#It was so damn hellish and sinister

[childofaura]

AUGH, THAT LATEST EPISODE OF VINLAND SAGA

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK, DUDE.

Spoilers under the cut because I have a friend who hasn’t finished S1 yet.

Okay so that dream sequence was absolute insanity. And just perfection. I don’t care if it’s considered cheesy to have a dream sequence be a catalyst for change, it felt so amazing to see Askeladd and Thorfinn talking the way they were. Like those moments in Season 1 where Askeladd was being so true and honest with Thorfinn, moreso than his own men.

And... just seeing the pain and remorse Thorfinn is feeling. That agony over every person he killed. That’s such a huge step forward for him.

Overall this was honestly one of the greatest episodes of Season 2 so far, maybe one of the most triumphant moments in the whole series.

[rei-ismyname]

WHERE'S RASPUTIN IV?

Been wondering where the heck Rasputin IV got to after the battle vs ORCHIS/ENIGMA? Me too. For those that haven't....

Who is Rasputin IV?

Rasputin is a *chimera* - a concept first shown in Powers of X #1. Mutant technology, Sinister style - completely devoid of ethics. Chimera are genetically engineered beings made from two or more mutant gifts in the same body, sometimes with elements of the original's personality or traits. Many timelines and Krakoas have produced them but it's always one man behind it - Mr Sinister. Technically he is the first chimera (according to Moira) due to his habit of wearing other mutant's gifts like hats. We know he has John Proudstar/Thunderbird's gifts (somehow. No, seriously, how tf did he get that?) as well as at least one psychic and metamorph.

Not Rasputin IV, but it was our first look at a Rasputin chimera.

Spoilers for Sins of Sinister and Fall of X. Reader beware!

Other chimera are made from scratch, like Cardinal or Rasputin. Most are fusion dance mashups of two mutants but they're all the same concept. Sadly they are among the last mutants in a hellish dystopia that Moira's 6th life has become, and they all die pretty quickly in an act of heroism. Speculation was rife at the time, with many hoping we'd see her again. Fortunately, my pick for the best writer in comics atm decided to use her.

Sins of Sinister/Immoral X-Men

The Rasputin that ended up in the present came from the Sins of Sinister/Red Diamond timeline. After Sinister corrupted the Quiet Council they turned on him and he was kept alive for as long as he was useful. He was pretty damn useful, creating mindless abominations to destroy Arakko, achieve FTL travel, wipe out ORCHIS/The Avengers/ The FF, take over the world, turn the universe into a horror, and wiped out countless civilizations leaving only Sinisterised mutants left. Under threat of death he blurted that he could pull off a stable chimera with 5 mutant gifts, earning a stay of execution. He definitely delivered on that promise.

Drumroll please... RASPUTIN IV

Her genetic payload is

- Telepathy from Quentin Quire.

- Healing and 'aggression' from Laura Kinney/Wolverine.

- Intangibility from Kitty Pryde.

- Organic metal skin and strength from Colossus.

- Forcefields from Unus the Untouchable.

- plus a Soulsword a la Magik (no idea how he made this happen. He's the worst, but he does amazing work.)

She's beast mode incarnate. Look at that design! Sinister, bastard that he is, took advantage of her nature as a true believer and naiveté so she'd lead the search for his missing lab to reset the universe. Importantly, he removed the brainwashing and gave her free will - sold her a heroic lie. They also had to leave Earth immediately as Sinister definitely outlived his usefulness and the QC were trying to kill him, though once they escaped they shrugged and forgot about him. For 900 years they traversed a universe of peril and perversion until she found what was needed. 900 years! Then she found out the whole thing was a lie and that Sinister is an utter bastard.

She was... not happy about that and from this point viewed Sinister as the 'Great Deceiver', 'He Who Burned Paradise.' In a great villain speech he admits he can't defeat her in a fight, but he never gave her the power of flight and he ejects her into SPAAACE. Doomed to die in the void, Mother Righteous made an offer. Rasputin IV would get her chance at revenge/justice, though she unwittingly gave MR power over her.

After the reset, many things made their way back to the present, to 616. A whole lot of information and one genetically engineered superhero bad bitch. Great choice IMO. Her self appointed mission was to ensure Sinister faces justice for his crimes. Essex was not expecting the gal he left to die to pop out of his cloning machine. In fact, it's not even the same Sinister. Fortunately he has many crimes to be tried for.

Which she did! She walloped him and delivered him to the quiet council in a force field. She was also just a little bit giddy at getting to visit what was ancient history or legend for her. More than giddy, actually. Part of the dichotomy of Rasputin IV is that she's a genetically engineered superhero bad bitch, and she's an idealist - a true believer in Krakoa. A Krakoa that only existed in stories in her time. A believer in a better future and in doing things the right way. (You'll note Kitty Pryde finds herself attracted to Rasputin - the Colossus/Magik combo with a splash of herself. I love it.) The shiniest girl acted as security for the quiet council during the aftermath of the Sinister crisis, but her character doesn't progress much until the Hellfire Gala.

She gets to be a normal gal, wearing a lovely gown, almost certainly for the first time, and squeeing over Ms Marvel (which she totally deserves after 900 years of war, black ops, horror and Sinister.) She's so damn cute, look at her! She knows Kamala's story well, better than Kamala herself thanks to future knowledge. It's super cool to see the Fan girl ascended get a taste of hero worship. Tumblr's image limit has never felt more oppressive because her every appearance is glorious and I want to add them all. Expect more posts with Rasputin IV highlights.

Sadly, ORCHIS (Booooooooo!) crashed the party and started killing everyone. After Jean Grey fell all the mutants fought back with righteous fury. Rasputin and Ms Marvel teamed up to trash Stark Sentinels. They probably would have won a complicated victory, but Xavier made a deal with ORCHIS forcing all mutants off planet. Those who weren't able to resist his psychic hijacking anyway. Rasputin IV was one who could, joining the resistance while working with Xavier on combatting a Dominion - an AI god, more or less.

Mein Gott that art is beautiful.

Surprise surprise! She's crucial. Everyone would have died multiple times without her... and the mutants won, saving Earth, the universe, and every living thing in it! Crushing ORCHIS into bigot paste and earning a future for everyone, but better than the one she came from. As for the AI God - long story short Hope, Legion, Prodigy, Askani, and Jean Grey kill then resurrect Jeanix - Jean who's the Phoenix, now and forever. She calls on the spirits of every mutant, everywhere and everywhen to bust him up and leave his corpse fragments around the Earth as warning to any other cosmic predators.

But Rasputin IV hasn't forgotten the asshole that got them into this situation - Mr Sinister. As soon as everyone is safe she and Exodus are like 'let's kill his ass.' Destiny says some enigmatic stuff and then Rasputin disappears from the story. Seriously, she's just gone after this page. That huge splash page in Uncanny X-Men #700 where Krakoa is leaving and everyone is weeping? OMEGA SENTINEL is there but no Rasputin. She definitely hasn't shown up in From The Ashes and I doubt she will, despite being a powerhouse and a true believer. So, where's my favourite shiny girl?

Let's be honest - when the toys were being put back in the toy box she wasn't killed off or sent back to her timeline (cos it doesn't exist.) After the fight was won she stood with Exodus and wanted to kill Sinister. He escaped and instead of closure the story marched towards a status quo where Krakoa happened but it's definitely past tense and was a bad idea (sez them.) Able to be plucked off the shelf should a future writer use her, but in de facto stasis. She is very powerful and difficult to write, after all. That's a boring Doylist explanation and frankly a waste of an amazing character. If they can have idiots like Raze stick around, they can at least tell us what happened to her. So, some possible Watsonian explanations..

- Maybe she chose to join the mutants with Krakoa in the White Hot Room. The promised land, as Exodus might call it. Krakoa *is* what she's been fighting for for 900 years, and she does deserve rest as much as anyone. A weapon, bioengineered for war and bound by lies choosing peace and building the safe place does have a certain poetry to it - but if Exodus didn't I don't think she would either. They are two different brands of true believer, but there's at least two tasks remaining they're both invested in. Killing Sinister and fighting for mutant safety/freedom. Then again, 900 years of battle and misery. If anyone deserves heaven, it's her.

- Maybe she left with Exodus to wherever he goes when the plot doesn't need him. He's grown though, not the Magneto worshipper he was. His position seems to be pro-Hope anti-Sinister. After observing Rasputin with Kamala though, she seems to have a healthier on/off button for Krakoa-ism. Considering Exodus showed up to do jack shit in Heir of Apocalypse, and barely reacted to Sinister... I doubt it. Though a new 'brotherhood' of sorts with those two would be great. I'd read it. Hell, I'd write it.

- Maybe she moved to Arakko? She doesn't know anyone there and has no ties, though she would fit right in. The Broken Land, a mutant homeland where pain is spoken aloud, heard, and community built. It'd be great, though From The Ashes doesn't seem to have much interest in Arakko.

- Maybe she went back to the future... NOPE! It doesn't exist anymore for one, and it's also a hellscape to put it lightly. Scratch that.

- Retired quietly by herself? Nobody can argue she deserves it, but she's a hero - hardcoded in her DNA. Mutants are in deep shit and I don't believe she'd stay out of that fight.

My speculation has become rambling. The simple fact is that we don't know. I believe we deserve to, or at least I very much want to. Where's RASPUTIN IV?

[lineffability]

“You’re collaborating. With the angel. The Archangel.”

“So?”

“So– uh, so: Punishment! It's bad enough that you got away with it the first time. And Lord Beelzebub got away unscathed by the hellish flames of vengeance, too! And then you used that distraction to get away with it again. You and that angel boyfriend of yours. You make me sick. You always get away. It's like you're hell's special little snowflake, the only one that escapes the furnace. And I do not care for it. But I will not let it happen again. I’m in charge now.”

"Ah," said Crowley.

Shax' rage ebbed a little, and she cleared her throat. "It's nothing personal, of course."

"Of course." Crowley smiled impolitely.

"As new Grand Duchess of Hell, I need to set a precedent. Make an example of you. Show the united masses of the damned and downtrodden how Shax' reigns. How the burning land lies. How the rancid wind blows. How the stork flies, how--"

"Yeah, yeah. Got it the first time." Crowley continued to look unimpressed, which vexed Shax to imperceptible heights. "So how do you plan to carry out this punishment, then?"

"I will rain the fires of hell down upon the ashes of your burning body. I will let the rats gnaw at your bones. I will put you in chains and then literally let you rot in solitary confinement. I will resurrect the best, most ruthless, most sinister torturers and then I will--"

"Um. Not to steal your thunder but. Sorry. I meant... more immediately. Like. Handcuffs? You wanna put handcuffs on my pretty wrists? Look at them, they're without blemish!"

[read Meanwhile on ao3]

[read chapter 11]

[vixensheart]

A drop of dew slid down the side of his whiskey glass, pooling onto the old, ratty, dingy bartop. Husk slid a thumb along the damp dew that had gathered on the glass, a tired sigh easing from his lips. Some sort of shitty music drifted through the old, busted speakers fastened in several places around the bar—Husk wasn’t sure what decade it was from, but he didn’t recognize it in the slightest. 

Not that it mattered. He wasn’t here for the music. 

No, he was here for one thing and one thing only: the liquor. 

Husk downed his glass in one long gulp, slammed it back down onto the countertop. His gaze flickered to the bartender, some shaggy looking sinner who stooped as they polished a smudged glass, droopy eyes unfocused and blinking intermittently. Husk resisted the urge to roll his own eyes. 

He’d go somewhere else for hooch if he could fucking afford it. As it was, he had scraps to his name. 

A scowl twisted across his features. Funny, how that worked out. 

Well. It wasn’t like he needed to eat. Perks of being dead, he supposed. Husk cleared his throat, raising a few claw-tipped fingers to grab the bartender’s attention. 

He blinked. A neon-green chain flashed into existence around his neck. 

Husk didn’t even have a second to fucking think before he was yanked into the magical ether. No, it was just a single breath, the faintest whisper of a swear budding at the tip of his tongue, and then he was spinning, spiraling, rocketing his way through the inky black abyss, crash landing onto rough, cracked pavement in a heap. He groaned. 

Motherfucking shit. 

“Ah! Husker, my good man.” 

He grimaced. Cracked an eye open. Glowing, red eyes and a too-wide smile leered over him, sharp and sinister, leaving his fur standing on end. Husk peeled himself up off the pavement, wings twitching on his back. “The fuck you yankin’ my chain like that for?” he snapped. “Was in the middle of gettin’ a drink.” 

A bark of staticky laughter echoed in the hellish twilight. “My dearest apologies.” 

Yeah, right. Husk’s lip curled, shoulders hunched. The false niceties dripped with a kind of vile sarcasm that had Husk’s instincts screaming at him to recoil. Then again, proximity to Alastor the Radio Demon always left Husk’s fur on end. 

Alastor straightened, head tilting sharply to the side. “I have an errand for you. It’s not a terribly difficult one, so I am quite sure you’ll be able to reunite with your beverages soon enough.” 

Great. Husk fought to settle his expression into something blank and uncaring—it was always better to seem unbothered, when dealing with Alastor. Which, wasn’t an easy feat. The bastard overlord seemed to thrive off of rankling Husk’s chain, literally and figuratively. He pushed himself up onto his feet. 

“What’s the damn job?”

📖

Read the rest on Ao3!

[mjrkime]

I love TES series. Especially Morrowind, Oblivion and Skyrim.

Cyrodiil is comfy. Almost fairytale-like.

Warning: a long and unreasonably emotional post about a videogame

I always find myself being quite bitter whilst coming back to TES IV: Oblivion despite being overall nostalgic. Morrowing felt different and it still does. The emotional baggage that I have for TES III usually relates to my unbearable wish for an escapism which this title provided. Yet, TES IV has a significant flavour to it.

The home of pristinely clean streets, white towers, wine and beautiful pastoral scenery, it hides and nourishes bloody cults, horrific murderers, undercover intrigues and tragedies. Vvanderfell is grey and it's grey in every sense of the way. The morals, the people, the story. It's hard to be and feel heroic when you find yourself amidst a thousand years-long intrigue. Skyrim is bloody. It shows its guts to you because it can. It wants you to bathe in blood while crossing this cold and harsh land.

Oblivion doesn't want you to bathe in blood, it doesn't throw you into the web of intrigues. It gives you a simple story about a hero who finds themselves at the end of the old man's wish. Emperor Uriel Septim gives you his amulet before his inevitable demise. And after that it just goes as it always does.

Cyrodiil hides its very essence under everyone's nose. It pretends to be an idyllic place. In fact, I can absolutely feel the need to slow down and take a stroll through the beautiful cities. Together with the soundtrack, the atmosphere brings you a taste of Tamika's fine wine. Going through the vast landscapes I felt like I finally understood why sometimes we just need to stop and just stare at the sky while the sun sets. Everything feels perfect But it's oh so far away from being perfect. There's, in fact, a necromancer living under that hill. A dangerous cult of ritualistic murderers prospers under the guise of Night Mother, housing their cozy hideout in the middle of the city. A menacing entity is plotting against the mages guild, the mercenaries and bandits watch the roads, thieves are spreading their curiosity amidst the city streets. There are dark mysteries in the ancient ruins and ugly secrets among the people of Cyrodiil. The daedra shrines await their chosen puppet to fulfill their sinister purposes. Also, there's a gate to the literal daedra hellish realm right there.

The realm of Mehrunes Dagon feels like a cruel joke, an attraction in the house of horrors. There are spikes everywhere, the small islands of soil are surrounded by lava, the blood of countless victims soaks the walls of menacing towers and even the damn flora wants to murder you. It mocks the heavenly peaceful land of Cyrodiil perfectly.

What's that? Oh, a sudden realisation.

Cyrodiil seems... Stereotypical. Oae wae!

But the stereotype or not, I quite enjoy this heroic fairytale which is, in fact way darker than it may seem at first.

Every time I come back to this land I can feel the underlying bitter sweet feeling. I know and love these characters, this story and this land. But also I know how each string ends. And it hurts. Sitting in front of Martin while he reads inside the Cloud Ruler Temple, training next to Agronak in the Arena, resting and enjoying the stay inside the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. It all brings me as much misery as it does joy, because I KNOW that the ending is inevitable. I might delay it, I might never become a Champion of Cyrodiil, Arena Grand Champion or a Speaker, but it's only a fool's relief. Reading the interpretation of what might've happened to the Hero of Cyrodiil, honestly clicks to me. In my mind, my protagonist lost a good chunk of people she cared about no matter where she tried to go and what she tried to do. Strolling through Cyrodiil after the main plot always felt excruciatingly lonely and bitter. It's only logical that she would lose herself to a maddening corruption.

Every time I ride through the Colovian Highlands or stroll through the Nibenay Valley, I feel at ease and comfortable. But something inside me aches and feels like crying. Alone.

P.S. I know this feels too melancholic and d33p for a game that's basically a meme now, but I'm a person who cherishes videogame experiences way more than the real ones. Also I can't deny the emotional baggage that I have attached to it. However, I genuinely think that people kind of forgot how nice it felt to play this game. The memes are funny, yes, but I genuinely feel that the province of Cyrodiil holds way more depth than just that.

[laughterlust]

I know this is like a week late, but I totally forgot I had started this draft, and I need something to help me feel happy rn

I wanted to talk about one of my favorite 2D platformers to play during October: Eversion.

❌🔞MINORS AND NO AGE IN PROFILE DNI. This is a NSFW blog, you will be blocked on sight.🔞❌

The original Eversion was released as a freebie back in 2008, with true 16-bit graphics to imitate the era it was parodying.

I just love how they interpreted the "Super cute happy innocent setting slowly transforming into something Hellish" trope as something as cool as dimension-shifting. It's a very satisfying platformer combined with puzzle game. The deaths are so silly that it outweighs the genuine frustration of missing jumps. It's challenging, but fairly easy to get through once you play the levels a few times (Which you'll have to do for the true ending.) And, for me personally, it does just the right amount of creepy and unsettling that scratches that itch in my brain for fun adrenaline.

The soundtrack is phenomenal, imo. Such simplified, but effective 8-Bit tracks that slowly, surely descend into madness as the world crumbles around you.

and good lord if World 6's music doesn't give me the absolute heebie-jeebies and make me think of Rags' unhinged laughter as he starts shambling towards someone

And that's just it: I honestly wouldn't be surprised if this was partial inspiration for the aesthetic of the Nightmare Realm. (Though the main inspiration is still the Shadow Realm from Yu-Gi-Oh.) The purple, black and red combo is super appealing to me. The idea that Nightmares basically put their 'player' on a 'stage'- a nightmarescape orchestrated by them, letting the person think they're in control at first.

I know it was inspiration for Ragaeli. His hair tips have always been based off of those damn grabby hands.

But yeahhh in more recent years I'm realizing more and more the other reasons it appealed to me. For the most part it doesn't give me those kinds of thoughts until the late stages (the 'Desolation' phase where everything is frozen is legit unsettling af to me) But still. The nerve-racking music as things around you start to grow more sinister. The realization setting in that you are no longer in your own safe world; you feel like more of a plaything for whatever entity is now toying with you - as evidenced by the death screens starting to taunt you with 'GIVE UP,' 'STOP,' 'Mother', 'Ready? To Die'. The enemies becoming extremely fast once they're in their 'true' state of being, and impossible to kill. Hands flying at you as you're forced to run forwards to avoid getting engulfed in darkness. A sleep-paralysis-demon of a true Queen with head-tendrils slowly stalking towards you, and you can't move an inch.

I think you get the idea :3c

❌🔞MINORS AND NO AGE IN PROFILE DNI. This is a NSFW blog, you will be blocked on sight.🔞❌

[the-maddened-hatter]

Tbh I guess it's more of a contrived alternate timeline so Beni can survive and join the MCs because he's my favorite character for some reason lol.

a more in-depth massive rough draft infodump incoming! :D (If you're interested!)

It involves a freaky Eldritch creature I'm calling "the shimmerpede" for the rough draft that can, among other things, mess with the passage of time and feeds off of psychic energy. It was trapped in some artifact that Beni had in his pocket that broke when the scarabs swarmed and it kept him alive within its realm, but badly suffering to feed off of the psychic energy that generates.

Evie & Rick get contacted by a mysterious but supposedly wealthy man who requests (via hints at a large donation to the museum they're working for) that they come examine some writings he "found" in a cave system on the outskirts of his property.

They aren't thrilled to be shuttled out for such a vague request, but they can't really get out of it so they end up going. Jonathan tags along for "moral support" (but in reality he had gotten into some trouble in town and was looking for an excuse to make himself scarce for a bit).The mysterious guy is immediately off-putting and strongly objects to Jonathan's presence, trying to dissuade him from accompanying them to the cave system (which he pretends to go acquiesce to, but after amusing himself poking around the mansion he secretly follows them in a comically non-stealthy automobile that he has to take great pains to conceal). There are some other less direct things about the guy too, but he doesn't technically do anything that can be directly called-out, so they reluctantly allow themselves to be lead to the caverns and go inside.

After some exploring they find Beni (who, despite not doing very well is still remarkably alive and unchanged considering the circumstances). After a while of being unable to get a sensible and/or understandable answer from him, Rick tries to navigate to the caves entrance to bring back supplies, but gets lost within the caves for a time, leaving Evie & Jonathan with Beni (giving Evie time to find out some lore from the broken artifact that she'll be able to use later and for Jonathan to have amusing interactions with Beni). Rick encounters the mysterious wealthy man within the tunnels, who by this point he realizes is most definitely sinister, and tries to chase him down. He's led deeper and deeper into the caverns as the shimmerpede changes into its monstrous form and monologues.

The shimmerpede leads Rick back to the makeshift campsite and, generating an opening to the caverns, offers him a choice: One of them can trade places with Beni and let the other three go free or the original three of them may leave, but must do so knowing that they were brought in solely to be his last chance of survival and that by refusing to save him they will be directly responsible for his death. Rick looks to Evie for guidance and after a knowing nod between them it Initially seems that he (rather understandably) chooses to leave Beni to the shimmerpede, sighting his numerous past betrayals as he kicks him away when he feebly tries to cling onto his pants leg. The shimmerpede's laugh is a horrific and distorted sound that seems to come from every twisting tunnel within the caverns. Beni collapses into sobs as it begins to grow, contorting its writhing body into shapes that should not be possible. It begins another monologue mocking Rick for so easily abandoning his morals in the face of sacrifice. And then Rick just shoots the damn thing.

It doesn't kill it, obviously, but it does surprise it and buy enough time for them to rush the exit (with Rick easily lifting and carrying Beni, much to Jonathan's, and only Jonathan's dismay). Evie does some cool resealing incantation with the artifact (that she and Jonathan were able to repair earlier). She tosses it into the depths of the hellish pit that begins to rapidly form and swallow up the rocks that made up the caves.

They make it to Jonathan's (badly) concealed car and Evie drives them to the nearest hospital as Rick assesses Beni's rapidly deteriorating condition and Jonathan reluctantly sits in the back to translate. Evie drives like a madwoman, commenting that she finds camels much easier to manage as Jonathan bemoans the damages she and Beni respectively cause to the exterior and interior of his car.

Beni gradually recovers and becomes more lucid after a rather lengthy hospital stay, and despite each of the main trio stating that they'll be glad to be rid of him they each pay him multiple visits, initially out of pure curiosity, but it's clear that while he's still no saint he is genuinely grateful to them for the kindness they chose to show him in spite of everything he'd done and would like, if possible to make some kind of amends.

After some more time passes, Rick and Evie bring the (new) director of the Museum they work for to the hospital to meet him and, after some unheard negotiations take place (as the "audience" watches Jonathan telling Ardeth a somewhat embellished account of his role in the adventure). Jonathan is interrupted as the meeting concludes and the door to the room opens.

Beni follows the director out of the room, heavily relying on a cane to walk, but is followed closely by Rick & Evie, who, after both warmly greeting Ardeth, announce to the two of them that due to recent events and his remarkable skillsets, Beni will be working alongside them at the museum to pay back his hospital debts (Rick claps his hand onto Beni's shoulder at these words, causing his legs to buckle somewhat from the force and he winces). Ardeth greets Beni pleasantly, and comments on how pleased he is that he's feeling better and has received such a wonderful opportunity to get to work for these lovely people, but strongly insinuates that if he tries to skip out before the O'Connells are satisfactorily compensated that he'll wish Rick had left him to the infernal creature. Beni gets the message.

[so yeah, that's about it! In future adventures some bonus stuff that would pop up is that Beni would be moderately disabled from his time with the shimmerpede, using a cane or a wheelchair as applicable, Beni and Jonathan become a couple, Evie displays more autistic traits (positive and negative), Evie, Rick, and Ardeth might be poly (I'm not 100% committed to the idea, but my friend mentioned it as her headcanon when we watched it and tbh it sounds really sweet), Jonathan getting Beni a really fancy cane after he begins to have feelings for him (and it's been long enough that it's fairly clear he's not going to turn-tail on them), and basically just all of them getting entangled with cryptids from across the world and finding cool enough artifacts that somehow the museum never fires them]

To anyone who read this far, I hope you liked it! :D

so badly want to be apart of the mummy fandom but have no clue how to join

[witchqueenofthemoon]

The new edition of my gothic-eldritch novel, HILLAM HALL, is now avaliable in paperback, hardcover, ebook and audiobook. The cover art is by the incredible Aritz Palacin Albeniz (@haticaughtthemoon). Here is a synopsis.

Somewhere on the desolate moors of Victorian England sits a monolithic black house. It is not merely a haunted mansion, but a yawning gateway unto the chaotic evil of the cosmos. Emmaline Heath, a dark-haired young woman fleeing a tortured past, is sent to live in its monstrous wings under the care of her godfather Carax Hillam. But it is not only the sinister Hillam Hall and its guardian that await her there on the blasted heath: with them are a horde of Lovecraftian Elder gods, tortured ghosts, a familiar and fair stranger, and her own immense destiny.

With the help of the souls of two damned lovers, Red Eyre and Black Tom, a strange hare-like familiar called Hum, and her fated and melancholy love from beyond time, Hyland, Emmaline will come to know her own true nature–as a witch, and a being far greater than humankind–and with this knowledge accept her destiny as the one who will close the cosmic gateway the dreaded Hillam Hall sits upon, before the hellish armies of eldritch night can pour forth upon the world.

HILLAM HALL is an epic dark tale that integrates several gothic traditions (classic horror, Lovecraftian cosmic/eldritch, and romance) into an amalgamation of the best elements of each, giving it a singularity that is both rooted in the best horror traditions and fresh in its tonality. This book will appeal to fans of the cosmic horror of H.P. Lovecraft (AT THE MOUNTAINS OF MADNESS), the classic gothic works of Edgar Allan Poe (THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER), Mary Shelley (FRANKENSTEIN) and Emily Brontë (WUTHERING HEIGHTS), and the dark romances of Anne Rice (THE WITCHING HOUR) while bringing a contemporary feminism and fresh voice of its own upon the trappings of the genre.

If you buy my book in any format and you like it, please, please, please leave it a review. It will help all the spooky people find it. This book is the culmination of work that encompasses almost 15 years of my life. It is my first published novel. I'm writing more, including its sequels, and a series of books about a dynasty of witches in a small, strange town in upstate New York.

My husband and I have been working non-stop on the audiobook for almost a year, and Aritz worked tirelessly on the art. It's been a labor of love for all of us, and I'm beyond excited to show everyone what we have worked so hard to actualize. Amor est dolor aeternus. Come, enter with us, through the jaws of Hillam Hall.

Paperback.

Hardcover.

Audiobook: iTunes. Audible.

Ebook.

Message me with your questions and business inquiries. I have an Instagram where my husband and I post vintage books from my personal collection, @curiousvolumes. You can find Aritz and more of his very spooky, very beautiful art on Instagram (@blackenedworld) or Etsy (@blackenedworld).

[inkygemuwu]

Continuation here.

──────⊱◈◈◈⊰──────

Terrible idea.

It was undoubtedly a terrible idea.

It has elevated from a bad idea to a terrible idea. Almost a horrible one.

The hero sat on the large fancy couch, with the villain sitting across of them, face to face.

The hero’s stomach lurched, feeling the wave of anxiety swallowing them all up, slow and crippling, their heart hammering inside their chest, fast and electrical.

“Would you like some?” the villain asked, a pleasant smile on their face, yet their eyes were dangerous. “Yes, sure.” the villain filled the white and intricate cup with tea as the hero watched, gaze intent, then they offered it to the latter.

“Thank you.” the hero took a sip. The tea was warm.

Just not warm enough to ease them the cold that went down their spine every moment, not warm enough to relax at the vicious creature sitting near them, so close.

The villain made a cup for themself and started sipping.

The hero focused their eyes on their cup, rejecting to dare and take a glimpse of the villain. It felt dangerous. Looking felt so dangerous. As if the villain would bite them, or eat them alive.

They took a glimpse, and oh the villain’s eyes were on them. They immediately looked away, goosebumps forming on their skin.

If they weren’t wearing modest clothes, their goosebumps would have been visible.

The villain continued sipping. The hero only took tiny and brief sips between a period of time as long as possible, so they could stick their eyes on the cup. To avoid facing the villain.

The villain casually tapped their foot on the ground, the cup still cradled in their grasping, cruel hands, not quite focusing on it like the hero did. The hero could feel the villain’s eyes on them, fixed, intent, refusing to look away, watching their chest rise and fall with every passing second. The thought of it sent them another shiver.

“Why aren’t you drinking your tea? Do not you like it?” the villain pressed, voice calm, face relaxed, and yet their smile broadened and their eyes lost their brightness and were left a dark pit and sinister.

The hero startled and whipped their gaze to eye the villain, who still held a smile. no - smirk. It was a smirk.

The look on the villain’s face made their breathe hitch. Their throat thickened.

“No, don’t get me wrong. I do like it, it’s very delicious. It’s just.. a little too hot.” the hero lied. They wanted to avoid eye contact, but the villain made it impossible. They didn’t know what to do with the villain’s hues piercing through them, looking them up and down, reflected twisted and hideous in those hellish eyes.

Their cradle of the cup of tea faltered.

Shaking.

The hero was shaking. Breathe quickening and trembling, stomach locking tight, an unbearable weight on their chest.

The villain noticed it. “You’re shaking.” they pressed again, not so pleasant this time. Their voice was darker, the smile vanished, eyebrows forrowed. They looked disappointed. “Am I scaring you?”

“N-no- It’s just- I..” the hero floundered. They couldn’t find the words to form the sentence. The villain wasn’t helping, not at all.

Damn, why did they assign to this mission? It was a terrible idea. They wanted to leave now, but they couldn’t. They wished they could. They wished they didn’t need to be afrightened of the villain to walk over the door and exit. They missed their home, they missed their bed, those comfortable covers and soft sheets. It was better than being in this.. this hell hole.

The villain suddenly stood up and prowled closer to the hero, sitting beside them. The hero’s heart skittered and jack-knifed inside their chest. They felt like screaming, like running, like begging. But they didn’t know if they would be able to speak. Their throat locked so tight, their voice wouldn’t be able to escape it. The proximity was dazzling. They could even smell the villain’s cologne, strong and intoxicating.

“Look at me.” the villain said.

The hero didn’t do such thing.

“Look,” the villain raised their hand and squeezed the cup on the hero’s frozen grasp, calmly removing it from place, and placed it on the table. “at me.” the villain’s tone turned rasped at the end.

The hero didn’t know how a simple three-worded order could be so dangerous and impossible to ignore. It felt like their life depended on it, as if the villain could kill them instantly if they didn’t look.

The hero automatically glanced at the villain and locked eye contact with them. The villain’s smile returned, but it didn’t match the burning fire that flickered wicked and hellish in their eyes.

The hero felt lost in those eyes. They felt like burning in hell at the sight of the flames that flashed metaphorically. They felt like falling over from a cliff to a burning pit.

“Good.” the villain’s smirk broadened, cruel even.

The hero swallowed.

“You’re scared.” the villain wet their lips, “I could see it in your eyes.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I know I am. And I was always adept at compartmentalising the emotions of others.” the villain’s voice turned velvet this time, “You’re not the first person to be scared. Ancient heroes had come before, and none of them survived the consequences I weighed for spying on me.” the villain ran a hand up the flinching hero’s hip oh so softly, touch turning to teasing fingers running up their shoulder, feather-light.

The hero instantly remembered; they were told stories by many, about the torment the victims had to endure in the villain’s lair. And no one lived long enough to survive.

The hero didn’t know what to do with the villain’s intoxicating fingers tracing the sensitive lines of their arm with such an impossible gentleness, as if the villain wasn’t a complete monstrosity warped up into a vague human form. Their throat thickened, unable to breathe properly. “What do you mean?” the hero managed.

“All those heroes who came were always caught red-handed. No single one of them managed to fool me. I must admit they were terrible at their jobs, those pathetic imbeciles. But you, darling.” mused the villain, relishing in the catch of the hero’s breathe as they giggled. “You’re different. You are the first hero to last the longest with your little game without failing. You’re the first person who almost got me tricked. If only you didn’t slip out of the line so clumsily, you would’ve won.” they lifted their hand to caress the hero’s (burning) cheek.

“I am astonished, for how adept you are. You have such interesting under-handed tactics and strategies. You’re quite smarter than I estimated. Those heroes were imbeciles, but you? You’re a genius.” they sighed, lost in thought, “If only your skills would be put to good use on the right side.”

“I’ll never be on your side.” the hero said, trying to ignore the villain’s touch. They gripped the villain’s lingering hand firmly, removing it. “I’ll never be your henchman.”

The villain giggled, a dark sort of giggle. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can be very artful at persuasion, just wait.” they said, “One day, you’ll be mine. And you won’t even get to own a fraction of yourself.” their smile turned maniacal.

So it was like that then.

We’ll see.

Not a prompt.

[artzychic27]

If the Art Club was basically the Addams Family

They’re morbid, have a dark sense of humor, are never seen without black, and spiders hide in their hair

Nathaniel: Gomez Addams

Always has this sinister smirk that screams, ‘I will murder you in your sleep.’

Gets excited when his boyfriend speaks Spanish

Marc: Normal people. Tan extraño.

Nathaniel: Monochrome, you know how I get when you speak Spanish! *Kisses his arm*

Never seen without his black blazer

Sharpens the ends of his paintbrushes so they can be used as knives... No reason, just does it

Blood Red and Death Row Black are his favorite colors

A true romantic

Makes passionate love with Marc at least four times a day

Nathaniel: My monochromic nightmare. Stab my heart a thousand times and I will be yours until death do we part!

Marc: I’ll got get my dagger.

Nathaniel: Will it be painful?

Marc: So much.

Marc: Morticia Addams

Wears tight black outfits

Cuts the buds off of flowers

Marc: Ugh. *Cutting up roses* Who in their right mind would plant these?

Weirded out by normal people

Marc: Nathan. That child is smiling at me. Almost as if he were... Happy.

Nathaniel: Monochrome, look away. *Shields Marc’s eyes*

Writes morbid poetry and eulogies

When Mendelive asked him to a say a prayer for their dead class hamster, this is what he said-

Marc: Come, sorrow; we welcome thee. Let us join in grief, rejoice in despair, and honor the fortunate dead.

Cut to the students and teacher backed into a corner far away from him

Encourages his friends torturing people they despise

Marc: Alix, what are you doing with that bow and arrow?

Alix: I’m gonna shoot Kim when he’s not looking.

Marc: Well that one is much too old and worn out. *Hands Alix a crossbow* There you go.

Marinette: Wednesday Addams

Marinette: I'm just like any modern girl trying to have it all. It's just, I wish I had more time to seek out the dark forces and join their hellish crusade.

Says many “disturbing” things about how to kill people

Marinette: When burrying someone alive, it’s best to staple the casket shut. They still might have the strength to try and escape

Mme. Bustier won’t call on her during class anymore

Marinette: We should be learning more important things, like how many people were decapitated during the French Revolution.

Adrien developed a small crush on her after she held a crossbow to his face

After learning that from Alya, she started leaving spiders and dead roses in his backpack

Nino: Dude! She put spiders and dead flowers in your bag!

Adrien: *Sighs* Yeah, isn’t she sweet?

Chloé or Lila: Why are you dressed like someone died?

Marinette: No one I know died today, but I’m sure I can make arrangements for your two

Still sews. Her outfits are just more gothic

Adrien: *Staring at Marinette as she walks into class wearing a black dress with red bats and skulls embroidered on the hem* She’s an absolute angel.

Enjoys torturing people she doesn’t like.

Marinette: Lila, I’m not stuck in here with you. You’re stuck in here with me.

Alix: Pugsley Addams

When she first started school: So these are the gates of hell.

Has a habit of pranking her classmates

Often, her pranks need correcting to make sure she gets a much better effect

Marinette: Alix, if you wanna make someone fall down the stairs, you gotta oil the stairs first so there’s no chance of them regaining their composure.

Alix: *Facepalms* Damn it! Of course!

Has broken the law more than ten times. Now she’s no longer welcome in Germany.

Steals street signs to hang in her room and records the sound of cars crashing on her phone

Watches emergency room mishaps at max volume so everyone can hear the cries of anguish

Myléne: What are you watching?

Alix: A doctor cut out the wrong organ! Haha!

Juleka: Grandma Addams

Training to be a witch

Trying to mix magic with music

Juleka: *Writing in her spell/song book* What rhymes with disaster?

Doesn’t show up on film at all. She’s not a vampire, because she was seen eating garlic pizza

Like Marc, she’s also disgusted by normal people

Juleka: Why must there be a fair today? All of these happy people filled with excitement and *shudders* cotton candy.

Once tried to curse Chloé. The next day, she came to school with horrible acne.

Drinks a nice tall glass of snake venom every day with her brother.

Luka is currently dueling with Adrien for Marinette’s future hand in marriage... Her actual hand.

Always trying to buy people’s souls

Rose: Fester Addams

Behind that smile, she’s wondering how and when you’ll die

Has a purse full of explosives

Hides land mines all around the school and often forgets where she hides them

Luckily manages to avoid them

Rose: *Hears an explosion* Oh. I forgot I put one there.

Prefers Grimm’s Fairytales over Disney for many reasons

Marc: *As Rose plants a land mine in the courtyard* Rose, what’s wrong? You usually plant your mines with more vigor.

Nathaniel: Oh, Monochrome, it was dreadful. Mme. Bustier made us watch Sleeping Beauty. And that awful prince slayed the dragon.

Marc: What?! How could that woman force underage children to watch such violence?!

She and Juleka aren’t as affectionate as Marc and Nathaniel, but they’re always showing their love by carving romantic messages into skulls

Alya: Where’d you even find those?

Rose: Graveyard. No one was using them

[lafourmii20]

My favorite pairing is probably DrPepperony if I had to choose one, and I'm a sucker for 30 (the protective one). While I tend to swerve to "people protecting Stephen", please write it however you'd like - if you're interested in this combination. :)

Thank you for the ask, @aelaer 💕

I love drpepperony and I was very happy to write this OT3 with this prompt. It's a bit longer than I thought, and maybe not exactly what you imagined. I hope you like it!

~~~

drpepperony, pre-relationship (could almost be read as gen), hurt stephen, with a bit of blood, protective pepper, protective tony, not clint friendly (sorry i had to find sort of a bad guy), post Endgame but Tony lives and Steve died

~~~

“If you’re so powerful, why couldn’t you save her?!”

Clint’s shout echoed on the lawn, all the way to the cabin. Tony instantly got to his feet.

“Stay with uncle Happy, Maguna.”

He left his drink on a table, and his daughter under Happy’s careful watch, and hurried outside. When he pushed the front door, he frowned, deeply unhappy with the scene.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen whispered in such a thin voice Tony wasn’t sure anyone heard him –not sure the guy even wanted to be heard.

“You’re sorry? Is that what you just mumbled?” Clint answered, his tone getting angrier and angrier with each word.

“I am truly deeply sorry,” Stephen articulated more clearly this time.

It did not seem to appease Clint. At all.

“Well, great! You’re sorry. But Nat is dead because of you. And your sorry ass apologies won’t do shit to bring her back!”

Clint was furious. He was grieving. But he was taking it out on the wrong guy.

“It’s all your fault!”

Stephen didn’t move, didn’t even blink when Clint lurched forward and punched him square in the face. He fell backwards and blood splattered on the ground.

“It’s all your fucking fault!” Clint bellowed as Sam and Bucky restrained him, tried to stop him from attacking again.

He almost tore free, and Tony took a step forward. He was all for letting his fellow Avengers sort things out between themselves the way they wanted to –and if they had to punch some sense into each other from time to time, well it was their business. But no one was getting beaten up, without even trying to resist, on his lawn.

But before Tony could say anything, Pepper stepped into the scene.

“What is going on here?” she asked in her no-nonsense voice. Se didn’t wait for someone to answer –as if there even was a correct way to answer when she used that voice. “No one is fighting in my home! Today, we celebrate those we brought back, and we grieve those we lost. This is not a time for fighting and I will not tolerate it. Is that clear?”

Clint might try to protest, there was no way he would sway Pepper. He was an Avenger. She was even more dangerous, Tony thought with pride. Looked like he could let his wife handle the dirty business.

He crossed the lawn, got to the poor wizard still slumped on the ground, haggard and defeated. His nose was bleeding profusely, and the corner of his eye was starting to turn purple. Tony grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Come on. Let me take care of you.”

Stephen looked up at him. There was a deep sadness, a resigned look in his eyes that broke Tony’s heart. Then Stephen got up and it was gone. They walked silently through the crowd, crossed the lawn and reached the house. Tony pushed him as carefully as he could in a bathroom.

“Here we go,” he said softly, helping Stephen sit on the edge of the tub. “Fri, where’s the first aid kit?”

“Under the sink, boss,” the AI answered immediately and Tony dived under the sink to retrieve the little box, opening it to get some cotton balls and antiseptic, though he wasn’t sure what to do with those. “May I suggest the ice pack, boss?”

“You’re the best, baby girl.”

“Of course,” she answered, and Tony chuckled.

He went back to Stephen with a slightly wet towel to wipe off the blood while he handed him the cold pack. Stephen’s fingers shook wildly when he took it and pressed it on the side of his head, with a painful wince.

“You don’t have to do all this,” the Wizard of Oz finally said. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, look in the mirror, doc, and tell that to your face,” Tony scoffed.

He got a brief glimpse of a smile before he moved the towel over nose, lips, chin, and all the mess of blood that covered Stephen’s face.

“Why didn’t you send Clint to the Sinister Dimension or whatever the name of that hellish world is?” Tony asked, trying not to wince with Stephen every time the towel stroked over a sensitive area.

“Dark Dimension,” Stephen corrected.

“Sure.”

A moment of silence passed. Tony took the time to rinse the blood out of the towel before applying it again. It seemed like the bleeding had stopped. That only left the big ugly contusion at the corner of Stephen’s eye. Ouch, that looked painful.

“Fri, can you scan our good doctor? Make sure there are no deeper wounds?”

“I’m fine,” Stephen protested with another wince that said otherwise.

“Fri?”

“The good doctor is right, boss. No deeper injury.”

“Great.”

As Tony looked at the slumped and beaten up form in front of him, it seemed that nothing was great. If there were no physical wounds, it seemed that there was a more profound, more painful, psychological one. That man was wounded, burned out, and morally exhausted. And Tony was suddenly filled with the impulse to help him, to fix this, whatever this was.

He wanted to see the powerful and cocky sorcerer he clashed with, when they first met.

He wanted the weirdly flirty wink after great prowess of magic, and butting heads with someone that didn’t take his nonsense but actually listened to him, and compromised.

“So, why didn’t you stop him?” he asked again after a minute of almost comfortable silence.

He threw the bloody towel in the laundry basket and leaned against the sink, watching Stephen intently.

“Because he’s grieving. And he’s right,” Stephen answered in a too small voice.

Defeated.

Tony was not taking any of it. If Pepper had to protect Stephen from Clint, Tony would have to protect Stephen from himself, apparently. It was far from the weirdest thing he had ever done.

“Bullshit. It’s not your fault.”

Stephen arched an eyebrow behind the cold pack, before he winced and dropped it. Tony picked it up for him and, instead of giving it back to the wizard, he brought it up to Stephen’s face and gently hold it up against his temple. Stephen just sighed, closed his eyes for a second, letting Tony take care of him. The situation was slightly more intimate than Tony anticipated but it warmed his heart to see Stephen accept his help. And yeah, he could see himself get closer to the wizard in the near future.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated.

“It kinda is. I chose this path, the one where Natasha and Steve had to die. Their deaths are on my hands.”

“That’s just pure bullshit! You didn’t push Nat on Vormir, she jumped. You didn’t put the gauntlet on Steve’s hand, he took it and snapped his own fingers knowing he would not survive it. You did not murder them. They chose to sacrifice themselves to save us all, and believe me, I would have done the same thing, without blaming you. You know what you did?”

“Wallow in self-pity, dishonoring their great sacrifice?” he whispered defeated and seemingly disgusted with himself.

“No.” Damn, that man really needed to be protected from himself. Tony knew a thing or two about blaming himself for everything, but Strange was on another level completely. “You put us on the right path, you risked your sanity to view all those possible futures and other timeline. You are a hero.”

That seemed to finally shut Stephen up. He blinked, looked up at Tony, but this time, there was something different in his eyes. A deep emotion Tony couldn’t really name. It made his heart race.

Stephen’s hand rose, lightly touched Tony’s at the side of his head. It was delicate and far more intimate than he expected. But before Tony could say anything else, the bathroom’s door opened, and Pepper stepped in.

Stephen quickly took his hand away, but Tony kept his position. There was nothing he wanted to hide from his wife. Besides, if something ever happened with the wizard, he was pretty sure Pepper would want to be included. Yep, that would be very nice actually, the three of them in the cabin. Tony could almost picture it.

Wait, he was thinking a bit ahead of himself, wasn’t he? Well, who could blame him, he was a futurist, after all.

“Are you okay, Dr. Strange?” Pepper asked.

“You can call me Stephen. And yes, I’m okay. Tony took care of me.”

Pepper looked at her husband. Tony winked, she smirked in return. His hand was still pressed against Stephen’s head –there was a cold pack between them, but did that really matter?

Pepper went to Stephen’s other side, carefully took his chin in her hand to examine him –and there was no cold pack or any medical supply to excuse the proximity. Stephen tensed for a second, then he relaxed in her grip.

“You did well,” Pepper finally concluded, with a small stroke on Stephen’s cheek. The wizard shuddered. Then she stepped back and the fluttering moment was over. “Tony, you stay with him, I’m gonna send everyone home,” she ordered more than asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tony answered immediately.

“And Stephen?”

“Yes?”

“Stay for dinner with us tonight. Please?”

A moment of hesitation, blue-green eyes jumping from Tony to Pepper, a gulp and finally.

“I will.”

Well, well, well, Tony thought. That was a very interesting turn of events. He couldn’t wait to see where all of this would lead them.

~~~

Inspired by this intimacy prompt list

Prompts filled: 3. touching foreheads (ironstrangefrost) 23. wearing someone’s clothing (ironstrange) 29. kissing while mad (ironstrange) 59. height difference (ironstrange)

[solaeter]

hate that I love you - Naoya Zenin [18+]

I haven’t actually written smut in like two years..well finished smutty content. I can barely start it and finish it, shame on me but I am pathetic °(ಗдಗ。)°. I am so nervous and shy, so pls no pitchforks and tomatoes _(:3」∠)_ this is a repost cause doubt hit me for a hot minute, but we gon be brave (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑ 

Word Count: 2311

Request Status: OPEN

Warning[s]: Adult content, minors dni!! idk proper warnings cause my brain is fried atm, but there’s oral [f receiving], penetration which is given, slight manipulation? Naoya cause he’s a warning all on its own, noob attempt at dirty talk [I died k]. reader chan tries to hate naoya but can’t. It’s just porn without plot unless you squint.

Just when you thought you were safe, reality had another thing in mind. Strong hands pulled your hips up with a force that had your face hugging the pillow before you could register how you even allowed yourself to end up like this.

Why did it have to be now? You really thought you managed to get away. "Why are you doing this?" You turn your head, teeth latching to your bottom lip when two fingers glide along your clothed slit. 

"You don't seem to mind." Naoya remarked, his voice laced with disinterest and boredom while his eyes roamed your body. Three months..that's how long he's been without you. His favorite toy. "You're already so wet for me, miss my cock that much?" He questioned with a sneer, sliding your pretty little panties to the side. The sudden chill made you squirm and his words bit at your budding arousal.

"Couldn't you have found someone else to toy with?" You avoided his question, voice hitching when he slid a finger up your dripping slit, stopping at your clit and circling the bud ever so slowly. It wasn't fair how he could work your body so effortlessly. Your mouth parts as your eyes squeeze shut. 

Naoya smirks, his eyes never leaving your cute little cunt while you try to look as displeased as possible. You should have known getting away from him was quite literally impossible. He owned you. 

"Why should I find someone else when I only need you?" The sentence itself sounded sweet, but you knew it was far from what it suggested. Ever since you met Naoya, he's had you by the palm of his hand. He used you for his own needs, taking and taking before tossing you to the side. Yet, you lingered and remained loyal until you tried to end things. Naoya let you live in a false sense of newfound freedom, giving you just enough space before making your world tumble back down, right where he wanted you. 

Now, there was no denying that you looked absolutely stunning before him. Your body was meant for him, made for him to fuck over and over. You were his missing puzzle piece. When you don't answer Naoya, he clicks his tongue and brings his fingers down to your entrance, the tips teasing your hole before plunging knuckle deep, your walls clamping around him beautifully while you cry out.

The sudden intrusion made your thoughts muddle together and everything seemed to spin. Naoya could make you so stupid so easily and he laughs, so humorously. "Why would I find someone else when you're so..fucking worthless without me. I haven't even done anything and you're already stupid."

You glance back over your shoulder, cheeks burning when your eyes meet his cold ones. He never showed you an ounce of love, only half an inch of interest and a load of selfish, one sided desires. "I hate you." You spat while gripping the sheets when another finger eased its way inside you, stretching you further. Naoya curled his fingers roughly, swiping over the one spot that had stars in your eyes. He knew your body better than you knew it. Or so he claimed with a sense of pride. 

No matter how long you've been apart, Naoya would be sure to remind you that no one else will make you feel the way he does. Even if you're spouting words of hate, he just knows you won't stay away for too long. "Heh, sure you do." 

You wanted to be angry, call him out for being a vile piece of shit but nothing came out of your mouth besides helpless moans. 

"Look at you, so pretty and fucking useless. Baby can't even argue with me." Naoya talked down at you, thrusting his fingers in and out of your pretty cunt until you're clenching around him with a strangled, frustrated cry as pleasure washed over your body. "Damn, you couldn't even hold it in. I'm disappointed." Naoya removes his fingers and your hole clenches around nothing, searching for more.

Oh his little whore. To ruin you is his greatest desire. To have you so wrapped around him, that nothing else in this world can compare to what he does. It makes his blood boil in such a way he can't describe and it shoots straight down to his cock. But he can't have you just yet. 

Naoya has to break you more, see you crumble. So he flips you over and the gasp that leaves your pouty lips is nothing short of stupidly adorable. Even more so is how you look at him with wide, teary eyes. As if that would make his heart soften.

"Finally have something to say or are you just gonna stare at me like a fucked out fool?" Naoya spread your legs, bending to hike your skirt around your waist before fully removing your soaked panties. You were compliant, unmoving while he did as he pleased. To be honest, words failed you more when you needed them most. 

"I– please forgive me for leaving.." 

Naoya perked up when the words left your mouth, his own lips twisting into that of a sinister smile. "So you decided on being a good little bitch." He murmurs, placing a hot kiss on the side of your thigh. You always looked so good sprawled out before him, at his mercy. It had his mind spinning in circles, all the possibilities running rampant. "Where's your fight?" He asked casually, inching closer to your puffy cunt and you look down at him only to snap your head back onto the pillow. 

"I have none, I should have listened the first time." 

That sentence you knew by heart considering you've had to confess your wrong doings on multiple occasions. Naoya hums, content as his nose brushes against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your body reacts on its own, knees bending and toes curling into the satin sheets. You tried to resist him, tried your damndest but it never worked. It frustrates you, so much that you groan and nearly close your legs around Naoya's stupidly pretty head. 

Firm hands catch your legs and dark eyes land on you. "Oh [Name], tell me what you're feeling. I'm dying to know." He didn't care. You let out a half laugh and sit up on your elbows. 

"I hate you. With my entire being but I can't get away. It's not fair. You're– ahh not f-fair." Your words falter when Naoya's tongue slides up your cunt, lapping up your essence before going back down to your entrance.

"Mhmm.." He listens half heartedly, instead enjoying the sweet taste of you that graces his lips. You became putty in his hands, just like that. So simple, one movement. One hand threaded through his short locks, fingers grasping onto what it could once his tongue dipped inside your awaiting hole. 

"Fuu–" You toss your head back, involuntarily pushing Naoya closer which causes him to chuckle and the rumbling of his body only has you sinking further into his palm. He watched you, how your chest would rise and fall as you panted, moaned and clung to him helplessly. Your reactions had his cock throbbing in his pants and he wasn't going to be able hold out much longer. 

Adjusting one of his arms, Naoya's fingers soon met your clit and circled it quickly, building you higher and higher. Your body jerks and he keeps a hold of you, halting your hips to keep you still. 

You tasted divine, like a special wine made just for Naoya. Your pretty moans were like music to his ears and when he pulls back, the whine that leaves your lips sounded almost sinful. "N-Naoya.." You look at him, eyes blown wide and vulnerable, so close to paradise. He smirks and continues his assault on your clit.

"What? You seem to be getting off just fine with my fingers. Now be a good little slut and cum for me." Naoya coos and just like that, your body listens to his every command. The coil snaps and your body trembles, legs spasming and threatening to close around his head but his unoccupied hand keeps them open while you cry out, incoherent words leaving your lips. 

Naoya can't deny the sight and he groans, the desire to fuck you clouding his thoughts. ""Ah– fuck – what a good girl." He praised, an odd thing coming from him but it has you smiling so stupidly. You watch Naoya through half lidded eyes as he eases you from your high, rubbing small, slow circles around your sensitive clit. Your hips still move with him, your body wanting more.

"Naoya..I need you inside me." You barely manage and if it wasn't for the fact Naoya was so turned on, he would have bitched at you. Instead he uses his free hand to undo his pants and free his aching cock from its hellish confines. 

Your eyes lock onto the throbbing member that now rests in his hand as he pumps it languidly. "Do you really deserve my cock? Last I checked," Naoya hovers above you, situating the tip right at your entrance. "You've been a bad girl." He teases you, pushing the tip just barely inside you before pulling back out. You whine, loudly with a pathetic pout forming on your lips. 

"Please, I need you. So bad, I'll never leave again!" You cry, beg and lift your hips in search of what you wanted so bad. All fight, resistance and negative feelings vanished when all your mind and body wanted was him to consume you..

“Is that so?” Naoya hummed, bottoming out inside of you before you could continue your pleas. Your eyes roll back and he has to suppress the groan that dares escape his own mouth. He never grew tired of how you felt; how your walls fluttered around his cock, how you took him so willingly. So easily. You were truly meant for him. 

The pace is set with languid thrusts, Naoya driving himself deep into your velvety walls. He watches your face contort and twist with pleasure and pain due to his size, it had him surging with a sense of animalistic pride. “Remember who you belong to.” He says lowly in your ear and all you can muster is a quick nod of your head as whimpers and cries leave your delicate lips. Your arms snake around his shoulders, keeping Naoya close while your legs lock around his waist.

“Look at you,” Naoya groans, shifting so that you now sat on his lap, his cock hitting places that made your head spin, “Taking me so well- goddamn - be a little louder. Let everyone hear what a slut you are.” He demands, his voice low and strained. You helplessly comply, bouncing up and down on his lap like a good girl. Your head was warped, just like he wanted. Every moan, cry and wail sounded like a symphony that was only meant for him. Naoya held your hips tightly, guiding your frantic movements, hitting every spot inside you that made you grasp onto him like some type of savior.

Ah yes, Naoya definitely is your savior in his sick twisted head. Though he hisses when your nails scratch his neck, leaving noticeable marks that surely would be questioned later. He didn’t mind, not in the slightest. If anything, it made him fuck you harder, his cock ramming your drenched hole as if it were his last day on this earth. The lewd sounds of your juices squelching every time he fills you had him going crazy and he ignored how you drenched his lap, uncaring of the mess since he so graciously caused it. 

“So close, Naoya please,” Your voice is weak and broken, body trembling as it reaches the peak of nirvana. Naoya wasn’t far off from his own release and instead of being a total asshole like he wanted to be, he held you close.

“Let it go, baby.” He urged before biting down on your neck, sucking the tender spot to leave a claim on your body. You whine and unravel, pleasure overwhelming your body, legs trembling and shaking, you were thankful to be on his lap or you would have gone down. Naoya continues to fuck you, chasing his own release and groaning loudly when hot ropes of cum paint your delicate walls. He fills you completely, uncaring if you ended up bearing one of his kids. Hell the thought only made him feel more possessive. It would give him a greater claim over you, keep you with him.

Before Naoya allowed himself to get aroused once more, he removed you off his lap and got off the dirtied bed to fix his clothing. You watch in your fucked out daze, the grips of confusion and longing playing tug of war in your heart. 

“W-Where are you going?” Your voice sounded so soft, so submissive. Naoya glances back and he admires his handiwork. You were an absolute mess. “You can’t..just leave me like this.” 

How desperate. Naoya bit back a laugh, bending to pick up your discarded panties and toss them onto your stomach. 

“If you want me so bad, you know where to find me.”

With that, Naoya bids his farewells and leaves you like you did to him three months ago. But he knew that you’d come crawling to him before the night ended.

On the other hand, you stared at the ceiling until your heart calmed down and were able to get off the bed. Would you run back to him? Even though you wanted to say no, your body said otherwise with the longing for his touch.

The only thing you knew for certain was that you hated that you loved him. 

[fanimesenseiwrites]

Kidnapped to Hell (pt. 2)

The prince, his butler, and the Avatar of Wrath all stood at the entrance to the eight circles.

Diavolo inhaled deeply and as he exhaled he changed into his demon form.

Satan and Barbatos followed suit.

Diavolo looked back at the two other demons before opening the gate and walking through to the first circle.

Satan and Barbatos followed him in and the gate closed behind them.

Once they were in the first circle, their forms all transformed into something more sinister and hellish.

Diavolo grew to almost twice his height and his wings grew proportionate to that. His legs resembled lion's legs as he now stood on large paws and haunches covered in black fur. A long, slender tail also covered in black fur grew from the base of his spine. His horns curved up and grew tall above his head and a small crown of fire appeared between them. His fingernails transformed into long black talons as his jaw stretched and grew to accommodate for his now larger and sharper teeth and fangs.

Satan's legs morphed into haunches at the same time the scales and ridges that normally were just on his tail grew all over his body, save for his face. There were now talons at the ends of his fingertips and fire where his hair used to be.

Barbatos grew taller, though not nearly as tall as Diavolo. His legs also became haunches, but everything about him was more reptilian. Iridescent scales now covered anywhere that had been previously covered by clothing and a human ribcage seemed to encase his chest, with metacarpal and phalangic bones creating shoulder guards for him. Long claws grew from his fingertips and his tongue was now forked to match his tail.

Diavolo stretched and rolled his neck, refamiliarizing himself with his form which got so little use.

Diavolo looked down at his two compatriots. "Alright, I believe the best way to search for Hoshiko will be to start at the bottom and-"

"Diavolo..." a deep and loud voice rolled like thunder throughout the entirety of the eight circles, seemingly coming from the deepest,  center most pit.

Diavolo couldn't do anything to stop the shiver that ran down his spine.

"Was that...?" Satan started to ask.

"My father," Diavolo answered.

Satan nodded.

Diavolo sighed. "We best go to him."

"But what about Hoshiko?" Satan protested.

"It would be unwise to deny an audience with the king," Barbatos told him.

"I want to find Hoshiko as well," Diavolo told Satan as he picked him and Barbatos up. "We'll take care of this as quickly as possible."

Satan huffed, but otherwise didn't respond.

Diavolo flew the three of them down to the eighth circle and to the chamber in which his father resided.

Diavolo set Satan and Barbatos down then looked at the stone door separating them from the Demon King.

The door opened before Diavolo could do it himself.

"Enter," the thunderous voice of the Demon King commanded.

Diavolo pulled his shoulders back and straightened his back as much as possible before walking in.

Satan and Barbatos followed him in, also correcting their posture as needed as they walked.

A demon twice as large as even Diavolo's larger demonic form sat on plush carpets and watched them enter.

The three visitors bowed to show their respect.

"Your highness," Diavolo was the only one to address the king.

"My son," the demon king spoke, his voice lowered only slightly now that his guests were directly in front of him.

Diavolo stood up straight to look at him. "Yes sir?"

"Why, pray tell, is there a living, human sorceress within the eight circles?" He asked as he gently stroked a girl's back with a single knuckle.

Diavolo's eyes were drawn to his father's hand moving and his eyebrows shot up as he realized it was Hoshiko who laid fast asleep on his father's furry leg.

"Hoshiko! You found them!" Diavolo exclaimed, immediately relieved.

Satan and Barbatos both whipped their heads towards where Diavolo was looking, and felt immediate relief as well.

"Yes, I found her. But you still haven't answered my question, Diavolo," the king reprimanded.

Diavolo turned his attention back to his father's face, reigning in his composure once again. "Ah, yes... at the present moment I do not know who brought Hoshiko down here, but I will be launching a full investigation. I felt like the priority was to retrieve Hoshiko from the eight circles first."

The king nodded. "You're correct in what was the priority, but you were slow in your execution."

Diavolo resisted frowning and only nodded. "Yes sir, I understand."

Barbatos piped up. "Your highness," he took a step forward and bowed again.

The king looked at him. "You may speak, Barbatos."

Barbatos stood up straight and looked up at the Demon king. "It is my fault that Hoshiko's capture was not prevented. I had not-" Barbatos immediately stopped talking when the king held up his free hand as a motion for him to pause.

"Your humility is always refreshing, Barbatos, but I'm not concerned about preventing a first occurrence. My point was that Diavolo should have searched for her sooner, as soon as he sensed her presence in the Devildom." He looked at his son. "And you did sense her presence, didn't you?"

Diavolo literally had to swallow his pride. "Yes sir, I did."

Diavolo could feel Satan's rage flare up behind him, and he knew he deserved to be the object of it.

The demon king nodded and then looked at Barbatos. "Barbatos, you and Satan take the girl. I'd like to speak to my son alone."

"Of course, your majesty," Barbatos replied before walking over to Hoshiko.

Once he was close to Hoshiko, he could see that their clothing had been ripped in places, revealing all the burns and bruises on their body.

Barbatos frowned as he wrapped Solomon's cloak around Hoshiko, then he picked them up and cradled them close to his chest. He turned and looked at Satan.

"Let's go," Satan told him before leading him out.

Barbatos followed him, taking care to keep Hoshiko's face covered, just in case they woke up.

The demon king watched them leave, only looking at his son once he was sure the others were gone. "We are all incredibly lucky that I rescued Hoshiko from the horrors of the eight circles. Though I'm sure there's still some damage to her psyche, she will be much better off than if she had been waiting for you."

Diavolo nodded. "I understand."

"Do you truly? I need to know that you understand, I don't just want to lecture you."

"I do understand. I feel terrible for how long it took me to just get to the eight circles. I knew Hoshiko was down here but I couldn't tell the difference between the Devildom and the eight circles of hell. I thought that maybe I was just wrong, that maybe my missing them was affecting my senses..." he confessed, unable to look at his father.

The king sighed. "Let this be a lesson to trust your gut, my son."

Diavolo looked up at his father. "Yes sir... May I ask you a question?"

"You may."

"Why did you wake up? How did you know that Hoshiko didn't belong here?"

"Her screams woke me."

Diavolo blinked. "What? But you sleep through the cries of the damned every day."

"Precisely. The dammed belong here. They have committed atrocities worthy of the heinous punishment that we dole out. It's justice in a sense. Hoshiko's innocent and living screams were an immediate wake up call to me."

Diavolo nodded. "Well, I'm glad that they were."

The demon king hummed. "I hope you take today's events to heart. One day I will pass the crown to you and I want you to be a good king."

Diavolo smiled slightly. "Thank you, father."

The demon king nodded and laid down. "For now though, I will go back to sleep."

Diavolo nodded. "Rest well," he told him as he left his chamber.

The stone door closed behind him all on its own.

Diavolo flew to the entrance of the eight circles, looking for Satan and Barbatos as he did. When he didn't see them, he left the eight circles, changing to his lesser demonic form as he did. He immediately texted Barbatos if they had left the circles and waited for a reply before leaving the vicinity of the entrance.

- We just arrived at the House of Lamentation.- Barbatos replied only a minute later.

Diavolo replied with an -I'm on my way- before changing to his human form and heading to the House of Lamentation himself.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

[boop-le-snoot]

for @cryptidcasanova - so, this very much got out of hand and I decided to put this under a spoiler because of the content. You requested mob!Sam, to which I give you a mafia power couple.

I really liked this concept and I might continue it at some point. Kinda like the reader getting off to gory shit.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, violence/blood/torture kink, mob!au, vague references to prostitution. Reader is a Mafia matron and Sam is her right hand man. 1k words.

"Darlin', darlin', you shoulda seen the look on 'is face," Sam drawls, the slightest southern twang to his words.

Steve and Bucky smirk next to him but remain quiet, letting their friend and partner in crime get his due. It's not often that the trio allows themselves to get messy, but when it happens, the reasons are far-reaching.

You attempt to feign insouciance but all it does is make Sam's lips stretch in a toothy, shiny grin. "I can see that he's been... Removed," your eyes slide over the crimson splatters on his bespoke three-piece, the wet footprints leading to your sitting room. Bucky's huff tells you all you could ever need to know.

You make a vague gesture towards a small door on the left. "Help yourselves, gentlemen. The bar is stocked, the lounge is prepared for you and your... Guests, should you be expecting any," your delicately trimmed eyebrow rises, seeing Steve nearly bounce on his heels, enthralled by the prospect of having a night full of bourbon, Cuban cigars and expensive women - all on your tab.

You can't help the snort that leaves your mouth when you dismiss them, the blonde rushing to the door with the grace of a moose, his brunette partner shaking his head in fond amusement. Sam looks away as they depart, hiding his own giddiness in the collar of his suit jacket- unsuccessfully so. As soon as the door clicks shut, Sam's face darkens.

You light up another cigarette. The filter is stained rose with your lipstick, your fingers have had the same pink tint to them from chain-smoking all these hours your boys were on the job. The ash falls onto the carpet as you stand up, making way to the man watching you with mischievous amusement.

Talking doesn't seem like the right choice, the silence too pregnant, the words too unsaid. The skirt of your dress reveals most of your leg- Sam's hand immediately rushes to caress the bare skin as your lips eagerly claim his, tasting gunmetal, spiced tobacco and gin. Sam's fingers are moist, sticky, and you moan at the revelation, bodily pushing him towards the massive leather couch in the back of your office.

"You haven't locked the door," he points out but relents to your wishes, falling onto the couch with his legs spread, massive, mouth-watering thighs on display, hugged nicely by tight cashmere trousers.

"I don't give a damn," you breathe, climbing into his lap, dress and heels and all, ash falling around you like nuclear fallout. You put the cigarette out right on the wall, watching the ember of it dim. "Tell me," you begin, feeling the start of his own arousal under your hips.

Sam's hand cradles your face as a malicious smirk cralws onto his face, marring his usually cheerful features with hellish lust. A sinister, pregnant darkness finds a home in his eyes. "Found him just near the docks. It was quiet, he was alone," the void of his pupils stares back at you.

The tip of your tongue darts out of your mouth, tasting the blood of Sam's kill. Your core begins to overheat, needy whimpers surpassing the blank expression on your face.

"Captain took a swing at him. He dropped and we took him to the warehouse," Sam's fingers grip your hips, digging into the soft flesh with a delicious sting. The man allows you to taste his fingers, offering them to you almost tenderly. The blood tastes tangy and divine. "Sarge got real mad when he got word of what that weasel was doin' to your ladies," Sam's breathing grew laboured.

The twitching of his fingers stroked every nerve within your body, his bulge now prominent enough for you to be able to grind against in earnest. Each fluid glide rubbed the seam of your panties against your clit, the tough zipper of his dress pants a rough scratch for the tender flesh around your sopping entrance. With newly discovered vigor, you chased the feeling, followed the sparks traveling up your spine.

The man under you palmed the cheeks of your ass, guiding your hips into an easy rhythm, bucking his hips into it. The more you moved, the more breathless his voice grew. "You know Sarge's a gentl'man to boot. So he roughened him up a lil'."

"How," you'd leaned forward, letting your braless tits drag against Sam's bulky chest. The added friction to your nipples just made you feel emptier.

Thankfully, Sam knew you well. Your bodies were in sync, as much as your sick minds found pleasure in the things as abominable as the high of them was divine. It took all of a split second to unzip his pants and move the soaked fabric of your lacy panties to the side. His cock was impaling you, filling you to the brim, satisfying the ravenous hunger for lust and violence.

Sam wasn't gentle. It stung and you hissed, the pleasure-pain grounding you in his arms.

"The weasel wouldn't stop runnin' 'is mouth, so I took Sarge's knife," Sam's story continued but all you could hear was the rush in your ears, the life blood that meant nothing unless it was on your fingers. Sam's teeth closed around your neck in a sharp sting as you moaned into his neck, his cock hitting the special spongy spot inside of you over and over. "And I gutted him like the pig he is," hot breath tickled your ear.

"Fuck," you mouthed wetly, feeling your gut start to quiver. "How'd it feel?"

Sam picked up the pace, holding onto you, shoving his cock within you as deeply as possible. The waves kept coming, overwhelming you, drowning you in the sea of hot-white bliss, your cunt clenching around his thick, pulsating cock, dripping down onto his balls and making a mess of his designer suit.

"Godly," Sam groaned, biting down into your flesh once more.

[mika-you-nerd]

How they met...

-----

The wrong side of the tracks was home to Tallulah Frankenstein, it's where the family business always thrived.

But even when your reputation was as bad as hers, not all the smoke was easy to get used to.

The devil's casino...a place where some came to play and most never returned, maybe there was something more hellish than just the mere name.

She felt a drop in her stomach, she wasn't bad at the tables, but those who feel on the line when they lose are far more likely to end up in that route.

And she can't say she wouldn't end up on that line of dread if she wasn't careful.

"Miss Tallulah!"

An exuberant call interrupted her thoughts, not one she knew, but nothing to alarm her yet.

It's unfair to say that the man who confronted her wasn't dressed to his finest, after all, that suit was ironed-down to hell.

"First time coming here?" He added with a question, he seemed eerily easy going, something was up.

Nevertheless, she kept her composure, after all, she could break anyone who tried to wedge a hammer into where she would go next.

Not a damn thing could intimidate her, and if this smooth-talker wants to try it, he'll be dead.

"Yeah, just figured I needed a break, and where else new can a girl wind down?"

The man seemed undeterred by any hint of suspicion as he excitedly shook her hand.

"Well, it's a pleasure meeting you, sweetheart, quite a pleasure! Just step right in and be sure to take a call if you need any assistance!"

She kept her usual perky disposition as she wandered into the grand house, but Tallulah wasn't easily swayed. Ever since she was a little girl, her old man warned her that one misdemeaning glint in the eyes could be enough to strike a trust cold.

And to be quite frank, one unintentionally quick glance from him was a viridescent acid that burned into the back of her skull.

Trust certainly wasn't going to be an easy task.

Who was that guy anyway? 

She knew he had to be some sort of game dealer, maybe a manager, she wondered if he'd ever visit where she was stationed to greet her.

She asked a few of the patrons, and they all told her to steer clear. Mr King Dice was the moniker he held up, and Tallulah couldn't lie, that sounded pretty fucking dastardly.

There were even a few rumours waltzing around that claimed that he was in allegiance to none other that ol' scratch himself. And with the name of the casino itself, and the talk surrounding it, she was almost inclined to believe what she'd normally call a tall tale.

After all, some of the shadows and reflections she found in the joint seemed to be looking straight back at her, almost as if they were staring into a new soul to take.

"Just keep moving, girl, we're here to wind down," she reminded herself."

The night pressed on, and Tallulah was starting to feel a little more at ease with her surroundings, making her way through the tables, a couple rounds wasn't so tough on her part, and the quick drink she had prior to the games made it a little more bearable than she'd care to admit.

A few winnings were racked in her calibre, and she was comfortable enough to order another round at the bar, she turned her head and saw Dice sauntering in her direction.

Oh, now she knew where this was going.

Perhaps winning was where the line of loss led.

"Well I'll be damned, you've really been stacking up the wins!" Once again, he was creepily cheerful, was this his general demeanour, or a sinister façade?

Tallulah couldn't tell, but she knew she had to keep her guard up if she was going to see the dawn without a knife in her back.

"Hey Rum! Two Scotch with ice over here!" he turned to her, "it's on me, darlin'."

"Trying to get me to bet more cash?" She laughed, maybe if she got to know this fella a little more, she might be less unerved.

The drinks slid across the bar table as she eyed the man next to her, admittedly curious to see his next move.

"Well if you'd like," Dice started, "we can play a couple rounds together, assuming you don't plan on heading home soon, of course."  "A couple rounds, you say? Do you always try to woo newcomers?" Tallulah retorted after finishing her drink, "can't say I was planning on falling flat over a pretty boy who already looks like trouble."

"Well I wasn't planning on trying anything!" He joked, hands held partly up in an attempt to seem more approachable and less suspicious.

It wasn't exactly working, not with those shadows on the wall lurking behind him, looking more than eager to strike down upon her at any moment.

He stood up from his seat as he finished the drink, "well now that you mention it, trouble don't sound all that bad, don't you reckon? After all it seems like we both got a reputation here."

"I'll see if I can buy whatever you're trying to sell me first, I know many folks around here, but I don't have a damn clue on whoever the hell you're working for." Tallulah pointed out, her voice all chipper, but still laced with a little bit of venom to let him know that she wouldn't make a deal that easy.

Can't say Dice didn't enjoy that.

The two sat down at a poker table, facing directly opposite to each other, everything was set up and the game was about to start.

"C'mon, now, a few more winnings won't kill you, depending on if you do win," he remarked.

"And how do I know you're not cheating?"

"Cheating? What makes you' think I'd ever do such a thing?"

"The blatant sarcasm coming your way, you ain't slick!"

"Ain't I, missy?"

Tallulah tensed up in anticipation. She wasn't wrong when she said that Dice was real pretty, but pretty doesn't mean that getting the one-up on her was warranted.

"Game on, Mr Devil's-right-hand-man."

-----

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 10)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~8100 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9 Read on AO3!   Disclaimer below the cut! again, used for updates too. sue me

DISCLAIMER! PART ONE of the finale! READ THE WARNINGS... especially the last one... Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ The next few days became a blur. Tobirama cycled between the laboratory, your room, and the interrogation and information headquarters - just like he had been the last few days. Sleep was scarce, if he allowed himself any at all. 

The pace was dictated by your condition pretty much, which did not fare any better. Quite the opposite. 

Every passing turn, the interval by which they could stretch the administration of what remained of the leash diminished. You, on the other hand were paying a price that was nothing less than your sheer life force, it seemed. The amount of support they had to provide via the seals increased constantly. As time passed, they couldn’t lessen it anymore during your lucid phases, even - rather, only increase it further, step by step. A couple of seals were added when your chakra overload allowed it - as they had not been tending to your injuries from the torture anymore, they gained a little manuverability in that regard. It was not much, but you dearly needed any edge you could get. Both of your legs, arms, your abdomen, your chest were painted with medical seals that each supported your cardiovascular system, retained organs' functions, everything. There was little of your skin left unused. 

It was painful to see. 

“I surmise this is why the Stone did not use the withdrawal as an accessory means to put a victim under more duress,” Tobirama stated utterly caustic tone once. You’d been sedated after they had administered they leash again and both he and his brother were monitoring you while the war inside your body came to a well-known break. “Putting someone under the physical and mental strain of torture while also dealing with the effects of the withdrawal could easily kill a prisoner.” His bluntness hurt him - thinking about how you might be the one dying - but what was the point in sugar-coating anything?

Tobirama's mood was dismal, though his resolve still zealous.

“Indeed,” Hashirama agreed, slightly strained by the focus he’d been keeping up. “Frankly I’m wondering how they managed to not overload the amount of what foreign chakra Y/n could take with how they… injured her and the poor quality at which they kept healing her.” In the end, there was sorrow in his voice.

Tobirama instead felt anger overshadowing his ache. “I don’t think that ever was a concern of theirs, anjia.” In fact, Tobirama could hazard a guess as to what fate would've awaited you had they finished torturing you - had he not found you in time.

They shouldn't call it the Leash - the Noose seemed to be a better fit.

Still, chakra overload was unpleasant - uncomfortable, and to a point medically concerning, too, but lethal? Hardly. That is, if a patient was not in such a grievous state you found yourself in.

Yet the worst was your loss of vitality overall. It manifested in more agonising ways - it wasn’t as though you were becoming more haggard than you had been since the rescue - it was the way your hair lost its shine, the paleness of your skin, the tired gaze of sunken in eyes, the rasp of your voice as wheezing coughs wrecked you. 

Numerous of your organs had begun to show signs of failure more and more rapidly as soon as the withdrawal settled in. Soon, they barely had enough time to recover during the times you weren’t under the effects of the withdrawal - a vicious circle Hashirama monitored closely and one Tobirama dreaded like little else in life. If the balance tilted - if your body couldn’t recuperate enough any more - then your life was all the more on the line. 

Those hours - they felt the longest. He’d pace anxiously in your room, demand updates until Hashirama allowed him to join in his efforts. Or until he did politely tell him to wait. Politely.

Tobirama couldn’t remember when last he had felt so miserable in his life. He was watching you wither away in his hands, in the safest place he could think of in the entire world, due to a decision he had ultimately agreed to. Whenever he was with you the pain in his heart froze his entire being, his breathing was felt as laboured as yours and all of the world was numb besides the plight you were suffering. And he - he had allowed it. And if he hadn’t - if he hadn't… he didn't want to finish the thought, ever.

Worse yet, your consciousness began to wither more and more during the precious phases of lucidity, when the leash spared you from the hellish withdrawal. You simply were too weak to stay awake for long. But you tried. How you tried - and he knew why. For him. Your fierce spirit would keep fighting.

“How… is it going, Tobi?” you’d ask him always, your voice no more but a broken whisper.

He nearly collapsed by your side, the guilt corroding him inside out for not having accomplished his task yet. Every time his hand was under your head to stabilise it some as you looked at him; wanted to look at him - while the other held yours to his chest, stroking it tenderly. “I’m getting there, Y/n. Rest, please,” he implored you brokenly, each time, “I’m here, Y/n. I’m here.”

His heart broke when you didn’t find the strength to quip back at him like you usually would. 

You just smiled bravely.

For all the agony this put him in - all the torment you went through - it only fuelled his resolve to recreate the leash. The extra time you were giving at such great expense he put to good use - and there barely was a time there weren’t some shadow clones working on refining his copy of the leash. The price he paid for this was staggering. Each time he released them, the exhaustion almost floored him. Their experience and memories were invaluable for speeding up the process infinitely - to even give him a sliver of hope to make it in time - but a few days in and Tobirama was forced to sit down before he let go of the very jutsu he devised. Practical, it was. But the toll it took on one’s body was hellish - his vision would blacken, his knees shake and he was sure he fainted a couple of times, too, for the sheer amount of concentration each of his clones had poured into the task at hand. 

Yet every time Tobirama felt he was teetering on the brink of a collapse, he simply reminded himself of what was at stake here.

Hellish became a relative term, then. He paid the small price, he figured. 

And there were ways and means to keep going beyond any physical signs of exhaustion. Tobirama turned to them quickly when the usage of his shadow clone technique became too taxing - various medications starting with simple caffeine to more sinister substances if taken for too long a time. He didn’t care for that risk. Sleep simply was lost time. Needed, surely. He’d catch up, eventually. Because ultimately - ultimately, this whole game would be over very soon, way too soon. Cynically he did wonder sometimes when he’d start to see white mice running up the walls, hear voices whisper or other hallucinations - but his thoughts never strayed from either creating the leash or your current condition. There was no room for anything else. And he was nothing if not focused on his task.

Kimi’s blood samples had been valuable leads in the whole process of making this damned drug. They demonstrated how his alternative had affected her - which wasn’t far off the shot when it came to the muting component of the leash. The disruption only rudimentarily resembled the real leash. Nonetheless, he felt confident with enough shadow clones - he’d continue down this path and start to weave his chakra in better and better to get where it had to be. After all, the result had been promising. Lucky for him, because it did strongly suggest no jutsu was involved in creating the leash as such. It really boiled down to the weaving process and its complexity. He wondered how long it had taken Zenji to master creating the leash.

Weaving - as such it seemed to be a process that couldn’t just create a leash but any other kind of chakra infused drug.

Interesting.

His experiments on the prisoners supported his theory about the weaving further. Progress was exponentially accelerated due to his shadow clones, and as such the intricacy of his own weaving pattern made for better results. More and more, the immediate effects of the leash were becoming comparable to the actual leash - with no small amount of satisfaction, he observed how their chakra became just as muted and sluggish as yours, longer and longer. And with the same satisfaction he meticulously examined every second of their quite painful withdrawal to compare it to your symptoms and sufferings to ensure it’d be exactly the same - the fact the prisoners didn’t just harbor the same dislike for him they did for everyone at the headquarters but rather flat out hated him was entirely beyond him. He didn’t care. They were means to achieving a goal, nothing more. 

Especially Zenji used every opportunity to count down the time to what he believed would be your demise. His perception of such must be entirely broken, as he missed the mark he prophesied would be your end - much to Tobirama’s smug glee. Though he knew better than to let anything on. Bickering with this man - with any of them - was just more waste of time. He simply went in with Ikuro, sometimes one of his subordinates, to brutally administer the leash and start to observe the prisoners and take blood samples. If any of them acted up in whatever ways they could - which wasn’t much, given their restraints - they were punished, harshly. He couldn’t risk spilling these experimental drugs, either. As Tobirama’s patience wore down alongside the remaining supply of the leash - and ultimately, your life force - more jaws were broken.

Naturally, his cold, almost brutal demeanour wasn’t noticed by the prisoners only. More than once Ikuro had to call him off for pushing the limit on what a subject could take - or disagree on continuing interrogation. Things Tobirama mentally rolled his eyes at but never spoke up against save for curt affirmations past his clenched teeth. Ikuro would be well within his rights to stop his proceedings altogether - or worse, report to Hashirama. It was a silent understanding that if the experiments became too dangerous, Tobirama had to stop and provide medical aid to the stone shinobi. As much as he hated it. He had to make better progress. You were paying the worst price.

Unfortunately the leash’s creation proved to be about the best guarded secret of Zenji’s mind - and with how he was biding his time, he was extremely determined to last longer than Tobirama, or rather, you. They gleaned all kinds of information not just from him, but also the other prisoners - the better Tobirama became at replicating the leash, the more effective the interrogation was. He surmised there may be even more complex machinations at work in how this drug worked in a person’s mind, but he had no proof of this, only theories. Not that he cared - it didn’t matter right now. Still, Zenji remained the toughest fortress; he’d die before cracking. Although Ikuro did appear to be more lax when it came to torturing and experimenting on him; Tobirama was not. 

Just like Zenji, Kimi was refusing to surrender what little she knew of the leash, no matter how extreme the pressure. Two of their compatriots had cracked while under the effects of Tobirama’s leash-copy, a victory he did not celebrate at all. It was useless unless Zenji broke or he perfected the recreation of the leash. Anything else would result in your death. Still, it was one of the rare occasions he allowed himself a moment of smugness in front of Zenji.

No more than a sneer did Tobirama give him.

Zenji was fuming. “You think you’re so fucking clever-” he spat.

Tobirama raised an eyebrow and cut him off coolly. “I am. Despite your assertions, I am getting closer to recreating this precious leash of yours every day. And after that, you will be useless, given how your fellow shinobi keep cracking.” The last bit was spoken as darkly as he meant it to be.

Zenji bared his teeth - but not out of anger. He was grinning. “I’m sticking to my word, Senju - I will relish telling you the secret once Y/n died one of the most painful deaths imaginable while you sat by.”

Tobirama knew better than to let the ire that was flooding him show. Zenji’s jaw was barely healing. 

Well, there were other bones to break, though.

“You might get closer to creating the leash, but you won’t succeed, and I’d give my damn life to see the helpless look on your face when Y/n takes her last, tormented breath, whispering your name in sheer agony as life-”

Tobirama’s arm shot forward before he could think. But he knew better than to punch the prisoner again. His vice grip had seized the broken jaw, nails digging into his cheeks to prevent so much as a scream coming out. Only a slow moan of pain. His scarlet gaze was murderous. “Actually, your pathetic life hangs on Y/n’s survival, Zenji. Do you realise that, you very, very clever man?”, Tobirama explained, frightfully calm.

Zenji stilled completely. 

“I care not for something petty like revenge or your fate ultimately,” he continued icily, “but Konoha does not need to feed mouths that are useless to us nor send them back to the enemy to use them against us again. I think you can figure the rest out.” He released him as brutally as he could, turning on his heel. He had to leave before he did more to this man.

Zenji stopped shouting at Tobirama after this.

Even so, Zenji’s words had not rung hollow. As much progress he made when it came to the weaving process, permanence of the effects would not be attained. The more time - really, each passing hour - pressed him, the more desperate he became to solve this riddle - this seemingly last riddle stopping him from creating the perfect copy of the leash.

It was after yet another quite fruitful session of experimentation that he -

“Damn it!”, he shouted, smashing his balled fist on the lab bench after analysing the yield of the day thoroughly. The woven pattern was swirling brightly like it would in the leash, the complexity well fit the real drug and the experiments were showing promising results.

However… “It’s not a damn leash yet-” he breathed through his clenched teeth, swaying back, vision tunneling. He gripped the edge of the table just in time before he lost his foothold. The exhaustion from releasing his clones before had struck viciously again. 

Hitting inanimate objects out of frustration was one thing. Talking to himself another. He dragged both palms over his face. By his current calculations, they had about sixty hours left.

Sixty hours, then they’d be out of leash and your time was cut very short.

Ice flooded his veins and his vision blackened completely briefly.

It couldn’t be helped. He needed a jutsu - or a seal - to perfect the leash. At this point - with this little time left - his previous evaluation of such a technique being an obstacle he'd scale easily compared to what he had done so far seemed quite daring. In fact, how could he have thought anything about this was going to be easy? Even when he had already guessed he’d need this, sooner or later.

Ultimately he started to divide his shadow clone force between perfecting the weaving process and starting to figure a seal out to make the effects last - rather, the disruption. Since the muting component did wear off at a comparable time in his own creations now, it was a fair assumption no technique sealed this effect in. And the way the disruption almost branded itself into a victim’s blood - that was all the more telltale. But how to create a seal that worked in a liquid? Back when he initially assumed such a seal to be of inferior quality due to a lack of external evidence, he automatically assumed it should be simple to create one himself. Now, it almost felt like starting over again - like when he was weaving the second component in. A seal that did not just ensure permanence of the effects but rather only concern a single effect - ridiculous. Somberly he realised actually back then, he simply had not grasped the complexity of all this fully to make such an assumption in the first place. 

More guilt to burden him, ultimately. 

Just as he feared, initial tests proved to be difficult in the way a seal damaged the delicate weave of his chakra in the base liquid. He quickly discarded the approach in favour of starting from scratch - if only the disruption stuck, then it was quite possible a seal was applied before the second component got woven in. That worked better - slightly, if just for the fact the substance was less intricate like this and a seal was simpler to apply like this. Even so, Tobirama could think of a handful of seals to preserve chakra in some capacity. He’d have to take a logical approach: given there had been no outward sign of a seal being used, it must be a simpler one. Furthermore, he knew from your blood samples the way the drug didn’t just cling but nearly branded itself to you; therefore there must be a way for the seal to interact with the victim’s organism as well. That seemed doable; seals followed the rules the user created. Like a string of orders. He felt confident in his skill to pull it off - if it wasn’t for the fact he was trying to place a seal in a liquid substance right now. A seal on a parchment, sure. Medical jutsu that required seals, absolutely. Seals in combat, too - but in a liquid? 

He had no time to dwell on whether or how that was possible. Once more his shadow clones would aid him in trying out different approaches: applying seals to the vial first, weaving the disrupting component in and then trying to seal it off, or even trying to weave in a seal alongside the disruption. The last of the approaches appeared to be more fruitful than the others truth be told, but the more effort he gave it, the less the tender fabric of the drug tore apart for it in either one. The leash really was about patience, a knack for handling very fragile threads of chakra and a lot of concentration. None of which Tobirama could claim he had in great quantity right now. By the end of this session releasing his clones resulted in him losing consciousness for a solid thirty minutes. When he woke, he had a headache as though someone drilled a hole into his skull.

Naturally that didn’t stop him. All three of his experiments were tested right away and despite Ikuro’s concerns to not divide Tobirama’s attention between three prisoners, the man enforced his will by ultimately reminding everyone of the ticking clock. Each passing second made him more desperate and the life of a Stone shinobi less valuable. Even if he lost all three. He still had three more.

“They still hold information we have not yet cracked,” Ikuro warned sternly.

“Testing each of these one after the other is going to cost hours that Y/n doesn’t have,” Tobirama spat back, unfazed. “I’m here, I can use a shadow clone to divide my attention if need be,” he elaborately nonchalantly.

Ikuro crossed his arms. “That’s not the same.”

Tobirama growled exasperatedly. He wasn’t about to explain his own damn jutsu to Ikuro now. “I assure you, it is. Let’s use the broken prisoners, they’ve lost value, if that eases your concern.” The coldness of his tone made clear what he was implying.

Unsurprisingly, Ikuro wasn’t taken aback by his lack of regard for human life. His job demanded a certain detachment from just that, Tobirama figured. “Alright.” Even though Ikuro still didn’t seem quite sold on Tobirama’s plan. The life of a Konoha shinobi still bore greater weight than that of Stone prisoners.

At the end of that day, Tobirama realised his intuition had been right: the test subject with the third method showed a prolonged phase of withdrawal, serious symptoms - serious enough to warrant medical observation that Tobirama left to the unit with clear instructions. He didn’t have time now. Sadly the seal’s permanence was not on par with the leash’s yet - the withdrawal had been fading, too. 

But this - all this, it was the right direction. He knew it. If he gave his all into his and worked with the time he had left, he felt he could reach this insane goal of recreating this drug. 

Following the experiments, he sat by your side that evening while you were allowed a short moment of simple sleep. No withdrawal, no terrors under the effects of the leash. He dared to feel a sliver of hope. No more. Gently, his hand stroked your forearm as his heart ached from watching you. You’d open your eyes briefly and recognition flashed in your gaze - he simply let his chakra coat your network in a warm embrace. Stiffness eased out from his shoulders as his eyes prickled again.

“I’m getting there, Y/n,” he simply whispered, tenderly. 

You gave no reply or notion of having gotten the message. His heart hurt more for it.

Of course he already had a handful of clones working on the approach before he left for your side to join them in the endeavour. 

The final race began after that. Using as many clones as he possibly could, he started to create the leash - really create it, not just parts of it, practicing weaving or trying seals out. This was it - he would need to perfect this procedure until an immaculate result in a prisoner was achieved. Once he tethered one of them to the leash, he knew he had succeeded and could make more for you. The proverbial light at the end of this hellish tunnel kicked his system more into overdrive than any substance he could take to keep himself on track. It was a real high, almost.

Hashirama tried to get him to rest once he caught wind of the fervor with which he worked.

“You’re doing what?!”, his brother near shouted, horrified. 

Tobirama rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. “Get out of here and back to Y/n,” he ordered sternly, not even looking back at his brother, standing in the door of the makeshift laboratory.

Hashirama’s footsteps drew closer, a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder had him whip around with unconcealed fury. “What.” Tobirama’s voice was an infuriated growl through clenched teeth. A warning everyone heeded. Except his brother, of course.

Hashirama didn’t pull his figurative punches now. “You’re using way too many shadow clones, you’re not sleeping and is-” he pointed on the lab bench, eyes wide now as he recognized the substances Tobirama had been taking, “-is that-”

“You worry about your work, and leave me to mine, anija!” Tobirama shouted back with unbridled ire, seizing his brother by the shoulders to start shoving him out. 

Sadly, he was determined to stand his ground, swatting the hands away. “Sure, destroy yourself so the first thing Y/n can do after recovering is mourn you!” His dark eyes were ablaze now. Even for a non-sensor shinobi, the magnificent aura of his riled up chakra was easy to pick up on. For Tobirama’s senses, it was suffocating, like staring into the sun. The overload just fueled his anger more.

“Get. Out.” The heat was gone from his voice. It was a threat now.

Hashirama held Tobirama’s scarlet gaze for far longer than anyone else did. Wordlessly, he summoned a wood clone. “I’ll watch you. You’re not going to kill yourself, brother.” Then, he turned on his heels to leave the laboratory.

Tobirama was floored for a moment. How dare he. Then, he proverbially exploded as the fury burned so bright inside of him, it was painful. “You will do no such thing!” He yelled after his brother, following with swift stomps. “Take your damn babysitter with you, I don’t need one!”

Hashirama all but ignored him and simply kept on walking down the corridor. Tobirama rushed back to the laboratory where his clones were still at work to eye his brother’s wood clone with sheer antipathy. Briefly, he contemplated destroying it - but ultimately decided against that just for the fact that might break anything precious in the laboratory.

That meant he just had to conceal his exhaustion better now. And no more help from additional medication. 

The rush to the finish line of the gruelling race was just as Tobirama had expected it. He didn’t measure time in days anymore but hours you had left. Your condition kept on worsening and ultimately, Hashirama decided they no longer could risk you going into withdrawal at all. That cut back the time slightly, but not much. Enough for Tobirama to not even feel the slightest bit of exhaustion anymore. Frankly during his work he was nothing but sharply focused. It was when he was by your side the emotions boiled up - the ache that teared at his heart, the suffocating sensation of sorrow, guilt. Overburdening protection paired with crushing worry. Your sheer will had bought them necessary time, he’d just make it work now. It was all he could do.

But now, even in what should be your rest - the precious hours in which you may wake - you barely opened your eyes anymore. They were forced to amp the seals up to a maximum of support to deal with the backlash of all the times you had suffered from the withdrawal, and either Hashirama or Tobirama constantly found themselves at your side to ensure your condition didn’t worsen. Every bit of additional chakra your strained system could take went into stabilizing you further from the inside. It was an extremely fragile balance they upheld - but the truth was, in the Stone shinobi’s hands your body had suffered grievous, outward wounds and now your inside was just as impacted by everything it had gone through. 

Your path to recovery would be an arduous one. One Tobirama did not doubt one second you’d walk strongly and gracefully, one on which he’d not leave your side, at all. He still felt tremendous guilt for everything they - he - had been forced to do to you, everything you went through under his watch. Even now, what little time he spent monitoring you, examining your condition, he never let the warm connection fade - hoping you might at least feel that.

That you weren't alone.

Progress on the leash was as exponential as expected. His shadow clones and his own vigour ensured as much. Over and over he perfected the results he produced. Time would not allow for lengthier tests anymore as the better his craft became, the longer a test subject suffered from the effects of his leash. He had to cycle through the prisoners who barely caught a break now, not that he cared, of course. But every experiment needed to start from a fresh slate, otherwise the result might be muddled. What he could do in the laboratory was to compare his own substance with the actual leash - which he did with unmatched diligence. Once a confusing swirl of chakra, intricate and impossible to pick apart easily, he now saw structure in it. With the experience of not just himself but many copies of himself, he now was sure: learning to create the leash might take months, if not years. 

When your hours were down to a single digit, he was unable to find a difference between his version of the leash and the actual drug.

An eerie kind of excitement gripped him. His head spun dizzily from it. Had he done it? Was this it?

Only one way to find out. And no time to waste. They had just a single dose of the leash left to give to you. 

Tobirama turned to what he sarcastically dubbed his babysitter. “Tell my brother with luck, I’m off to the interrogation headquarters for the last time.”

The last time he slept was forty-one hours ago. Involuntarily, at that. Overwhelmed by releasing the shadow clone jutsu, as it was.

The wood clone nodded and turned to leave.

Tobirama used his hiraishin seal to teleport to the interrogation headquarters after slipping the vial into his pocket - he had placed a branded piece of parchment there days ago. Another way to save time.

He headed straight for Ikuro’s office. By now the members of the interrogation unit knew when not to stand in his way - it was the kind of thoughtfulness he appreciated, even though he never uttered a word to that regard. Given the time of the day, early morning, Ikuro was behind the desk. Tobirama didn’t even knock but tore the door open. 

“We need to start another test now.” 

Ikuro glanced up from the document he was reading. By now he knew not to expect ‘good morning’ from him anymore or other pleasantries. Still, this was quite straightforward even for Tobirama’s standards. “You’ve been here last night,” he replied evenly, raising an eyebrow.

“And I’ve made progress since then. I have reason to believe I’ve done it.” Finally.

That elicited a whistle of surprise even from Ikuro, who seldom did more than smile slightly at whatever was tossed in his direction. But a frown followed. “I don’t need to tell you that-”

Tobirama slammed his palm on the table a huffed through clenched teeth. “I know and we don’t have any time left,” he hissed, borderline desperate now. The fact this would be his last shot before you - he refused to finish the thought.

Ikuro’s mien was stony, but he rose to his feet. “Kimi should be most recovered.”

He followed silently down into the holding block. Whatever gazes he might have felt upon him he either was accustomed to or forgotten. Except for Zenji’s stare. The damn, knowing stare. He never looked more than a spare second into his eyes.

Upon unlocking Kimi’s door, the woman’s head raised up slowly to muster her new company with contempt. The last days had left traces on all the prisoners. Like her compatriots, even the mental bulwark of seeming sheer insanity was showing cracks. Kimi had dark rings under her eyes and the proverbial paint was flaking off. “Is Y/n not fucking dead yet?”, she commented lazily, gaze settling on the vial in Tobirama’s grasp. They had long passed the stage of feigned pleasantries, inquiries about your wellbeing, or even Ikuro behaving like a friend towards her.

All of this had become a well practiced ritual the prisoners knew better than to resist. In a way, they had broken them all in that regard.

Ikuro seized the back of her head already and gave Tobirama a nod.

Kimi’s nostrils flared. “Can’t be much longer now. Y’still gonna keep trying to make the leash after she’s dead, by the way?”, she spat, fighting against the vice hold of the interrogation master.

Tobirama walked closer slowly, expression steely. As cold as he felt inside. He always did when he was down here - these people were barely human to him, anymore. Threats like Kimi’s were their favourite to make. He knew better than to react. His hand shot forward to grasp her jaw - her resistance was notably weaker than it had been a few days ago. 

Good.

Easily, his hand could coax her jaw forward to open her mouth and pour only a small portion of the vial in. Ikuro shot him a questioning glance. “I’ll explain later.” Tobirama answered gruffly as he secured her throat to prevent her from spitting anything back at them. She gagged briefly, prompting Tobirama to up the pressure until she swallowed.

“Fuck you,” she spat, but her pupils dilated already. 

Ikuro closed his eyes to get to work. Tobirama monitored the effect of his leash unfolding briefly and with no small amount of satisfaction. The muting component hammered Kimi’s chakra network just like yours had been. His heart beat faster. Swiftly he withdrew to take a first blood sample of the initial effect and continued to monitor Kimi, who had surrendered to the torture silently by now. Unusual. Most of the time, she found ways to spew colorful insults at either him or Ikuro.

Interesting.

The rest of the experiment proceeded just as perfectly. Tobirama felt near dizzy from the nervousness that gripped him and he was surprised to find he wasn’t shaking from excitement when the withdrawal began to hit the stone shinobi as the muting component wore off - sooner than usual, thanks to the smaller dosage, but it still took quite a while. Ikuro wasn’t finished with the mental interrogation yet, but a frown wrinkled his forehead.

“She’s becoming weaker,” he noted.

“I know. Keep on going.” Hell, they might even crack her now with the added pressure. After all, Tobirama was painfully well-versed in dealing with withdrawal effects, and Kimi’s body was not suffering from chakra overloading at all. 

The shift in the dynamic hadn’t escaped Kimi, either. Restlessness was gripping her. “This doesn’t change anything,” she pressed out, breathing laboured. Her forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat. It wouldn’t be long now until the withdrawal will become painful.

Tobirama ignored her and gripped her throat tighter as he examined more closely. If the disruption didn’t fade he -

“It doesn’t change-,” Kimi choked out again, against the vice grip he held her in. “-fucking anything!” Her voice had become a fine sneer in the end.

Tobirama opened his eyes to find the prisoner grinning, staring at the ceiling with a hollow glance. That didn’t sit well with him. Kimi knew more about the leash - knowledge they hadn’t yet gotten out of her. 

They’d still proceed now. No turning back.

More time passed. She shouted out again a couple times, more slurred than the other before a tremor gripped her body and the words became gargled moans of pain. Inflammation began to kindle inside of her in an awfully familiar way. The disruption was starting to wreak havoc inside of her. Time for the next blood sample, which Tobirama took swiftly.

“Her mind is becoming fragmented, Tobirama,” Ikuro warned, pale eyes opening. That wasn’t good. He wouldn’t continue like this.

“I’ll stabilise her. I need to know if this fades or not,” he answered tersely, blood rushing in his ears. If it didn’t fade - then he’d -

One step after the other. Carefully he let his chakra strengthen each of Kimi’s organs somewhat, only enough to keep her going. The tormented groans subsided if just slightly, and Ikuro closed his eyes again as the haze that surrounded Kimi’s mind became thicker again. So close. They were so close.

Relief did not last long for her. Very soon, the prisoner was deteriorating again.

Tobirama almost shouted from the utter relief he felt. It could only mean one thing. His heart beat so frantically it might as well jump out of his chest at this point.

Ikuro gave him a stern reminder to watch for Kimi again, but Tobirama’s hand had seized the spasming jaw of the prisoner already. Silently, Ikuro watched as he poured the rest of the vial in only to directly continue monitoring her again.

The disruption subsided swiftly as her chakra network became near mute again. Kimi stilled completely, raising her head slowly to let out a drawn-out groan. Her gaze fixated Tobirama, pupils blown wide. There was recognition in it, but in a deranged, wild way - akin to an animal rather than a human person.

Tobirama's scarlet gaze was ablaze, his eyes widened. A low, utterly satisfied growl resounded through the cell - "Yes," he muttered, entirely absorbed in his examination.

Her reply hit like a kick to the gut.

“The leash is tied to a person… and the hand that holds it.”

Right after, her body went limp again as she surrendered to the psychotropic effects of the drug.

Tobirama took a step back, reeling. The blood still rushed in his ears and the elation had cracked like glass that had been put under too much strain. What the hell was that supposed to mean? What was it now? What else did he possibly have to think of? The experiment's result was perfect. 

By all means, this woman was tied to the leash now, the leash Tobirama had created.

He just had to make more of it now - you’d be safe and he could work on a cure. But why was he feeling like his breath had been stolen from him? As though he had run the mile, won the race and yet still had to keep running, or else? His hands trembled slightly as he kept staring down the limp prisoner.

Ikuro cleared his throat. “That’s enough for today. Follow me, Tobirama.” His voice sounded urgent. Startled, Tobirama’s eyes widened slightly, he nodded only.

As they passed Zenji’s cell, the man stirred. “So,” he called out, chains clinking as he threw his body against them. “You made it? Tied Kimi to the leash?” His tone was about as icy as one might get.

Tobirama stopped in front of the cell to give him a lethal glare, all nervousness subsiding in favour of sheer fury. Ikuro stopped as well, giving Tobirama a warning glance.

“I won,” he sneered back, eyes narrow. “As I said, I recreated that little tool of yours.” His voice was dripping with caustic arrogance.

Zenji attempted a grin that looked crooked by how swollen his face still was. “I wonder about that.”

Icy dread was pooling inside of Tobirama faster than he could control it. His mien turned stony as he tried to just not rush in and break Zenji’s jaw again for his insolence. And yet the words were haunting him. Just like Kimi’s had. “You had better start thinking about another way to appear useful to us.”

Without allowing another word from the prisoner, he walked towards Ikuro, heading for the office. Surprisingly, Ikuro shut the door as soon as they were inside.

The burly man cut straight to the chase. “Kimi’s mental defenses were extremely low today,” he began. Tobirama’s heartbeat picked up again. Ikuro frowned. “I was able to glance at her knowledge about the leash. Perhaps she wanted me to, I don’t know.”

“What did you learn?”, Tobirama snapped back before he even realised what words his brain had chosen. His tone wasn’t just stern - it was commanding.

“The Stone’s interrogators use the leash frequently.” Nothing new there, Tobirama figured. With how much effort that went into this drug. He was ready to ask for more information, but Ikuro beat him to it. “However, it seems once the leash is administered to a prisoner, they always receive it from the same creator, or one of his students.” Ikuro’s frown deepened.

The realisation hit Tobirama before he could coherently process the words. The dread that had formed earlier spiralled out into every vein of his body, an ice cold shiver ran down his spine. No, he had not come this far to learn this - all this-

“What does that mean?”, Ikuro inquired when Tobirama gave no answer.

He turned around slowly to put his hands against the doorframe, taking deep breaths now. His head was swimming. This information - all he knew about the leash - it was already pooling into his mind to form a muddied mess that wouldn’t produce a coherent thought.

His breaths were raspy and short. Finally, he swallowed against the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to speak about this. He had to return to the lab. Now.

“It means Zenji might be the only one able to create the leash for Y/n,” he answered, voice dead.

 _______

 He had precious little time left until you needed the last dose of the leash. After that, your lifespan was down to a mere few hours. Tobirama’s heartbeat never slowed down as he arrived in the laboratory, his shaking hands placing Kimi’s recent blood samples in the rack containing a great variety of vials now. His vision was tunneling. 

Only one shot.

Kimi’s statement - Zenji’s following it - and Ikuro’s information pointed towards one thing: the creation of the leash and the following interaction with the victim’s body was such a complex reaction that it didn’t allow for a different torturer’s leash to be administered to the same victim. Why was that? Tobirama could easily guess. With how much time he had spent weaving this damned drug all the little intricacies, the finicky process, it was easy to think there might be different ways to create it. Different patterns. The leash demanded repeated doses of the same drug for the disruption to be muted by the muting component - they were woven together like threads of fabric. A different pattern would not fit. That much his experiments had ascertained, too. 

Lucky for him - for you - he had stuck closely to Zenji’s sample and while primarily trying to imitate the effects of the drug, he had unintentionally copied the weaving pattern of the man himself. That much he was sure of - he had analysed his version and Zenji’s, finding no difference.

Did that mean Kimi and Zenji just thought Tobirama had - somehow - found out how to weave the leash differently? It was a possibility.

He grabbed the blood sample that contained Kimi’s blood right after administration of Tobirama’s leash. Closing his eyes, he began to examine it in great detail. The drug had spread through it hazily, coating it thickly - clogging and fuzzy. Just like it had been in you. No, exactly like it had been in you.

A first wave of relief washed through him. There was no doubt about it - had someone placed a vial of your blood under the initial effect of the leash in front of him and that of a prisoner under his own, he could only tell the difference by the innate chakra signature every body part carried, available to his fine sensor skills only. Otherwise, this was the same.

His body vibrated with tense energy, teetering on the fine edge between nervousness and sheer panic. Things he’d never show to anyone. But in the privacy of this lab - his hand shook, his heart was jumping out of his chest.

Now to the second sample.

He clasped Kimi’s blood sample tightly and shut his eyes again. Examining closer and closer, the disruptive component became obvious - the sharp edges of the chakra that had coated the blood’s cells, scathing as they went, damaging, scratching. Just like in Zenji’s leash. That, also was to be expected - after all, he had tailored the effect as per the example he had been given. 

Then why did he feel on edge? Why was time still running out? Something - something -

He took an even closer look.

And almost dropped the vial when it struck him.

“It’s the seal,” he muttered, shock and frustration fighting inside him as he felt as though he was bursting inside. The way his leash had near branded itself to Kimi’s blood - it was different, in such insignificant and tiny ways, Tobirama would’ve overlooked it. Were it not for the damned comment the lunatic witch had made, the information Ikuro had gleaned - there was no question about it. Zenji must use a slightly different sealing technique in his own version of the leash. 

What would happen if he administered his own leash to you now?

Tobirama groaned painfully, rubbing a palm over his face.

This is a nightmare. It can’t be. You only had little time left until the next - the last dose of the leash. And he had no idea how to even figure out how Zenji sealed the disrupting component of his leash.

His breaths were coming faster now and the tightness in his chest became painful - so painful he clutched the black fabric of his shirt, wheezing. Closing his eyes, his other hand reached for the edge of the laboratory bench for support as his knees shook. Distantly, he realised what the panic attack for what it was, now. Logically, he recognized it. While all the same he figured he did not have time for this.

He had to work now. He had to try - to try and do - do something-

“Damn it,” he panted. His breaths were coming in abruptly, rashly.

His vision tunneled.

He had no time- He had to work- This wasn’t-

Darkness crept from his peripheral reception into the center and Tobirama closed his eyes to force his breaths to slow down. Weakness. This was nothing but temporary weakness he had to overcome swiftly. 

By sheer willforce only quite possibly, he was riding the anguishing sensations out slowly before his body would obey him again.

Then, he grabbed the precious tiny sample of Zenji’s leash and did the only thing that came to mind: to try and dissect it for any clues. Anything at all that might tell him how Zenji sealed off his leash - anything for Tobirama to guess at the process to copy it. He began the procedure much like he’d perform an autopsy on a cadaver: from the outside to the inside. Peeling off layer after layer, removing bits and then cutting them apart into tinier pieces to examine them more closely. Systematically - thanks to his extended knowledge about the leash, there was some of that to his approach here. Of course the leash didn’t have organs like a body did, however since he knew how it was woven, he was able to trace it back this way, sort of.

Zenji’s seal was woven into the disruptive component like Tobirama’s was, intertwined in an intricate fashion he frantically sought to unravel. 

But try as he might - it was impossible. Since there was no ink work - no physical trace of the seal left save for the chakra threads alongside the disruptive component - there just was no telling just how his sealing technique might be working. Tobirama knew this.

He knew - he knew it simply was not possible.

Yet he kept on looking, searching for any clue - until the last bit of the tiny sample was entirely dissected.

And he was left empty handed.

His heart stopped for a moment and ice-cold shock burst in his chest.

Was this it, now? Had he come this far to surrender to this damn detail? He closed his eyes slowly as breaths came in faster and faster again, more ragged each time. The world was frozen. Time stood still for a moment as his mind raced faster into nowhere, while his heart, his heart knew well enough there was nothing left.

Crushing sorrow followed the shock, his lip quivered. Wetness formed under his lids and quelled down his cheeks.

“Fuck!”, he shouted - no, roared as he smashed the vial containing the useless sample of the leash against the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, -” he kept yelling the profanity over and over as if that brought any relief, his hands in his white hair, pulling. He didn’t feel any physical pain - he felt nothing except for overwhelming despair that filled every crack of his mind and emotional pain too great to put into words yet his heart was being torn into two.

He’d lose you - you, the only person he’d ever entrust that silly organ to. 

He had promised you -

After all he’d done -

Limply, he sunk down with his back against a wall of the laboratory, having no idea how he had gotten there. Tears were streaming down his face freely now, he didn’t even make any effort to wipe them off or reign in any feeling anymore. It was all too much. Wheezing and sobbing he sat there for who knows how long - letting desperation and grief crush him like metal between hammer and anvil. Jaw taut as he clenched his teeth, eyes hidden under his palm - he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to.

He had failed you.

And now you’d die. ______ the story isn’t over yet! but i reckon I should be hanged for this cliffhanger. STAY WITH ME THOUGH OKAY!!