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arc852 · 1 year ago

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13. Betwixt

Definition: between

Summary: During one of their weekly movie nights, Joel finds a movie about borrowers called The Secret World of Arrietty. They decide to watch it.

G/t: Grian and Joel are normal-sized, Jimmy is a borrower

Word Count: 3169

AO3 Link

I'm gonna be honest about this one guys, I didn't exactly follow the prompt. It kind of got away from me. It's still a good one though! Another installment in the BBBCAU!

Also, I'm sorry if you haven't seen The Secret World of Arrietty. I highly recommend it if you haven't but hopefully this isn't too confusing without having seen the movie.

And fun fact, I actually rewatched the movie while I was writing this to be more accurate with what they were reacting to. Because I did this, this prompt probably took me the longest to write out of all of them. I did have a lot of fun writing it though!

I hope you enjoy!

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“Alright! It’s time for a movie night!” Joel exclaimed, grabbing his laptop off his desk and opening it up to set up their movie. The three of them had just finished having dinner and, since it was a friday night and neither human had any classes for the next two days, it was time for their weekly movie night.

Jimmy loved it. Not only did he enjoy spending time with Grian and Joel but he also looked forward to watching the actual movies themselves. Living in the walls of the dorms, he had only ever managed to get glances at some of the movies the humans would watch. And with no sound, since most humans would watch them with headphones on. But now, he could watch all the movies and Grian and Joel were more than willing to show him the classics.

Grian stood up from his chair and started on the popcorn and Jimmy waited patiently on the table for somebody to grab him and bring him over to where they would be watching. Usually it would be Joel, who didn’t take long to set the movie up but it seemed he was taking a bit longer this time. So by the time the popcorn was done and dumped in a bowl, Jimmy was still waiting on the table.

Grian gave him a confused look and then looked over at Joel. “Have you not picked the movie yet?” He asked as he held the popcorn in one hand and used the other to scoop Jimmy up.

Joel looked up from his laptop briefly to look at the two. “I have, I’m just trying to find it. Bloomin’ streaming services…” He mumbled the last bit under his breath, still clicking and searching through the movies.

Grian sat down on his bed and let Jimmy off onto the plush surface. Jimmy gained his balance easily enough and now all they were waiting on was Joel. “What movie is it?” Jimmy asked Joel, looking over to Grian briefly to see if he knew, but the other human just shrugged.

Joel was quiet for another moment before he suddenly exclaimed, “Ah ha! Found it!” Joel finally looked away from his laptop and addressed Jimmy’s question. “Okay, so the other day I was looking to see what movie we could watch and I came across, well, this.” Joel flipped his laptop around in order to show the screen to Grian and Jimmy. On it was the poster for the movie in question.

“The Secret World of Arrietty?” Grian read off but as he did so, Jimmy’s breath hitched at what he saw. A girl, only a few inches tall, behind a jar with a human looking down at her.

“Yep. It’s about, get this…borrowers.” Joel revealed and both Grian and Jimmy’s eyes went wide. Jimmy’s with a bit more panic.

“What?! B-But how is that possible? Do they know? How are we just hearing about this?” Jimmy asked, panicking at the thought of his people being found out.

“Whoa, whoa! Jim, calm down.” Joel tried, setting his laptop down and going to sit on the edge of the bed. “I was worried when I first saw it too, so I did some research. Apparently, this movie is based on a book from the 50s. And it’s regarded as completely fictional.”

“A book…Oh! I knew the term borrowers felt familiar!” Grian exclaimed, referencing something from back when they first met Jimmy.

“So…everyone who knows about these movies and books thinks borrowers are fake?” Jimmy asked, calming down a bit.

Joel nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I can’t speak for the original author. Knowing what we know now, I wouldn’t be surprised if her book was actually based on a true story. But all the material that came after that and all the people who have read her books think it’s nothing more than fiction. So I think you guys are safe.”

With that, Jimmy let out a breath and relaxed from his tensed up position. “Oh, okay, that’s good.”

Grian nodded along. “That makes sense. Besides, if borrowers really were found out, I think we would be seeing it all over the news instead of in the form of a movie from…” He checked the date on the screen. “2010.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Jimmy said, feeling sheepish at his reaction. He looked down, rubbing the back of his head. “I just, ya know, heard the word borrower coming from a human made thing and panicked.”

“Which is completely understandable.” Joel said. “I felt much the same when I first saw it. I probably should have announced it in a better way though. That one might be on me.” Joel admitted and Grian snorted.

“Yeah, you definitely could have done that a lot better.” Grian teased and Jimmy couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. Despite the fact he was still trying to calm down from his initial panic.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s my fault.” Joel said with a roll of his eyes, though there was a sense of sincerity in his tone. He really did blame himself for making Jimmy panic like that. “Did you guys still want to watch it? I understand if it might be too much for you, Jim.”

Jimmy thought about it for a moment. On one hand, watching something about his kind made by humans made him nervous. On the other hand, he was curious to see what kind of stuff they got right and wrong and in how much detail they went into about a borrower’s life. So, despite himself, he nodded. “Yeah, I want to see what these humans came up with.”

“Got to say, I’m a bit curious too.” Grian admitted and Joel nodded and set up the laptop properly at the edge of the bed.

Once that was done, Joel turned off the lights and went around the opposite side of the bed to Grian. He picked Jimmy up so as to not worry about where he was when he settled down, and layed down on the bed. Grian did the same next to him so that both humans were on their stomachs facing the laptop.

Once they were situated, Joel let Jimmy back onto the bed, the borrower now between the two humans with the best spot to see the screen.

Jimmy would never admit out loud that this was his favorite spot for other reasons as well. He’d get teased into next week if he revealed he liked being this close to the two of them. It just gave him a sense of safety, being between his two friends, a barrier on either side protecting him from anything that might be dangerous to someone like him.

It was so cheesy and cringy just in Jimmy’s own head, he could never imagine saying it out loud.

While Grian and Joel were laying down, Jimmy decided to sit criss-cross instead. The popcorn bowl was placed a little bit behind him, so it wasn’t in his way, and then he was handed a piece of popcorn by Grian as Joel pressed play on the movie.

Jimmy took a small bite of the food, still nervous for what the movie had in store for him.

It started out simple enough. The animation was beautiful and Jimmy couldn’t help but be a bit jealous of Arriety’s home. His little nook within the walls of the college dorms were nothing in comparison to the grand home Arriety’s family had made for themselves. Maybe he could have had that too if he hadn’t decided to live in a place like this. But it had been the best option for him by far.

The term ‘beans’ got brought up, which, of course, Grian and Joel couldn’t just ignore. “Beans?” Joel asked with a raised brow, looking down at Jimmy.

Jimmy felt his cheeks heat up. “It’s-I mean, it was an old term used by borrowers to refer to humans.” Jimmy crossed his arms and very pointedly did not look at either human. “I haven’t heard it in ages though and I never used it myself.” He added on, trying to make himself look better.

“Yeah, but how did you even come up with beans anyway?” Joel asked, still trying to figure it out.

Jimmy bit his lip. “Well…” He was cut off.

“Wait. Human beings. Human be-ings. Human…beans.” Grian slowly figured out and then grinned. “Oh my gosh.”

“Aww, that’s actually kind of adorable.” Joel teased, grinning as well.

Jimmy felt his face heat up even more and he covered his hands with his face. “Can we please just get back to the movie?”

The two laughed but they did turn back towards the screen.

There was some mention about children shortly after. About how dangerous they were, even more so than the adults. Jimmy himself shivered and found himself nodding in agreement despite himself. Grian and Joel noticed but didn’t say anything.

A few seconds later, something else was revealed.

“I’m sorry, did they say 14?” Joel asked incredulously.

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, that’s usually around the time borrowers start to fend for themselves. Although I think it’s gotten earlier and earlier.” Jimmy thought back. “I went off on my own at 12, but that was mostly…because…” Jimmy trailed off as he caught Grian and Joel’s eyes. There was that indescribable emotion again. Jimmy didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it. “Nevermind.”

“Jim-” Joel started but stopped when he saw Grian subtly shake his head. He mouthed ‘not now’ and Joel huffed but didn’t say anything more.

Back to the movie, Jimmy was suddenly and inexplicably hit with an existential crisis. He tried not to think about other borrowers. But it had been a long time since he had seen any himself. Sometimes, he also wondered how many of his kind were even still out there.

Grian and Joel pointedly did not say anything.

The borrowing scene played out, which Jimmy supposed was fairly accurate. Although he couldn’t help but wonder why they would be borrowing when there were still human’s awake in the house. One of the humans could have suddenly opened the drawer they were in. Or walked into the kitchen. It didn’t make sense.

Meanwhile, Grian and Joel were in a bit of awe. The movie did a great job giving a borrower’s perspective on things. And a little too well. Joel felt a bit dizzy at the height and he didn’t even mind them usually. It was also just incredible, to see how intuitive borrowers could be. Grian made a mental note to ask Jimmy how accurate it really was later on.

They got to the dollhouse and Jimmy couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy. Especially when Arrietty’s dad pointed out how they weren’t toys. He couldn’t help but feel, just a little, that the dollhouse had been some sort of…trap or something, for the borrowers.

He shook his head and continued watching. Arrietty and her dad had left the dollhouse and were now grabbing the tissue paper they needed. And then-

The human saw them.

Jimmy couldn’t help but jump and gasp, almost the same as Arrietty did. He couldn’t help it. Those eyes felt like they were pointed right at him.

He briefly heard Joel mutter an “oh no” before turning his attention back to see what would happen.

The boy spoke, and Jimmy couldn’t help but compare his words to when he first met Grian and Joel. It was similar, at least in the beginning. Don’t be scared. We’re not going to hurt you.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

When Arrietty left, he let out a sigh of relief. “He didn’t grab her.” Jimmy said to himself, both as a fact and in wonder. Any other human, knowing a borrower was there, would have at least attempted to catch them. At least, that’s what Jimmy believed anyway.

Unbeknownst to him though, Grian and Joel had heard his remark. They sent each other a look, also reminded of their first meeting with Jimmy. Joel was starting to regret putting this movie on.

“That’s weird.” Jimmy said a few moments later, this time loud enough he was sure Grian and Joel could hear. One of them hummed in response, he couldn’t tell which one. “It’s weird the dad would just brush off what just happened. They should be packing up their things and moving after being seen like that.”

You didn’t. Grian almost said the words out loud but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to bring it up now. “Oh.” He said instead, a simple response to let Jimmy know he had heard him.

The movie went on and eventually got to the scene at the window. Jimmy was tense the entire time, a fall from that height would be fatal or a smack from the bird could have done a lot of damage as well. And then, Arrietty was grabbed and everything in the movie slowed down and became quiet.

Well, grabbed was putting it too strongly. The human more had her cupped in his hand, not restricting her at all really. Which came into play a moment later, when Arrietty was simply able to get away.

Again, Jimmy thought it was weird. It felt like the movie was downplaying the fear borrowers had towards humans.

Joel flexed his hand subconsciously, looking down at it and then over at Jimmy. He was always aware of how small Jimmy was in his grasp. But seeing it in a movie…it felt weird.

“There it is.” Jimmy said as Pod finally revealed they needed to leave. “Took them long enough.”

They got to the other dollhouse scene, where the humans were discussing it. So not…really a trap then. The humans had good intentions it seemed like. And honestly, the house looked really nice, especially with all the working appliances in it. But it still felt wrong.

A bit later into the movie, Jimmy felt horrified when the human tried to help by ripping out their old kitchen for the new one. Again, the human had good intentions but…

Grian and Joel seemed to think the same.

“That’s bloomin’ terrifying.” Joel said, and when Jimmy looked over he could tell Joel’s shoulders were tense.

“How did he think that would be a good idea? Honestly?” Grian said, exasperated and honestly annoyed at the character.

Jimmy couldn’t help but chuckle a little. It was kind of funny having two humans reacting like that.

They continued watching and got to the part where Shawn saw Arrietty for the first time. The mood was down and Joel decided to try and lift it. “I can tell you right now Jim, neither of us thought you were beautiful when we first saw you.”

The sudden quip made Jimmy laugh out loud and Joel smiled in victory. “Hey! I take offense to that, you know. I’m very beautiful.”

Grian snickered, glad for the short break. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that.” Grian said and then reached over and ruffled Jimmy’s hair.

“Hey! Stop that!” Jimmy said, but was laughing at the same time, trying to push Grian’s finger away.

The scene changed in the movie, bringing their attention back to the screen as Hara discovered the borrower’s home. The mood dampened again. The look on Hara’s face when she saw Homily. It sent more than a shiver down Jimmy’s spine.

“Okay…I take back what I said before. That is terrifying.” Joel said, wondering if that’s anyway how him and Grian looked…before. He looked over at Grian, who’s eyes remained on the screen, his brow pinched.

Jimmy could only nod at Joel’s statement.

Homily was grabbed and Grian’s hand clenched in turn. Jimmy, thankfully, didn’t notice. Too caught up by what was happening on screen.

The look of fear on the borrower’s face made Grian feel…guilty. Was that how Jimmy felt, way back then? Did he still feel that way? Grian and Joel had made it a habit to just…pick Jimmy up whenever they pleased. Jimmy never said anything about it before. But…was he just too scared to?

Grian rubbed his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He silently cursed Joel for finding this movie in the first place. It was making him question too many things.

When Homily was put in a jar, Jimmy could only be thankful that that had never happened to him.

When Arrietty went to Shawn for help, Joel couldn’t keep in his questions any longer. “What’s it like being held?”

Jimmy, startled by the question, looked up at Joel with wide eyes. “To be…held?”

“You know…” Joel suddenly felt a bit self-conscious for asking and was blatantly ignoring Grian’s look. “In a hand. In one of…our…hands.”

“Oh.” Jimmy couldn’t help but look down at Joel’s hands at the question causing Joel to self-consciously tuck his hands closer to himself. The movie must be getting to them more than Jimmy originally thought.

He couldn’t really blame them though. It was getting to him too, just a little bit.

He thought about it for a moment, trying his best to come up with the right thing to say. How to explain it…?

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Grian chimed in, glaring at Joel from above Jimmy. “You can just ignore--”

“It feels safe.”

Grian shut up.

Jimmy continued, looking down at his own hands. “I guess it didn’t always feel like that. It was constricting before, overwhelming, I felt…well, I felt helpless. I can feel the strength in your hands, I know how much damage they can do.”

“Jimmy…” Joel started but Jimmy didn’t stop.

“It’s still overwhelming, not gonna lie. I don’t think that will ever go away. But it’s different now. The…I guess, the uncertainty is gone. I know you two mean well, I know you two would never hurt me. And I feel…protected. So…yeah. It feels safe. I-I guess.” Jimmy added on the last bit, suddenly feeling flustered by what he had just said.

Jimmy braced himself for the teasing but was surprised when it didn’t come.

“O-Oh.” Joel said, his voice a bit watery. “That’s uh…I-I’m glad.”

Grian didn’t say anything but he was happy to know his earlier thoughts held no substance. Jimmy was fine being picked up and wasn’t afraid of them and Grian blames this movie entirely for making him second guess that.

Actually, scratch that, he blames Joel.

They watched the rest of the movie play out. Arrietty and Shawn saved her mom, Hara was seen to look like a crazy person, and Arrietty said one last goodbye to Shawn before leaving.

The three friends were silent as the credits rolled.

“Well that was…a lot.” Jimmy broke the silence.

“You can say that again.” Joel said, letting out a little sigh.

It was silent for another moment.

“All in favor of banning Joel from picking any more movies?” Grian asked, raising his hand.

“Me.” Jimmy said, also raising his hand.

“Wha-? Hey!”

#g/t #giant/tiny #borrowers #mcyt g/t #hermitcraft #hermitcraft g/t #au #bbbcau #bad boys borrower college au #gtjuly2024 #day 13 #hermitfic #borrower jimmy #tiny jimmy

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yaboiyaoihaisel · 9 months ago

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Artober day 16, I drew Jimmy!! If anyone was watching his stream today you'll know why, but for context I posted my Artobers so far on his sub-reddit and he reacted to them and really liked them!! And requested that I draw him!! So I broke my rules and picked the colors myself instead of picking randomly lol, it's a special occasion!! (Clips of him reacting below cut)

Trying so hard to be normal but squeeee!!!

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whereonhermitcraftisjoel · 1 year ago

Note

Cleo's latest video 13:50, the smallidarity statues are done!

THESE ARE VERY VERY GOOD

I wish i had bothered to note every recent "two bros" ref re: Jimmy cause he's been making them too. Not just Joel, also oli & sausage (together)

youtube

Starting at 11min might also be fun!

Jimmy reacted on stream right away, about 19 min in, it will be up on his shorts channel sometime soon

https://www.youtube.com/live/EsRPjG3QxMI?si=CZ6844Hl-Ji6s3xm

#hermitcraft #smallishbeans #joel smallishbeans #hermitcraft season 10 #hermit joel #hermitcraft s10 #hermitblr #zombie cleo #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming

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mjonthetrack · 2 months ago

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Chapter 57: Broadcast from Hell

It started like any other off-season morning.

Monét was up early, still in one of Sefa’s tees and a pair of tight leggings as she laced up her sneakers at the edge of their bed. The Fatu estate was still quiet, the air thick with that sleepy peace you only get after a night of thoroughly earned exhaustion. Sefa had one arm flung across her side of the bed, dozing hard after their little “who's really single?” argument turned into a full-blown soul exchange.

But Monét was the type to keep it moving. Even with her thighs sore and her mouth still swollen from too many kisses, she wanted to get her session in at the company’s training gym. A little solo boxing work—nothing crazy.

The plan was simple.

Until the world turned on its head in seconds.

The Live

The screen jittered with shaky footage. Monét’s voice was loud and clear, attitude wrapped in rage:

"YOU FAT MUHFUCKA—IMA KILL YOU—REPORTING ASS BITCH—GET OFF ME—"

The comments were already exploding:

@shanthebaddie: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?? @NoDaysOffCoach: WHO TF IS THAT— @wifeywinsagain: OH NAH NOT MONÉT @sideline.menace: SHE’S FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE ON LIVE BRO @QB1_isKING: TAG SEFA NOW

Then the worst happened.

A masked figure came into view—gloved hand pressed a chloroform-soaked rag to her mouth mid-scream. Her legs buckled instantly.

Her wrists were snatched behind her, zip-tied like she was a damn package. The camera jostled and landed on the concrete, showing a glimpse of her limp body being tossed into the trunk of a beat-up silver sedan.

The trunk slammed shut.

Tires squealed.

The phone kept streaming for another twenty seconds, just the sound of chaos and the faint echo of voices outside the gym screaming.

Social Media Meltdown

@espnbreakingnews: BREAKING: Saints head coaching candidate Monét Ali has reportedly been abducted outside a private gym. More to come. @ballertalk: That live. That scream. That mask. This not a storyline. Prayers up. @celebslaydaily: Fans and celebs alike are SHOCKED after watching Monét’s live. IG influencer @jaya.rae tweeted: “Sefa better BURN the city down.”

Team Group Chat: “Saints Sinners”

QB2 Jaylen: “Yo is this real???” Linebacker Mook: “My girl crying rn dawg I swear—” Coach Simmons: “EVERYBODY STAY PUT. Sefa’s gone already.” Wide Receiver Tone: “I’m bout to slide, f*ck practice.” Assistant Coach Dani: “We on full alert. Nobody move stupid.”

Sefa

He was on the way to the gym before the phone even hit the pavement.

They didn’t even call him.

He felt it.

Mid conversation with his cousin in the kitchen, one of the twins had burst in with nothing but the look of horror on his face. “Bro… Monét. Live. Someone took her.”

His brain short-circuited.

Ten seconds later, Sefa was already tearing out of the driveway in that black F250, engine screaming, phone playing the last ten seconds of the live on loop.

That was her voice. Her rage. Her fear.

And that was some dead man’s hands dragging her.

The Family

His mother was crying in the living room.

Jimmy and Jey were on the phone with security, Jimmy already slipping a pistol into his waistband. His dad stood by the door, still as stone, jaw locked. Nobody dared speak to him.

Chanté had both hands on her head, pacing. “Nah. Nope. That ain’t happening. We not letting this go. That girl family now.”

The Streets React

@beyonce (yes, the real one): “We are watching. Find her.” @KingJames: “This not a movie. This is real life. Protect our women.” @NFLCommishOfficial: “We are working with law enforcement and extending full support to the Saints organization.” @TheRock: “To the man who took Monét Ali—I promise you, there are men already hunting for you. And you won’t like how this ends.” @Rihanna: “Somebody gon’ die behind her. I hope it’s televised.”

End Scene: The Calm Before the Storm

The city didn’t know it yet, but war had just been declared.

Sefa Fatu wasn’t tweeting.

He wasn’t talking.

He was moving.

The entire underworld of New Orleans was about to light up.

————-

Chapter 58: The Devil Went Down to Georgia

The F250 tires screeched into the gym’s lot so violently gravel flew. Sefa barely threw it in park before jumping out, his body moving before his mind could even catch up.

And there it was—her phone. Cracked, buzzing, still live. Lying in the sunlit gravel like a crime scene marker.

He grabbed it, flipped it around, and stared straight into the lens.

His face was carved in stone. Jaw tight, eyes empty. Not an ounce of softness in sight.

“I don’t know who you are…” His voice was low, cold, terrifyingly calm. “But I hope to God you believe in prayer.”

He leaned closer. “Because you’re gonna need all of it when I find you. That’s my woman. You better hope the cops get to you before I do.”

Click. Live cut off.

Social Media: Real-Time Panic

@CeceForbes: “He cut the live off. That man is going to kill whoever took her.” @CoachDonnie: “Y’all not understanding. That wasn’t emotion. That was intent.” @WifeyOnDeck: “That wasn’t a threat. That was a promise.” @TSMadison: “They messed with the wrong one. That’s a Samoan bloodline. He bout to burn the state down.”

But things got even darker.

An hour later, a different livestream began. New account. No profile pic. @thetruthhurts011

And what it showed? Was something out of a nightmare.

The image was dim. Flickering. Looked like a basement, cold and cemented.

Monét.

Chained to a metal chair. Ankles bound, wrists zip-tied in front, a filthy gag in her mouth. She was conscious—barely. Her eyes glassy but hard, refusing to give him what he wanted.

The camera zoomed out and there he was.

That same disgusting ex-reporter, now a walking hate crime with a twisted smile. His voice came slurring, drunk on ego and madness.

“This y’all Queen?” He spat on the floor. “This the big bad Monét y’all worshipping? I’m tellin’ you now—it’s lights out for this stupid Black bitch.”

He looked straight into the lens. “And tell that fake QB boyfriend—he better knock my head off in one hit, or I’ll be pimping her out right here. On Live. And I ain’t stopping.”

The Internet BLEW UP

@IssaRae: “This is SICK. Call in the damn Feds.” @StephenASmith: “We just witnessed a federal crime LIVE. Where is law enforcement?!” @SavageFenty: “Let’s just say this: when Monét gets out—‘cause she WILL—there better be hell to pay.” @NFL_Official: “We are aware. We are furious. And we are working directly with authorities.” @ShannonSharpe: “Get ready to watch a man’s soul leave his body. Fatu is comin’, and he not comin’ to talk.”

Back at the Estate

Sefa stood frozen in front of the giant screen in his den, the livestream on loop, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned bone white.

Jey had to pull Jimmy back from punching a hole in the drywall.

Their father’s face was pale with rage. Chanté was on the phone with their underground contacts. The Fatu clan was mobilizing.

“No police,” Sefa finally said, quiet, shaking. “Not yet.”

He looked over at Jey. “We track that IP. We find him.”

“And then what?”

Sefa stared dead ahead. Voice like ice. “I make him wish he was dead before I even touch him.”

———

Chapter 59: “You Gone Die Bout This Black Bitch”

The livestream didn’t cut.

If anything, it got clearer. The signal, strong. Intentional. He wanted an audience. Wanted the whole damn world to watch her break.

But Monét wasn’t made to shatter.

The camera caught the room from a wide angle now, propped up on something. You could see the basement’s sweat-slick concrete, the exposed pipes, the single bulb swaying like a noose.

She sat in that cold metal chair, hair matted, face bruised, one eye swelling, but her back was still straight. She was watching him. Calculating.

And he was close now—too close—muttering disgusting filth as he came behind her, reaching around for the clasp of her bra with those twitchy, sweat-stained hands.

The chat was in chaos: “NO NO NO WTF!!!” “SOMEONE FIND HER. TRACE THIS LIVE!!” “FIND HIS FACE. TRACE THE WALL. ANYTHING.”

But she wasn’t crying. Wasn’t begging. She waited.

Let him get cocky. Let him lean in, right beside her ear, breathing hard and gross.

And then—

CRACK.

She swung her head back with everything she had—caught him right under the chin. Skull to jaw. You could hear the impact.

He screamed. Stumbled back, holding his face.

She gasped for air, still bound to the chair but now yelling with every ragged ounce of breath in her chest:

“YOU GONE HAVE TO KILL ME, YOU PUSSY ASS BITCH—'CAUSE I AIN’T NOBODY’S DAMN VICTIM!”

Blood dripped from her nose, lips busted.

“AND LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING ELSE,” she shouted, voice cracking, “IF I DON’T GET OUT THESE RESTRAINTS—YOU BETTER PRAY IT’S THE FEDS WHO FIND ME. BECAUSE IF MY FIANCÉ FIND THIS FIRST?”**

She leaned forward, wild-eyed. Laughing.

“YOU GONE BE PAINTING THE WALLS IN THIS MOTHERFUCKER WITH YOUR SICK ASS BRAINS.”

He roared—furious—and stormed toward her, backhanding her clean across the mouth. The hit sent her sideways in the chair, crashing hard.

The sound echoed. The camera shook.

She groaned in pain, head lolling—but then she laughed.

Laughed like her ribs weren’t bruised. Like her lip wasn’t split. Like he wasn’t terrifying. Like he was the one in danger.

He grabbed her face, roughly yanking her upright by the jaw.

And she spit—blood, saliva, rage—right in his face.

“YOU GONE DIE BOUT THIS BLACK BITCH.”

She bared her teeth.

“THIS NEW ORLEANS YOU FUCKING WITH, BRUH.”

Social Media: Real-Time Reactions

@UncleShayShay: “Yo… this man DONE. She got more fight in her than half the league.” @KekePalmer: “This ain’t even a movie. This is WAR. That girl a soldier.” @MeekMill: “Somebody drop the addy. Sefa and them boys got shooters for this type sh*t.” @NFLWifeGoals: “FBI, Saints Security, her fiancé’s whole tribe better be on this NOW.” @Rihanna: “You gone die bout this Black bitch.” [reposted with fire emoji and Fenty beauty link]

Back at the Fatu Estate

The silence in the room was louder than the chaos on screen.

Sefa stood perfectly still. Arms crossed over his chest. Chest heaving. Head down.

You could hear his brothers breathing heavy across the room, could see his mama holding back tears, Jey pacing like a caged wolf.

The live was still playing. But nobody moved.

Then:

“We trace it.” His voice was hoarse. Deep.

Jimmy nodded once, instantly dialing.

“I want him alive,” Sefa added. “But hurt. Let me finish it.”

Chanté: “You sure you want that on your hands, baby?”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t stutter. Didn’t even look up.

“If he lays another hand on her—there ain’t gonna be nothing left to find.”

—————-

Chapter 60: Rage Only

The livestream hadn’t ended.

It climbed from 15k views to millions—faster than news could catch up. Faster than moderators could shut it down.

Every corner of the football world, every newsroom, every locker room had tuned in.

And now they were watching hell unfold in real time.

Saints Group Chat Marcus (OL): “NAH WTF IS THIS—WHERE IS SHE” CJ (RB): “I’M GONNA FUCKIN THROW UP” Devon (Safety): “SOMEONE TRACE THE IP. NOW.” Coach Simmons: “We’re on it. Keep your phones open.” JJ (WR): “They see this? NFL seeing this???” Saints Owner: “Yes. And we’re already moving. I authorized private security. FBI involved now.” Marcus: “Sefa seeing this???” Simmons: “He’s watching. Don’t text him.”

Onscreen, the camera refocused. Zoomed in.

The man known now—confirmed by her—as David Greg, that same reporter who publicly tried to humiliate her, was pacing like he’d just snorted glass.

Ragged breath. Belt clutched in a twitching hand. Khakis sagging. Face hidden by a black ski mask, but his voice couldn’t be hidden anymore.

“You think this a fuckin’ game, huh? You think I ain’t got nothin’ to lose?”

He stepped forward, loosening the belt. Leather snapping through his belt loops with a hiss. The live chat exploded.

And she—Monét, battered but still her—lifted her head with a growl. Blood crusted in the corner of her mouth. One eye swollen.

“Come near me with that shit,” she snarled, chest heaving, “I’ma bite that bitch off.”

She spat near his shoes.

“You don’t want that, David Greg. You think I don’t know who the fuck you are? Even with that mask? You the biggest pussy walkin’ this Earth.”

He snapped—belt cracking across her thigh like a whip. The sound echoed. Her body jerked. But she didn’t scream.

She laughed.

“That all you got?”

Another strike. This one across the arm. She winced. But she looked straight into the camera.

Eyes wild. Fierce.

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT NO TEARS.”

“Y’ALL BETTER COME WITH RAGE.”

Social Media:

@OBJ: “Nah. I’m already in NOLA. Somebody tag me where to go.” @TheRock: “FBI needs to move. Saints team—hold your brother down. Keep him from ending this man before he gets what’s coming legally.” @AngelaBassett: “This woman. This warrior. We are ALL coming.” @Beyoncé: [posts a black tile with Monét’s words in white bold text: “Y’ALL BETTER COME WITH RAGE”] @NFLCommish: “This situation is under federal jurisdiction. Law enforcement is fully engaged. Justice is coming.” @BleacherReport: “BREAKING: NFL officials and Saints organization confirm security and FBI task force en route to assist in recovery of Saints staff member Monét Ali. Details unfolding.” @MeganTheeStallion: “We not begging no more. Rage.”

The live kept rolling.

And the belt dragged on the floor like a snake, and David Greg muttered slurs—talking about how she was his now, how he’d break her down until she begged.

But Monét? Bound, bruised, barely able to sit upright—

She grinned.

“You gone die slow, bitch.”

————-

The camera shook for a second, tilted upward like the phone had been kicked. A muffled groan filled the frame—metal scraping concrete, chains rattling.

Then it refocused.

Monét’s lip was split. Her left eye already swelling shut. Her tank top strap was ripped and her wrists were rubbed raw from the restraints tied behind the back of the metal chair.

David Greg stepped back into view, his black mask now soaked with sweat.

“Nah… you wanted fame, bitch?” he growled, voice sharp and unstable. “Now you got the whole fuckin’ world watchin’.”

He walked around her like she was prey, dragging that damn belt, then grabbed a bottle of water and poured it slowly over her head. Mocking baptism.

Monét hissed. Her head snapped forward and she spat blood toward him again.

“What you gon’ do, David?” she rasped, hair slick to her cheek. “Post a lil thirst trap for the incels watchin’? You ain’t got no dick, no clout, and no spine.”

He snapped.

Dragged her chair violently to the center of the room—concrete, dark, empty except for a dirty mattress in the corner and that one dangling live camera.

“You really think they comin’?” he barked. “You think Sefa gon’ save you? That oversized motherfucker ain’t built like that. Saints ain’t savin’ shit. When I’m done, they gon’ drop both y’all like a bad fumble.”

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She screamed once—but it wasn’t fear.

It was fury.

“You think I ain’t recognize your little punk ass from that gas station bathroom, huh?” she panted. “You been obsessed with me since I was coaching my first damn game.”

He slapped her. A loud, harsh crack.

“You done talkin’,” he muttered, “Now I’mma show everybody what happens when a Black bitch steps outta place—”

And that’s when the team group chat exploded again.

Saints Group Chat CJ (RB): “IM DONE. WHERE THE FUCK IS HE???” Devon: “HE JUST HIT HER ON CAMERA AGAIN. HE’S GONNA—BRO HE’S—” Marcus: “I SWEAR ON MY LIFE I’M NOT WAITING ON NO BADGE” Coach Simmons: “SEFA. DON’T DO NOTHING STUPID.” Team Staffer: “Sefa’s gone. He cut off the live and left. With his brothers.” JJ: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE LEFT???” Marcus: “It’s over for dude if they get to him first.”

Back on the live, David Greg pulled out a burner phone, showing dozens of viewers' names watching silently.

“All y’all tuned in just to watch her scream,” he hissed. “She gone be the lesson.”

He threw the belt across the floor again, walked toward her, unbuckling his pants—

Until Monét, breathing hard, eyes wild through her one good eye, whispered:

“They comin’ for you.”

He paused.

“They gone paint the walls with you.”

Sefa's POV

The black F-250 ripped through the interstate like it was born in hell. Jey was in the passenger seat, fists clenched. Jimmy, Marcus, and Devon were in the truck bed, armored up with Kevlar.

Sefa’s jaw was tight. His eyes hadn’t blinked in miles.

And on his lap, her phone. Still warm from where it hit the ground. Still open to the last frame of her face. Bloodied, bruised, unbroken.

He pressed record. Face calm. Voice deadly.

“Y’all pray I don’t get to him first.”

Then he ended the live.

The nation had never seen anything like it.

The league was forced to respond. Media shutdowns were in place. But the world didn’t care.

This wasn’t just a Saints problem. This was war.

And rage had already been summoned.

—————

Chapter 61: No Victim. Just Rage.

The live was still rolling.

No filter. No censors. No mercy.

And what the world was seeing would haunt them forever.

Monét was chained to a metal chair bolted into the concrete floor of some godforsaken basement. Her face was a bloodied battlefield—one eye nearly swollen shut, lip split, cheekbone already blooming a deep purple—but her eyes? Her eyes burned with the kind of rage that could turn entire cities to ash.

David Greg—the washed-up excuse of a sports reporter turned deranged predator—stood in front of her, a grotesque silhouette backlit by a single flickering bulb. His khakis dropped to his knees. His boxers sagged, revealing a body that looked as diseased as his soul.

And the moment the camera caught the full view of his so-called threat?

The internet cracked in half.

The comments blew up in real time:

“OH HELL NAH” “HE TOOK HIS PANTS OFF AND GOT A DAMN PENCIL??? THIS SICK MF” “SHE STILL GOT HER MOUTH?? RIP TO HIM THEN.” “SOMEONE FIND HER. THIS LIVE STILL ROLLING.”

Even as her limbs dangled useless, Monét’s mouth stayed moving.

"Ain’t NO way God made you like this, bitch,” she croaked out through cracked lips, laughing from her diaphragm like the devil himself whispered in her ear. “You pulled your pants down thinkin’ you’d break me? That’s what you brought to the table?” She leaned forward, chains rattling. “That lil Vienna sausage? You bout to die for THAT?!”

David lunged. Her head snapped up.

“Try me. Please. I want you to. My teeth work just fine.”

Saints Player Group Chat CJ (RB): “THIS MF PULLED OUT A BABY CARROT ON LIVE?” Devon: “FUCK THE AUTHORITIES I’M TAKING A CHARGE.” Elijah: “SHE STILL TALKING SHIT. THAT’S MY COACH.” Monet's Assistant: “She’s stalling. Keep watching. She’s up to something.” Marcus: “Bro if I see this man before the cops do I swear on God.” Jey: “We got location pings narrowing. Fatu quiet. Too quiet.” Chanté: “Somebody hold Sefa BACK.”

Sefa’s POV – I-10, truck in motion He was driving like hell had opened behind him. Windshield shaking. Jaw locked.

Jimmy was in the passenger seat texting the GC, watching updates flood in.

But Sefa… he hadn’t blinked since the camera angle changed and caught full sight of David’s pathetic manhood, swinging like an afterthought in the corner of the screen.

He didn’t even flinch.

Not when David slapped Monét. Not when she spit blood in his face. Not when she laughed.

Only when she looked into the camera again—eyes feral, bloody teeth flashing—and screamed,

“I don’t give a FUCK about no tears! Y’all better come with RAGE!”

Sefa’s hand hit the dashboard.

“I’M COMIN’, KOLOHE!”

The tires screamed as he floored the gas.

Twitter/X, TikTok, and IG Comments in Real Time

“#FreeMonet #FindHerNOW trending worldwide” “Not her taunting him WHILE CHAINED. Queen.” “He exposing himself with that baby dick like we weren’t already disgusted.” “Monét is NOLA. We ride at dawn.” “Somebody call Beyoncé. Rihanna. Michelle. CALL EVERY BLACK WOMAN WITH POWER.”

Celeb Posts Roll In

Zendaya (IG Story): That’s OUR coach. You’re gonna pay for this. Kerry Washington: The world’s watching. And the world is coming. Megan Thee Stallion: You got her fucked up. Straight up. Don’t let us find you first. J. Cole: Ain’t no peace til she’s back safe. The Rock: Sefa… do what you have to.

Back in the Basement

David paced now, panicked and pissed, muttering to himself. The belt hung loose from his hand, and he hissed under his breath as Monét stared at him.

He lunged to slap her again—and she laughed harder.

“You ain’t breakin’ me. You makin’ me mad. You bout to see what happens when a bitch from the boot don’t got nothin’ left to lose.” She leaned forward, snarling—“You think you scarin’ me? You should be scared of what’s coming for you. ‘Cause if it ain’t me that gets loose first, it’ll be my fiancé. And if he finds you?” She grinned. Blood and all. “You’ll wish I’d killed you first.”

————

Chapter 62: Unchained Rage

The screen was still live. Still rolling. Still igniting every corner of the internet like an oil spill lit by a single spark.

Monét's body was battered, bruised, nearly limp in the rusted metal chair she’d been chained to for hours—but the fire in her eyes had only grown wilder. Wilder than hell. Wilder than any man could leash.

David Greg was growing cocky. He paced the room, mask halfway slipping off his sweaty, patchy-bearded face. His pants were back up, but his belt still dangled like a threat, swaying with every twisted step he took. He thought he had her cornered. Cracked. That hours of captivity and cruelty would finally break her.

But Monét Ali wasn’t bred for surrender.

“See,” he started, yanking roughly at the straps on her sports bra with one hand while the other fiddled with the camera angle, “this right here? This what y’all want, huh? This what the world love? A loud mouth Black bitch wit’ fake lashes and a whistle in her hand? I told y’all, these women—these Black women—they all bark. Easy fuckin’ targets.”

He reached again.

Bad move.

Because Monét didn’t hesitate.

She launched forward with every last ounce of fury she could muster, her jaws snapping open like a lioness cornered—and she bit down. Hard. Right into the soft meat of his forearm. Deep.

“AHHHH!!” The man screamed. Dropped the camera. Kicked the metal chair. Monét didn’t stop. She clenched until the taste of his blood hit her throat, until he stumbled back, eyes wild, shrieking like a child that touched fire.

She spit the blood out. Thick and dark. Let it roll slow down her chin like warpaint. Eyes locked on him.

And she started laughing. Laughing. From her belly. From her soul.

Then—eyes wide, maniacal, daring—she screamed toward the camera still capturing every frame.

“UNCHAIN ME, BRUH! I JUST WANNA TALK!”

Saints Facility - War Room Vibe

The team had gathered—trainers, staff, owners, even execs. Phones were up. Livestream projected on every screen.

CJ threw a chair across the room. Chanté was sobbing and cussing in two languages. Marcus paced so hard he was practically digging a trench into the carpet. Jimmy stood back to back with Sefa, who hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes. Just breathing through his nose like a bull waiting on the bell.

Then it happened.

The bite.

Her scream.

“UNCHAIN ME, BRUH—”

Sefa’s fist hit the concrete wall. Blood ran down his knuckles.

Jimmy grabbed his shoulder. “Bro—bro she’s alive, she’s fighting, you gotta stay smart—”

Sefa didn’t blink.

“I’m not thinking. I’m ending him.”

Social Media MELTDOWN

“YOOO SHE BIT THAT MF! ON LIVE!!” “She said unchain me like it’s bout to be a fair one in the parking lot.” “Black women are different. I’d be weeping and she out here tryna square up while BLEEDING.” “She told him she just wanna talk. This shit cinematic.” “Someone make a shirt that say ‘UNCHAIN ME BRUH’ right now.”

Celebrity Reactions Continue

Issa Rae: Bite that mf again, queen. Rihanna (via Fenty page): The bra stayed on. The teeth came out. That’s fashion. Jay-Z: Find her. No excuses. Meagan Good: If she don’t win an Oscar off this IG live we rioting.

Back in the Basement

David clutched his bleeding arm, shrieking and kicking over the old table that had been recording the live. “You CRAZY bitch!” he hissed. “You gon’ pay for that! You gon’ learn—!”

Monét sat tall again, even chained, even broken.

“I bit you once, bitch.” Her voice was low, trembling but deadly. “You come near me again, I’ll leave you with one fuckin’ arm. Then I’ll make you eat it.”

The camera shook. Her head turned back to it. Wild curls sticking to sweat and blood on her face.

She gave the camera a lopsided smile. “Y’all better move with purpose. This sick-ass man losing blood. I’m about to get biblical in here.”

————-

Chapter 63: Unholy Ground

The livestream hadn’t cut.

It was still going.

Thousands… millions were locked in—screens gripped like lifelines, gasping, sobbing, cursing. Watching. What started as a grotesque act of violence had evolved into something else entirely. Something feral. Cinematic. Like the climax of a war film, except the battlefield was a blood-slick concrete floor in a Georgia bunker and the soldier was one broken woman in a sports bra and chains.

Monét had stopped talking.

She just started… laughing.

Low at first. Soft and sickly sweet, like the joke of the century was being whispered right to her soul. It built slow. A rasp that turned manic. Every broken breath dragging it louder. It was unnerving.

Like she’d snapped in the best way possible.

Her captor froze—crowbar in hand, blood still streaming from his chewed-up forearm. She didn’t scream. Didn’t plead.

She jerked one shoulder.

Clink.

Another jerk.

Clang.

The final bolt on her chair snapped loose with a metal shriek.

Monét rose. Shaky, lopsided. Still chained to the base of the chair, her legs quivering, barely under her control. Her face was bloodied, bruised, but that smile… that grin split wide like it hurt. It was beautifully deranged.

She tilted her head. Calm. “You wanna see what getting active look like?” Voice steady. Dead serious.

“Ion need my limbs.”

And she moved.

With every ounce of pure rage and strategy, she whipped her hip around—chair and all—and cracked it straight into the side of his knee. The crowbar clanged against the wall as he stumbled and fell back, hitting the ground with a yelp that was all pain and disbelief.

Her body gave out next. Legs buckled. She crumpled hard onto her side, gasping, but grinning harder.

“That... that felt good, bitch.”

Blood spilled from her mouth as she coughed, but her eyes gleamed sharp. “You think I ain’t recognize them Georgia trees, huh?” she hissed. “Seen that shit when you dragged me in this rusty ass bunker. And you ain’t even blindfold me. Dumbass. Gotta be the worst fucking criminal I ever seen. Whole FBI Most Wanted got better planning than your sorry ass.”

He growled. Snarled. Pulled himself up by the broken table and kicked her.

Crack.

The sound was sickening. A rib? Two? Didn’t matter.

She coughed blood again, body curling inward, wincing—but still smiling. A demon’s smile. Unshakable.

Cut To: Saints Team Facility — 3:24PM

The film room was chaos.

CJ punched a wall again. That was the second one today.

Marcus was on the phone with someone screaming in logistics. Chanté was sobbing with her fists clenched.

The team was all there. Trainers. Security. Coaches. Wives.

Sefa?

He was standing. Shirtless. Silent. One fist wrapped in gauze from punching through drywall. The other gripping the back of a chair so hard the metal warped.

Eyes locked on the screen.

Watching her laugh. Watching her move. Watching her fight with no legs under her.

Then that kick.

He flinched.

So did everyone else.

“Yo, somebody get him before he flies to Georgia without a damn plan—” “—We need to trace that stream—” “—This ain’t just football, bro, this our family now—” “—Call the goddamn league if we have to—”

Jimmy moved to Sefa’s side.

“You breathing?”

Sefa didn’t answer. Just whispered:

“Get the plane ready. I don’t care who gotta be on it. I’m not watching the woman I love bleed for another minute without blood being drawn back.”

Twitter/X/IG Live Comments:

“She bit him and now she beat him with a damn chair—WHILE STILL CHAINED.” “Y’all better put respect on Monét’s name—this some Harriet Tubman meets Kill Bill shit.” “That laugh??? Oh yeah, she’s not breaking. HE is.” “Feds better run, Saints better run, Sefa better sprint. That woman is buying time, and it’s running out.” “I need her whole origin story when this is over.”

Back in the Bunker

David Greg leaned against the wall, wheezing, bleeding, wild-eyed. His belt had fallen somewhere in the chaos. His pants half undone. Crowbar lost.

And Monét?

Still lying on her side. Smile never fading. Eyes bright with revenge.

She whispered toward the livestream camera now buried under a table but still filming.

“Y’all watching? Good. Tell ‘em I’m buying time. And my baby coming.”

“Y’all better pray he get here last.”

————

Chapter 64: Tick Tock, Bitch

The camera was still on.

Somewhere under a rusted folding table, tilted sideways, cracked lens smeared with blood—but it was on. The world hadn’t looked away for even a second.

Millions were watching now. It wasn’t just a livestream—it was a warzone feed. Commentators, analysts, rappers, celebrities, politicians, lawmakers—the world was tuned in to the ugliest, rawest real-time horror show.

And Monét?

She wasn’t done.

Her leggings were torn—ripped brutally by greedy, shaking hands. Her bruised skin exposed. Blood had dried along her torso, her lip was busted, her side ached with every breath, every movement of her broken rib dragging glass through her lungs. Her wrists were cut raw from the restraints.

But her eyes.

Her eyes lit up like a switch flipped.

Recognition.

A sign.

That last sliver of detail she’d caught when he was dragging her limp body out of the trunk, too drugged to fight but still watching through fluttering eyes. She knew what she saw.

She lifted her head slowly, smiling like death itself had whispered a joke in her ear.

He was right in front of her. Pants undone. Grinning. Breathing hard. Crowbar abandoned. No more theatrics. Just the ugly stench of a man drunk on power.

But Monét didn’t scream.

She grinned.

Cold. Bloody. Victorious.

“You fucked up,” she whispered hoarsely.

He hesitated, frown creeping in.

Her voice came sharp through the cracked silence. “Lagrange.” A wheeze. “I seen that green-ass sign when you threw me in ya trunk like damn cargo.” A darker chuckle left her throat. “You picked the wrong observant ass bitch.” Then she leaned up with her last strength, eyes locked on the camera. “Tick tock, you dumbass.”

CUT TO: TWITTER/X MELTDOWN

“WAIT SHE JUST NAMED THE TOWN—LAGRANGE. GA. SOMEBODY TRACE THAT—” “Y’ALL HEARD HER. SHE SAW THE SIGN. SHE BEEN CLOCKING HIM THIS WHOLE TIME.” “BRO WHAT KINDA BADASS SHIT IS THIS I’M SHAKING.” “SHE REALLY BOUGHT TIME WITH HER LIFE. GET HER THE FUCK OUT.”

Back in the bunker…

David froze. Stared at her.

That smile.

That defiance.

That confidence.

It unraveled something inside him. Something unhinged.

He snapped.

With a feral yell, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head hard against the wall behind her. Once. Twice.

Her body slumped. Heavy. Still bound. Blood trailing from her temple.

The world stopped.

The feed kept going.

The camera caught his heavy breathing, the sick joy curling into his features.

CUT TO: THE TEAM—SAINTS TRAINING CENTER, LIVE STREAM ON THE TV WALL

Silence. Horrified, dead silence.

CJ sat on the floor, his mouth covered, tears streaming. Marcus had collapsed into a chair, head in his hands. Chanté was screaming at a PR rep who kept telling her to stay calm.

Jimmy and Jey had just walked in. Deon was pacing like a lion, fists balled.

But Sefa?

Sefa had walked to the front of the room. His mother was at his side. His father silent behind him.

He was shaking. Eyes glued to the screen, teeth clenched so tight the muscle in his jaw spasmed.

“She saw the sign,” he muttered. “She named it.”

A hand clutched his shoulder—Jacob, solid, steady.

“Bro. She bought you a location. She bought it with her blood. She held that motherfucker off long enough to leave a clue.”

Sefa exhaled.

Then he turned.

“Get the damn jet.”

“You can’t go in alone, bro—”

“I’m not.” His voice dropped. A tone no one had ever heard before. “I’m not leaving this to the feds. I’m not leaving this to prayers. We go now.”

ONLINE COMMENTS POURING IN AS THE VIDEO CONTINUES TO TREND #1 WORLDWIDE:

“He knocked her out. LIVE. We saw it. Her blood is on our screens. DO SOMETHING.” “She gave us the town. Lagrange, Georgia. The cops better already be MOVING.” “Sefa finna burn the whole south down behind his woman.” “This turned into a revenge movie and we’re only halfway through.” “Free Monét. Save Monét. PROTECT BLACK WOMEN.”

CUT BACK TO THE BUNKER

David stood over her limp body.

Wheezing. He was spiraling.

“You think anyone gon’ find you? You think you smart?” he growled. “I been watching you. You black bitches think you're strong, huh?”

He turned back to the camera. Sweat pouring. Words slurring.

“I ain’t done. We ain’t done. You gon’ see what a real man is—”

LIVE SIGNAL INTERRUPTED.

The screen flickered.

Paused.

But the world had seen enough.

—————

Chapter 56: The Devil Walks Barefoot

The live feed stuttered—then picked up again, shaky this time, grainier in quality, like it had been dropped and picked up in haste. But the image was unmistakable:

Monét.

Unchained now.

Unconscious.

Her bruised body, limp and vulnerable, dragged across a cement floor by the same masked man. Her head thudded once against the edge of the doorframe, and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.

Outside, the air was thick and wet—Georgia woods under a heavy moon. The camera swung wildly, barely catching a glimpse of towering pines and a rusted-out pickup parked under brush. He was filming again, one hand yanking her by the arm like a ragdoll, the other waving the phone like a trophy.

“She ain’t even worth the price of the chains,” he growled into the lens. “Ain’t that somethin’? All that bark, all that mouth, and now look at her. Folded. Just like the rest of her filthy-ass ancestors. Whole bloodline full of mouthy whores and broken men. And tonight? One of them finally gonna pay their tab.”

He dragged her toward the truck bed, where a chain and a tarp waited. Somewhere behind him, cicadas screamed in the dark.

Comments exploded again, live:

“IS SHE DEAD?!”

“Y’ALL FIND HIM NOW.”

“CALL THE COPS. CALL THE MILITARY. CALL GOD.”

The villain leaned in to the lens, breathing hard. “Tell that bitch fiancé to come get her if he want her so bad. Tell him to meet me in the devil’s playground. I’ll carve his name in her spine next.”

Cut to the Saints facility—

Sefa had lost his jersey, pacing the office in a black compression shirt soaked in sweat. The replay of the live was still playing. Again and again. No one had turned it off.

Solo stood by the wall, his fists balled, eyes wet with rage. “He said her ancestors?”

“Keep watching,” Jimmy muttered. “He’s gonna make a mistake. One he ain’t walking away from.”

The screen cut to a slow zoom of the trees.

“Lagrange,” Sefa said under his breath. “That sign. She wasn’t out when she saw it. She said it.”

A tech analyst burst in, phone up. “We triangulated. Signal bounced three towers. He’s in a dead zone fifteen miles from LaGrange. Old hunting trails and bunkers used by survivalists.”

Sefa was already moving. “Say less.”

Cut to social media again—

Every celebrity, athlete, and even political figure was now tuned in. Names like Cardi B, LeBron James, Taraji, and Kamala Harris were sharing the clip with captions like:

“This country don’t protect Black women. We do. #BringMonétHome”

“We see you. We coming.”

The comments on the live? Still rolling:

“This MF wanna talk ancestors? They about to show tf up.”

“Somebody tell Sefa we riding out too.”

“We want blood.”

The world was watching now—not for entertainment.

For vengeance

————

Chapter 57: A Rope and a Reckoning

The live feed came back like static—jittery, unfocused, but still streaming. The pine trees swayed above, tall and indifferent, watching like ancient gods bearing witness to man’s evil.

A pale hand entered the frame first.

It gripped a thick, pre-looped rope, swinging it gently like a threat too familiar. The masked figure’s breathing was heavy now, fogging the screen in bursts as he stalked toward the body slumped in the back of the rusted pickup.

Monét.

Her body was bruised, bloodied, motionless—until he hoisted her up like dead weight. Her bare feet dragged against the gravel. Her leggings hung shredded from her hips. One eye was swollen near-shut, the other flickering.

She was alive.

Barely.

He dragged her by her arm like trash, stopping at the thickest tree in sight—an old southern oak, trunk wide and gnarled. Without ceremony, he slammed her against it. The sickening thud of her shoulder hitting bark echoed through the phone’s mic as her body crumpled to the dirt.

The camera caught it all.

From the edge of the screen, he appeared again—silent now, his gloved hands tightening the noose with almost reverent precision.

As he stepped closer, Monét groaned. The impact had woken her.

She moved just enough to turn her head, gasping in pain as air fought its way past her bruised ribs. Her lip was cracked, blood still dribbling down her chin, but she looked up at him.

Not with fear.

With something worse: disgust.

Her voice came out broken, gravel-slick and hoarse, but clear enough to gut the world watching.

"If you kill me, so be it," she croaked, head still resting in the dirt, "but I’m not gon’ cry for no white man."

The rope stopped swinging.

The figure froze, mask twitching toward the camera. He hadn't expected that. Hadn’t expected her to speak—let alone curse him with such venom while facing death.

He looked down at her like she was some hell-born thing, defying the role of victim even now.

"You got a smart mouth for a dead bitch," he spat, voice shaking now with something that sounded like rage—or fear.

The live comments came crashing in like thunder:

“OH SHE’S A FUCKING LEGEND.”

“DO YOU HEAR HER??? SHE STILL TALKING.”

“GET HER NOW. I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“SHE SAID WHAT TF SHE SAID.”

“SHE NOT GONNA BREAK.”

Cut to the Saints facility –

Sefa slammed his fist into the wall.

Hard.

The drywall cracked.

Jimmy held him back, barely. “Not yet. We got the coordinates. They triangulated the signal. He’s not far. Just wait a little longer.”

“I’m not waiting!” Sefa snarled, chest heaving. “He’s got a rope, J. He’s trying to hang her, dawg. Like this some lynching reenactment shit. I swear to God I will tear this man apart with my bare hands.”

Across the room, players were crying. Chanté had her hands over her mouth. Solo had gone cold and still, knuckles bone white.

The world outside? Crashing into a frenzy.

“You think Black Twitter won’t start a militia for Monét? BET.”

“Y’all better send SEAL Team 6 or Sefa gonna do it himself.”

“SOMEONE TELL TYLER PERRY TO USE HIS PLANE.”

Back on live,

The masked man stood over Monét, rope in hand, frozen as she started laughing again through bloodied teeth. Each breath a wheeze, every shake of her shoulders an act of war.

“You done messed up, Greg,” she rasped, using his name again. “You went viral on the wrong fuckin’ night.”

The screen froze on her bloody smile.

Cut to black.

Live feed ended.

———-

Chapter 58: Run, Monét

The live came back in a blur, jagged and unstable.

The camera was propped up now—accidental maybe, the angle crooked as it leaned against the base of a tree. The rope still swayed in frame, mocking the silence like a ghost that hadn’t claimed its victim yet.

He was offscreen, cussing. Loud. Wild. His words spat in every direction, drenched in failure and fury.

“Bitch think she funny?! I’ll drag your Black ass back here myself!”

But the camera caught it first.

Movement.

A figure, hunched and shaking, wobbled up from the dirt like something resurrected from a battlefield. Blood was smeared across her jaw, her ribs bruised dark beneath a torn sports bra. Her eyes were sharp. Ferocious.

Monét.

Her legs trembled beneath her, but she stood anyway—on pain and willpower alone.

And then—

She ran.

Barefoot. Injured. But sprinting like hell itself was behind her.

The screen shook violently as she disappeared into the trees, the foliage swallowing her whole. Branches clawed at her. Roots tried to trip her. But she didn’t stop.

Not for the cuts. Not for the broken rib. Not for the man yelling and crashing after her somewhere behind.

The world watching? Lost its mind.

“GO MONÉT GO MONÉT GO MONÉT.” “SHE’S STILL FIGHTING WTF.” “BAREFOOT AND BRUISED AND STILL A BAD BITCH.” “I’LL NEVER COMPLAIN AGAIN THIS WOMAN IS A WARRIOR.” “SEFA, GET HER. NOW.”

Cut to: Saints Facility

The room was chaos.

Someone dropped their phone, another player punched a locker so hard it bent inward. The staff was barking orders. Chanté was crying uncontrollably. Jimmy was pacing like a lion, yelling into three phones at once. A player had tears in his eyes, whispering prayers.

But Sefa?

Sefa was gone.

Literally. Had stormed out the moment she got on her feet.

The team barely caught the tail lights of his black SUV peeling out the parking lot like thunder, cutting lanes with no regard for the law. He wasn’t waiting on signals, or updates, or authorities.

He was headed to Georgia with one goal: get her back or die trying.

Back to live—

The masked man finally entered the frame again, panting, bleeding from the arm where she’d bit him earlier. Dirt clung to his shirt. His rage was animal now, primal and losing control.

He picked up the phone, muttering like a madman.

“I’ll find you, bitch. You mine. Ain’t no place you can run from this.”

But Monét was already gone.

Deeper into the wild. Running off adrenaline, instinct, and the fire of every Black woman before her who refused to die easy.

She was battered.

But she was free.

And now the world was watching, hunting with her.

———-

Chapter 59: Predator and Prey

The forest swallowed her screams.

Monét’s breath rasped in her chest like knives. Every step sent white-hot pain through her side where her rib had cracked, but she didn’t stop—not even when her bare feet tore open against the underbrush, not even when her vision blurred from the blood dripping into her eyes.

She ran like a woman possessed.

Like the devil himself was chasing her.

Because he was.

Behind her, crashing through the trees, was the monster she’d been taunting only minutes before. Still masked. Still screaming. Still furious that the prey he thought he’d broken had taken flight. She could hear him getting closer, cussing and panting like a rabid dog.

Monét didn’t know how long she’d been running—ten seconds or ten minutes—it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was she stay alive.

Suddenly, her eyes caught it: a tree.

Old. Gnarled. Bark thick and peeling like armor. Its lowest branch looked just high enough to reach if she jumped.

And with what little strength she had left, she did.

Her ribs screamed. Her shoulders burned. But she dug her fingers into the bark and scrambled upward, slipping once, catching herself with pure adrenaline and rage. Blood smeared along the trunk as she climbed, the wood biting into her palms.

She climbed until she was crouched on a thick limb, tucked against the tree like a feral thing, chest heaving.

Then she went still.

Her hand—cut and trembling—clamped over her own mouth.

Her eyes tracked the ground below.

He was close.

The leaves rustled beneath his boots. He was talking to himself again, low and frenzied.

“Where the fuck you go, huh? Ain’t nowhere out here but woods and bones. You think you a damn ghost now? I’ll find you. You mine.”

Monét didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

She pressed her face into the tree, hiding in its rough skin like it was holy. Her whole body trembled, but her mind was ice. Focused. Dead silent.

He stopped walking.

Right beneath her.

He sniffed the air like a beast. “I can smell you, bitch…”

She clenched her jaw, squeezing her eyes shut. Blood was trickling down her thigh from the scrapes. Her teeth rattled against her palm, holding back a scream.

Then—

He moved.

Wandered deeper into the trees, grumbling curses, his voice echoing as he vanished again into the dark.

She didn’t move for a full five minutes.

Not until she was sure.

Not until the sound of his boots faded entirely and the woods grew quiet again, save for the wind and her own heartbeat.

Then, finally, she exhaled.

A single whisper of breath, escaping like a ghost.

Still alive.

Still hers.

And still fighting.

She clung to the tree like it was salvation, resting her cheek against the bark, whispering to herself hoarsely:

“You gon’ die before I do, bitch.”

———

Chapter 60: Breath Between Branches

The forest began to breathe again.

It was subtle at first—the rustle of leaves, the hush of wind weaving through pine needles, the distant call of a bird—but the chaos had thinned. The footsteps were gone.

And Monét was still there.

High in that old tree, her arms locked around the trunk like a lifeline, legs dangling weakly from where she'd braced herself on a crooked limb. Her cheek pressed into the rough bark, smearing more blood than sweat now. Her breath was slow, too slow. Shallow.

She was slipping.

Her eyes rolled half-closed, lashes sticky with tears she didn’t even remember crying. Her lips parted just enough for a whispered gasp.

“Still here. Still me.”

Below, unseen by her, the forest’s calm was broken again—this time not by her captor, but by something worse for him and better for her.

The sky hummed.

A drone, small and silent, buzzed overhead—its lens tracking movement along the forest’s edge. Zoomed in. Caught a frame.

There.

A man stumbling out of the tree line, panicked, bloodied, sweating through his clothes. Still masked. Eyes darting. He limped toward the cracked two-lane road that cut through the woods like a scar, thinking he’d outsmarted everyone.

He didn’t see the black SUVs tucked behind trees across the way.

Didn’t notice the unmarked chopper tracking his position from above.

He only knew that she had vanished.

And now, somewhere on the road near the Georgia/Alabama border, the feds had eyes on him. They didn’t move yet. Not without command. But the sighting spread like wildfire through encrypted feeds.

Someone in the media leaked it within fifteen minutes.

“BREAKING: FBI confirms suspect linked to Monét Ali’s kidnapping spotted near Georgia state route. Tactical teams en route.”

Comments exploded across social media.

“THEY GOT HIM?!”

“Don’t touch him—wait for Sefa.”

“Somebody tag that fine Samoan man before he gets there first.”

“He better PRAY Sefa don’t catch him first cause y’all remember what he did to that linebacker last season and that was just over a flag.”

Back in the forest, Monét clung to consciousness.

She didn’t know how long she’d been up there.

Didn’t know her name was trending again—this time alongside “miracle” and “madness” and “baddest bitch alive.”

But her fingers never loosened from the bark.

Even as the wind picked up.

Even as her eyes fluttered again, and her head dipped.

Even as her body started to slide sideways, limp from the branches.

One hand held.

Barely.

And then—a sound.

Not boots this time.

A helicopter. Distant but getting closer.

Still, she didn’t move.

Didn’t wake.

The camera caught none of this.

But the world was watching.

And the man who loved her was getting closer by the second.

————-

Chapter 61: The Final Step

Sefa’s heart pounded in his chest as his SUV tore down the dirt road, the engine roaring like an angry beast, and his knuckles white from gripping the wheel so tight. His mind raced, too—flashing images of Monét, her face bruised and bloodied, her eyes wild with fear.

The media had already blown up, but he couldn’t look. He couldn’t focus on the screen; there was only one thing that mattered—getting to her. He had to. He couldn’t afford to lose her. Not after everything.

Not after what they did.

As he neared the forest's edge, he could see the flashing lights of multiple FBI vehicles parked up ahead, their sirens cutting through the thick, humid air. His stomach twisted as his eyes flicked over the scene. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he could feel it—he wasn’t the only one pulling in. The moment his car slowed, he saw a team of agents holding down a man, slamming him onto the pavement.

A familiar figure.

Monét’s captor.

David Greg, the reporter.

His face was twisted in fury as they cuffed him, throwing him to the ground. The agents were quick to subdue him, but Sefa could still hear the muffled curse words escaping his lips as they dragged him away. It wasn’t enough. None of it was. He needed to see her. He needed to—

There was no sign of her.

His breath hitched as his eyes swept the scene again. No Monét. Not in the cars, not in the tents set up by the feds. She wasn’t anywhere.

His stomach dropped, his head dizzy with a surge of panic. The image of her crumpled in that tree, helpless and alone, burned in his mind. The phone call, the news feed, none of it had prepared him for this emptiness.

Where the hell was she?

The agents moved quickly, continuing to assess the scene, but Sefa had no patience. He shoved the door open, leaving the car running, and stormed toward the officers. One of them turned his head, his face tense, but Sefa was already past him, scanning the forest.

“She’s not here, man, she’s not here!” Sefa shouted at the agent as his gaze cut across the dirt road, his voice raw, desperate. "I don't give a damn about this asshole, I need her, right now."

The agent shook his head, trying to calm Sefa, but there was no calming him. His mind was a blur, everything spinning. His only focus was Monét.

Then his eyes locked on something in the distance.

Just beyond the trees.

There.

A figure.

A body slumped against the bark of a tree.

It wasn’t just any figure.

It was Monét.

Sefa’s heart shattered. He didn’t wait for anything, didn’t even give the agents a second to react. He moved, his legs pumping, and his body crashed through the underbrush as his eyes stayed locked on her.

The closer he got, the clearer the sight became.

Monét, pale as a ghost, her body trembling in the aftermath. Her face was dirty, covered in bruises and blood, but she was alive.

Just barely.

She was still breathing, but it was shallow, labored.

His breath caught in his throat as he knelt beside her, hands shaking as he gently touched her cheek, trying to wake her, to bring her back.

“Monét, baby, hey, wake up.” His voice cracked as he called her name. His palm slid against her skin, hoping for any sign of life.

Her body shifted slightly, just enough for her to blink her eyes open for a moment, groggily lifting her head to meet his gaze. She looked at him like she wasn’t sure if he was real, or if this was all just a nightmare that wouldn’t end.

He squeezed her hand gently. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Monét’s lips parted, but her words were barely audible, the sound of them nearly drowned by the sound of his pounding heart.

“Sefa...” Her voice was weak, but there was fire behind it. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t let them take me.”

His breath hitched again, and he pulled her closer, cradling her to his chest. She was still shaking, but there was a new sense of urgency in his body. The world had stopped around them. The flashing sirens, the FBI agents, none of it mattered. It was just him and her.

He didn’t care who he had to face. He didn’t care who was in his way.

Sefa pulled Monét into his arms, lifting her despite her injuries, and he whispered in her ear as he looked back toward the agents who had now caught up to him.

“Let them come. Let anyone come for you. I’m not letting you go, not now, not ever.”

———————

Chapter 62: Behind Closed Doors

The chaos had barely begun to settle when the truth started to twist itself into something far more sinister.

To the public, David Greg—the disgraced ex-reporter turned kidnapper—was being transported back to Georgia to face charges. It was on every screen, every network: "Captured. Justice Served."

But that wasn’t what happened.

Not really.

What no one knew was that the team owner, Malcolm Darnell, had intercepted the transfer. A quiet, powerful man known for sitting in the back of rooms and pulling the strings, he didn’t wait for the legal system. He paid to get the bastard rerouted. No courtrooms. No media spectacle. No headline-happy trial.

Just silence.

Greg was dragged into a private meeting room inside the Saints’ corporate offices—now turned makeshift underground HQ. Still bloodied, bruised, and barely coherent from the feds' takedown, he was slammed into a steel chair, his cuffs digging into his skin. The lights above him were too bright, buzzing faintly. Surveillance cameras were pointed in every corner. And Malcolm sat at the head of the long table, his hands steepled, jaw tight.

No security. Just him.

“You thought I wouldn’t find out,” Malcolm said coldly, voice low, calm—like a man used to issuing ultimatums that couldn’t be refused. “You thought a little race-baiting, misogynistic filth like you could go viral at my organization’s expense and live?”

Greg looked up, dazed, mouth cracked from where he’d been hit.

“I ain’t scared of you—”

Malcolm stood.

“You will be.”

The door slammed shut.

Meanwhile…

Monét was alive.

And that was all that mattered.

She lay in a dimly lit, private medic ward hidden deep inside the Saints’ training facility. One of the only places Malcolm trusted to keep her secure—truly secure. She wasn’t just anyone. She was family now. She was the face of the team. And after what she survived? She deserved to be surrounded by protection and power.

No hospital stay, no paparazzi. No outsiders. Just people who had her in mind.

Sefa hadn’t left her side. Not once. He sat in the chair by her bed, holding her hand like it anchored him to the earth. Her body was still weak, bandaged and bruised from the trauma, but she was here. Breathing. Fighting. Alive.

Every breath she took, he took with her.

The Fatu family had packed in earlier that morning—silent, heavy with emotion. Chanté had to be held back from storming into the woods herself when she saw the footage. Deon’s face stayed stone cold. Jimmy and Jey had stood shoulder to shoulder in a rage so thick it turned the air electric.

And then there was Malcolm, who stepped in quietly during the visit and just looked at her. No words. Just a solemn nod to Sefa.

“You’ll stay here,” he said, voice grave but steady. “She’s not going to a hospital. I paid out-of-pocket for the best trauma team. No records. No leaks. No one touches her unless I say so.”

Sefa nodded. There was no argument. He didn’t care about the money. He cared that Monét had a chance to come back whole.

But outside those walls?

The internet was rioting.

The team was silent—press-wise. But they didn’t have to say anything. Celebs, fans, the league itself—they were all watching the Saints now. And they were watching him.

Sefa went dark online. His last post? A photo of her hand in his—bruised, but still with her engagement ring clinging to her finger.

Caption: Try me again. I dare you.

And somewhere in the depths of the building… as Monét stirred for the first time since being brought in, her eyes fluttered open.

And the first thing she saw?

Sefa, still right there. Holding her down like the roots of a storm-proof tree. Eyes bloodshot, but wide with relief.

She blinked weakly, throat dry, voice barely above a whisper.

“...You didn’t let go.”

His voice cracked when he answered.

“I never will.”

———

Chapter 63: No Trial, Just Sentence (Louisiana Cut – Death Row)

The basement wasn’t just dark—it was a tomb. The walls unfinished, the air sour with mildew and something else: fear. It reeked off David in waves, tied to that chair, ankles and wrists bound tight with zip cords that cut into skin. No more smirks. No more jokes. Just him and the consequences, finally closing in.

Sefa entered slow, like death didn’t need to rush. The door shut with a metallic clang that echoed off concrete.

David raised his head, lips crusted in dried blood, one eye completely shut from the earlier beatdown.

“You think you can kill me?” he rasped.

“No,” Sefa said flatly, pulling off his hoodie to reveal the long-sleeve compression shirt underneath, now soaked with sweat and fury. “I know I can.”

He picked up a crowbar resting in the corner. Heavy. Rusted. Personal.

And then it began.

No yelling. No rage-filled roar. Just work. Systematic, deliberate. He started with David’s shins—crack—a sound like a baseball bat connecting with bone. David screamed so loud the walls vibrated. But it didn’t stop.

Crack. The other shin.

Snap. A knee bent the wrong way.

David writhed in the chair like a ragdoll, tears and snot pooling on his ruined face.

“You like filming women suffering, huh?” Sefa growled low, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look into the phone camera now recording. “Say her name again. Say Monét’s name. One. More. Time.”

David whimpered.

So Sefa grabbed the crowbar again, this time slamming it across his collarbone��shatter.

“Thought so.”

He threw the crowbar down and dragged a toolbox from the corner. Inside: zip ties, duct tape, a socket wrench, jumper cables, a small blowtorch—every man has a line. David crossed Sefa’s.

“You ain’t dying fast,” he said, calmly pulling the table closer. “Fast is a favor. This? This is justice.”

He taped David’s mouth shut. The rest? Happened in agonizing silence. A wrench to the fingers until they crunched. A cable wrapped around a broken leg, twisted slowly like tuning a guitar. A cigarette lit with the blowtorch held to his forearm. And when David passed out from the pain?

Sefa woke him up.

Smelling salts. Ice water. A slap across the face with a soaked glove.

“I said wake up. You don’t get to sleep until I say.”

Blood covered the floor. The chair legs. Sefa’s boots.

Finally, he stepped back, chest heaving.

“This don’t erase what you did,” he said, voice low but deadly. “But it makes sure you never try again. Never even thinkabout another Black woman like that. Like she don’t matter. She matters more than your next breath.”

Then he grabbed the chair—tossed it sideways like it weighed nothing. David’s broken body slammed to the ground, moaning barely.

Sefa knelt beside him. Whispered, “You’re not dying in here. But you’ll wish you did.”

He stood, wiped the blood from his knuckles, opened the door, and walked out like a soldier done with war.

Back upstairs, Monét still lay resting, wrapped in warm sheets and IVs pumping strength back into her bones. She didn’t know yet.

But when she woke up?

The first thing she’d see was Sefa.

Unbloodied. Calm. Whole again—because the devil in him had just been fed.

And justice?

Justice had a name.

——————

Chapter 64: Bigger House, Bigger Heart

The room was quiet now. Monét's breathing shallow, but steady, machines humming low like a lullaby for the broken. The soft beep of her heart monitor was the only rhythm holding back the fear in Sefa’s chest.

He sat at her bedside, one massive hand wrapped gently around hers—thumb moving in slow circles over her bruised knuckles. The rage that had once lit his veins like napalm had cooled, now replaced by something heavier. Love. Guilt. The kind of ache no fight could fix.

Her eyelids fluttered, lashes sticky with dried tears. She winced.

“Hey,” Sefa leaned in instantly, voice low, thick with emotion. “I’m here, baby. You’re good. You’re safe.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just let the warmth of his hand ground her.

Then, voice rough like gravel but still with that same bite of attitude tucked behind it, she rasped out:

“I think… we should get a bigger house.”

Sefa blinked. “Huh?”

Her eyes opened slowly, glossy but focused, barely holding up a weak smile through the pain. “One with a bigger tub... and double locks on every damn door... and a backyard so big you can’t even see the fence.”

Sefa let out a low, broken laugh, more pain than humor. “You already designing the safe house, huh?”

She nodded just a little, eyes falling shut again, breath hitching. “That shit… hurt so bad, Sefa. I ain’t even gone lie.”

“I know,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “I know, baby.”

“I kept thinkin’... if I don’t make it out... you’d never know how hard I fought to come back to you,” she said, barely above a whisper now. “It was you. You were the reason I kept breathing. I ain’t want nobody else to hold my name like you do.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall.

“I would’ve ripped the whole damn country apart to find you,” he said, forehead resting against her hand. “You made it. You made it. And I swear to God, Monét, nothing—nothing—is ever getting close to you again.”

Her lips curved just slightly, fading into a tired whimper. “Then start with that bigger house, king.”

He smiled through clenched teeth. “Say less.”

And with that, she drifted back to sleep. A warrior who’d survived hell, finally resting in the only place she trusted—his presence.

But Sefa? He was already building. Not just a house. Not just a fortress.

A kingdom.

Because his queen? She deserved nothing less.

Her breathing slowed again, body curling inward slightly as the meds tugged at her consciousness. But just as Sefa reached to adjust her blanket, her swollen lips parted, voice barely a whisper—raspy but undeniably her.

“One more thing…”

Sefa leaned closer, brushing her hair back, “Yeah, baby?”

Her eyes didn’t open, but her mouth tugged up into the faintest, most wicked smirk.

“When I heal up… you owe me compensation… and no rubbers.”

Sefa blinked—then burst out laughing, forehead dropping to her arm as a mix of relief, love, and lust crashed through him like a tidal wave.

“Oh, so you back back,” he murmured, biting his lip, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Say less. You getting all that. No interruptions. I’m talking light dimmed, doors locked, candles lit, legs over my shoulders compensation.”

But she was already out cold, lips still curved in that evil little grin. And Sefa?

He sat back, hand still wrapped in hers, eyes staring at the woman who never lost her fire—even when the world tried to extinguish her.

Yeah.

She was alive. And soon as she was healed? He was going to love her like hell for surviving it.

No rubbers. Just war cries in silk sheets.

——

#x black oc #romance #solo sikoa x black oc #solo sikoa fanfiction #solo sikoa fic #mature fic

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ashiyn · 2 years ago

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the watchers being mentioned last mc live react on jimmys stream and this year too. my guy 🤨🤨🤨

#.live #havent been watching a lot of jimmys streams lately cause it hasn't really matched my schedule but i forgot how much energy his streams hav #the only mcyt that i watch that genuinely makes me feel old cause his chat is filled with 12 y/o LMAOO

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scribeme · 6 months ago

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@LevelUpwithLarryandLeo Actually Maya receives the "credit" bc of NOprah but the truth is Maya spoke the old truism took to Noprah who passed it off as Maya's "wisdom." (Nothing new under the sun.)

Larry & Leo could I offer you a homework assignment? Would you consider planning 2-4 Live streams to react to 4 podcasts episodes? Table Flippers Podcast with Pastor Enos recorded in 2023 in Lancaster, California in response to the engagement. The episodes are available via Audible, Spotify & RSS

https://rss.com/podcasts/tableflippers/

1-March 11th Season 3 Episode 32

2-March 31st SO4 E09

3-April 11th SO4 E14

4-May 6th SO4 E28

#3 and #4 are critical

Also- no one has reacted to the actual engagement announcement:

Joni & Jimmy introduce Doug https://player.daystar.tv/1ITM4kzN

4 of 4 Listen to More on Dr. Doug Weiss by Table Flippers on Audible. https://www.audible.com/pd/B0C2WLYN7L?source_code=ASSOR150021221000K

3 of 3

Listen to Follow up to the Dr. Doug Weiss saga by Table Flippers on Audible.

https://www.audible.com/pd/B0C26WZJ9L?source_code=ASSOR150021921000V

0 notes

podlater · 6 months ago

Text

https://rss.com/podcasts/tableflippers/

1-March 11th Season 3 Episode 32

2-March 31st SO4 E09

3-April 11th SO4 E14

4-May 6th SO4 E28

#3 and #4 are critical

Also- no one has reacted to the actual engagement announcement:

Joni & Jimmy introduce Doug https://player.daystar.tv/1ITM4kzN

https://rss.com/podcasts/tableflippers/

March 11th/12th 2023

A Call to Repentance (Dr. Doug Weiss) by Table Flippers on Audible. https://www.audible.com/pd/B0BY61XSS8?source_code=ASSOR150021921000V

March 31st 2023

A Follow Up message to Dr. Doug Weiss, Jimmy Evans and Joni Lamb by Table Flippers on Audible (polygraph/disgusted)

https://www.audible.com/pd/B0C128BHMG?source_code=ASSOR150021921000V

April 11th 2023

Listen to FRAUD Follow up to the Dr. Doug Weiss saga by Table Flippers on Audible. https://www.audible.com/pd/B0C26WZJ9L?source_code=ASSOR150021921000V

May 6th 2023

Listen to More on Dr. Doug Weiss by Table Flippers on Audible. https://www.audible.com/pd/B0C2WLYN7L?source_code=ASSOR150021921000V

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 8 months ago

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He made a few comments about wondering if Scott was sleepy iirc, like particularly he pulled Impulse aside and said something like "I think Scott is a little sleepy," particularly after what was left of the desert flower alliance went to ally with the crastle folks and Scott was SUPER resistant to allying with them bc he was leaning into the distraught widow angle. Impulse elaborated on it a bit more in a stream once when he was doing live reacts/commentary on his own 3rd life videos and commented that he also thought something was up with Scott but later realized it was because Scott was missing Jimmy

I am cackling at the fact that Ren legitimately had to pause and ask Martyn if they had gotten married in 3rd Life. Meanwhile Scott, who had the most gayass roleplay in 3rd Life as a widower thar Bdubs had thought something was going on with him irl, was questioning if the flower husbands marriage counted.

#mcyt #wild life #wild life spoilers

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iconsumeheadcanons · 3 years ago

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gathering notes on this crossover

making a list of observations and headcanons of todays crossover episodes

keralis and jevin live in a universe where youtube and twitter exist. keralis knows sausage from videos. sausage doesnt know what theyre talking about and he calls servers ‘realms’.

pix knows of the internet (tbf he doesnt have a character this time round)

is keralis a god. im just gonna assume he is.

tango and jimmy know each other from double life. tango had love hearts on his screen when he recognized jimmy. they just squealed at each other. i am losing my mind. scar also thought jimmy was in another life serie. jimmy knows them all

grian...grian..

“you cant hide from me timmy! >:)”

multiverse grian still going strong of course lmao, grian knows everybody

his character seems to understand the existence of servers and streams. would this be considered awareness of internet or are streams like technoblades chat/voices thingie?

“so who doesnt have an open chest policy?”

fae grian/borrower grian becomes closer to truth every day

(tango and fwhip was a combo i never knew i needed but its so awesome. honestly many of the hermits and fwhip is awesome)

pirate joe is very concerned about how shocked papa k looks like all the time

almost everyhermit showed up in their default skins. impulse is still a bald dwarf tho. pearl is god.

multiple hermits want to make their own empires. they have learned nothing from King Rentheking

jevin da slime. shelby keeps killing his brethren ;; no one bring him to animalia

ofc they did not check to see if they can get back to hermitcraft

OMG THERES NO ACTUAL PORTAL BACK. THEY ARE VERY STUCK.

is there an admin left on hermitcraft? x and tango and joe are stuck in empires lmao

joel knows them as well. im just gonna say its probably bc hes god.

convex are silly as usual

cub is a fan of joel the god. i love cub being completely unfazed by the innuendos. there is absolutely nothing strange about sausage giving keralis his wood.

grian is stealing. i mean borrowing.

ONE NIGHT ARMOR STAND

sausage doesnt know what an armor stand is lmao

empires people wonder whats up with false. shes missing her clothes that she stole from a dead body. is she okay

cogsmeade false took a introverted trip away from all this noise. her mysterious notes might reference the traveling hermits

“THIS IS SAINT PEARL!” fwhip in the background, “ there is no legal action for murder”

scott thinks pearl might be a cosplayer

pearl does not know who sausage is at all, uh oh.

via sausage’s notes:

Keralis: info; lumberjack, speaks spanish; powers; hypnotizing gaze +15

jevin: half slime/skelly, likes to steal; powers unknown

grian: blamed for rift (good knowledge for if sausage ever wants to sue him for emotional damages btw), likes the color red; powers; pesky bird (as heard from others)

scar: cat lover, doesnt like unsafe nether portals, powers; big goblin ears for flight

tango: thinks bubbles is a hyena, likes big hats; powers; low level witch/spell caster

false: doesnt remember me, is she the same false?; unknown powers

impulse: likes to go underground

cub: impressed by my wood!, looks like a scientist

Pearlescent Moon: looks a lot like santa pearla?! used to be fighter; powers; +20 str, +10 ag, +15 speed, +30 awesomeness

cleo: possible pirate, pirate joe killed her parrot, undead day walker +25 (just like sausage!)

an xisuma (or shishswambam): possible pirate, witch hunter?!; powers; heavy armor protections +20 durability

pixl and doc are acquainted. no biggie

someone pls save impulse. he is still sick. very polite

how has grian not blown up the sheriffs tnt shop yet

fwhip and lizzie didnt react to mentions of Grian, but fwhip has heard of scarland theme park. dosney ascends all universes apparently

lizzie is scared of the strangers. just like kitty

oli is also multiversing

hermit locations:

scar ended up in tumble town, intends to build old west locomotive. honorary goblin, aiming for position of deputy (he might move to whoever can bring him a jellie first)

tango will be a wonky engineer for gobland

keralis is probably moving in with sausage. amores

grian and impulse are building a place for the hermits but grians trying to convince oli to move closer

joe is napping at scotts tavern for now

(everyone is gushing about the empires builds and their colors! its so cute! jimmys friends all complementing tumble town is making me smile)

empires leaders are literally all like “oh god, we have guests. we have to clean up STAT”

goblins dont need sleep, probably dont like the overworld because the phantoms

fwhips poor ears..so much noise

grians webcam mic is back. and HIS FRIENDS ARE HERE

gonna pretend his voice is messed up by the rift lol

oli flies on the power of song

grian and oli on the same smp. no one is safe.

grian is making fun oli for being poor and then immediately goes to bully timmy

HERMIT SPECIES: they are shorter. big feet. thats it. (love this idea lmao)

grian... grian.

fwhips texture pack is native variation of foliage in empires smp

hes determined to destroy the empires’s bartering system. capitalist instinct

oh no the rift isnt purple anymore,,,it broke,,,

someone please stop grian from interacting w the multiverse. he keeps getting stuck and breaking things

impulse is in very sick denial about this whole situation, someone please tuck this man into bed he is very lost

lizzie likes that impulse instinctively parkoured on her froggy village

fwhip has incurred a debt onto impulse. poor guy

empires smp is the lands of the thirteen empires

has no one noticed the princess of dawn?

joe was under the assumption that grumbot was punishing them for not finishing the content quests

joe has access to the litematica it seems like

are we counting joes court audition as joe also living in the real world. does he and keralis come from the outside world and jevin and cleo just get to hear about the internet?

someone thought empires was an old hermitcraft world

oli doesnt know most of the hermits

oli and joe is such a gift. oli has adopted them bc he looks so pathetic

im desperate to know about cub and docs reactions to this whole shebang

every emperor says joel is very mean and that he pretends to be tall so everyone humors him by building really tall doors so he thinks he can fit

everyone insisting his empire is classist

pearl and scott and joe and cub investigate upper stratos’s shrine to peril

cub, “hey impulse, have an egg in this trying time”

IMPULSE RECOGNIZES SCOTT but no one else interestingly

“just oli, not bard oli” is joes nomenclature for oli

joe was immediately overwhelmed. felt.

#boop.txt #hermitcraft #empires #thank you fwhp and grian for organizing this! i am so excited #long post #this is not all the episodes #i cant figure out read more pwease help #sorry if any of this is incomprehensible

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quaranmine · 3 years ago

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Quara,.have you seen the tweet from Stampy about him and mumbo playing Jackbox together and starting fake beef?

YES! literally blew my mind for a moment lol

theres something about like...mcyters hanging out off camera and not telling us until later. like OBVIOUSLY that is their private lives i understand that totally i just mean like. stampy and mumbo sharing stuff from their jackbox game. jimmy reacting to grian being late to his stream by being like "i literally told you about while we were standing in your kitchen!!" or like...i swear ren was once like yeah me and grian go to london together sometimes and he's a good cook! but have zero clue when i heard that so i cant back that up sorry

idk man it's just really nice but also the tinest smidge startling because you're like oh right, they all interact off-camera too,,

#quara asks

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beigehearts · 4 years ago

Text

Multiple requests are fine! Requests are unlimited.

This is a cool idea so hell yeah

Yandere Adult Trio finding you after a few years after escape CW: physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, blood, needles

Hisoka

This is rather nice actually. A quiet life in the middle of nowhere where no one questions you. It’s somewhat of a farming community you live in. You work at a farmers market, selling fresh fruits and vegetables to the same people every day. Everyone here recognizes you under your fake identity, and treats you as part of the community. As if you didn’t randomly appear one day. As if you aren’t in hiding.

It’s been about three years you would say. Three years since you escaped... him. You dyed your hair, wore colored contacts and completely changed your clothing look. You moved countries, learned a new language, and completely dropped your entire identity and life. It was the only way you could escape him. How you escaped him remains a mystery to you too. He was always attentive but- you escaped that last time. Slipped through his fingers.

Mr. Grady, the oldest farmer in town hobbles over to your stand and smiles with his big loose mouth. He only has a few teeth but you don’t need many when you blend all of your food anyway.

“Oh hello Charlie. How are you today?” He asks with his frail old man voice.

You smile back and begin bagging up the usual for him. “Very good Mr. Grady. How are you?”

Your conversations are never short but it’s almost become a highlight of your day to hear the old man ramble. “Oh you know. The sheep dog are sick, so I tried rounding those cows up with my cat. He practically got trampled!” He throws his arms up as if it’s unbelievable. You somewhat listen as he continues. “... moral of the story is, cats are unreliable and only have two lives.”

As you hand the paper bag over the counter the old man stops to think for a moment. “I saw someone new up by the shops today, he was a real character. Quite tall too.”

You nod and get the change for the money he hands you, “Oh really? Did you talk to him?”

“He wasn’t much interested in me. Though he didn’t seem like a normal traveler. He was much too eccentric for that.” He offers one last toothless smile, “Don’t work too late. It’s time for the foxbears to come out of hibernation soon.”

Before you can further question him, he hobbles off pretty quickly for an old man. Of course you’re overreacting but someone eccentric and tall randomly coming to town? No it couldn’t be. It’s been over three years since then. And he wouldn’t go this far for you would he?

After closing up the shop you grab the keys to your car and head for the ‘parking lot’. It’s a field with white lines spray painted on the grass with a single light to illuminate the whole place. You hop into your car and are just glad to finally go home after a long day. It was rather slow but that’s because it was a tuesday. It is very busy on friday-monday. You start your car, and turn on the air, you plug your phone in and relax some into your seat.

You adjust your rear view mirror and scream when you do. You just barely catch the reflection of someone in the back of your car. He’s sitting in the back seat watching you closely. You decide against turning around to face him.

“Hello y/n. Or is it Charlie?” He asks calmly, as if it were a casual conversation.

You clear your throat and try to control your shaking. “What are you doing here Hisoka?”

He ignores your question completely. “You really know how to choose a nice town. Quiet, friendly, off the grid.”

“I suppose.” Your hands grip on the steering wheel tightens. “How did you find me?”

“Oh, well, it was quite hard really. You did a good job. But once I found the first person who helped you change your identity, it was just a matter of going down the chain.”

You’d rather not think about what happened to those people. “And what are you doing here?” You repeat your question.

“Well there’s only one thing I’m here for of course.” He leans back in the seat, just barely having enough room for his legs. “I’ve come to bring you home.”

“I don’t want to. It’s nice here.” You state as if you have an option.

He leans forward this time, and cranes his head around the drivers seat to whisper in your ear, “It’s really not up to you pet.”

Before you can even react, there’s a rope around your neck, and he’s pulling you hard against your seat. You claw at the rope and gasp for air. You try to turn some but the rope burn hurts too much. You manage to get your fingers under the rope around your neck, and throw yourself forward.

His head smacks the back of your seat but your head smacks the wheel, honking the horn. There’s no doubt that you’re bleeding. You throw the rope over your head and jump out of the car, and run. But he’s much faster.

He jumps out of the car and before you know it, he grabs the back of your shirt, pulling you to him. He holds you against himself with his arms, leaving no room for escape. But you have one more trick up your sleeve. You throw your head back as hard you can and headbutt his face. There’s a loud crack that you can only assume is his nose.

He groans and his nails dig into your skin through your clothes. “You really got feisty while I was away.” His nails begin to pierce your skin, ripping through the cloth of your shirt. “But it’s no matter, it only turns me on more.”

Illumi

To say you’re on the run is an understatement. You’re practically sprinting away even all these years later. You know that if you stop for even a few days that he would find you. You spend no more than three days at a time in the same place. You’ve travelled half of the world by now- and quite honestly it has been somewhat nice. Not just the freedom from the suffocating grasp of your captor Illumi, but being able to see the world. You would never have done this if not for the situation you were in. Maybe things happen for a reason.

It feels like forever since you’ve been travelling. But the reality is that it’s only been two years. Two long years of not stopping. You have a new name and often go days without eating. It’s not easy getting money when you aren’t in the same area for long.

It was late night when you escaped from him. He never let his guard down so you just had to go for it. He wasn’t expecting you to make a mad dash out of the manor, and hide out in the woods for a few days. Slowly but surely you managed to get out of the mountain prison, leaving through the small door next to the office. The man working at the entrance was sipping tea and reading the newspaper when you left much too busy to pay attention to you. You’re more than sure he was punished for missing you leaving. But sometimes you wonder if he chose to ignore you on purpose, and let you escape.

It’s a beautiful morning. You slept on a few blankets and a sweatshirt as a pillow on the ground of a cave. It was hard to get any sleep at first but you managed to get used to the back pain. The sun is shining through the canopy, streams of light illuminating the cave. The grass outside of the cave is wet with dew droplets. It’s only slightly humid but the breeze with the warm weather is heavenly. It’s not every day you get good weather like this.

You sit up and stretch your arms in the air, yawning tiredly. Your usual morning routine was to get a fire started, and put the tiny kettle above it. In your small backpack you have a few essential items. Coffee being one of them. You get out your tin can after jimmying a fire and filling the kettle with water from a nearby stream. You drop some instant coffee grounds in the kettle and bask in the aroma of coffee.

You pour yourself a cup and put some powdered milk packets and splenda in the cup, stirring it with a stick that looked relatively... clean. But you had a feeling that today was the day. You weren’t sure why this morning you knew he would find you. But you did. Almost on cue, you hear footsteps approach behind you.

You bring the tin cup to your lips, taking a long sip of the hot coffee.

“So this is where you’ve been.” You don’t even flinch at his words. You knew this was inevitable.

The coffee burns your tongue. “Yes, I must have stayed here for a day too long. Don’t you agree Illumi?”

“Yes. It was quite stupid.” There’s a silence between the two of you. You continue sitting on the ground with your back facing him. “Are you ready to leave?” He asks as if he’s picking you up from and elementary sleep over.

“May I finish my coffee first?”

“I suppose.” Though he doesn’t move from his spot, his gaze staying firm on your back.

Luckily you haven’t spent all this time just running, but training. In self defense to be specific.

Quickly you jump up and turn around, you move your arm to throw the coffee on him in hopes of burning him. He grabs your wrist, but the coffee does land on his forearm. You bring your leg up to kick him in the side but he grabs it right as you make contact. The only hit you actually manage to land is when you throw a punch with your free hand at his throat. If it were anyone else they would be stunned for at least a few seconds. But this wasn’t anyone. He shows no sign of flinching.

“Are you ready now?” He asks.

You allow your body to relax and he lets go of your limbs. “Go ahead, put a needle in me.”

He doesn’t argue with your point, pressing a needle to your chest and the last thing you hear is “Don’t fight it.”

Chrollo

The very thought that all of these people by his side had no qualms about you being kidnapped makes you sick. All of them had many chances to set you free and yet they stayed loyal to your captor, as if this were normal and okay. So many people witnessing this unhealthy obsession and not even muttering a word about it. Honestly you find it more ridiculous than you do sad. How did he have all these people under his thumb? Was he really just that powerful?

Wherever he went, you went. One day he had what they called, ‘a mission.” You had caught a cargo train out west and jumped on, as stowaways. It’s not as if anyone checked each boxcar. All of you had fallen asleep in the small space of the boxcar. The train was at full speed, with no sign of stopping anytime soon. Cargo trains were much faster than you anticipated. Once you were sure everyone was asleep, you stood up casually as if you were just stretching. In case someone woke up. Which they did. Nobunaga peeled his eyes open and examined you. But he was too slow, you leaped out of the car before anyone could grab you. You went tumbling through a field after hitting your head very hard against the ground. It wasn’t the perfect escape but it was an escape.

After that you found a nearby farm, and while it was still night you stole a horse from a barn. You rode for many miles, until days later you found a very busy city. Somehow you managed to make a life for yourself, becoming a low grade secretary.

Today was a slow day, your employer did not have many clients today. You checked in on your boss to see if she needed anything but she waved you away. You decided to play solitaire on the computer, a perfectly valid way to waste time.

The phone rings and you pick it up while still keeping one hand on the mouse to play solitaire.

“Hello this is the Seedling Lawyer’s Office. How may I help you?” You stick the phone between your ear and shoulder, playing solitaire.

There’s a chuckle from the other side of the phone. “So it is you.”

Your blood runs cold, and the only thing that your head is telling you is ‘run’. “I’m not sure who this is, could you please state your name and purpose for calling?” Playing dumb seems like the only decision right now.

“My darling, there’s no need for the semantics. I’m coming to pick you up right now.” Perfectly on cue, the sliding doors of the building open and you drop the phone, standing up abruptly.

His eyes show affection and kindness, but there’s a glimmer of... rage. You look around but no one is in the waiting room and you know the cameras are fake for security. This is a cheap layer’s business after all.

“There’s no need for the semantics Chrollo.” You try to say mockingly but it comes out more as fearful and unsure.

His smile drops and he begins walking towards your desk. “Do you understand the consequences of your actions y/n?” He scoffs kicks the heavy desk to the side as if it weighed nothing. “I missed you of course.”

“Ah well, maybe I needed a break.” It comes out as a question.

He corners you against the wall and places a rough hand on your cheek. “Oh darling, oh my sweet darling.” His smile reappears, as sweet as it always has been. “I’m going to kill your entire family.” His hand grips the side of your face roughly and he tilts your head back.

“You really are something. I would never hurt you, you know.” He places a gentle kiss against your cheek despite his tight grip on the side of your head. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for what you’ve done.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and grab his wrist. “Well you’re hurting me right now.”

Immediately he drops his hand and sighs. “I would never hurt you intentionally, or if not necessary.” He grabs your throat, holding it so tightly you wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk again. He’s crushing your air ways and vocal cords. You claw at his wrist but its useless. “Disciplining you does not count as hurting you.” He leans forward, and if you could yelp you would.

He bites your cheek, definitely leaving a mark. After drawing blood, he licks it up. Your vision is going dark but you’re simply not strong enough to fight back. “Do you understand darling?”

#hisoka #hisoka morrow #hisoka x reader #yandere hisoka #illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #yandere illumi #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #phantom troupe #hxh #hunter x hunter #adult trio #adult trio x reader #yandere adult trio #yandere

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