay. I like it.”

And with that he stepped towards you, swept his foot under you, and knocked you flat on your back.

You mouth opened in a silent scream as you rolled over onto your side, unable to breathe. Your ribs were definitely either cracked, bruised, or broken from the bullet your vest absorbed earlier.

Graves approached you and used his boot to nudge you onto your back. He then descended on you, placed his knees on either side of you, straddling you. He easily reached up and pinned your wrists above your head before leaning over you. He still had the sickening smell of blood, sweat, and gunpowder.

“Get off!” You kicked and flailed but it was no use. He was too strong. You were hurt. And you were about half his size.

“This is gonna go a whole lot easier if you cooperate,” he said simply, not loosening his grip.

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“You’re gonna be useful one way or another,” he explained. “You can be a hostage or you can work with us.”

“Never,” you wanted to spit in his face but was afraid he would hurt you more if you did.

“You’ll be a lot more comfortable if you just give us updates on your team and work with us,”

“I’m not a traitor,” you snapped.

With that he got up, forced you onto your stomach and pulled your tattered uniform shirt off leaving just your bloody tank top. You immediately thought the worst: that you were going to be raped.

So you instantly arched your back and neck, feeling the back of your head come into contact with his mouth before you heard him full on growl like a wild animal. When he forced you onto your back again and straddled you, you could see your strike had made him cut the inside of his mouth on his teeth. He was bleeding.

You laughed when you saw him bleeding and it seemed as if something clicked in his eyes. You thought he was going to kill you. He wrapped his gloved hands around your throat and squeezed. You gasped, fighting for breath, scratching at his hands in wild abandon. You tried to buck and kick him off but he was too heavy. You felt yourself losing consciousness and in your mind you thought that at least they wouldn’t be torturing you anymore, that they wouldn’t be brainwashing you to work for them just to deal a blow to 141.

He suddenly released you and then he did the oddest, crassest, cruelest thing he could’ve done. He leaned forward and kissed you, his lips and tongue forcing your mouth open. Your hands went to his Kevlar vest and gripped it, trying to push him off. You closed your teeth around his bottom lip and he stopped, pulling away.

“If you bite anyone again, I’m gonna break your fucking jaw,” he stated.

With that he got up and off of you, leaving you to curl up on the floor in pain and humiliation.

“Next time I won’t stop there,” he again threatened you with sexual assault. “So you better be ready to talk when I come back in here.”

The lights were out and you were in total darkness save for the air conditioning panel. The cement floor was cold and you shivered, curling in more to try and keep warm. You promised yourself that no matter what they did to you, you wouldn’t talk and you sure as hell wouldn’t work for them.

-

You woke up with a gasp. You had no idea if it was day or night or how long you’d been out. The air conditioning panel read 55 degrees. You couldn’t change you could just watch as the temperature got lower. They were purposely making you as uncomfortable as possible. Your teeth nearly chattered.

In your almost delirious state you wondered if what Graves had said earlier was true. Did 141 hear you scream for help and not come? You shook your head. He had already started trying to brainwash you without you even knowing it.

You passed out again.

-

You woke up and felt yourself being dragged somewhere. One man on each side held your arms as your boots scraped on the ground. You were trying to stay awake but there were periods of blackness.

You woke up on your knees. You weren’t restrained in any way, which you found odd.

“This is probably one of the more brutal ways to try and get information out of someone,”

That voice: Graves.

You met his gaze and glared although even you felt like your glare was losing its power, it’s intensity.

“Show ‘er,” Graves stated.

Rough hands…not Graves’s…grabbed you and before you could register what was happening your face and head was underwater. The water was freezing and you had to effectively stop yourself from taking a breath. They kept you under until you saw black edges in your vision.

Then you were pulled out and shoved backwards, landing on your back, gasping and coughing, and fighting for air.

Graves stepped into view. “Where were you and your team planning on going after this?”

You couldn’t answer on account of you gasping for air.

You shook your head even when you could talk. Catching your breath, you said, “They don’t…they don’t tell me that shit.”

“Really now?” Graves inquired.

You saw he was wearing different clothes so that told you it had been a last a day or at least 12 hours since you were taken. He looked refreshed, rested.

“I’m a translator,” you added. “I’m just on for the Mexico stuff.”

“Bull,” Graves snapped.

“I’m bilingual, you moron,” you snapped. “I don’t know other languages.”

“You’re clearly not understanding the severity of the situation here and how badly I want that intel,” Graves responded calmly.

“I don’t have it!”

Graves signaled and although you tried to push those coarse hands away from you, you were unable to. You were too tired, too injured, and you were honestly losing your will power.

You found yourself submerged again and while you couldn’t really tell time anymore, you could’ve sworn that they kept you under longer.

They kept it up and you eventually lost count of how many times they submerged you in the cold water. You could tell it was a while because the water was getting warmer and warmer.

“Jesus Christ, Val” you heard Graves’s voice but it sounded far away. He called you by your nickname (Val from Valdez). He knelt in front of you, making his voice sound clearer.

You wanted nothing more than to lash out and hurt him but there was no way you could. You were weak and dizzy.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Graves added. He reached out, creepily pushing your soaked hair out of your face.

Your gasps for air were the only answer you could give him. You gave up on trying to stay conscious and let the darkness claim you. It was the first time you started thinking about finding a way to take your own life.

-

Graves and his demons came at unpredictable intervals. Several times they brought a Taser. Another time they’d just try and drown you either with actual water or waterboarding. You stopped counting how many different ways they inflicted pain.

Other times they just kept you awake for what seemed like forever.

Graves hadn’t touched you despite his threats of rape. At least not that you remembered. But who knew?

-

You woke up back in the same room you’d been in since you were taken. It was still cold or so you thought. Semiconsciousness was keeping you kind of warm. You didn’t feel pain, at least not much. You still had no idea how long you’d been held hostage.

You forced yourself to sit up and look around. With your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, you could see the room wasn’t large but your brain wasn’t able to come close to calculating the dimensions. A glint of light caught your eye. It was something under the air conditioning control panel.

You walked over to it, stepping quietly to prevent your boots from making noise and attracting unwanted attention. You found yourself unsteady on your feet as you knelt next to the item. It was glass.

A piece of glass big enough to…

You grasped it. You gripped it tightly and it cut into your right hand. The shrill pain was welcome only because you were inflicting it on yourself. Your hand became warm and sticky with blood. It was definitely sharp enough.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to go through with it now that the situation was right in front of you. Maybe just cut deep enough to force them to bring you to the emergency room? Were there even any emergency rooms around here? You had no idea if you were still even in Mexico.

The horizontal cut to your wrist oozed blood. You almost instantly regretted your decision. But then again did you really? You could only take so much more of this. You were terrified that you’d break and reveal something. Even if it was trivial you still considered it treasonous. And the last thing you wanted to do was be like Graves: a traitor.

You lowered yourself to the ground and dropped the piece of glass next to you. You sat in a corner. The corner faced the door diagonally so no one would be able to sneak up on you. You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your head on your knees.

You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion or death gripped you but you allowed it.

-

You woke up and you weren’t sure if you were dead and in hell or whether you were alive, right back where you started.

Someone was kneeling over you and you instantly knew who it was. He made your skin crawl. You felt him grip your left wrist in a tight grip. Blood still seeped through his fingers.

“Fucking hell,” you heard him whisper. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

That last word echoed in your head for what seemed like forever.

-

“That was an insane thing to do,” Graves’s voice cut through the comfortable cocoon you were in.

You felt different. You were lying on cold concrete like you had been for who knew how many days and nights.

You were in…a bed? Had you been rescued? Maybe you’d only imagined Graves’s voice.

“Hey,” Graves’s voice again.

You tried to push him away from you but found your right wrist cuffed to something.

“I’m in hell, aren’t I?” you croaked.

“A version of it,” Graves replied. “You don’t have to be though.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you groaned.

“You needed stitches,” he said.

Everything came into focus and you were on a bed with a thin mattress. Your brain still couldn’t comprehend what you cuffed to.

“Can’t have you doing that,” he then paused before sadistically adding, “if you wanted to finish yourself off you should’ve cut vertical.”

You remained silent and simply let that same darkness consume you again.

[manicplank]

The Color Pink (Part 4)

The Noise's eyes were wide, and his pupils drifted slightly apart as he was lost in thought. He was nervous. He was still thinking about that girl and the fact that he asked her out. It was such a spur of the moment thing. He was afraid it was just another irresponsible decision he made on impulse. Even worse, he couldn't believe she said yes. Now he had to go through with something that he never really thought about. He only thought about her and the occasional visits to her, but now, they were going to have a one on one meeting.

"MISTER NOISE!"

The Noise shook his head and straightened his eyes out. "Huh? Where am I?!" A small Noisey with a baseball cap that said "director" on it was tapping its little foot.

"You're still on set, idiot," it yelled.

"Oh, right... Sorry."

"You're so distracted today. What's going on with you?!"

"I-I don't know. I'm just... spaced out? I guess... I'm not too sure..."

"Are you feeling sick or something?"

"Kind of... I feel a little queezy. My stomach feels weird."

"Maybe if you ate actual food instead of candy, you wouldn't keep getting sick. Now, get it together! We have several scenes to film today, and you were already late to begin with."

"Right, right, sorry."

The Noise walked up to a western-esque set. They were filming a western movie; The Loud Sound. Noise was quickly costumed with a belt, a vest, and a sombrero on top of his usual wear. A pig dressed as a cowboy and another dressed as a old-timey woman stood across from him. "Alright," said the director, "Porky, you're holding an innocent woman hostage as you're approached by our bounty hunter, Noise. He's been chasing you down for miles. You're tired, and this is your last stand. Noise, you've finally come face to face with the biggest bounty you've ever hunted. The money is enough to make you wealthy for life. However, he's one hell of a sharp shooter. You've met your match. You have to get both him and the woman alive or you won't get the bounty. Aaand, ACTION!"

"You might'a had me cornered," said the pig in a western accent, "but I ain't going down without a fight."

"Let her go, Pork Chop," The Noise responded in a slight Mexican accent. "I don't wanna hurt you."

The pig held a prop gun to the woman's head. "You only want the money! You don't give a damn about justice! You don't give a damn about her life!" He pushed his gun against her, and she let out a scream.

"Let her go, and you'll walk out of here alive."

"I'll be dragged out of here in cuffs and hobbles! You'll get the money, and eveybody's gonna think yer a hero! But you're nothing more than a greedy sum'a bi-"

In the middle of the heated scene, The Noise's phone began to ring in the distance. "CUT," yelled the director. "Are you KIDDING me?!" The Noise looked like a deer in headlights. He dashed towards his phone. He didn't recognize the number. Stupidly, he answered it, "Hello?"

"Hey," spoke a familiar female voice, "I know this seems like a long shot, but... Is this The Noise?"

"Yeah...?"

"Hey, it's Hazel!"

"Oh, it's you! Give me a minute." He put his hand over the phone to block the sound. He headed over to the director. "I gotta take this," he said, "it's uh... my doctor!" He ran out of the set and into the hallway. "Sorry about that."

"That's okay! I didn't mean to call so early. I kind of thought you were pranking me so... I wanted to make sure I got the right number."

He laughed. "I can see why you thought that."

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, no, not at all!" He spoke as if he wasn't in the middle of work.

"I was wondering what sort of ideas you had for lunch. I mean, my cafe still doesn't serve food, so..."

"Well, what were you thinking?"

She giggled. "I wasn't thinking anything, I hoped you had an idea in mind."

"Oh. Hm... You know what? There's this neat bubble tea place in The Pig City that has really good food."

"I love bubble tea! I didn't know there was a place to get it in the tower."

"Yeah, it's great. They have ramen, dumplings, macarons, rolled ice cream, all sorts of cool stuff!"

"That sounds great! So, when were you thinking we go there? I'm free all evening."

"I'm sort of at work right now, so-"

"What?! You said I wasn't interrupting anything!"

"You aren't! It's sort of a slow day today."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize! We can still make the plans."

"Oh, okay... So then when were you hoping to go?"

"How about tomorrow afternoon or the day after?"

"I can do tomorrow after I close the cafe."

"Cool! 3 o'clock sound good to you?"

"Yeah, that's perfect!"

"Okay, see you then!"

"Yep! Now get back to work!" She laughed.

He chuckled. "Alright, alright. If anything happens, just give me a call."

"Okay, bye!"

"Bye."

The Noise walked back into the set. Everyone stared as he entered the room. "Sorry," he apologized, "I got some bloodwork done. My doctor was just calling to tell me everything's good." The director noisey rolled its eyes. "Whatever, Noise. Put your phone on silent and get back in the scene! We are NOT working overtime today."

[psychicpinenut]

netflix atla review

i decided that i wanted to see it through anyway so i finished the netflix atla. here are the things that made me want to hurl rocks at my tv (i might not remember a lot of things because i stopped watching after ep 4 and only continued this week so this might get rambly as i try to recall things)

let me start on the cast. no offense to these kids but my god. one of the things i hate the most is when you can tell an actor is acting. the whole time you could see that they walk up to their mark, stop there and recite the lines like they're in a high school play. and i get that they're young and probably don't have too much experience but i just keep thinking about the original voice cast who were children as well at the time of recording and they're some of the most talented actors i've ever heard. but then again i know they had to not only find people who resemble the characters but can do martial arts and act. so whatever, i hope they'll grow more during this. the only actor i liked was dallas liu who is the oldest of the main cast (i believe he was around 20 when they filmed this) which is probably why he doesn't have a chronic case of child acting.

constantly making up and/or changing lore:

why can aang only speak to past avatars in their shrines?

roku is sidelined in favor of kyoshi (who for some reason is extremely aggressive towards him) who can see into the future apparently because she gave aang a vision of the northern water tribe being destroyed instead of sozin's comet coming.

aang somehow being "lost" to the ocean spirit at the end which is ???

sokka and katara can enter the spirit world with aang

koh keeping his victims like some fucking spider and only gives them back after aang gave some stupid totem back. they also brought him so forward that he doesn't tell aang about tui and la which was the entire fucking point of looking him up in the first place

yue is a fox? in the spirit world?

wan shi tong is there also in the spirit world

i'm guessing they're already abandoning the ancient library storyline because they already intoduced wan shi tong and zhao was shown that he found out about tui and la from the fire sages in roku's temple. which is going to be interesting because that's where sokka finds out about the solar eclipse but i guess they'll come up with some other solution like toph can sense the moon moving through her feet or some shit

tui and la becoming mortals for only one night?

zuko having extensive research on the avatars should mean he knows that roku is his great grandfather but we're either leaving that one out or he's just not good at research

they took out sokka's sexism, thus eliminating any chance of character development, in favor of putting in actual sexism perpetrated by the show itself. suki is made into this small town girl, rapunzel type of character who needs sokka, the man, to bring the world to her and expand her mind. and then instead of sokka being grateful to suki for teaching him, she's the one that's thankful for ... going there? and bringing the world to her? because strong women mean they can punch right?

constant references to book 2 in the first season

they made so that aang didn't actually run away from his responsibility as the avatar - which is a pretty important part of his arc as that guilt follows him through the entire series - but that he only took a little trip to clear his head. which makes everyone accusing him of disappearing seem dumb and unfair

which leads me to bumi. why the fuck would bumi be so pissed at him? the whole episode he's antagonizing him and yelling at him to go do his job as the avatar meanwhile he's holding him hostage and making him do his challenges. like let him go so he can do his job maybe?? stupid

the entire ep 3-4. they really just shoved like 5 episodes together into one which i get because they don't have time to do everything but they did it so badly and the messages from each episode disappeared in favor of the CGI fight scenes.

like what do you mean sokka barely even got to interact with jet? that's the episode where sokka is proven to have good instincts and leadership because he saw jet for what he was.

why are teo and his dad here? what about aang's massive grief over the industrialization of his wiped out culture?

why would jet try to kill bumi? they completely obliterated the moral dilemma of jet wiping out a fire nation village because he sees that as justified even though he's killing civilians who happen to be fire nation.

for some reason they had sokka and katara go through the secret tunnel which is kind of fucking weird. i don't mind if they cut the kaang romance line but it is going to be interesting once it comes to the earthly attachments and some plotlines that revolve around aang having a major crush on katara. also what do you mean the badger moles sense "emotions"? toph is about to sense people's emotions in her feet and learn bending that way

they mary sue'd katara. she's bad at waterbending until she isn't and suddenly she's a master just from self taught basic waterbending she learned from the scroll gran gran gave her?? which is another thing they robbed us of because katara going to great lengths to steal the scroll shows how determined she is and desperate to learn waterbending but here she just gets handed the scroll. she's timid and lukewarm the entire season, the only time i can recall her even raising her voice is when she's arguing with sokka over jet. she gets mad at pakku for not letting her fight which is stupid because girl who is gonna stop you? go and fight?? you should be getting mad at pakku for not even trying to teach you waterbending. then she brings the entire untrained female population to the fight because girl power™. despite all of this, she's proclaimed a master without any actual training and beats zuko's ass purely because she's So Good. like at this point she shouldn't be able to hold her own against zuko without the full moon's help because as soon as the sun comes up zuko easily overpowers her ("you rise with the moon i rise with the sun"). which didn't happen here because she's a self proclaimed master now apparently

aang didn't bend a single waterdrop the entire season. it's book 1: water. it's called water. where's the bending aang? too busy doing another stupid walk and talk

stripped of iroh telling zuko he thinks of him as his son

stripped of one of the rawest lines i've ever heard on television: "my father says she was born lucky, he says i was lucky to be born"

which leads me into azula's character. they brought her in earlier just so her role in the whole season can be her groveling at ozai's feet, seeking his approval, trying to outdo zuko. which is insane cause she already outdoes zuko by a mile. she's a prodigy. they make it look like ozai favors zuko over azula which is so fucking insaaaane it made me so mad. she already knows she's better than zuko, she doesn't need her father's approval. also why isn't her fire blue.

iroh being the one who kills zhao. this one pissed me off so badly because in the original, as the ocean spirit takes hold of him zuko reaches out to zhao to try to save him.... that man tried to have him KILLED. and zuko still tried to save him. but zhao's arrogance didn't let him take his hand and that was his demise. that single act tells us so much about zuko and they just??? took that out??? so iroh can just murder him?? instead of it being the ocean spirit's revenge for killing its partner? instead of giving us that glimpse into who zuko is as a person? i'm going insane

don't even mention the fact that zuko fought back against ozai during the agni kai. he was literally banished because he refused to fight him. he got the scar because he refused to fight him. that's who zuko is!!!! and then they show us that he, a 13 year old boy who is still fairly inexperienced at bending, could have defeated ozai but he chose not to?? i'm sorry???

during the meeting where he spoke out against their plan, they made it look like he only spoke up because the general taunted him and not because he thought what they wanted to do was morally wrong.

now tell me which line hits harder: "compassion is a sign of weakness" or "you will learn respect and suffering will be your teacher". yeah...

yue bringing sokka to the spirit oasis to heal momo?? it was so fucking stupid and unserious that they were cradling a cgi lemur that i was in tears of pain. i almost gave up there

sokka constantly talking about wanting to be a better warrior and bossing katara around but doing absolutely fuck all to prove himself was insane. sokka was just standing around the whole season making bad jokes (cause wow they made sokka unfunny somehow) and flirting with women.

there was no goofiness or lightheartedness to aang. he took everything so fucking seriously it actually hurt to watch because they blew things out of proportion that didn't need to be. why was he so afraid of his normal bending power? not even his avatar state power but just his airbending. constantly angsting over his responsibility and how he's failing as the avatar. jesus fucking christ.

since zuko never stole katara's necklace, june had to use some fuckin random fabric she found on one of the trees that could've belonged to anybody??

zuko was able to capture aang after june found him instead of getting his ass whooped and paralysed so when zhao basically forces him to hand aang over to him, it's easier to guess who the blue spirit is as zuko makes a whole scene about it earlier

truly the one thing i really liked was the addition that the 41st division was the crew he protected at the war meeting

circling back to the first episode where we start out in the past and we get to see the whole genocide of the air nomads instead of finding out along with aang. we also get to see how he ends up in the iceberg so we don't get his story paralleled with zuko's backstory like in the storm. i mean whatever but the aang and zuko parallels were always dear to me.

hated zhao's actor. instead of him being intimidating and scary, he was acting like a frat boy and talked like tom cruise's character in magnolia. just simply annoying

jet telling katara to just stop being sad about her mom and she stops being sad and suddenly she can bend again. and later when he tells her she can bend because he helped her, she straight up denies it because it was "all her" like i gotta disagree there cause no, it was definitely him who helped you.

icing on the cake was when zuko walks into a bar and the patrons there reference like 4 storylines that they skipped over

so anyway... that's all i could think of at the top of my head and i hope they fuck up less in the upcoming seasons god willing

[fullcry]

*knocks on your askbox* hostage/creature vash au?? may i ask for more details please 👀👀👀

You may!

So, I've had this fic outlined for a while but I wasn't going to work on it until maybe the end of May? I wanted to finish Memories on Film and Biology first, then make more progress on Love and Peace and Gunsmoke.

BUT. @zeearts had to go and create this incredible creature!Vash design and it just got my brain spinning all sorts of gears and now I'm back to dabbling with the Hostage AU!

Basically, the story goes something like this:

Meryl grows up in a rural town without a plant whose primary trade is worm hunting. They've got industrial production going, trading their goods for water from July and other essential resources. There's problems in the town, and being close to July they are firmly within the thrall of the Eye of Michael (except Meryl, ofc, because our girl is Smart and Knows a cult when she sees one).

Well one day Meryl gets chosen as a sacrifice and she gets taken to July where she's put in service to Knives and Conrad as sort of a glorified maid/caretaker to this strange creature Knives proclaims is his brother. Meryl doesn't know what's going on and the whole things seems hella sus and what the fuck is this bird thing huddled in the corner, but she does what she's told and pretends to be a Meek Believer while she tries to figure out how to bust out.

Meanwhile, in the background:

Knives, unable to forcibly control Vash's gate, has proceeded with his "Destroy the Parasites" master plan using the Eye of Michael to start a holy war while he hopes that giving Vash a little of what he wants--a human companion--will weaken his resolve and/or give Knives something to hold over him so he can gain some kind of leverage in this battle of wills with his brother.

Unbeknownst to Meryl Conrad is also plotting, secretly dosing her food with drugs to use her as Test Subject 1 in his plan to create part-plant humans. He hopes that he can secretly dose the water supply he controls to get the drug out to the masses and create hybrid humans that might stand a chance of surviving Knives' war and win a place in his Eden.

Wolfwood, the one responsible for capturing Vash and bringing him to Knives, is also skulking around Knives' lil July penthouse. They've got a baby Livio hostage they're using as leverage and Wolfwood wants his lil bro back and is making his own plan to bust him out while Knives and Conrad are distracted with their war.

Back to Meryl.

Our girl slowly befriends dear Creature!Vash, locked away in his lil plant-proof chamber. He's half-delusion from Knives' mind-fuckery, and through kindness and patience Meryl slowly brings him back to himself.

One day Meryl and Wolfwood meet, and together they strike up a plan to bust everyone out--her, Vash, Wolfwood, and Livio. But things don't go according to plan...

I've been dabbling with it a bit the past few days, though I'm TRYING to stick to the goals I set for myself as much as possible (I have a Patreon now and I'm trying to stick to an actual schedule!) but you know how inspiration can be <sob> It controls me I don't control it.

Speaking of Patreon, for anyone interested I'll be posting WIP snippets of this fic and other ideas this upcoming week on my page!

[renmackree]

Hai! Same anon who asked for the original, can we PLEASE have more? Please please PLEASE?!?

Alright, but just because I like you :)

Part One

IL: I want 10.

SS: You're a greedy bastard. Fine.

"Lydia, your stalker wants 10 pictures this time." Stiles walked into the lab and tossed his bag into the little cubby marked "Style-less". Lydia was adjusting her lip gloss in the one next to him, "Queen Bitch" written over it with sparkling purple letters.

"He's getting a little needy." Lydia pulled back from the cubby and adjusted the white lab coat over her perfectly styled skirt and blouse. "You did tell him he could just ask me on a date, right?"

Stiles had NOT told Isaac that Lydia had offered to go out with him, because Isaac and Stiles had a deal. Stiles gave Isaac pictures of Lydia, Isaac gave Stiles the Teenaged Mothman collector buckets and reserved the middle row for him. They had this pact since Stiles' first year of college and he was not going to upset the balance in any way.

Plus Lydia didn't mind the attention.

"What Moth movie is this one?" Lydia leaned against the wall across from the cubbies as she waited for Stiles to change. He slipped the plaid shirt off and grabbed the Batman lab coat from his peg.

"Mothman in Love. This bucket supposedly has Erik and Steven holding each other with Wolfgirl and the new character LizardBoy." Stiles sighed, shaking his head. "God it's so stupid."

Lydia rose her brows as if she agreed, but didn't say anything. Once Stiles was dressed, the two walked through the decontamination chamber and into the main lab area. Greenberg looked up and waved at the two of them before returning back to his slides.

Boyd was finishing up some calculation on the whiteboard, turning around and nodding.

"Alright, are we wanting sexy or candid?" Lydia asked as she hopped up on one of the empty counters. "Because I only did two hours of skincare last night."

"Isaac holding your bucket hostage?" Boyd asked with a smile. "You know I could --"

"Yeah yeah, use whatever connection it is you have to get one, but Isaac works at the theater and this is traditions we're talking about, Vernon. Whoever your connection is, I'm sure she's great but please. Let me get my collector bucket in skeevy and blackmail-ish ways."

Boyd made a face but turned back to his work. The four of them had been in the same degree for nearly 7 years at this point, everyone was used to Stiles.

Lydia cleared her throat and Stiles began snapping pictures to Isaac. Some candid, some posed. One of Lydia almost sneezing to really sell the whole experience. After each one, Stiles was notified of Isaac screenshoting them and saving them in chat.

Weirdo.

Stiles snapped the final picture of Lydia, sending it off to Isaac with the message - 'That's ten, give me my bucket Lahey'. He stopped, groaning as he realized he had added that last one to his story as well. He had been about to delete it when another message popped up.

Haleofaguy is typing DH:Who is Lahey and why is he holding your bucket hostage?

Stiles bit his lip. So last night wasn't a fever dream! Derek Hale really had added him to snapchat. oh my god Derek Hale is watching my Snapstories Stiles thought, trying to come up with something smart to say back.

SS: Obviously we're reenacting the war of 1325 between the rival city-states of Bologna and Modena. Isaac has started the War of the Bucket 2: The reckoning DH: Don't tell my manager, that sounds like the title of a good movie. SS: See, I knew watching hours and hours and hours of cheesy b-role films would come in handy. I'm ready to make my first movie.

"Who you chatting with, Stiles?" Lydia asked with an almost predatory grin. "Is it someone special?"

"I mean, yes. But it's none of your business Ms. Sink-my-teeth-in-every-guy. Besides, aren't you dating Aiden?"

"No, we hooked up but he's just a fling. He has two brain functions and that's Fuck and Football. I'm not going to date someone who yells 'touchdown' when I orgasm."

Stiles snorted at that, watching as the snapchat went silent again and Stiles was left on read. He sighed, knowing that Derek was probably busy with interviews for the Mothman Movie.

"Hey, did you guys want to go to a party with me and my fiancée?" Boyd asked, checking his phone. "Apparently the party was moved to Boston last night."

"Party?" Lydia smiled, moving from Stiles to Boyd now. "What type of party?"

"Probably just a cocktail thing, that's what they usually are. But Black Tie is required so. Are you all in?"

"Invite Danny instead of me," Greenberg said from his microscope. "I have a date tonight."

The group oooo'd at that and Lydia texted Danny to let him know the plans. She then launched into Stiles' wardrobe and how she was going to dress him for the party. Stiles honestly wasn't really looking forward to the thought of being around strangers, but this would be the first time Stiles would meet the future Mrs. Boyd and he was excited.

With the way Boyd talked about Ria, she sounded like she hung the moon.

.o00o.

SS: Fit for tonight, tearing up the town with my side bitch IL: Pics or I burn the bucket SS: She's posting on Instagram, calm down Ricardo López IL: Who's Ricardo Lopez? SS: Look him up. BYE

Stiles slid his phone into the pocket of the tight slacks, looking over them again and frowning. "I look like someone going to a movie premier."

"Look, Boyd said Black Tie and I've been DYING to see you in this color. Truly, plum looks good on you." Lydia finished putting her hair up and turning around in her dress. "How do I look?"

"Like someone's trophy wife."

She grinned wide, putting her hands on her hips. "Thank you! That was the look I was going for."

Stiles rolled his eyes but let the woman fuss with his hair a little more. Her phone buzzed to signal Danny and Boyd were here. "Now, as soon as we walk through those doors --"

"--I only know you if I need to order an Angel Shot."

Lydia nodded and brushed her hand over his shoulders. "Mama's getting herself a hunk tonight and you will not fuck this up."

"Do I need to get a hotel for the night or are you going to? I just don't want a repeat of last time where I walked in on you and --"

Lydia pressed her finger against Stiles lips and shook her head. He loved having Lydia as a roommate, but sometimes it was hard to be with her and constantly be reminded he was so, so single.

The phone buzzed again and the two of them made their way out of their apartment and down to where a limo -- LIMO-- was waiting. The four settled in the back now, Boyd chatting about how they would be going through the back so they didn't end up on Just Jared in the morning.

"What does your fiancée do, Boyd?" Danny asked, sipping from one of the champagne flutes.

"Don't ask, we haven't even met her and Boyd won't tell us anything. Says he wants to keep his private life private." Lydia teased. "but not tonight! What changed? You've been going to her parties for years and haven't invited us!"

Boyd rolled his eyes at the chiding, sipping from his own glass. "Ria said that she wanted to meet everyone. And apparently the host of the party is interested in Stiles' research."

Stiles blinked. His mouth dropped open. Was Boyd's fiancée RIa DeLaugh-Moot? The famous wolf biologist from Finland? Suddenly his heart dropped. That would mean this party was for the conservation and repopulation programs. Excitement bubbled under his skin.

"Someone is interested in Stiles? Wow." Danny teased a little, offering a wink to the man. "At least we have someone to thank for this then. Ria and Mysterious Host. Do you think he's like Gatsby?"

The car pulled up outside the venue, the driver getting out and opening the door for them. Stiles' mind was racing as he tried to think of something witty and smart to say for their first meeting. Maybe he'd open up with a joke? Maybe he'd say a little wolf pun to get the mood broken. It was almost a full moon and werewolf jokes were always a good choice.

The Venue backdoor opened and a woman with bright blonde hair and a tight green dress stepped out. Her brown eyes lit up as she launched herself at Boyd and pressed a kiss against his lips.

"Vernny I missed you!" She sighed. "Remind me to never take another project ok?"

"You say that every time, Ria. Just remember that you enjoy your job."

She pouted but nodded before turning to everyone. "Hi! Vernny has told me so much about you all, I'm Erica Reyes."

Stiles' mouth ran dry. Erica. Wolfgirl. Reyes. THE Erica Reyes. Erica Reyes who plays Gretta Hansel in the Teenaged Mothman series. HIS Mothman Series.

But if Erica was here, then the host was --

From behind the corner a man in a crisp black suit and a tie with an obnoxious moth pattern peeked out. His hair was raven black and his hazel eyes were masked by thick rimmed black glasses.

"OH, and this is my good friend Derek Hale. He's the one hosting the party."

And if anyone asked, Stiles did NOT faint.