#WHILE THE BLACK MAN ON TRIAL WAS DETAILED

[gogoakechi]

i will not become emotionally invested in how my classmates interpret an example of a short story in my creative writing class and i will not think poorly of them for having opinions i disagree with

[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[circeyoru]

Darkest Confession = Requested

[Human!Alastor x Serial Killer Enthusiast!Reader]

Everyone have that one thing that really really sets them apart from the group, right? Some can be way too addicted with coffee that they don’t sleep much cause of it, or some can be so obsessed with ducks that they have a whole collection of it (ahem Lucifer ahem anyways…). Either way, usually it’s harmless

No, not you

You were no police officer or detective, or any career related to crime. You were someone simple working from place to place, always moving. Yet you found yourself engrossed with the art of killing. No, you don’t kill yourself. But you love to read about the people that do, specifically, serial killers

To just have the urge to kill and do it then deal with the consequences. It was like the most extreme of goal making. The thing with serial killers is that they mostly pick random people off the streets and kill for whatever reason they have. One can’t link the killings back to the killer because there was none! Oh, how you eat those stories up like a bedtime story

You somewhat study serial killers and their killings, feeling drawn to them enough that you’d move from place to place. It was your drive and your calling. One you keep quite deep down, you’d let this side of you out from time to time, but you had to control it since some might think you deserve the straight jacket or put in a hospital, or just label you as mental

Close friends and your family knew this side of you and said one day you’d be in deep waters for this interest of yours. They had advised you to stop and just push it away, find something else to think. Maybe a romantic partner that you can settle down with?

Hell no! (like Charlie to Val)

You follow serial killer stories from place to place. As sad that it was to know it after the killings were brought to light because of the slow news outlet, you take what you can. You’d mostly maybe catch a glimpse of the killer, behind bars or during trials

There was a few close calls. You recall yourself impersonating a reporter to interview the killer and your interest in them got them to talk, but you had to left before someone caught on you weren’t a reporter. Another time, a writer hired a helper to talk with a killer on trial, you wrote so much notes that the writer wanted you long term

Still no, you left to follow more serial killers when you could

You heard of a serial killer at large. In New Orleans, City in Louisiana. You heard it over the radio from a rising host that took over the hearts of the people, even outside of his hometown. He detailed the killings, even claiming to have seen a few of the bodies alongside the police so he could offer a clearer picture to the listeners of the horrors the killer can do and wasn’t afraid to show off

A serial killer still free and in society. While the other listeners in the cafe shivered and whispers to each other to be cautious or relief that the killer wasn’t in their town or city, you were planning your next travel

Next stop the New Orleans, hunting ground of the Bayou Serial Killer

Settling down was easy since you had been so custom to it. Like always, you wandered a bit, get the feel of the place and its people, the vibe of the city so you can fit in. Then you visited the place where the bodies were found, information provided by the local newspaper and the radio talkshows

You didn’t know then. That someone was following you after a few of your visits to the body dumping grounds. You certainly didn’t know that chance encounter with the radio host was staged

“I’d like coffee, black!” You heard the familiar voice ring. You didn’t have to look up to know the customers and staff members of the cafe all drawn to the man that ordered at the counter. You rolled your eyes. It was the famous radio host, Alastor, he started frequenting this cafe only recently (when you showed up in town) and would take his morning coffee here before he goes live

If only he was a serial killer or someone close to one… You remember the first time seeing him when he entered the cafe. You wanted to approach him, but he was always eyed by the people that put him on a pestasole. You learned to stay clear of people like that because, there were always some fans crazier than the other. Take yourself as an example, with your obsession and addiction to killers

“May I join you, my dear fellow?” Your eyes quickly scanned the place. Why was it so full today? You didn’t say anything and just gestured to the empty seat opposite to you in your booth. Great, now you had to go to work early because you wanted to avoid him. Wait

“Are you writing your script now?” You blinked at the notepad Alastor started to scribble over, you couldn’t just start by asking ‘are you writing your script on the serial killer? Can I see, please?’. Your keen eyes caught the words ‘serial killer’ and ‘bodies’

Alastor chuckled and said he was merely reorganizing his thoughts so he could envision his radio host as smoothly as possible for the listeners. You blink ‘for the listeners’, again with that. But does he really put others first behind himself? Somehow you didn’t think so

Of course his notes got you to put your attention on him. Alastor had to internally grin. He noticed a new face in town after some time. Then he noticed you going to his dumping grounds. He had thought you were a new detective or police to hunt him down by looking over new evidence. He thought he was right when he saw you noting down the surroundings even with the absence of the body

You were followed carefully to check if you had family and/or friends that would make a fuss of your disappearance. When you had none, he thought you were an easy target. But you weren’t a detective nor a police. Imagine his surprise when he only found you returning home. Never once had you went to the police with that notepad of yours

Odd

So he followed some more. It then that he noticed you had a spark in your eyes whenever serial killers or their killings were mentioned. While other would shiver with the sight of fear in their eyes, you had interest and excitement. So odd, but he didn’t dislike it. It fueled his interest in you

He tried striking conversations with you, but you were so plain and common, one he can brush off as a local polite individual. You fitted in with the commonality that quickly and easily. Though his concern was your disinterest and ignorance to him, he once let his assistant to play a pre-recorded show to see your reactions to his killings reported

There it was. You and that spark of yours with that notepad and pen, writing so furiously like you were possessed. You were more expressive and childish even, swaying from side to side, tapping your feet, drumming your fingers. It was like he witnessed your true self. He confirmed it when the topic changed and like a switch, you were that mundane self of yours

It was all so fasincinating to him and he had to talk to the real you. So he staged this meeting. He was right on the money, you would start off with someone common, then poke at your interest, wanting him to start the topic so you’d be involved. Slowly and with time though, you’d just talk outright with him

It was routine for him, meeting you before his show at that cafe and in their secluded booth you basically marked your own when it was in the morning. He’s review his notes with you and then talk about the (his) killings with you, the newest discoveries, the clues that detectives and polices missed, all that juicy details you’d like

Another problem came. You saw him as a friend. He saw you as a romantic interest

To you, it was rare that you could connect this much with someone. No one back home, not even your closest family members and frends, would indulge with you in this interest of yours. No matter how much you spoke your thoughts on serial killers and their killings, Alastor didn’t push you away and even ask questions on your thoughts. You cared so much for him, as a friend, but he wasn’t your interest

To him, you were now one of his reason to kill more. That bloodlust was on par with the spark you’d have in your eyes when he struck again. Some poor victim died and you only focused on him, the killer! He once compared you to his friend Mimzy, she knew and helped his killings, but she didn’t give him the same joy and bubbly emotions he’d have when talking to you about his kills. It wasn’t the same. So were you the one? The one to his cold dark heart.

And he confessed. More than just his feelings

“My dearest darling, I would be so honoured if you’d agree to allow me the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to officially court you.”

“No.” There was no hesitation in your voice, nor was there a pause. “Sorry, Alastor, I just considered myself married to serial killers. Or at least, this one in your town. I love them no matter what. So I can’t accept your feelings. But I hope we can continue being fr—”

Alastor held onto you, it was just a stroke of luck that this place was the secluded forest he was familiar with. He kneeled down on one knee and kissed your knuckles, his eyes staring straight at you with that crazed look in his eyes and that murderous grin he only let his victims see, “Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Alastor, the Bayou Serial Killer.”

Note: I had SO MUCH FUN writing for this. Thank you for suggesting this, Any~ (I’ll just call all the anonymous asks this from now on). I would tag the person but this is anonymous request (╯︿╰)

Requests are open, but keep in mind of what I wrote in the Masterlist. I’ll ultimately decide whether or not to write for them. Thanks!

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

[ltash]

The Bodyguard pt-1

Part 2 & 3 link in the end.

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

The boardroom was sleek, modern, and imposing, with dark wood panelling and a sprawling glass table. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp shadows across the faces of the people who had slowly filed in, each flashing rehearsed smiles in your direction. You leaned back in your chair, absentmindedly chewing on the end of a sleek silver pen, your eyes sharp, taking in every movement, every fake expression.

Five guards stood silently behind you, their presence a subtle but unmistakable reminder of your authority. You were untouchable here, or at least, that's what you needed them to believe. As the CEO and heiress of Aventis Pharmaceuticals, a company built on generational influence, you knew there were black sheep lurking within your empire. You could feel it in the way certain board members avoided your gaze, shifting uncomfortably under your silent scrutiny.

"Let's get started," you said, your voice calm but unyielding as you set the pen down, giving each person a measured look. "I need the details on the latest antinarcotic project we're working on."

There was a pause before the head of R&D, Dr. Marcus Lewin cleared his throat. He looked pale, though you couldn't tell if it was the lighting or nerves. "Ah... of course, Miss Aventis," he began, shuffling some papers before him. "We're in the third phase of clinical trials now. The formula has shown promising results, minimal side effects, with a faster recovery rate compared to the last version."

You raised an eyebrow, watching him squirm slightly. "Minimal side effects?" you repeated. "We're aiming for a groundbreaking product, Dr. Lewin. I expect 'minimal' to be an understatement."

"Yes, of course," he stammered, nodding vigorously. "I, uh, apologize. We're working on further improvements. There's also some data regarding efficacy rates in the latest testing group. I can forward the specifics to you."

You leaned forward slightly, your gaze hardening. "Forward them to me? Dr. Lewin, I'd prefer a comprehensive update now from you. Or are there... issues you'd rather not discuss here?"

A few other board members shifted uncomfortably, casting sidelong glances at one another. But Dr. Lewin managed a stiff smile. "No issues, Miss Aventis. We've been gathering the results carefully. We're confident we can meet the expected deadline and provide a full report for you to review."

You nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch. "Good. I expect nothing less. And, just to be clear," you said, glancing around the table at the assembled members, "I don't tolerate surprises. If there are any... discrepancies, now is the time to disclose them. Otherwise, I expect total transparency."

A hush fell over the room.

Your gaze shifted to Martin Hayes, the company's CFO, a man known for his sharp financial acumen and, at times, slippery ethics. He sat across the table, his fingers tapping nervously against his folder. He offered a tight, polite smile as he looked up to meet your eyes.

"And about our deal with that company?" you asked, your voice cool, with just a hint of impatience.

Martin cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Yes, of course, Miss Aventis. The partnership with Arcadia Biotech is progressing as planned. We've secured favourable terms for both manufacturing and distribution, ensuring a significant reduction in costs while increasing production capabilities."

You tilted your head, studying him. "And Arcadia is still unaware of our... competitive projects?"

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but you didn't miss it. "They're completely in the dark," he assured quickly. "We've kept all sensitive projects under strict confidentiality clauses. As far as Arcadia is concerned, they're our exclusive partners in the development and distribution of the existing narcotic treatments."

You tapped your fingers against the table. "Good. I'd like a written assurance from you that our proprietary research won't leak. If Arcadia or any other competitor even hints at knowing about our new product, I'll know who to turn to, won't I, Martin?"

The colour drained slightly from his face. "Absolutely, Miss Aventis. You have my word; I'll have our legal team draft an ironclad document."

"See that you do." You leaned back, giving him a faint smile as if to relieve the tension just slightly. "And remember, gentlemen and ladies," you added, letting your gaze roam around the table, "we're here to lead the industry-not to compete in petty games. I expect only the highest standards of loyalty and discretion."

A murmur of agreement filled the room, the board members nodding.

You leaned forward, placing both hands on the table, and fixed each board member with a piercing stare. The boardroom fell silent, the tension thick in the air.

"Also, remember this," you said, your voice low but unwavering. "I am more than capable of running my father's company. Each of you is here because you're shareholders, yes, but let's not mistake that for immunity."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed a few faces, and you didn't miss a beat.

"If I find out that anyone here has tampered with our formulas, compromised our products, or made any attempt to sabotage the reputation of Aventis Pharma..." You let the threat hang in the air for a moment, letting them feel the weight of your words. "Then you'll all be sinking with me. I won't hesitate to bring down every last one of you along with this company if it comes to that."

Martin Hayes shifted uncomfortably, his collar suddenly seeming a little too tight. Dr. Lewin was looking down at his notes, his jaw clenched, while a few others exchanged uneasy glances.

"Now," you continued, sitting back but keeping your gaze sharp, "let's ensure that it never comes to that. We are all on the same side, or we should be. Our success is your success. I expect complete loyalty to the vision my father built and entrusted me to lead."

You let the silence settle, watching them absorb your message. Finally, you smiled, but it was a smile of steel. "Any questions?"

No one spoke up, and you nodded in satisfaction. The boardroom felt smaller, suddenly less crowded with ambition and more attuned to your authority.

The boardroom cleared, and with a curt nod, you dismissed the meeting. Rising from your seat, you walked out with purposeful strides, your five bodyguards falling in line behind you, each scanning the area, their presence, an unspoken wall of security. You exited the building and moved toward the parking lot, where the air was still and quiet, almost eerily so.

Your eyes drifted to a Hummer parked discreetly in the far corner. It felt out of place, like a shadow that didn't belong. You slipped into your sleek sports car, the engine purring to life, but an uneasy feeling gnawed at you. Suddenly, figures emerged from the darkness, men with sharp eyes and cold expressions, each one wielding M14 rifles. Diego Garcia's assassins. The Hummer door stayed shut, but you caught a glimpse of Garcia himself watching from within, his gaze locked on you.

Before you could react, a hail of bullets erupted. Your heart thundered as your bodyguards sprang into action, returning fire, but the assassins moved with ruthless precision. In moments, one by one, your guards went down, each man fighting until his last breath but hopelessly outnumbered. You watched in horror, paralyzed as they fell, each life extinguished in seconds. You barely registered your own scream, choked by terror and fury, as the sounds of gunfire faded, leaving only silence and blood.

Your hands fumbled, trying to unlock the doors, but they were stuck, trapping you in the vehicle like a helpless bystander in a nightmare. You felt your pulse race as the shadows closed in, and then Diego was there, standing right outside your window, his face illuminated in the dim parking lot light. He smiled, a dark, twisted smile that sent chills through you.

"Mine," he whispered through the glass, his voice laced with malice and satisfaction.

A wave of dizziness overtook you, and everything spun. His words echoed in your mind as your vision blurred. Helpless and horrified, you slipped into unconsciousness, the last image seared into your memory: Diego's face, and that sinister smile that promised nothing but darkness.

A week had passed since the attack, but the memory of it still haunted you, flickering at the edge of your thoughts as you sat on the plush velvet sofa in your expansive drawing room. Sunlight poured through the towering windows, casting a warm glow over the gleaming marble floors and the breathtaking view of the Los Angeles skyline stretched beyond, grounding you in the opulence of your mansion. The faint hum of a helicopter faded as it settled on the rooftop, carrying with it your new bodyguard: Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, a man whose reputation preceded him.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the hallways, each step precise and deliberate, growing closer until the double doors swung open. You rose from the sofa, instinctively straightening your posture as the figure of Ghost entered the room, his presence consuming it instantly. He was massive, towering over you at 6'4", his muscular frame stretching the fabric of his black t-shirt, every inch of him exuding strength and danger. His broad chest and shoulders were carved with the kind of power that comes only from a life on the battlefield, and his thick, muscular thighs tested the seams of his black cargo pants. A holstered firearm rested against his leg, a stark reminder of the deadly world you were stepping into.

But it was his eyes that struck you the hardest. Deep brown and unwavering, they locked onto yours with an intensity that felt almost physical, as if they could see straight through every secret you held. A skull-patterned bandana covered most of his face, concealing his expression, but his gaze was enough, it was fierce, calculating, and unyielding. His buzz-cut hair, a dirty blonde, caught a hint of sunlight, and a jagged scar traced down his left temple, the brutal souvenir of battles fought and survived.

The contrast between the two of you felt almost surreal, his raw, masculine power against your delicate, fragile beauty. At just five feet tall, your frame seemed almost dainty by comparison, a striking contrast of elegance and strength. The soft material of your dress hugged your figure, emphasizing the curve of your waist and your petite, curvy form, while your brown, doe-like eyes met his with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"This is Ghost, ma'am," he nodded, his voice low, gravelly, resonant. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, filling the room as thoroughly as his presence did.

You hesitated, caught off guard by his intensity, before extending your hand. "Lieutenant Riley," you greeted, your voice steady even as you took in every detail of the man before you. "I've heard a lot about you."

He accepted your hand, his grip firm and respectful, but his eyes stayed sharp and assessing, as if already calculating every risk, every angle of protection.

"Welcome to my mansion. How was your journey?" you asked, settling yourself elegantly on the velvet couch, your posture flawless.

"The journey was fine, ma'am," he replied, his deep voice rumbling through the room. He took a step closer, crossing his arms, his gaze intense and assessing. "The view from the landing pad is quite something, too."

You felt his eyes linger, moving over you, taking in the details of your petite frame and the way your bodycon dress clung to your curves. He tried to keep his focus professional, but it was hard not to notice the finer details.

"Tea, coffee, or whiskey?" you offered.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Whiskey," he replied without hesitation, his gaze still fixed on you.

With a small nod, you rose from the sofa and moved to the bar across the room, reaching for the bottle of Kentucky bourbon. His eyes tracked your every movement, lingering on the bare skin between the thin straps of your dress. The dress hugged your form perfectly, and though he kept his face stoic, his attention remained unwavering as you poured the amber liquid into a glass.

You turned, holding the glass in your hand, and extended it to him. He stepped forward, his calloused fingers wrapping around the glass, brushing lightly against yours. The brief contact sent a jolt up your arm, but his face revealed nothing, not a hint of reaction. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured sip, all the while keeping his gaze steady on you.

You leaned back onto the plush sofa, crossing your legs elegantly, watching as he brought the glass of bourbon to his lips, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. The slight tension in the room was palpable, each of you sizing up the other, feeling out the boundaries of this unfamiliar relationship.

"So," you murmured, a faint hint of curiosity in your tone, "you wear the skull mask, Ghost..."

His eyes narrowed slightly above the edge of his mask, a flicker of irritation passing through them. He lowered the glass, studying you in silence for a moment before he replied, his tone even. "It's part of the job," he said. "Helps me keep things... impersonal. No one gets to see my face."

You tilted your head, not breaking his gaze. "Not even me?" you asked softly, a subtle challenge in your voice. "Not even the person you're here to protect?"

There was a beat of silence, his eyes dark and unreadable behind the mask. For a moment, you thought he might look away or ignore the question altogether. But then he spoke, his tone a shade more guarded. "Protection is about distance, ma'am. Masks help with that. It's not personal, just how I keep a clear line between my duty and... everything else."

You took a slow breath, absorbing his words. "Clear lines, huh?" You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you studied him, his formidable frame, his stoic face, the shadows that clung to him. "Is that what works best for you, Lieutenant? No attachments, no faces, just the mission?"

He held your gaze, unflinching. "It's what's kept me alive." His answer was calm, unwavering, as though he'd thought it through many times before.

You nodded, acknowledging the harsh reality he lived by. "Well, I suppose I can respect that," you replied, your voice soft but thoughtful. "But you should know, Ghost, this won't be a typical mission. There are things at play here that... don't fit within clear lines."

He didn't respond, but his intense gaze on you seemed to deepen, like he was silently bracing himself for the unknown. Finally, he gave a slight nod, the barest hint of understanding in his eyes.

"Understood," he said, his tone low and resolute. And in that moment, you realized that, for all the distance he wanted to maintain, his presence, steady and unyielding, was exactly what you needed.

"Diego Garcia," you said, your voice quiet but resolute. "The Santiago Cartel."

Ghost's expression darkened. The name carried weight, a reputation steeped in violence. "Diego Garcia," he repeated, his tone grim. "Powerful, ruthless, no ordinary drug lord."

"He's bigger than Valeria Garza. More dangerous than El Sin Nombre."

Ghost's gaze was sharp, intense. "I know. Santiago Cartel is one of the deadliest in Mexico, and Garcia's the head of the snake."

"He's after me," you admitted, feeling the weight of the words as they left your lips.

Ghost's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"My company produces anti-narcotics," you explained. "We sell the cure. He sells the poison."

Recognition flickered in his eyes. "You're cutting into his profits," he said, understanding dawning. "You make him look weak."

"We're about to launch a new antidote," you continued. "One that blocks the effects of drugs like cocaine, fentanyl. It's still in testing, but it'll be on the market soon."

He nodded slowly, processing it. "The cartel won't let that happen. They'll do whatever it takes to stop you."

You felt a shiver at his words but pushed on. "He's already killed for it. My bodyguards... I watched them die, right in front of me."

A muscle tightened in Ghost's jaw. "He killed them in front of you," he said, his voice low, edged with anger. "Bastard doesn't play by any rules."

"He sent his men. They were armed with M14 rifles. My men didn't stand a chance."

His expression grew grim. "M14s. No wonder your guards didn't make it."

"Laswell suggested you," you continued, watching him closely. "She said if anyone could handle Garcia, it'd be you."

He met your gaze, a flicker of confidence in his eyes. "She's not wrong. I've dealt with men like him before." His voice was calm, unshaken. "And I'll take him down.

"Let me show you around," you said, motioning for him to follow.

Ghost nodded. "Lead the way."

The mansion was sleek and modern, blending luxury with privacy. As you walked through the marble driveway, you passed the tall, solid wooden door into the living room, its polished granite floors gleaming in the light. To the left, a door opened to the swimming pool area, surrounded by greenery. Above, a glass skywalk connected the house, offering a view of the water below.

A spiral staircase led to the second floor where your master bedroom and its luxurious bathroom were located, complete with a Jacuzzi and a high-tech shower. The back lawn opened up to the underground parking area.

As you walked, Ghost took in everything with a sharp, calculating gaze. The mansion wasn't just a home, it was a fortress. Every detail, from the barbed wire to the strategic location, was a reminder of the protection it offered.

"Like what you see?" you asked, watching his reaction.

Ghost's expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady. "It's secure," he said, eyes flicking over the property. "More than most would need."

"It's still smaller than other mansions here," you countered.

"Smaller, yes. But more secure," he said. "Most billionaires settle for an alarm system. You went further."

"The reason I don't go bigger is security," you replied. "I know Diego could breach it, but it's L.A. He'd think twice."

Ghost nodded. "Smart. L.A.'s dangerous, but Garcia would hesitate."

"Good. Let him be intimidated. Makes my job easier."

He shifted his attention back to you. "What about inside? Armed guards?"

"Outside," you said. "The perimeter's covered."

He raised an eyebrow. "Inside?"

"You..." you trailed off, letting him fill in the rest.

Part 2

Part 3

Pic credit: VhenanVirabelasan

https://www.instagram.com/vhenan_virabelasan?igsh=MWpmdnVzaXN5czYyZg==

[ladyodium]

I Could Not Prevent It

S2x7

TW: I am going to be discussing some very heavy topics. I will ask that yall respect these topics. I will be going into Domestic Violence, Lynching, Racism, R/pe, and Gore. (SPOILERS IF YOU CONTINUE TO READ!)

So, as a Black Woman this was a hard watch. From the beginning of the lynching Louis, Claudia and Madeline were bagged and dragged off into an unknown place. Louis was being beaten on the floor while Claudia was thrown in the rat box and had people on top of it so she wouldn’t get out.

I want y’all to notice how only Madeleine is not harmed, Santiago is messing with her mind, but Claudia and Louis are being physical harmed. They all had their achilles tendons cut to the bone to prevent them from walking, they weren’t allowed to speak and if they did the coven vampires would punish them. Claudia and Louis lose their names, they are now “The accused”, Madeleine is the only one whose name is said.

The bagging, dragging, the torture, the beatings, and the mock trial all hit a little too close to home. You have two Black people and a Jewish person on stage and I can’t help but think how traumatizing this must be for Madeline. Who was dragged from her shop by an angry mob, forced on her knees and had her head shaved. Then she continued to have constant harassment on her shop and person, let’s not forget she was almost graped, and no one was going to save her. 

The film that shows in the back ground as Lestat is telling his “story” is such an important detail. “A white man who just came to New Orleans and is being Hunted by a Black male.” We the viewers know that this isn’t true. Lestat pursued Louis, Lestat wanted Louis, Lestat was obsessed with Louis. But Louis can’t convey that, he’s not allowed to speak, to defend himself. Claudia, Louis and Madeline have to sit and watch a Butch of white people laugh and mock them. They have to sit and suffer for something that was really their last option. 

Diction is very important. When Santiago is questioning Lestat he uses words like “you were forced to…you were manipulated….you were sad, and lonely….you had no choice.”

Lestat is the victim in this lynching, he was the one who was hurt, not Louis, not Claudia. He was a victim of love and passion! Of loneliness! Louis was the one who pursued him, manipulated him, made him lonely.

“I..,a vampire, was being hunted…”

“Louis was saying “come to me”…

“Speaking your own unspeakable desires…in hopes that I would come to you”

“Louis was deceptively agile with words”

“He abandoned me in our town house”

Lestat is not the victim in his relationship with Louis. Is Lestat a victim and an abuser? Yes, these two things can be true at the same time, but he was not the victim for what he did to Louis.

Claudia and Louis are described to be these two black vampires who killed their loving Maker (master). The flashback to the fight that happened really messed with me, so I’m just gonna believe that Louis, Lestat and Claudia’s versions of the fights some of them were true. The portrayal of trying to make Louis this monster who rejected Lestat and was an animal himself because he consumed animal blood is telling.

Often Black people are seen as monsters, they are the aggressors even when we are victims. I want people to understand how Louis and Claudia being Black played into their vampirism. They are immortal creatures of the night, but they are still BLACK. New Orleans was notorious for its lynching and Louis was not safe from that, no Black person was. People will say Louis was a pimp and he’s manipulating Armand and Lestat, but I feel like yall fail to understand that Louis didn’t have options. A black man in 1960 New Orleans didn’t have the options to become anything greater than what white people allowed him to be. We see that when he plays the poker game, when he helps Anderson and gets called a Nigger, and when the race riots happen and they burned down his business. 

“She called me an angel…..they burned her building because of me….”

(Context: Claudia thought Louis was God’s angel coming to save her and Louis feels guilty because she was going to die just because Louis was a black man dominating the market. )

Santiago has humiliated Claudia by making her this minstrel act. To have her sing, dance, and parade around like a fool in front of a white audience. He hates that Louis doesn’t want to join them, and that Louis is fine by himself. Louis grimacing as he watches Claudia was my face throughout that episode. He then displays her private diaries to an audience, he tells them to pass it around! Mocks her accent, makes fun at her pain and sorrows. I’m pretty sure he read what happened to her with that vampire who graped her.

She’s not a victim anymore but a prop they can laugh at and mock for their own amusement. She was right when she said “this isn’t a trial, it’s a stoning.” It’s a lynching happening in real time. Notice how Madeleine is the only one allowed the option of redemption, she’s allowed to choose her fate. She chooses death with her companion, and she had my heart for that. She really was a ride or die.

Claudia’s last act is to perform her song to the masses one more time because that’s what she was, entertainment. The way Santiago picks up her yellow dress as some kind of token really made me think of how millions of white people would have picnics and bring their children to watch the burning, lynching of black people and then they would take tokens of the kill.

To conclude, this was a hard episode and Lestat was pissing me off. Also, ARMAND IN HIS LITTLE ASS PLAYPEN?! BFFR! Shout out to the actors! They really made this episode.

[tokiro07]

Ichi the Witch ch.11 thoughts

[WitchCon 2024]

(Topics: praise - comedy, narrative progression, world building, thematic analysis - freedom vs. order, predictions)

Make 'Em Laugh

Y'know, for a chapter that was like...90% political dialogue and exposition, this still managed to end up being one of the funnier chapters so far: Desscaras' report being a comic book that makes her look like the hero and Shirabedonna just throwing it away, Ichi straight up leaving the Zoom call to get food, Togeice goofing up her dramatic entrance; and that's not even every funny bit from this chapter

Handled wrong, this could have come off as a super dry and meandering chapter, but for the sake of setting up the conflict of revealing Ichi's existence to the world, I think an in-depth analysis of both sides of the argument was necessary

Better to Ask Permission than Forgiveness

While I agree with Togeice that Shirabedonna's conclusions are being made on too few datapoints (one grateful village and three unusually quick hunts in only two weeks), I'm also inclined to agree with Shirabedonna that this is a tricky situation to maintain

The longer Mantinel tries to hide Ichi, the more contradictions and public distrust are bound to pile up. Coming up with excuses later to explain every little detail will just make discussing it more difficult, and Mantinel will only look more suspicious. On the other hand, coming clean now less than a month in should be fairly understandable given the implications of Ichi being a male Witch that acquired Uroro - some people will be mad, sure, but most people would probably be forgiving of the caution exercised

More than that, though, Mantinel's acquisition of the first male Witch would do wonders for their reputation, as that's a historic discovery. Even if he ends up being dangerous, the narrative wouldn't be too hard to spin in Mantinel's favor, as no one could have predicted how a male Witch would behave

The fun thing about this argument to me, though, is the acknowledgment of other Witch organizations

Frog in the Well

We haven't been shown a world map or anything yet, so we don't really have any sense of scale to this world, but I wouldn't have been too surprised either way if either Mantinel had a monopoly on Witch administration or if they were just one of many such organizations

The acknowledgment of an equivalent of Japan last week was a good clue that there was more to this world than...whatever this one country is called, but we still know nothing about this fantasy-Japan's society other than that they still have sashimi

Do they have their own Witches Association? Do they even have Magiks there in the first place, or are they endemic to the current focus country?

Black Clover kept expanding to reveal that other nations had different relationships with magic, while JJK revealed that Curses pretty much only exist in Japan for...some reason. I would imagine that this is more like the former, but the realization that one nation is hoarding the concept of magic would be pretty wild, wouldn't it?

Then there's the fact that ch.1 told us that there's only a 0.001% chance of a man being able to acquire magic even if he did have the capacity to pass a trial and physically handle casting spells. That seems like a low number, but...it's one in a thousand

For every thousand men, one of them has the capacity to acquire magic. Presumably this number is compounded by the ability to use it, since the narration said there were so many other factors that had to line up perfectly first, but that just means that the chances of finding another man with the potential to overcome those factors aren't actually all that slim

EDIT: It's been brought to my attention that I goofed the math and this is one in a hundred thousand, but my point stands! I thought it was going to be like one in a million or even a billion, and it ended up being a lot more generous than I anticipated! In our world, that would still be 40,000 men with the capacity for magic!

In other words, it's only a matter of time until another male Witch is found

From there, the method for cultivating male Witches will likely start to become more widespread, and eventually the proportion of female to male Witches should approach an equilibrium

That's probably looking too far ahead, though. That's the kind of thing that would probably take several generations to pass, so while we may have like...a dozen male Witches by the end, they probably won't be a normal part of Witch society until a far-flung epilogue

For now, I'd like to focus on the worldbuilding that we actually received this chapter: that Ichi's acquisition rate is ridiculous

Gotta Go Fast

Ichi has three Magiks under his belt in less than two weeks, and Shirabedonna tells us that one week is on the fast end for a hunt. That seems especially strange to me, since one of the first trials we're ever told of was only set for an hour, but I suppose that figure is based on the number of attempts and the prep-time? It's easy to assume "oh, they got it one," but this statement gives the impression that almost no one acquires a Magik on their first try

I do think it kind of skews our perceptions to tell us the upper and lower limits of one week and ten years without also giving us an average or at least a mean. All she says is "some take X amount of time," like that means anything statistically...

It also doesn't help that the first hunt we actually saw would have been over almost immediately had it not been for the circumstances: Desscaras immediately stabbed Uroro's heart, and only failed to pierce it because she was a woman. Now, Desscaras is likely an outlier herself because she's ostensibly the strongest living Witch, but sub-10 minutes is nowhere near a full week!

Again, it's entirely possible that the hunt for Uroro was on a constant timer since Mantinel first started trying, so that would be an extreme circumstance no matter what. I suppose in a sense that would mean Ichi has the record for clearing both the shortest and longest hunts?

But just being fast or lucky doesn't make Ichi an expert, and it's only a matter of time until he hits a wall where his unique perspective fails to compensate for his lack of experience in the field he's so suddenly found himself in

Rising to the Level of Your Incompetence

Togeice is being presented as morally incorrect here, with her talk of reforming Ichi into a "proper Witch" being accompanied by a vision of all of Ichi's best qualities being sanded down to a bland scholarly appearance, but that doesn't mean that she doesn't have a point

Ichi's lack of experience makes him something akin to an outsider artist, which is what allows him to discover unconventional methods within the field, but it also means that he's not familiar with the pitfalls of the profession. Ichi took Hisame's challenge in a different direction than what was intended by the rules; it worked out, but if Hisame hadn't been impressed with this loophole, then that gamble would've gotten everyone present killed. Since she expressed that she wanted to attack another village as a palette cleanser, it's entirely possible that she could have taken this approach as an insult and gone on an even worse rampage after the fact

In fact, Ichi going straight for attacking Hisame could have resulted in her not even bothering to issue her trial, which would have effectively made her invincible in the resulting combat encounter. Perhaps Magiks don't work that way and they have to share their trial in order to maintain their power, but there's no precedent for that yet, so Ichi's ignorant and rash behavior could have sabotaged the entire mission

There's also the possibility that Ichi will continue to acquire stronger and stronger spells that he's less and less equipped to control and will cause some kind of huge disaster. He already used Parthion to create an entire new ecosystem on Druid Mountain, which could well have untold consequences on the local wildlife and nearby settlements, so what's to stop him from naively trying to save a desert village with Poltata and just washing them all away?

Togeice's desire to force her vision of order onto Ichi is obviously wrong and potentially detrimental to Ichi's value, but she is right that he's not capable of wielding his powers effectively or responsibly. Even if Ichi is a perfectly moral and upstanding Witch, if his trump card will only result in him being rendered unconscious for three days, then he's only going to be a liability when the time comes to use it against a major threat

The goal then should be to cultivate Ichi's sense of freedom and experience using magic while also giving him a clear sense of the responsibility that he carries. Fortunately, he's already demonstrated the capacity for that with his strict adherence to Death for Death, but unless he can prove to Togeice that he already has the discipline she's looking for, she won't be able to trust such an unknown with her back

Fortunately, the upcoming challenge provides the perfect opportunity for Togeice to get to know Ichi

Just a Little Guy

It was pointed out to me by @wickedsick that because the mushroom Magik isn't a human-hater, it likely doesn't hold any ill intent towards humans and doesn't go out of his way to hurt them, and therefore shouldn't trigger Death for Death. This would likely prevent Ichi from harming it, and in turn give Togeice the opportunity to take the win

The way I see it, there's five ways that this could go

Ichi loses because the mushroom isn't hurting anyone and he can't bring himself to hunt it -> school arc, Ichi learns valuable lessons, though he doesn't fundamentally change the way that Togeice wants him to

Ichi is just hopelessly outclassed and decides he has plenty to learn from Togeice and Mantinel -> same outcome as above

The circumstances of Ichi's refusal to hunt the mushroom somehow prove to Togeice that he's already plenty disciplined -> she wins, but still lets him go free because she doesn't believe she has anything to teach him after all

The nature of the trial doesn't necessitate Death for Death, and Ichi wins solely through his specific skillset -> Togeice realizes that she was not equipped for this specific scenario and different approaches will always be necessary for different circumstances, so she drops her objection

Togeice accidentally goads the mushroom into triggering Death for Death and realizes that it was her irresponsibility that endangered people, not Ichi's -> same outcome as above

For sure, there are more nuanced outcomes available, but those seem like the most likely either for developing the themes of the story or driving the plot in a specific direction. I'm definitely open to whichever route Nishi chooses to take, as I think that the two broadest outcomes of Ichi going or not going to school both provide interesting opportunities for the story going forward. Whichever she chooses, I have faith in Nishi that it'll be a fun time

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[hp-hcs]

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 9 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

wanna get a coffee? — post-war! theodore nott x male! reader

technically gender neutral, but goddamnit i never get any mlm theo nott shit and i n e e d

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

after the war, everyone tried to go back to some sense of normalcy

obviously that doesn’t work perfectly

the former junior death eaters are ostracized by the wizarding world

like, getting hexed in the middle of diagon alley and sent howler death threats kind of ostracized

they all have their trials

the jury is decidedly not impartial

harry and crew™ manage to talk down all of their sentences

neither pansy nor blaise took the mark, so their sentences are six weeks in azkaban, loss of their wands for five years, and exile from the wizarding world for the same amount of time

draco and theo both took the mark, but it was deemed that it was taken under pressure and with threats against their loved ones

theodore nott received two years in azkaban, and a loss of both his wand and access to the wizarding world for five years

draco malfoy received five years in azkaban, but was released on parole after just a year and a half. his wand was confiscated indefinitely, and he was barred from the wizarding world for…..you guessed it, five years

for you as well, the war sent your life into upheaval

you had wanted to be an auror for most of your childhood, but that dream died with the war

now you work at florean fortescue’s ice cream parlor

you actually really enjoy it, although florean jr.—the owner and son of the original florean—is quite the jumpy and skittish man

nobody knows the details of what happened to him nor his father during the war, and nobody wants to ask

you love talking to the kids that come in, and they absolutely adore you

you patiently answer all their questions. everything from how you got a certain scar to why witches and wizards no longer use quills

you help some of the older kids who’ve come down from hogwarts for a weekend trip with their homework

your old classmates sometimes stop in, and whenever you make eye contact, you both always nod your head towards each other in acknowledgment. it’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes

you’d been serving up ice cream to fleur weasley’s three (!!! when had that happened??) children when a familiar group walked in

you can confidently say that you’d never seen that group of slytherins ever look like that

draco malfoy was tanner now, with a sunburnt nose and washed-out blue hair. he wore a muggle wife-beater and patterned swim trunks, and looked like he nowadays spent more time outside than not. he still walked with his shoulders hunched forward, like he was trying to make himself shorter, but his eyes were bright and he no longer had that pinched, anxious look that he’d always had at hogwarts

blaise zabini now has his (their?) ears pierced with large, shiny diamond studs. he (they?) wore sparkly eyeshadow, which seemed to lessen the ever-present severely stern look that seemed permanently etched into his (their?) face

pansy parkinson! pansy looked like a goddamn model now (as if she didn’t already), with that eye for designer wear that she’s always had. she actually smiled now, and looked more relaxed than you’d ever seen her before

but theodore nott must’ve been the biggest change

the first thing you noticed was that he’d grown out his hair, long enough now that he kept it up in a messy bun

then you noticed that his fingers and nails were no longer stained black with tobacco the way they always had been when you’d gone to school together

fleur’s voice brought you back from your reverie, and you hurriedly gave her back her change, apologizing profusely

your cheeks burned when florean jr. chastised you for not paying attention while on the clock

you kept your gaze down, reorganizing an already perfectly fine display, just so you wouldn’t have to look up and embarrass yourself further

“oh, hey y/n. i didn’t know you worked here”

well so much for that plan

“yeah. how’s it going, theo?”

“eh, y’know. perpetually tormented with nightmares and memories”

you laugh. acerbic humor is always objectively funny

“do you wanna like, go get a coffee or something, y/n? catch up, and all that? when your shift’s over, of course”

“sure! my shift actually just ended like ten minutes ago. have you been to the new coffeehouse right next to honeydukes?”

“nah, i was a little too busy, being in prison and all”

“you’ll love it. bertie bott expanded his company to make it. the shop’s called ‘bertie bott’s every flavor coffee bean’”

“that feels a little on the nose”

“it does, doesn’t it? c’mon though, let’s go get coffee”

[g0blintears]

[Yandere! Dead By Daylight x Reader]

Summary: You are a mystery to both the survivors and killers within the fog. A servant of darkness, a creature created by the entity itself, you are the shadow behind the scenes that provides the survivors with the necessities they need to survive, while also assisting killers with the weapons they need to sacrifice. You are a servant void of humanity, but not one that seeks out despair. An empty slate that perhaps just needs to be taught a little bit of hope and empathy to help the survivors escape once and for all.

Seven. Dark Sense

Time worked differently in the realm. Sunlight didn’t exist, and the sky was always painted a dark, inky black. Nothing was ever overgrown, and the survivors never knew when they were going to be summoned into a trial until they found themselves alone with only three other people in the middle of an abandoned campfire. If it wasn’t for the entity’s servant, who would often have a routine schedule for meal time, they wouldn’t have ever known when it was the appropriate time to eat and sleep.

Now having woken up from his rest, Felix, along with all the other survivors, found themselves sitting at various tables with their trays of plain bread and baked potatoes placed in front of them.

Currently, Felix sat in front of his childhood best friend, Élodie Rakoto. Wearing a loose fitted, long sleeve crop top that complimented the pendant wrapped around her neck, and dark black jeans that fitted for comfort, said woman with coily black hair and dark brown eyes was someone who usually carried herself with a smile of confidence and a face that always looked like she was coming up with mischief. However, as he whispered to her the current theories some of the other survivors had previously talked about, the woman couldn’t help but look at her blond friend in worry.

“You guys are planning to, what?” She asked in a whisper shout. Her eyes darted both left and right as she made sure to keep her voice low from wandering ears. “Are you guys actually doing this?”

“Well, the plan isn’t really in motion. We still want to gather more details and see if this is even worth working out. But, if they do show any signs of being capable to evolve, we will plan this out more thoroughly.” 

Élodie looked at Felix, dumbfounded before scoffing. With her fork, she dug into her potatoes. "You guys are crazy. So crazy." She muttered, her thick French accent seeping with each syllable. Stuffing her mouth with the unseasoned potatoes, she continued, "But if this plan of yours works, make sure the servant of darkness learns how to season. This shit tastes awful."

Felix sighed, “We’re being serious.”

“And so am I!” She exclaimed, pointing at Felix with her potato still attached to her fork. “Look at this! It’s not even cooked all the way! Last week Ace’s potato wasn’t even cooked! He and David ended up playing hackysack with it.”

Ignoring her words, Felix frowned. “I actually thought you’d be more optimistic about this.” 

Ever since he met Élodie on Dyer Island, Felix knew that she was someone who was stubborn and assertive. Élodie was always down for an adventure, someone who was willing to take risks. A troublemaker if you will. So imagine his surprise when his usually devious friend looked at him the way he usually looked at her whenever she had something crazy planned. 

Rolling her eyes, Élodie placed down her fork and sighed. “Look, we all want to escape, but trying to escape through the entity’s servant? That’s crazy! What if it backfires? We don’t know what happens to people that step out of line. It hasn’t been recorded. Hell, we don’t even know what happened to the people that were in this realm before us. All we have is that journal.” She then motioned to the book under Felix’s arm.

At her words, the man subconsciously gripped the leather binder. 

“And it hasn’t really been as helpful as we had hoped.”

Felix pursed his lips, “I know. But it’s a start, don’t you think?” The male’s grey eyes clashed with his friend’s dark brown eyes, his stare bored into her with desperation. “How long are we going to be here? How many more deaths are we all going to be forced to endure? If there is another way to escape this hell, why not take it? What exactly do we have to lose?” 

“We don’t know-” She began to answer, but was cut off by the blond.

“Exactly! We don’t know. Élodie, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been one to never shy away from the unknown. Back in Dyer Island, you were the one to encourage us to step out of our comfort zone. You were the one to tell us to accept ourselves, but to also be open minded to chance. You lead us to grand adventures, and that in itself should show how incredibly clever and brave you are. So why not take one more risk?” Although desperate, Felix’s words held his truth as he reminded his friend of their days back in their youth.

As he looked at his friend expectantly, Élodie chose to ignore his last question and instead crossed her arms over her chest and rose an eyebrow at the male. “Trying to use your flattery skills on me to get on my good side now, huh? Very sneaky of you, Ritcher.” 

For a moment, the male didn’t know how to respond. But as soon as he caught a glimpse of her smile, the male shook his head and let out an airy chuckle, “But it’s working, right?” 

Élodie hummed, “Very tempting, but I still think it’s a bad idea.” She then looked at Felix with a grimace on her face. “Plus, I don’t know how I can be of any help. You should know better than anyone that my memories and yours aren’t all there.”

Felix’s brows furrowed, the once laid back attitude he had with his friend diminished as he mulled over her words. 

“I know, but I still think you could help me explain some things to the others better. Unlike everyone else here, we at least grew up knowing of the entity’s existence before arriving here- especially you. You have at least some knowledge of creatures similar to the entity and its servant. That’s why we wanted to let you know what was going on. You can give us some more insight from your own experiences.”

Élodie looked around once more. Speaking of you and the entity made her skin crawl, almost as if you were listening to the two of them speak at that very moment.

“I don’t know…” She trailed off. Although she was unsure, Felix was right. They couldn’t go on like this. The pain of dying was agonizing, especially in the most brutal ways. At this point, she wanted to die and just stay dead. But of course, that wasn’t an option. So if they had to resort to wild theories, maybe it could possibly lead to somewhere better than here.

But there’s still a chance that this could end badly, very badly. She couldn’t think of what could possibly happen. Afterall, they’ve endured it all. What if there’s more though? Something worse? What could be worse than death in a form of recycled torture? 

She didn’t know. 

She wanted to take the risk, but at the same time, she felt hesitant. The last time she went into something without a plan, she had led her and her friends' parents to vanish. Her memories were foggy. She couldn’t remember much of that day, but she did remember that she was the reason the entity took them. She remembered the distraught and regret she felt once she exited that lab, but not with her parents. She remembered the spiral of obsession she went through trying to find them, all of it leading to where she is now. 

Into the unknown.

This plan, if gone through, could end badly. And she wasn’t sure if she could endure another incident like that again. Her once obsessed mind was now beginning to heal after all those years of guilt. Could she really go through it all again? Squeezing the fork in her hand, the woman shook her head. She couldn’t.

As though reading her thoughts, Felix reached out his arm from across the table, and squeezed his friend’s hand. Instantly, Élodie was brought out of her thoughts and gazed over at Felix with wide eyes. 

“I know what you’re thinking, and I promise we will be careful. You don’t have to help if you don’t want to, but I know your strengths and I know you could help us plan this out.” Giving the top of her hand one last squeeze, the male sent her a wink and a small smile. “Afterall, The Pariahs are smart and fearless, remember?”

Reminding her of their childhood friend group name, the woman instantly regained her confidence. She chuckled and shook her head, “Alright. Alright. I get it.” Pushing his hand away, Élodie went back to eating her now cold food. “Fine, I’m in.”

Brushing back his blond hair, the male grinned at his friend. “Good.”

Looking around for a bit, Felix watched as most of the survivors dispersed after their meals. One after the other, they all walked their separate ways until finally Dwight, Feng Min, Yun-Jin, Zarina, and Adam joined Felix and Élodie at their table.

Once the group was together, Felix spoke to the group.

“Élodie says she’s in.”

“That’s great! The more the merrier.” Zarina exclaimed, then clasped her hands together before gazing upon the group. “So, how’s this going to work?” 

“Well, we should figure out if this plan has the possibility of even working.” Adam interjected, “We don’t want to be too hopeful. We could be unintentionally screwing ourselves over by feeding the entity if we do so.”

“Mm, good point.” Min hummed, “Does that mean we shouldn’t tell the others?”

“Probably not.” Dwight muttered, and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “We don’t want to give false hope to the others and as Adam said, feed the entity. So let’s try keeping this to ourselves.”

“Okay, so don’t tell the others and don’t be too hopeful. What else?” Min quirked an eyebrow, looking at the group that turned to Dwight and Felix.

Dwight cleared his throat, “Well, since Élodie‘s agreed to help us, we can review what we do and don’t know.” His gaze then went over to Yun-Jin who was sitting at the far end of the table. “Especially since we have a newcomer in the realm.”

All eyes went to Yun-Jin, who brushed back her hair to hide her discomfort.

Élodie nodded, “Right. Sorry, I never introduced myself.” She then sent Yun-Jin a brief smile and a curt wave of her hand, “Élodie Rakoto, occult investigator.”

“Oh!” Yun-Jin’s eyes widened at this new piece of information. That explains why the others were so adamant on scheduling another group meeting but with Élodie involved. “So you’re familiar with all this stuff?”

“Yes. Both Felix and I have a bit of knowledge on the realm since we both grew up together, me a little more since I decided to make a career out of it.”

“Wait, you two knew each other outside the realm?”

Élodie snickered, “Yes, our parents were part of the same group called Imperiatti.” She then rubbed her temple in thought. Her eyes screwed shut as she tried to recall any of her memories, but as always, came back with nothing but static.

“Honestly I wish I could tell you guys what they did, but as most of you guys know, neither Felix or I have any memories of our lives that involve the entity or its servant. We just know that our parents were part of some sketchy ancient council that had something to do with the entity.”

“It wasn’t like worship, right?” Yun-Jin cut in, eyes wide as she stared at Élodie. She didn’t mean to sound judgmental, but from her perspective, if the two grew up worshiping the entity, she knew she could not trust them. “You guys weren’t part of a cult, were you?”

Élodie turned to her with a frown, “No. Well, we weren’t at least. I can’t speak for our parents, but I highly doubt it. When our parents were taken, I remember how scared they were for us. They fought off the entity. I just don’t remember what they did, but they ward it away long enough for us to escape.” 

Min groaned, “So we don’t know anything other than the basics from the journal. Great.”

“Journal?” Yun-Jin repeated, just as Felix raised up the book for her view. A dark leather bound book with yellow tinted pages was in full display as he placed the book in the middle of the table.

“It’s a journal written by a past survivor named Benedict Baker.”

Yun-Jin’s breath hitched in her throat, “Wait, what do you mean past survivor? There were others before us?” She then focused her eyes on Dwight, “People were here before you? I thought you, Meg, and the others showed up here alone?”

“We were alone.” Dwight confirmed, “When the four of us— me, Claudette, Meg, and Jake, when we arrived here, we were here alone. No other survivors. Just us at the campfire with the servant to greet us.”

Yun-Jin brought her hands to cover her mouth, “Oh my god. So there is a way to escape? Right? If there were others here before, where did they go?”

The group looked amongst themselves. 

“We don’t know.” Zarina interjected, her voice soft as she gazed down at the journal. “The journal just stops after ten entries. He claimed that it was becoming too much. His sanity was slipping and his hope shattered, so he left the journal behind. He apparently wrote more, but pages have been torn out.” 

Fuck.

Yun-Jin ran her fingers through her hair. Just as soon as she felt the sense of justified hope, it all came crashing down. “So we don’t know what happened to them?” She whispered.

More silence ensued.

“Well, from what Benedict wrote, with each "death" we become weaker. Little pieces of our souls get consumed by the entity. By that alone, we can only assume that— well...” Adam struggled to find his words. His leg bounced from under the table as his mind jumbled as to what happened to those past survivors. 

Fortunately, Adam didn’t have to finish his sentence as Feng mumbled under her breath what they were all thinking.

“They were devoured.”

Yun-Jin wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and throw a tantrum. She thought that there was no possible way to escape, but apparently there was, but it wasn’t as good as their own predicament. 

“…what happens if you’re devoured?” She asked, her voice hushed as she glanced at the group with red teary eyes.

Élodie sighed, “We don’t know…we could be met with peace— no longer feeling pain or joy since we would seize to exist, or we could be sentient and still feel every single pain of every life force the entity has consumed. But from my own studies on dark magic, I would place my money on the latter.”

“Oh god, what if we get devoured by going through this plan?!” Yun-Jin shouted, her eyes glanced at the group in alarm.

“Keep your voice down!” Min hissed, “We don’t want you-know-who to hear.”

“How do we know they’re not listening right now?” Yun-Jin scoffed.

“I’ve already checked with them and they’re preparing for the next trial with the killers.” Dwight answered, “So we have nothing to worry about.”

Yun-Jin frowned, “How do you know? I thought they were like— I don’t know, otherworldly? How are you sure they aren’t eavesdropping right now?”

“They may be a cosmic being, but they are far weaker than the entity, so they do have their limits.” Élodie reassured, “We’ve since learned that their omnipotent abilities aren’t as vast as we had once thought. My guess is that they can hear and see all, but they don’t truly hear and see everything. Like when looking at a picture for a moment, do you truly see all of the details in the work? Every paint stroke and sponge mark? Or when you are in a crowd in a city, you can hear bits of every sound, but not every conversation to its fullest extent. Since being in this realm, that is at least the conclusion me and a few others have come up with for their abilities.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Yun-Jin frowned, “Well, okay then, what if we get devoured, huh?” Yun-Jin snapped in frustration. “I thought you guys said that there was nothing to lose.”

“There is nothing to lose,” Min commented, sitting up straight and crossing her arms over her chest. “We get devoured if we go through with another escape plan or not. Might as well take the risk.”

“And we don’t know if those past survivors were devoured or not. For all we know, they may have escaped.” Zarina pointed out, easing the tension of the others.

Yun-Jin slowly nodded. Although she was still overwhelmed with all this new information, she at least could feel her worries ease as she was reminded that her survival was probable, she just needed the others to help.

“Fine then. What now?”

All eyes turned to Dwight. 

Said leader felt his face flush in embarrassment, but he covered it up by coughing into his fist. “Right. Well, now that we got most of the basics covered we should see if there is even a slim chance of the servant caving into an emotional connection.” His eyes then ventured to Élodie. “Is there a chance for them to rebel against the entity? Or at the very least, help us out?”

Élodie pursed her lips in thought, “Honestly? Yes, but a very slim chance. Back when I was collecting artifacts for my employer, he let me read up on ancient manuscripts, some of which described ancient gods called The Elder Ones. They were different forms of gods, some of which created the very concept of life and death. World eaters and realm creators. These gods would often create various sub species to play different roles.”

”One example of this being this really grotesque monster race that were built to be mountains of sorts, kinda like a living castle but with multiple mouths on its body. It was tanky, and at the very center of its core was where some of The Elder Ones would reserve their life force. They were usually seen as lower beings, and, well, they eventually gained consciousness and rebelled against The Elder Ones because of their lack of respect. Now it’s said that they peacefully reside as illusions of mountains and feed upon anything that stumbles across their backs.”

Élodie nodded to herself. Having read many manuscripts of different religions and tales, she often thought that maybe some of them were simply made up. However, being placed in the realm of the entity, having spoken to other survivors that come from vastly different times and worlds, she could undoubtedly say that it’s a possibility that some of those manuscripts told real lore of otherworldly places.

She just wasn’t sure how they could have possibly traveled from one realm to another.

“That’s just one example of the servant defying its role. There are many of these stories of creatures that would turn on their creators because they’ve either found a new purpose or were tired of the mistreatment.” Élodie bit her lower lip, “However, these creatures were always shown to be more…expressive than what we’re currently dealing with, so that’s why I think this theory can work to a certain degree.”

She then gazed up at the group, her eyes meeting Felix’s warm grey eyes.

“So you’re saying there is a chance?” He asked, eyeing his friend with a growing smile.

Élodie looked upon the group, all of them staring at her to give the final judgment. 

“Well, if there’s nothing to lose, I say let’s see if we can get a little expression on them.” She then grinned, the thought of this theory working actually sounded more and more real the further she thought on it. “If we can sway them enough, see if they have the capability to feel or even think to themselves, I think we have a pretty good shot.”

Looking at one another, the group found themselves feeling a wave of an emotion they haven’t truly felt in such a long time. It was a surreal feeling, and one that they all knew to be dangerous, yet they latched onto the feeling with an iron hold, refusing to let the emotion slip away into the entity’s grasp. 

They were going to get close to you. They had to.

The next trial was approaching, and so far, you hadn’t seen or heard from the killer who was supposed to be next to hunt.

Standing by the empty campfire, your dull [eye color] eyes watched as the flames of the fire pit flicker and dance. The crackling noise of the campfire burned as time went on, but it never once lost its flame. It continued to burn. Emitting a heat that you knew was nice for the mortals, but for yourself?

You took a step forward, your hand barely reached out to touch the flames.

It burned at your skin, but you couldn’t feel that. Instead, you watched as the fire engulfed your hand, not burning it and not causing it pain. Your fingers merely touched the flames, as though it was touching open air.

You couldn’t feel it. 

Suddenly, you put your hand down. Barely audible, you could hear breathing. Soft and scarcely present, but you could still make it out. It approached from the darkness of the forest. Despite knowing the intentions of the killer, you didn’t bother to move. Instead, you kept your eyes focused on the flames, awaiting the killer’s next move.

As quick as a shuddered breath, you could feel a presence loom behind you. One arm wrapped around your torso, and another holding out a knife in hand over your face.

The presence didn’t speak, but you didn’t need to see who they were to know who was behind you.

Your eyes glanced at the shining silver blade. A mirror image of yourself was present, along with the masked killer with a ghoulish appearance.

It was Ghostface.

[killjoyfem]

Remembering her: with the American verdict, Heard has faced more than the culture’s wrath — she has faced global humiliation.

The entire case had been like a “Black Mirror” episode. A dystopian nightmare in which TikToks of a distraught woman detailing an alleged sexual assault were devoured with popcorn and laughter. Twitter hashtags — #AmberIsALiar, #AmbersAPsychopath, #TeamJohnny — made it a trial by media.

Those supporting Heard received death threats, rape threats, a constant bombardment of hate for simply saying, “I stand with Amber.” I know: I got them in bucketloads.

We saw tired, misogynistic methods used again and again to discredit a woman trying to stand up for her rights. Blaming Heard for not leaving, for fighting back, for not being bruised enough, for not having enough evidence. And when she did have evidence? Depp’s team portrayed her as a manipulative liar — and the jury appears to have found this credible.

Heard’s psychologist, Dawn Hughes, testified that Heard had post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of domestic abuse. Psychologist Shannon Curry, a witness for Depp, diagnosed Heard with borderline personality disorder and histrionic personality disorder — despite having never treated her.

As a barrister, I have witnessed the pathologization of survivors become a go-to tactic to discredit them. Slamming a woman’s mental state has always been a quick and easy way to gaslight them — “Oh, she’s crazy,” “she’s so unstable” — “medicine” as a misogynist’s handmaiden.

Many women who watched this trial will recognize this, the classic DARVO playbook in action: deny, attack and reverse victim and offender. And they will fear that they could be next.

The trial reinforced the notion that those who speak out must look, sound and act a certain way. They must conform to the stereotype of the “perfect victim,” one who cowers in a corner, voiceless and powerless. That woman doesn’t speak or fight back.

This is a trope. It rarely exists.

I’ve seen victims behave in all manner of ways in abusive relationships and in the courtroom. Perhaps the only time we see the “perfect victim”? In movies written by men.

As the verdict came, abuse survivors expressed their devastation online. One psychologist told Rolling Stone that “hundreds” of survivors had contacted her to retract victim statements or pulled out from court cases as a result of watching the trial.

The biggest losers here are the U.S. justice system and the women who might otherwise have put their faith in it. Women have been told that if we have enough evidence, we’ll be believed. The truth is, it doesn’t matter how much evidence we have. The system is rigged against women.

Do you think it’s fair that a woman had to testify before a man she says abused her, while that man sat there, smirking? Do you think it’s fair that, throughout the trial, the most intimate and traumatic details were broadcast for the world to see? Do you think it’s fair that Heard was ordered to pay millions of dollars for writing an article that didn’t even name the man who has prevailed in this case?

Heard had the PR team. She had the legal team. Still, she couldn’t win. All we got during weeks of painful testimony was a woman being treated like a villain, a famous man showered with adoration and a justice system failing to protect what it supposedly promises to defend.

The Depp-Heard trial was a circus. The verdict is a gag order. (source)

[symbiotic-slime]

Hi!!!! I am a bit clueless about how tumblr works but I saw your reblog about your malev venom au and I would absolutely love to hear more about it. I did post the original but unfortunately it is not on my main blog and I don’t know how to submit an ask on a side blog (did I mention I have no idea what I’m doing?)

no worries!! tumblr’s kinda weird, I don’t think you can submit an ask from a side blog for some reason BUT ANYWAYS I am so thrilled to yap about it!!

so basically my idea kinda focuses on how similar Arthur and Eddie’s careers are. Arthur’s a PI and Eddie’s an investigative journalist, so if they could just end up in the same place it wouldn’t be unreasonable for them to run into each other while on the job. To get Arthur and John to San Fran in the 2020s, Kayne uses his time magic bullshit and sends Arthur and John to there in Earth 688B (the fancy number for the world the Venom movies are set in) to get him some type of mcguffin. there’s a lot of cults in malevolent, so I was thinking maybe there’s something involving the elites in the city that Arthur has to investigate and then steal from later.

Eddie Brock is also investigating this cult but for different reasons. given that it’s the elites in the city, maybe it has something to do with like corrupt officials siphoning money to themselves. or it could be similar to the LIFE Foundation case from Venom 2018, where homeless people were disappearing and being used as guinea pigs for the symbiote trials. either way, he’s trying to get to the bottom of this and expose the corruption. while he’s working on the case, maybe trailing one of the officials in question, he runs into Arthur and they decide to work together on this case.

cue a bunch of shenanigans as they’re both trying to hide the fact that they’re sharing a body with another entity. they’re both doing an awful job at it, they keep talking to themselves and seem to be listening/responding to no one, but neither of them bring it up in case the suspicion is turned onto themselves. John is incredibly suspicious of Eddie and Venom is suspicious of Arthur so Eddie and Arthur’s truce gets strained.

eventually, while like breaking in to get intel on the cult or something, Eddie and Arthur are caught and surrounded by the cultists. Arthur is panicking, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation when Eddie asks him to just trust that he can handle it and for Arthur to get behind him. Arthur does, since there’s not much else he can do, and Eddie transforms into Venom and kills the cultists.

cue John describing Venom to Arthur like: “FUCK OARTHUR. The man we were with has transformed into a hideous beast. He's... grown much larger and is covered in writhing black tendrils. His eyes are are a pearly white and his mouth... His mouth is huge and bristling with wickedly sharp teeth. Oh my god, Oarthur. Jesus Christ, he’s fucking EATING the cultists! Their blood is spattering in crimson smears as their limp bodies fall to the floor.” (credit to @cyborg-empress for that lovely description) because what Arthur clearly needs in a situation where he’s already panicking is for John to describe in excruciating detail how a monster is killing people.

The cultists die and Venom retreats back into Eddie’s body. He runs over to Arthur, swearing that he can explain what just happened. Arthur is understandably freaked out because he just heard John tell him the guy he was working transformed into a monster and started eating people, but he decides to hear Eddie out. He reasons to John that if Eddie was going to eat them, he would’ve done so already on the countless times they’ve been alone together while working on the case.

Eddie tells Arthur about his LIFE Foundation investigation and how he met Venom. Venom pokes their head out to say hi and introduce themselves to Arthur and John is immediately jealous that they can take a physical form separate from their host’s body. After Eddie is done explaining, Arthur decides to tell him about John. Eddie and Arthur decide to remain a team while investigating the cult, and it goes a lot smoother since their secrets are out in the open.

Arthur and John get a chance to use their abilities on the case, just not in combat because let’s be honest they’re not the greatest at that lol. one of their leads turns up dead, Eddie’s slightly panicking because he doesn’t know where to continue this investigation, and Arthur touches their lead and sees how he dies, giving them a new lead to discover who killed them.

While they’re working together, John and Arthur learn more about how to handle their relationship. Insane to say that Venom and Eddie are somehow the more stable relationship in this story because they’re also very deranged but in comparison to John and Arthur they have more of their shit together (and I’m also setting this ambiguously after their divorce/reunion Venom 2, just with some canon divergence since they’re still in San Fran and not Mexico). Arthur goes to Eddie for advice and Eddie tells Arthur that the first step is being honest with one another. Arthur just laughs (but they do start to be more honest with each other <3). Eddie also advices them to “pick their battles” (shout out to the one person who left that note on my other post— you’re a genius) and that not everything is with fighting over since it will just further jeopardize their relationship.

Venom, after watching John and Arthur fight for the millionth time, has a Rosa Diaz moment and tells Arthur that “you two just need to bone”. Arthur has a mini heart attack and is absolutely MORTIFIED. Eddie is furiously blushing and not making eye contact with them, but tells them that if they’re interested in doing that it can help relieve some of the frustrations.

some time during the case Kayne dies (apologies if you are a Kayne enjoyer— I completely understand why people like him he just gets on my nerves). I think he should die in a very unserious way, maybe something similar to Cletus’ death in LTBC where Venom just says “fuck this guy” and bites his head off.

anyways, once everything is said and done Eddie and Arthur get coffee or lunch together. John and Arthur are getting along a lot better, so Eddie askes if they took he and Venom’s advice. Arthur turns beet red and tells him that it’s not an appropriate thing to be asking him. Eddie laughs and smiles knowing.

in my head, Eddie buys Arthur this t-shirt. John vows to never tell Arthur what it says. The end.

[synnlyrose]

Where you & your grieving boyfriend, Seonghwa find comfort in one another.

Okay, okay. Look, I told myself a while ago that I wasn't going to write fanfic about real people anymore, but I gave up on that entirely. This is about Park Seonghwa, there's light smut, not very descriptive. (Mentions of his grandfather passing.) Gender neutral reader, though I originally wrote this for a female friend, however due to unfortunate circumstances we no longer talk.

✨MDNI ✨

I couldn't let this one waste away.

Enjoy!

Somewhat edited 🤷🏽‍♀️

jk. I edited it, let me know if I missed anything!

This wasn't normal behavior. You had never seen him so sad at least not like this. 

His grandfather had passed while he was touring across the states. You, unfortunately found out through social media before Hwa himself. Your heart shattered into a million pieces and what sucked even more was the fact that you weren't there to comfort him in his hardest time of need. 

The only contact you shared with him during those 4 long months were brief phone calls, short video chats and a few scattered text messages throughout the days. Seong-hwa wasn't himself. You had too rely on his bandmates to tell you if he was truly okay calling Hongjoong every few days under the guise that you were checking up on him but in reality you were checking on Hwa. You knew he had a hard time expressing his feelings and Hongjoong wouldn't spare the details.

Finally, the day came when he was coming home. You stood there anxiously waiting at the airport, a mask covering your face and a lanyard on to disguise yourself as a staff member. You got a text that the boys had finally landed. Your heart skipped several beats, one because you'd finally get to see your man and two because he had seemed particularly down on the trip home. You honestly wanted nothing more that to pull him into a loving embrace and hold him, tell him that everything was okay...but that would have to wait until you were both safely hidden away in a car or back in his room at the dorms. 

The staff, security and you had finally reached the gate. Fans had already bombarded the barricades, stuffing them full to the brim. The paps had already begun taking pictures. It was like time had slowed down in those final moments. You felt your stomach tingling in excitement at the idea that you would be reunited with your love. 

Your phone buzzed. It was a text message from Seonghwa.

오는 (Coming)

That's all  it said and within seconds their familiar figures started emerging from the long hallway. Almost immediately, the fans started screaming, it always made you wince especially since they were so loud. Jung-ho and Wooyoung were the first to show themselves and instantly their personal body guards took to their sides. Next was Yunho and San, Mingi and Yeosang then Hoongjoong and finally...Seonghwa. He was trialing behind them pretty far actually. His mask up, sunglasses on, hair tucked underneath a beanie. He had on all black, sweat pants, hoodie even his back pack was black. As he got closer, you were able to read the print on his hoodie. 

Sad. 

Seeing this made your heart heavy as you could tell that's exactly what he felt. You could see it in his walk. His shoulders slumping, his head hanging low, even his hands were shoved into his hoodie pocket. He was trying to make himself seem smaller and less noticable. He barely seemed to acknowledge his fans. When he was finally close enough you took a deep breath and paired up next to him gently grabbing the crook of his elbow. Being closer to him, you looked up as he looked down and you could see the faint tear marks. This broke you even further. Seonghwa's delicate hand gently cupped over yours letting you know he knew that you were next to him.

You two walked in silence until you reached the van. Hwa was quick to climb in, turning and offering you a hand to help you up. It was just you two. Hwa sat down and you sat next to him. He finally took his sunglasses off. His eyes were so red and swollen like he had been crying up until very recently. The atmosphere of the van was grim, depressed almost. As you opened your mouth to finally say something, Seonghwa had just hunched over, putting his head in your lap. He then took his beanie off and let it drop to the floor, he took your hand and placed it on his head, silently asking you to play with his hair. You happily obliged his request running your fingers through his soft dark locks.  He found comfort in your light and ginger touches.

You were tempted to say something, anything really. You just wanted to comfort him, encourage him and let him know that everything was okay. But, somehow you knew this was exactly what he needed in the moment. The entire ride back to your home, he stayed like this. His cheek lying in your lap, his eyes wide open staring out the window, eventually you could feel the wet patch on your jeans that had formed from his tears. It was dead silent. Though there really wasn't a true need for words. He was comfortable like this. 

The ride its self lasted an hour or so and Hwa laid in your lap the entire time. At some point he had fallen sleep, you could hear the soft snores of his. He looked so precious like this. His face youthful and clam, long lashes catching what bit of sun that remained in the sky. The dark orange of the sunset rested lovingly on his face and this was a calm sight you could watch forever.

You felt bad when you had to wake him up. He jolted forward, his breathing laboured. "W-what happened?" He questioned sleepily while looking around and rubbing his eyes.

"Nothing, baby you just fell asleep, we're home now." You coaxed him softly grabbing his arm offering him more support. You could tell he was in a very delicate state, probably no doubt dreaming something unpleasant.

"Oh..." He said quietly, looking out the window towards your home. He looked back at you, with a bit of surprise on his face. You lived in a home on the just 30 minutes outside of Seoul. It was more isolated, it was the perfect place for Seonghwa to get away for a few days.

"Thank you, my love." He spoke softly, turning his head to rest his cheek on your head. He kissed your forehead lightly, letting out a deep breath, as he finally wrapped you into a hug. Your head rested against his shoulders while your arms wrapped around him. You two stayed like this for a moment before his head turned back towards the house. Seonghwa had this expression of deep longing on his face, you could tell he was grateful for this. He desperately needed this, time away from the world and just to be with you for a while. The passing of his grandfather affected him more than he would ever admit out loud.

The house was quiet when you both walked in, Hwa had his bags in his hands, letting them hit the floor with a loud thud. He took another deep breath, seemingly calm. You walked in behind him, flicking the light on. You had only managed to close the door when you felt him come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist pulling you into his chest.

This made you smile just a little. "Thank you..." He mumbled into the crook of your neck. "I needed this, I need you..." Hwa's soft spoken voice carried on. You turned around to hold him back. "It's no problem my love, I figured you needed some time to yourself."

There was a tiny smile that pulled at his lips, he pulled you closer, leaning down a pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, "But, I don't want to be by myself I want to be with you..." He whispered pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and breathing in. "I've felt so alone these last few weeks, I don't want to be by myself anymore more..." He explained, his breath hitching for a moment, as he swallowed back his tears.

"I'm sorry I've been so distant..." He finally whispered, looking down at you, taking your chin and tilting your head back to look at him. He brought his lips down to place a sweet and loving kiss on yours once more.

"It's all right, baby. I get it." You reassured him while kissing him back. He was here now, he was safe with you. Right where he needed, but more importantly, wanted to be.

•• ••

You had planned for a relaxing week-long getaway, you didn't plan on leaving the house. Seonghwa seemed okay with this, too. After bringing his stuff upstairs, he stripped out of his travel outfit, putting everything in the laundry basket before heading towards the bathroom.

The shower turned on as the bathroom door swung back open. "My love!" Seonghwa called out, "Would you like to join me?"

Your head popped out of the bedroom, looking down the hallway, a smile on your face. A shower together? This was new, but nonetheless you welcomed the idea with a shy head nod as you made your way to him.

The water had already heated up and Hwa was already in his boxers with his back towards you as he placed his hand underneath the stream of water. You couldn't help but let your eyes wander along his toned, but slender body.

You felt your thoughts becoming more naughty, letting your mind wander over the idea of hot and romantic shower sex with your man, but those thoughts ceased when he turned around giving you the sweetest most angelic smile imaginable. You felt almost guilty, lusting over him especially since he was going through such a hardship, but you also couldn't help it. Sex between you two was amazing, since Seonghwa was so loving, attentive and gentle. He thought sex should have meaning. Unlike some of his members, he was more selective, more reserved, picky if you will. Before you, you only had other 2 partners.

"Your clothes are still on, silly." He then chuckled walking towards you, his hand extended. "May I?" His voice was gentle, though his eyes were rather intense. It was like he was staring into your soul. There it was, that shy part of you being brought to the surface. A simple nod, followed by a rather noticable blush.

Slow hands started to undress you. Starting with your shirt moving towards your pants, eventually leaving you bare chested and in underwear. Hwa tried, tried his damnedest to be a gentlemen, but you could help but notice his wandering eyes. Which made you blush all the more.

"Absolutely devine..." He mumbled underneath his breath, glancing back up at you. His hands reaching behind you to grab the hem of your underwear he let them fall. Leaving you completely exposed. Even though you two had been in an established relationship, it was still nerve racking being naked in front of him. Immediately, you arms went up to cover yourself, but he caught your hands making your breath catch, he kept steady eye contact with you as he spoke, "Are you sure you're comfortable with this, darling? I don't want you to shy away from me, we don't have to do this... I need you to know I think you're the most beautiful person in the world. I wish you seen yourself through my eyes."

That alone has your heart racing, he was so sweet. Even going through his hardship, he was still catering to you and he wasn't a pervert about it.

He leaned in, bringing his lips to your ear. "May I show you, how beautiful you are, my gorgeous love?" He asked his voice low and slutry. Goosebumps had ripped across your skin at his racy question and all you could do was nod.

There was a rather boastful and large smile on Hwa's face when he pulled back with a short nod, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. With those same hands he removed his boxers before taking your hand once more, leading you towards the shower.

Underneath the water, your insecurities melted as the warmth washed over you. You could feel Seonghwa's presence behind you, almost as if you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Suddenly, there a soft hand that rested on your upper back, trailing down, finger tips ghosting, sending a wave of shivers through you. It had been months since you last felt his touch in a such an intimate way. The hand stopped, curling around your waist, lightly spinning you around.

Coming face to face with Seonghwa's chest, your eyes floated up to meet his face. His long hair had started sticking to his face, slightly curled from the water, his cheeks a soft rose color, his lips full and pulled into a little grin. You watched his eyes move back and forth all over you face, while is other hand came up to caress your face, his fingers gilding over your cheek, as he titled your head back. The other hand that was on your waist, moved to the small of your back, as he pulled you towards him. Right into him. Bare-skin flushed against each other as his head fell forward to press a delicate kiss to your lips.

The grip that on your back, moved upwards to cup you face as Hwa kiss you, deeper. There was a moan that crept up your throat, you forgot how good he tasted, like mint and chamomile. It was a intoxicating taste, one that you had become addicted too.

"Missed- you 'smuch-" he spoke against your lips, letting his primal instinct take over, as he moved to press you back against the shower wall. The cold stone of the wall, bringing you back to reality for a moment, his arm leaning against the wall above your body to trap you against the wall and him. The kiss broke for a moment as you looked up at him. He looked like an angel, with his face dripping with water, his eyes no longer swollen, the look that was painted across his face was so...beautiful.

You wanted to touch him, so you did. Your fingers tracing his forearms, up towards his biceps, wrapping your fingers around his strong shoulders, pulling him closer to you. This made Seonghwa smirk a little. "Miss me?" He teased.

"Mhm, you know I did." You breathed out, sounding a bit eager to kiss him again. He picked up on that as he reached down and tilted your head back with his hand, pulling your lips towards his. Kissing was his love language. He loved kissing you, on your forehead, cheeks, neck, face, lips, body anywhere and everywhere his lips could feel your soft skin.

For whatever reason, underneath the water, his touches felt more intense, probably because the water was in contrast to his hands, which felt rougher. Or possibly it was because you hadn't felt them in so long. The kisses you were receiving were so needy and loving, you could tell he missed you in his movements.

The atmosphere was steamy, both metaphorically and literally. Hwa's hands continued to glide down your body, your body shuttered at this. You could see in his lust filled eyes that he wanted you. He brought his lips down to your ear, lips parting slowly; "May I, my love?"

Your head moved to nod 'yes' before you could realize it, it took a second for you to register that deep burning sensation that plagued your core. Suddenly, you felt weak, empty, like something from you was missing.

The shower, didn't stand a chance, Seonghwa didn't even turn it off he just picked you and brought you to the bedroom. Movements were swift but calculated, perusal. His fingers skillfully moved down your body as soon as your back hit the bed, parting your thighs. His plan flat as he spat into it to lube his already hard shaft.

There was a small pause, as he took your chin and looked you in the eyes, before he slowly rolled his hips into yours, entering you without an ounce of hesitation. Your head immediately fell back into the pillow, your spine writhing and curling with absolute pleasure, so much so that your toes curled as a little mewl escaped you.

Seonghwa's hips continued to rock into yours over and over again, pressing you deeper and deeper into the bed sheets, your moans getting louder and louder, more and more uncontrollable. He was giving you what you both missed, needed: one another.

Hwa's little moans didn't unnoticed, though he tried helplessly to hold them back, he could couldn't help but bask in the tightness that was you. He continued to pump himself into you, watching your body scrunch up in bliss. A sight to behold.

You were the most beautiful thing in thr world to him, a big part of his happiness. His ability to make you feel this good, fueled his ego. He enjoyed bringing you pleasure and seeing it with the way you eyes rolled. He knew you had hit your peak, when your breath hitched slightly and you tensed up before shaking & then relaxing, a look of pure satisfaction on your face.

It had been a while, you could tell, he was trying to hold back. He didn't want to let go just yet. You noticed his efforts. Your hands reached up to grasp his face as you brought him down to you. "It's okay, baby..." You mumbled against his lips. That was all he needed to hear before a deep guttural sound emitted from Seonghwa's throat as he thrusted on last time, his body shaking then falling forward. A warm sensation filled you. Hwa's back heaved up and down, as he laid chest to chest with you. Face moving up to place kisses on your chin and jawline. Your hands moved up to play with his hair again.

You two stayed like this for quite sometime, cuddling, holding one another and talking quietly amongst yourselves. It was peaceful.

"I love you." Hwa whispered, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you. His eyes as soft and pretty as ever, he was looking right through you. "I love you, too." You whispered back a smile falling on your face as you did.

You absolutely did love him & he loved you.

So much.

______

Soooooo, did y'all enjoy? feed back is welcomed!

[fwckriley]

Just a suggestion but how about a fic where Ghost is incredibly protective over the reader but doesn’t realise it’s because he’s actually in love with her

Simping for this man I swear 🧎‍♀️

The Trials and Tribulations of Being in Love Pt 1.

──────────── ❖ ────────────

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: 4.098

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He shouldn't have come. This mission was hers, and hers alone. When they told her that Ghost had requested to accompany her on the mission, at first she felt angry, but after they embarked together, that feeling diminished. It was comforting to have someone familiar by her side, of course, she would never admit to him that she was grateful. She and Ghost had participated in previous missions together. However, as much as his presence pleased her, she was still angry that he had interfered in her mission. She refused to talk to him, but he didn't seem affected. Honestly, he even seemed to like it.

She was assigned to investigate an international arms trafficking led by a dealer whose identity was unknown. Her task was to find out who the dealer was, where he was, and to prevent the sale of weapons into the hands of Iranian military.

They had just landed at Tengah Air Base in Singapore. As she and Ghost got off the aircraft, the hot sun of Singapore hit their faces, indicating it was already late. The heat was strong, but there was a gentle breeze that made the weather pleasant. Tengah Air Base was bustling, with many people coming and going. Planes took off and landed, generating a deafening noise that seemed never to cease. There was a crowd of uniformed military personnel running back and forth, transporting equipment and luggage. Some were waiting in line to board one of the planes. Others chatted in groups, laughing and smoking. Some civilian workers in orange uniforms carried boxes and equipment into one of the hangars, while a supply truck entered the base, raising clouds of dust. Soon, a local-looking man greeted them with a polite gesture and signaled for her and Ghost to follow him. He led them to a discreet black car parked near the runway and opened the door for them to get in. The inside of the vehicle was cool and comfortable, a relief from the heat outside.

The agent seemed nervous, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he tried to maintain small talk, but his voice trembled with anxiety. Ghost remained silent, seeming lost in his own thoughts, his face expressionless. Meanwhile, she answered a question or two with disinterest, looking out at the urban landscape passing by. The tall buildings of Singapore rose majestically in the distance, forming an imposing silhouette against the sky. The streets were filled with hurried cars, blaring horns, and pedestrians rushing to escape the chaotic traffic.

Upon arriving at the hotel, which was half an hour away from the city, she and Ghost headed to their assigned room. The environment was simple, with rustic wooden furniture and white walls, without great luxuries or extravagant decorations. She observed the room, noticing details such as the two single beds with white sheets and a small built-in closet in the wall. Upon closing the door to the room, she sighed deeply, feeling the fatigue from the long flight and the confusion of time zones. Her eyes wandered around the room, noticing the open window and the fresh breeze that came in, bringing with it the scent of the forest. With a quick movement, she threw her bag on the bed and turned to Ghost, who was organizing the baggage in the room. He had taken most of her baggage. She didn't even argue against it.

"It's not the best room I've ever stayed in, but it's better than nothing," she commented with a smirk. Ghost simply nodded his head without saying a word.

She approached the window, admiring the vast green expanse of the forest that stretched out before her. The sun still shone brightly in the sky, giving a golden hue to the surroundings. With her hands resting on the windowsill, she felt the breeze hit her face, bringing a slight relief. Turning around, she walked towards her bed, pulling out the black folder she had brought with her. With agile fingers, she carefully opened it, revealing the detailed information about the arms trafficking operation that was inside. Her eyes quickly scanned the pages, absorbing every detail.

She looks at Ghost and asks, "So, what do you have in mind?"

"We need a contact in Singapore, someone who can give us information without raising suspicions."

She crosses her arms and retorts sarcastically, "Oh, is that all? That easy?"

Ghost turns around and faces her.

"No, it's not easy. That's why you're here."

"Oh, and here I was thinking I was on vacation," she says sarcastically. He rolls his eyes and moves away, going to the window.

After a few minutes of silence, she looks at Ghost and says, "There's a guy I worked with once. I met him in..."

"Is he trustworthy?"

She shrugs.

"I trust him as much as I trust you."

Ghost snorted and turns his face back to the window, saying nothing.

"I'll call him and see what I can do," she replied as she got up from the bed and went to a more private place.

❖

After a few failed attempts, she finally managed to arrange a meeting at a bar in the city. When she returned to the room, she found Ghost sitting on the edge of the bed tinkering with his equipment. She approached him and informed him about the scheduled meeting.

"I got it. He wants to meet me at eight in a bar at Marina Bay," she said with a satisfied smile.

“Okay, I'll get ready,” Ghost replied, already getting up from the bed.

“You were not invited, Ghost,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He looked at her as if challenging her to stop him.

"Ghost, seriously. First, he's my contact and a really difficult guy to deal with. He's going to be suspicious if someone he doesn't know shows up, especially if that person is six feet three inches tall and looks like a damn refrigerator wearing a weird skeleton balaclava." As she spoke, her tone of voice increased, not quite yelling, but her previous bad mood was becoming more evident. She stopped herself before continuing. "Second, they might recognize you. And nobody can know we have a SAS lieutenant here, got it? It'll ruin the mission."

He stared at her for a long time. She could see him struggling with his thoughts. After a few seconds, he simply shook his head and went back to tinkering with his gear.

"As you wish," he said emotionlessly. "But you'll keep me updated."

"I'll keep you updated," she repeated.

"And you'll behave. And if anything goes wrong, you'll let me know immediately and find shelter," he continued.

"Whatever you say, goes," she assured him.

He nodded. "Get ready."

And as ordered, she promptly started to get ready for the meeting. She dressed carefully, wearing a discreet outfit and no flashy accessories, so as not to draw attention from the regular customers of the bar.

As she entered the bar, she felt a bit anxious. The loud music mixed with the sound of lively conversations and glasses being placed on tables. The dim lights made it difficult to see the surroundings. She walked towards the counter, where she ordered a drink and observed the environment carefully. Small tables and uncomfortable chairs were filled with a variety of people. Minutes later, her old contact arrived at the bar and he immediately recognized her. He looked older, but equally handsome, his dark skin contrasting with his elegant purple suit. Not at all flashy, she thought. They greeted each other with a nod and sat at a more secluded table, where they could talk more privately.

❖

After the meeting, she returned to the hotel. Ghost was checking his weapons and communication equipment again, a habit he learned over the years in the SAS. He did it a thousand times during missions, always trying to make sure everything was perfect. The only illumination came from a weak and yellow lamp, leaving the room with a dark tone. His bed was full of guns. She entered the room, closing the door softly. He turned around abruptly, holding his pistol firmly. Their eyes met, and he lowered the gun as soon as he recognized her.

"It’s me," she identified herself. Ghost sighed and turned his attention back to his equipment, without offering any response or greeting.

She approached and sat at the table, where there were documents and maps spread out.

"So, what do we have?" he asked, without looking up from the equipment.

"He said the guy we're looking for is known as The Merchant, but he doesn't know how to find him. However, if we want to find out more, we could start by looking for the port of Singapore. Apparently, it's an important trafficking point," she explained, pointing to the map.

“Which means it’s heavily guarded.”

“Wouldn't be fun if it wasn't.” She said with a smile “There’s more. He said he heard that in two days a group of Iranian military officials will arrive to make the weapons purchase.”

“Matches up with the info Laswell gave me,” Ghost said.

“I can try to infiltrate the operation and gather more intel on the flow of weapons and how they’re being transported.” She proposed, confidently.

Ghost nodded in agreement.

“Not going to be easy,” he replied.

She looked at the map attentively, searching for a point of entry.

“Where do you think we can get in?”

“Through the fish loading dock, it's less monitored and gives access to the restricted area of the port,” Ghost suggested.

“And what about the Iranians arriving in two days?” she asked.

"We have to act fast. If we infiltrate now, there will be fewer people present and the darkness will give us an advantage. In the meantime, I'll stay in a strategic position, providing cover and support in case something goes wrong."

She nodded her head, already thinking about the details of the operation. She grabbed her computer and began analyzing the port images, looking for possible weak spots. Ghost approached, getting so close that she could feel the heat of his body. She tried to ignore it as much as possible and continued.

"I don't like this," said Ghost, pointing to one of the surveillance cameras in the port. "They have eyes everywhere."

"If we know where the cameras are, we can avoid them and move more easily."

"It's risky," said Ghost, "You'll have to be very careful..."

"Understood," she said, getting up. She began checking her weapons and equipment, while Ghost prepared his sniper rifle.

"Is everything ready?" she asked.

"Yes, what about you?"

She nodded her head.

"Then let's go."

The two of them left the hotel room and headed for the port of Singapore.

❖

It was midnight and the streets were practically deserted, with few cars circulating that part of the city. The port of Singapore was a few kilometers away and they headed there on foot.

"There's an observation point over there," Ghost said, pointing to a small building near the port. "I'm heading there."

"Great," she said, giving a mischievous smile. "Let's have some fun."

"Stay focused, agent. Security here is tight. One mistake and everything could go downhill."

"Yes, I know," she replied, with a more serious tone.

"Wait for me to give you the signal before you enter," Ghost said.

“Understood.”

“Take care of yourself. I don't want to have to carry your dead body around.”

“Oh, you're so sweet. I'm touched. Really.��� She placed her hand over her heart in a theatrical gesture. He ignored her.

They parted ways and went in opposite directions.

When she arrived at the port, she successfully infiltrated it with Ghost's help in avoiding the security cameras. She crept through the shadows, avoiding the most brightly lit and crowded areas. With every step, she looked around, searching for signs of surveillance or alarms. Ghost silently accompanied her on the other side of the radio, giving precise instructions and alerting her to potential dangers only when needed. Typical, she thought.

The night was dark, with no stars in the sky. There was a cool breeze blowing, carrying with it the salty smell of the sea. The stacked containers reached impressive heights, creating a kind of maze. The port lights only partially illuminated the area, creating deep and dark shadows that moved with the wind. She walked quietly, staying low and hidden among the cargo.

Meanwhile, Ghost was stationed in a nearby building overlooking the port. The building he was in was old and had dirty, dusty windows. He used his sniper rifle to keep an eye on the entire area and provide cover for her. There was an open laptop next to him, flashing with real-time images from various security cameras scattered throughout the port.

"You've reached the entry point," he said through the radio. "There are no guards in the area. Enter and proceed forward."

She followed the instructions, advancing towards the entrance. When she arrived, she hid in the shadows and looked around, checking for any more guards or cameras.

"No sign of activity," she said, without pausing. "I'm entering now."

"Be careful," said Ghost.

She let out a mocking laugh.

"Don't worry, Ghost. I won't screw everything up."

"I hope not," he said, clearly annoyed.

"Relax," she said, trying to ease the tension. "I have everything under control."

He didn't respond. She knew he wasn't happy with the situation, but she couldn't help but find it funny.

"You know, Ghost," she said, the malice in her voice, "I love it when you're mad. Gets my blood pumping."

"Don't start with that now," he replied, in a warning tone.

She laughed again. "I know you like it."

He sighed and turned off the radio. She laughed again, feeling victorious. She knew she had managed to irritate him, but she also knew he would never leave her in danger.

"There's a guard coming your way. Get behind those containers," he whispered through the earpiece.

As she approached the heart of the port, activity increased. She noticed an area with reinforced security and armed guards, likely where the weapons shipments were kept. She knew she needed to get closer to get a clearer view. Carefully, she went unnoticed by security guards and walked through dark alleys, alert to any sign of danger.

"You're getting close to the restricted area," Ghost warned. "Be cautious."

She approached slowly, observing the guards' activity and patrol routes. Still hidden in the shadows, she prepared to move when the right moment came.

"There's a guard coming your way," Ghost whispered again.

She quickly hid and waited patiently as the guard passed, unaware of her presence. When he moved away, she advanced again. Finally, she reached the restricted area and peered through a crack in the crates. Inside, she saw a row of reinforced containers, guarded by several armed men. She focused on her breathing, remaining calm and focused.

"Are you seeing anything?" Ghost asked through the radio.

"They're guarding the weapons containers, just as we suspected," she whispered back.

"Okay, I'll cover you from here," Ghost said. "But be careful."

With Ghost's words in mind, she carefully planned her next move. She needed to get closer to get a clear view of what was inside the containers. Cautiously, she approached the entrance of the restricted area, always hiding in the shadows and avoiding the lights.

"Ghost, I think I found something. I'm going to investigate," she said to him through the earpiece.

Ghost remained in his position, watching her every move, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. Meanwhile, she advanced cautiously, dodging the henchmen and hiding behind crates and containers. She observed two men talking in hushed tones near a large green container. She approached stealthily, trying to listen in on what they were saying, but before she could get close enough, one of the men spotted her. The man was about to shout an alert when Ghost took him out. She drew her pistol and fired, hitting the other man squarely. She approached the green container and opened it carefully, finding a large quantity of weapons and ammunition, all American-made and bearing the seals of a US arms industry.

"They're trafficking American weapons to the Iranians," she whispered.

"Copy that. Get out of there fast. There's a group nearby," Ghost replied.

She carefully closed the container and moved stealthily through the port, remaining alert to every movement. Despite the orders to leave, she decided to hide and wait for the group to pass by her. She advanced cautiously, following the group from a distance, hiding behind crates and containers.

Ghost tried to persuade her through the earpiece to turn back and wait for a more propitious moment, but she ignored him. She arrived at a warehouse, where men were loading boxes onto a truck. She watched as they loaded the boxes onto the truck. Unlike the boxes in the container, these bore the flag of Germany.

"These weapons are German," she said to Ghost through the earpiece. However, he didn't respond. She tried to communicate with him a few more times, but still no answer.

That was when Ghost appeared by her side, surprising her.

"You shouldn't have come alone," he said in a reproachful tone. "You're putting your life at risk."

"I thought we could find out more, and guess what? I was right," she nodded towards the boxes marked with the German flag.

He held her arm tightly and pulled her close to him.

"Let's get out of here before we're discovered," he said urgently. "Several cars arrived with guards. Were you listening to me? I told you to wait."

He looked at her with anger. If she didn't know him, she could swear there was concern in his eyes.

"I was following a lead that I deemed important, and I was right. There are American and German weapons here," she replied, trying to justify her actions.

"You don't understand the gravity of the situation. Now we're surrounded," retorted Ghost, his voice growing louder. "Tell me, Y/N, how do you plan to get us out of here?"

He never called her by her first name. She opened her mouth to argue and closed it several times.

"I'll figure something out," she finally said.

"Oh, you'll figure something out. Are you going to teleport us?" he teased.

"You're being impossible, seriously."

"I'm only being impossible because you're being irresponsible," he countered.

The two continued arguing in a louder tone, until they caught the attention of the guards, who began to approach them. Ghost and her stepped back, but the guarda had already spotted them. They drew their guns and began shooting. One of them aimed in her direction, and Ghost quickly moved her aside. Quickly the guards went on alert.

He kept a firm stance and a serious expression as he moved with agility, trying to find cover between the boxes. She could feel her heart racing, adrenaline taking over her body. She tried to argue with Ghost, but he seemed to have taken the lead of the situation and didn't want to hear her suggestions.

"We don't have time for this now. We need to get out of here before they find us," said Ghost, trying to find a way out. "Let's go."

They moved quickly and managed to escape the location before the henchman reached them. As they ran through the port, shots echoed behind them.

"Damn the moment I decided to follow you!" Ghost shouted, still angry with her. "I told you it wasn't safe, but you never listen to me."

"I never asked you to come on this mission in the first place," she retorted, annoyed with him.

"If I hadn't come, you'd be dead by now."

"We won't get anything done if we keep blaming each other," she said.

"I'm not blaming us. I'm blaming you," he said before running towards a clear path to the left. Without hesitation, she followed him and both entered a maze of containers, using them as cover while exchanging shots with the henchmen.

One of the shots grazed her arm, making her groan in pain.

"Are you okay?" Ghost asked, concerned.

"I'm fine. Don't worry," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she reloaded her gun.

They kept moving, searching for an exit. The shots decreased, giving them a chance to catch their breath. They hid behind a container, regaining their breath and assessing the situation.

In a stroke of luck, she noticed an open gate and pointed it out to Ghost. He looked in the indicated direction and, without hesitation, started running towards it. She followed him, her quick steps echoing on the ground. The gate was huge. There was an armed guard standing in front of it, but for some reason, he seemed distracted. The open gate led to a wide road with many cars passing by. As they approached the gate, the guard finally noticed their presence and tried to close it, but it was too late. Ghost hit him with a knife, and he fell to the ground soon after.

They ran down the street trying to get rid of the guards who were chasing them. When they saw the entrance to the subway ahead, they approached it without hesitation and entered. People moved away, frightened, as they passed by. She couldn't help but think of the guards who were still chasing them, looking over her shoulder at all times to check if they were being followed. At one point, one of the guards managed to catch up to her and grab her, but she freed herself with an elbow strike to his rib and a kick to his stomach. In the midst of the confusion, she also managed to grab the cell phone of the guard who had grabbed her.

She looked at Ghost and spoke in a low and urgent tone:

"We need to find a way to get rid of them and get out of here."

"I agree," replied Ghost, watching the crowded platform of people coming and going.

They jumped the turnstile and ran to the train platform that was about to leave.

"Let's take the next train," she said to him. Ghost nodded in agreement.

They got on the subway car and concealed themselves amidst the crowd, blending in with the passengers. Glancing out the window, they saw the guards running towards them. The subway car was packed with people, all squeezing together for space. The air was permeated with a mix of sweat and metal. She and Ghost blended themselves in with the passengers. The guards showed up on the opposite end of the subway car, scanning around. Then, the gunfight erupted. Gunshots reverberated through the subway car, and the passengers shrunk in fear, trying to find a secure place to shield themselves. She and Ghost attempted to dodge the bullets and retaliate, but swiftly realized they were outnumbered. They spotted an emergency door close by and didn't think twice before trying their luck. With a shove from Ghost, the door swung open, and they hurled themselves into the dark tunnel, clueless of where they were headed.

Finally, they saw an entrance to a ventilation duct and crawled inside, trying to hide. Her hearts were still beating, and her breaths were tired as she and Ghost recovered from the escape.

The ventilation duct was dark and narrow, but it would do. She and Ghost squeezed into the tight space, trying to find a more comfortable position. The air was stuffy and dusty. She looked at Ghost and saw that he had a tense expression, probably still processing what had happened. They fell silent, listening to the sound of their own breaths and trying to detect any sounds that could indicate the presence of the guards. Time seemed to pass slowly, and she wondered how long it would be safe to stay there. After half an hour, Ghost spoke:

"You ruined everything. You could have gotten us killed."

"We're running against time, it seemed like a good idea to try and find out more intel. I didn't have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Ghost retorted. "You could have waited for more information, for a better plan. But no, you always have to do things your way and on your own time."

She sighed. She knew she had made a mistake, but she couldn't change what had already happened.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down.

"I hope so," he said.

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if you've read this far, thank you so much for your patience!!! i know there are mistakes, both in typing and in english, but please keep in mind that english is not my native language. I hope you enjoyed it. ❥ ❥ ❥

[dotversion2]

Dot Explains the Plot of Library of Ruina

Preamble:

Library of Ruina is my favorite game of all time. A big part of that comes from the characters and the story. The problem, if you want to call it that, is that the game has a lot of characters and a lot of story and all of it has layers worth analyzing. While I cannot cover everything that happens, I can at least impart upon you and your friends a shortened version of the game's events with most of the key points intact. This can be useful as a refresher to anyone looking to remind themselves of the plot events for the sake of writing their own fics, people who want a more comprehensive timeline of events but don't want to dig through Fanon's awful website, or you just enjoy reading my writing. This was originally written to get a friend of mine caught up on the game events so she could watch a stream I am on where I am cohosting a friend's blind playthrough.

Before we begin, broad content warning: this game goes to some pretty dark places. Everything will be under the cut; that said, while not every chapter covers these topics, here's what to expect.

Chapter 1: Canard

Roland materializes within an unknown location, cursing his abrupt appearance within this mysterious place. He is quickly met by a darkly dressed figure who immediately begins questioning him on how he arrived within 'the Library' without an 'Invitation.' He explains hastily that he has no idea how he got there. He was simply wandering the backstreets looking for his favorite sandwich shop. The woman, unsatisfied with his answers, pulls his arms and legs off. He eventually blacks out from shock and blood loss.

Roland awakens a few days later to find that he is both alive and fully restored. His tormentor is still there, now clad far less threateningly. She apologizes for her actions earlier and explains that she has not only healed him but returned him to his physical peak. She introduces herself as Angela and explains that she is the Head Librarian of the Library (of which he has wandered into). Roland introduces himself, explaining he is a Rank 9 Fixer who had fallen on hard times. Angela offers him a job as the Patron Librarian of the Floor of General Works, explaining that the job is split between organizing books on the given topic and handling Receptions. Angela explains that she sends out Invitations which offer Guests books with information they desire if they can complete a trial within the Library. That trial is a duel to the death against the Librarians of that Floor. Roland, having few connections in the outside world, agrees to the offer.

Canard Receptions

There are four Receptions in Canard and they are thankfully mostly world-building so I can lump them together. I will not be so lucky later. The first Reception is the Rats, a trio of vagrants scraping by day-to-day. Rats is a term used to define any consistent group that isn't registered with a Fixer Office or Syndicate. Said Rats are organ harvesting in Zwei Association territory to build up the money and rep needed to join the Stray Dogs syndicate. While examining their current victim, they discover that he has an orange circle on the back of his neck and that his organs already seem scrambled. The group does, however, discover the Invitation with the man's stomach. Signing, a door appears before them. When stepping through, they enter the Library. The Librarians never lose a fight in canon so I won't go into details describing any of them unless something important happens during the fight. Assume every Reception ends with "and then everyone got turned into books".

The second Reception is Yun's Office, a Rank 8 Fixer Office that is struggling to make ends meet. They have fallen on such hard times that they have taken to doing the most banal of odd jobs like finding lost pets. The Invitation appears on Yun's desk but he pass it off to some of his employees to investigate. When they don't return but a second Invitation offering the books of his fallen comrades does, Yun sends his understudy Finn in his place. Finn is defeated and a third invite arrives. Yun finally enters personally and gets berated by Angela for exploiting Finn's loyalty and getting him killed. Yun callously explains that the City is built on people exploiting each other and, if he didn't exploit Finn, someone worse would. This angers the Director who leaves to let Roland do his thing. After the battle, Angela asks Roland during this encounter if he knew Yun since they were both Fixers. Roland retorts that not every Fixer knows every other Fixer and that there are a lot of Offices big and small.

The third Invitation is the Brotherhood of Iron, a trio of cyborgs. They pawned off their organs for their combat augments which allow them to disregard eating and sleeping while having drawbacks of their own that require addressing. The receive the Invitation and face the trials within. This is when we are introduced to the politics of AI within the setting. While full human transformation is considered acceptable, fully artificial beings are outlawed by The Head (the governing body of the City). Angela's existence stands in opposition to that decree, leading Roland to wonder what her creators were thinking defying such a crucial law with such heavy consequences.

The final Reception is of the Hook Office. While technically a Fixer Office, their specialty is murder and mayhem. Roland laments seeing criminals hiding their true intentions behind the legitimacy that comes with being an organized office. One of the Hook Office members takes a swing at Angela when she greets them. This does less than nothing since she is unto a god while within the Library. She sighs and leaves so Roland can do his thing.

The Suppression of Bloodbath

I am not going to go over every Abnormality Suppression because there are nearly 50 of them but I will go over at least the first one to explain why they are done.

After having to solo an entire Fixer Office himself, Roland complains to Angela that the workload she has given him outstrips what one person can feasibly do. To his surprise, Angela agrees and says that there is a way to acquire additional help but it won't be easy. She explains that there are books within the Library that contain Abnormalities (monstrous manifestations of the human psyche) and the Lobotomy Corporation employees assigned to observe them. If he can enter those books and 'suppress' the Abnormality, she can reawaken the employee. Furthermore, suppressed Abnormalities can lend their aid to him through their boons. Roland accepts the offer and enters the book of the Abnormality 'Bloodbath,' a tub filled with blood that pulls in those who stare at it for too long. After defeating the monster, Roland gets his first assistant. Assistant Librarians are not named characters but create-a-characters you can customize yourself. Interestingly, if you have a Lobotomy Corporation save on your PC, the awakening employees will be pulled directly into your new game.

The Floor of Literature

Upon completing the battle with Yun's Office, Roland notices that the Library has expanded upwards to a new floor… and he can hear people arguing. Following the voices, he sees a woman arguing with Angela. She says that she has not forgiven Angela for what happened while Angela simply states that they don't have to like each other, so long as they each do their jobs. Once Angela leaves, the woman introduces herself as Malkuth, the Patron Librarian of the Floor of Literature. She used to be the department head for the Control Team at Lobotomy Corporation and one of the nine Sephirah (human brains put into robot bodies intended to run the departments of LobCorp's central branch). Roland asks how he can help her with her work and she responds that bringing in more books helps them progress Angela's goals and awaken the other Sephirah. Malkuth is generally a preppy ray of sunshine (except for when it comes to Angela).

Having a second floor means you can now field two sets of units in a reception, with the second taking over if the first falls. The returning Sephirah also help catch the player up on what happened in LobCorp and help give a sort of narrative parity between the two games. In their third conversation together, Malkuth explains what Angela did that pissed everyone off so badly. Speaking of...

What did Angela do that pissed everyone off so badly?

Explaining this kind of requires explaining how Lobotomy Corporation is played so- LobCorp is a base management sim where you have to run the world's most dangerous power company while a bunch of those robots from Borderlands yell at you. Over the course of 50 days, you have to complete a certain number of research goals and productivity quotas to generate an unknown substance referred to as Light that will supposedly help break everyone from the collective mental ennui that has gripped the world. This is broken up every so often by one of the Sephirah having a mental breakdown you have to talk them down from. If you find yourself in a dead end gameplay-wise because all your best employees were killed in a freak accident involving an inconspicuous button, you can rewind back to certain points in the timeline and go from there.

At the end of day 50, after all the Sephirah have their arcs and X (the player character who is a clone of another character called Ayin) confronts his creator, the LobCorp office has finally collected enough Light to fulfill the initial goal of spreading it over the City. It will take seven days, but it will be worth it to finally lift the malaise that has filled everyone's hearts. Ayin and what's left of Carmen (the other founder she will come up again later) enter the great pillar of Light and disappear from the world. The Sephirah prepare to earn their eternal reward (death) and shutter the facility. However, after everything that's happened, after everything that she's gone through, Angela did not wish to simply die and disappear from the world. She wanted to live. With Ayin gone and her programming fulfilled, she was finally able to act freely and did so by standing in opposition of the Department Heads. She would take the Light for herself to do with as she wished. Eight of the Sephirah stood against her, with only one taking her side. Angela released the Abnormalities into the facility, pushing the departments and their employees to the brink trying to contain them while two of the department heads (Gebura and Binah) had a climactic anime duel that was probably undercut by them being rhombuses.

After three days of fighting, Angela and the Sephirah called a truce and brokered a deal: Angela would release half the Light over the City and keep the other half to herself. The Sephirah would also be joining her, kept in stasis until she could construct new bodies for them. Thus we have the White Nights and Dark Days: the three days of Light and then the four days of its absence. During those four days of darkness, the Pianist emerges as the first Distortion. Roland finds his way into the Library not long after (though exactly how long is kind of up for debate).

And that's more or less what happens in Canard. Come back next time for Urban Myth, our third Patron Librarian, and Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies.

This is the shortest one of these, btw.

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

[nutmeg-mayonnaise]

(Gregory Wright AU)

I was supposed to pair this artwork with this ask, but it was posted by mistake when the art wasn't done yet.

After I finished AAI2, I had to draw Raymond Shields with Gregory. I was sad to realize how much he would age--he's about 66 here--but it was really fun to design him older and make a drawing in a similar style to the other photos he took in AAI2.

I also wrote a short story of these two meeting for the first time, and the circumstances around the photo below the cut. It's about 2500 words long. Hope you enjoy it! ˙ᵕ˙

“Good luck with your trial Mr. Edgeworth.”

My adoptive father sighed. “We’re not in the courtroom, Gregory. You needn’t be so formal.”

I chuckled. “I can’t help that you brought me up as a professional, Pop.”

“Indeed.” He turned to the door of the courtroom. “I’ll see you at your dad’s office.”

I waved at him and headed to a nearby vending machine to get a cup of coffee. As I watched the paper cup fill with my much needed source of caffeine, I heard someone greet me from behind.

“Hello, Mr. Wright!” I spun around and looked at him. He was an older man in a trench coat with gray, curly hair poking out from under his black fedora. He grinned at me as he walked by.

“H-hello.” Do I know you? I watched him do a double-take. He stopped and turned around. He leaned forward and adjusted his thin, rectangular glasses with his thumb and index finger.

“It might be my aging eyes, but you look shorter than I remember!”

“I guess the courtroom makes everyone look a little bigger, huh?” I thought maybe this man may’ve observed one of my trials.

He tilted his head at me with a stern expression, but he checked his watch. “Well, it was nice seeing you! Best of luck with work!”

“You, too.”

It then occurred to me that he may have confused me for my dad, who I got my last name from. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.

I took my coffee from the vending machine and heard Pop make his opening statement from within the hall. I smiled. At home, he was usually soft spoken, but once he was at the prosecution desk—or annoyed with my dad—he was resonant.

As I turned to go on my way, I saw the strange, old man linger at the door to the courtroom Pop was in. He had his hands in his pockets and gazed wistfully at the door.

That was a few months before I knew who he was.

“You have a son?”

Pop sighed. “Yes…”

“And he’s a defense attorney?!”

“Yes…”

“What a twist of fate! Say, does he need a mentor? I could take on an apprentice.”

“I appreciate the offer, but you must realize how many people in law Gregory has grown up with.”

Ray Shields stopped to have a hearty chuckle. “No offense, Miles, but I think he ought to learn from an actual defense attorney and not from that family of prosecutors.”

This made Pop uncomfortable. Although Mr. Shields was my grandfather’s apprentice and he and Pop worked together briefly nearly thirty years ago, their relationship has always been somewhat estranged. 

Mr. Shields always had a chip on his shoulder when it came to prosecutors. I can’t say I blame him, considering one murdered my grandfather—Mr. Shield's mentor—and took my father in as his adoptive son on some sick power trip. However, Pop never really kept Mr. Shields up to speed with his own personal life.

“He’ll be fine.” Pop finally said after a few moments of silence. “My partner—his… father—is a defense attorney.” Mr. Shields had his own moment of silence.

“Hold on a second, Gregory Wright? As in Phoenix Wright? He’s your kid’s father—wait, he’s your partner, too?!” 

Pop is not overfond of detailing his personal life to anyone—especially to anyone in the law business. It took him a while to finally say, “That is correct.”

“...You really need to keep Uncle Ray in the loop a little more, Miles.”

After that exchange, Pop arranged a meeting with me and Mr. Shields at a cafe in town. “I want to see how your boy thinks as an attorney,” he told Pop. I didn’t mind meeting him. I was curious about my grandfather, and I was sure Mr. Shields was curious about me.

I arrived at the cafe and ordered a large chai tea—something I seldom had at home since Pop prefers English teas. I took a seat and waited for Mr. Shields to show up.

I was lost in my thoughts until I noticed an older man in a trench coat and a black fedora walk into the cafe. He looked around, like he was looking for somebody. He looked awfully suspicious, until something on his lapel caught my eye: a defense attorney badge.

Then it dawned on me: it was the man that confused me for my dad, and lingered around the door to the courtroom. Small world.

I saw Mr. Shield’s eyes light up when he saw me. His thin, gray mustache stretched as he smiled at me and walked my way. I sat up from my seat as I saw him extend a hand towards me.

“Mr. Gregory Wright!” He said as I grabbed his hand. He shook pretty firmly for an old guy.

“Raymond Shields!” He put his other hand over mine and continued to shake.

“It is an honor to meet Mr. Gregory Edgeworth’s grandson!” I smiled awkwardly at him, thinking it odd that he skipped over Pop to mention my grandfather, but I didn’t know about his resentment towards prosecutors at that time.

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

I stood in line with him as he ordered coffee and a scone. We had a bit of small talk over coffee and tea and how much he loved the cafe’s scones.

“You know, the original owner of the cafe was your grandfather’s last client.”

My eyes shot wide. “Was he?” 

“Seems like your old man doesn’t tell you much about your granddad, does he?” Mr. Shields raised an eyebrow at me.

He was right. All Pop really told me about him was that Dad named me after him, that he was a defense attorney, and that he was no longer with us. Most of what I knew about my grandfather was through my mom and Dad, and Pop wasn’t around when they told me about him. I guess it’s still a sore spot for him after all these years.

I’m really lucky I have three parents, but I would be devastated if anything happened to any of them. Pop only had my grandfather. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain Pop had to go through… so I forgive him for not wanting to reminisce with me. Thankfully, I could learn a little more about him from Mr. Shields.

“Let’s play a little game, Mr. Wright.”

“Call me ‘Gregory’.” Mr. Shields pressed his lips together. His eyes gazed down on the table. I grimaced. “O-or you can call me ‘Grey’. That’s what most of my family on my mom and dad’s side call me.” Mr. Shields smiled.

“And you can call me Uncle Ray, Grey.” He chuckled. “Grey and Uncle Ray. I like the sound of that.”

I chuckled nervously. “So about this game…”

“Right! For the game, I’ll ask you a question, and then you ask me a question. How’s that sound?” I nodded. He took a bite of his scone and gestured to me. “You go first.”

I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking. I’ve heard plenty about the DL-6, the case in which my grandfather was the victim of murder. I met him once when I was very young when my Aunt Pearls channeled him with my family so he could meet me, but I knew nothing about my grandfather as a person.

“What did you admire the most about my grandfather?”

Mr. Shields smiled and looked fondly out the café window. “His commitment to finding the truth. He wasn’t afraid to stand up to corruption, even if it made things harder for him in the end.” Hearing this made my heart feel full.

I smirked. “Feels like I’ve heard that mantra my whole life.” 

Mr. Shields smiled. “Probably from Mr. Wright, right?”

I shook my head. “My Pop—er, Mr. Edgeworth, too. Nothing is more important to both of them than uncovering the truth. They ingrained that into me even before I wanted to be a lawyer.”

Ray took another bite out of a scone and I watched his lips curl into a smile. “So… for my first question—I have to ask because I know your old man probably won’t tell me—how long have your dads been together?”

“Well, Pop started staying at my dad’s to help him take care of me when I was two.” I forced a smile. It’s not the first time anyone’s assumed the nature of their relationship, so I like to play dumb.

Mr. Shields looked at me with small eyes. “Is that when they started dating?”

“I think it's my turn for a question, Uncle Ray.”

I gave him a grin. “Alright, alright… I suppose you won’t tell me either.”

“Sorry,” I said with a smile. I didn't think it was any of his business. Besides, if Pop knew I detailed his home life with my dad to Mr. Shields, he would kill me—then my mom would kill him, and I don't think my dad would be able to defend her in court.

Mr. Shields gestured his hand upwards. “Anyway, what’s your next question?”

I put my fist to my cheek and looked up. “Seeming as you’re quite the seasoned attorney, looking back, what do you think Gregory Edgeworth could’ve done better?”

Mr. Shields smiled. “Asking the tough questions, eh, Grey?” He sighed and his posture sunk. It was as if didn’t want to dare criticize his late mentor. “I think… he could’ve shown his feelings more—both to his clients, and to those close to him.” I made an amused huff. I felt that way about Pop. “Your old man didn’t even know that your grandpa was worried about him.”

“Really? What was he worried about?”

“He was worried about his boy spending too much time with his nose in his law books and not enough time making friends and… being a kid.”

I frowned. I thought about my own childhood. I played. I had friends. I also did plenty of snooping through both my dad and Pop's law books—especially Dad's, and most of them were really my late Aunt Mia’s books. Sometimes when I was in Dad's office after school and I finished my homework early, and I didn’t feel like reading the comics and fiction books my mom left in the office, I'd skim through the law books until Pop came at the end of the day to take us home. When Dad was out of the office after school, I'd hop on the bus, go to Pop's office in the Prosecutor building and look at his books until we would get in the car and pick up my dad from wherever he was.

My earliest memories of Pop was of him teaching me things like how to read and write. I mostly played with Dad and my mom when she was around, but when either of them were busy or away for some reason, Pop would certainly try to play with me. He was happy when I was old enough to play strategy games like chess.

I couldn't help but wonder if things would be different if Pop was the only one who raised me. Would I have played less? Would Pop worry about me?

“I see,” I said, getting out of my head.

Mr. Shields smiled. “Anyway, I have another burning question for you.” I saw his eyes move down to my neck. “What’s that odd-looking stone you have instead of a good tie?”

I glanced down and smiled. “Oh, this is my magatama—well, it’s my late aunt’s. She was also a defense attorney.”

“Oh?”

“Does ‘Mia Fey’ of Fey & Co. Law Offices ring a bell?” I watched Mr. Shields squint his eyes, thinking thoughtfully. 

“Ah, yes! Now that you say it, I recall reading about her m… her unfortunate death in the papers. However, I don’t recall if I ever met her.” He smiled at me. “Thirty years is a long time ago.” He then gestured back at my magatama. “So tell me about this… mega-tama.”

I looked down and held it between my index finger and thumb. “It’s a charm that members of the Fey Clan use.”

“Those fortune-tellers?”

“Well, no. They’re spirit mediums—at least the women are.” I took a deep breath and glanced down. There weren’t a lot of men in the Fey Clan. As a matter of fact, I’m the only one I know of, and I am definitely not a spirit medium.

“Ah! So they’re a bunch of ladies who can talk to ghosts!”

I nodded slowly. “Sort of. Anyway, my mother is the head of the Fey Clan, and the master of the Kurain Spirit Channeling Technique. She gave me this when… I was small.” Mr. Shields sat back in his chair, eyebrows raised.

“Your mother’s their leader, huh?” He smirked. I nodded. “I must say, Daddy-Wright has… interesting taste in partners.” That one got a mild chuckle out of me. “And I imagine you wear that in honor of your mother’s family and the memory of your Aunt.”

I nodded. “Exactly.”

He crossed his arms and smiled. “That’s sweet.”

We exchanged more questions which moved beyond our relations and into our profession. We had a good chat about the legal system and how much it has changed in the nearly fifty years he Mr. Shields was an attorney. I was happy he had the stage for the most part so I could sip on my chai tea—which had long turned cold. After telling me stories about his career for about a couple hours, he looked at his watch.

“Well Grey, your Uncle Ray ought to get going.” I quickly glanced at my phone to check the time, and saw a missed call and a text from Pop.

“Likewise.”

He stood up out of his chair and extended his arm for another handshake. I stood up and we shook.

“It was great meeting you, Uncle Ray.”

He smiled, but I noticed his whole face light up, and he put his hands together. “Oh! One more thing. Could you come over here?”

I raised my eyebrow and walked to him. He pulled out an old—and I mean really old—camera, and turned it toward us. “U-Uncle Ray?”

“Say ‘Cheese!’” I saw a flash and I was amazed to see a photo come out of the camera's body a moment later. I’ve only heard of cameras like those, but I’ve never seen one in person. Mr. Shields took the photo and he had a big smile. “Oh good, it still works!” 

“The camera?”

“Yes, I need it for my, erm, investigation this afternoon.”

“Can’t you just use your phone?” Mr. Shields waved his hand. 

“What’s the fun in that? I like having them printed out so I can attach them to my wall in the office and see everything all at once.”

“You can also just… print photos out at any—”

“Gregory, I’m old. Leave me to do things as I always have.”

I smiled at him calling me by my full, first name. “Fair enough.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Gregory Wright, and don’t be afraid to give ol’ Uncle Ray a call or pay a visit to your grandpa’s Law Office.”

“I just might do that.”

[thethirdromana]

Blake's costumes, rated

Every time I do one of these, someone asks me for another one. So... I guess I'm doing the set?

Here are my thoughts on Blake's costumes in Blake's 7. Get ready for a whole lot of brown. Screengrabs from here (they prefer their images copied, not linked) and record of what Blake wears when from here. Here's the same for Avon, Servalan and Jenna.

As seen in The Way Back, Space Fall, Cygnus Alpha, and Time Squad.

This is Blake in his normal, pre-Liberator clothes, and wow are they boring. This is clearly a man who was waiting for any opportunity to cut loose. Look how small his sleeves are! This isn't the clothing of a freedom fighter; it looks like the uniform of a handyman at an eco-friendly adventure park. It's not really Blake at all. 3/10.

As seen in The Web, Seek-Locate-Destroy, Mission to Destiny, Duel, Project Avalon, Breakdown, Deliverance, and Orac.

I was going to say that this is a long time to be wearing the same outfit, but at a closer look, Blake does change his shirt. Thank goodness, because the question of who does the laundry on the Liberator has bothered me before, and I didn't like to think of Blake being stinky for most of series A.

Also, this is a great outfit. I feel like the way it has four different elements and textures should be too much, but it's working for me, particularly the chainmail-esque sleeve detail. 8/10.

As seen in The Web, Seek-Locate-Destroy, Duel, Project Avalon, Bounty, and Orac.

Jenna made the pink version of this look cool; Blake looks like a dad in a National Trust car park. There might be poo bags for the family Labrador in one of his many pockets. Honestly, kudos to the Blake's 7 costume designers for this one: obviously functional and yet perfectly of a piece with the more ridiculous outfits in the series. I don't love to look at it but I have to admire it. 6/10.

As seen in Redemption, Shadow, Horizon, and Killer.

In which Blake appears to be wearing an entire cow. Honestly, I love this outfit, from the sleeves to the boots. It's Romantic hero meets Robin Hood, it's ridiculous, it's wonderful. Gareth Thomas must have been so warm. 15/10.

As seen in Shadow, and Voice From the Past.

I got a telling-off in the notes on my Jenna post for not including her in the karate ghi. So let the record stand that I approve of the karate ghi universally for Blake's 7 characters. I particularly appreciate that Avon and Jenna have theirs fastened up, while Blake's is open halfway to his midriff. Quarry chic, you can't beat it. 8/10.

As seen in Weapon, Pressure Point, Trial, Countdown, and Voice From the Past.

This feels to me like the classic Blake outfit. It's like Avon's bajillion studded black leather jackets: green leather and bishop's sleeves are simply what Blakes in their natural environment should wear. But it's not quite as batshit as some of his other outfits and so I can't love it quite as much. 7/10.

As seen in Horizon.

I accept that I'm straining the definition of "outfit" here but come on, I couldn't not include this moment. I love the artfully placed grime; I love the way, it being the 70s, that Blake's trousers come up to his navel; I love the fact that this is, to the best of my recollection, the one and only scene of someone taking their top off in the whole of Blake's 7. 10/10.

As seen in Horizon.

The Romantic hero look is BACK. Here Blake is starring as a rebel version of Colin Firth's Mr Darcy. Get this man a lake to jump in. It is my firm belief that no man has yet existed who doesn't look good in this kind of shirt, and Gareth Thomas is no exception. 9/10.

As seen in Hostage.

This is one of those "who wore it best?" moments and I have to be honest and say: Avon did. The rule that Avon should wear tight things, preferably leather, and Blake should wear loose things, preferably with massive sleeves, is not being disproven here. 4/10.

As seen in Hostage, Gambit, The Keeper, and Star One.

There's just too much stuff going on here. The chainmail effect outfit was also quite busy but in a way that made Blake look bigger and bolder. This is the opposite; he looks almost smothered by it. There's a lot of fabric around his neck. It's brown and there's leather, but Blake doesn't look at home. 4/10.

As seen in Blake.

Normally I rate these costumes based partly on how good they look, and partly on how well I feel they suit the character, and normally those two things are in alignment and it's all good. But here, I'm so torn.

Blake looks like shit. He's wearing some kind of horrific quilted knee-length gilet like a cross between a knight and someone who spends too much money in Jack Wills. It's too big for him and the little grab-handles on the front are... well, they're not very functional without Avon around to be grabbing him, are they? But on the other hand, it would be really weird if he looked good at this point in his story. The costume designers have judged this perfectly, and I hate it. 5/10.

[snakegorl212006]

What happens when your hurt

========Clive + jill==============

-depending on how bad or what happen -if you hurt yourself like you scrap your ankle because you’re not paying attention -jill will scold you a little while clive is carrying you to the infirmary to get it quickly patched up -if someone else hurt you(like you just came from a battle) -they would be even more concern and probably ban you for leaving by yourself for a while -if the perpetrator is still out there and yall happen to come across them,expect some side eyeing -not at you but at the person that harmed you -now if they mortality wounded you(like near death) -clive would definitely have some words but his blade will do the talking -there’s a good chance that the enemy who hurt you would live if put up against clive -not so much with jill -surprisingly,or not, jill would suggest to kill them or put them in a near death position like they did for you

=======Joshua + jote=============

-It’s unlikely you would get hurt for Jote and joshua would do there best to prevent you from using your blade -but if push dose come to shove and you do get hurt by someone, I don’t think they’ll seek revenge -they care most about you being alive and mostly unscaved -joshua would heal all of your injuries and make sure you don’t have any more -jote would scold you for taking the fight on your own and express GREAT concern for your well being -no they wouldn't punish the enemy themselves but, they’ll do their best to black mail the person and humiliate them -jote knows her way around the archives and joshua is fantastic connections -there social life could be CRUSHED if they really tried

====Cid===============

-acts calm on the inside, probably fuming on the outside -although it doesn't take all of his mental strength to not find the guy and choke this person for hurting you -but he needs to make sure you’re alright -similar to Jote and joshua, he’s also more focus on your own well being then the enemy -he needs to know where you’re hurting and figure out if he has the connections,tools, or resources to help you -I don’t see him as the man to hold a grudge but he would be more weary of you leaving by yourself tho

====Benedikta============

-If you hurt yourself then she probably wouldn't care too much -if someone injured you then good chances there dead or being hunted by this women -she will not let this crime go unpunished -those who have harmed you WILL suffer the consequences -she may not hunt them to the ends of the earth but if you just happen to point them out on the streets one day, they’ll be gone the next

======Dion + terence==============

-Terence would be the one who treats your wounds 99.9% of the time -he had to take care of Dion so he’s most reliably in terms of taking care if injuries -Dion would check up on you making sure you’re ok and Terence is helping you as he should -now let's say you get hurt by someone else -Dion is fuming -he’s asking questions on who hurt you, where were you, How did this happen and Who in the world did this to you -Terence is acts calm on the inside, probably fuming on the outside pt2 -unlike dion ,who kinda just explodes, Terence will be asking if you are ok and treat your injuries -dion would order some dragoons to find the perpetrator as if they’re capable of hurting you at random who knows what would happen to someone else. -once found, this person will be trial and punished accordingly -I would say after this incident you would have more protection in place so this wouldn't happen again

=====Barnabas + Sleipnir============

-dead -who ever hurt you is gone -there family is 100% also gone -it don’t matter if it’s emotional or physical damage barnabas takes any harm to you seriously -so who ever put you in harms way no longer exist in this world -oh and you will know what happened -after the deed is done Sleipnir would tell you the news about this person being dead while barnabas gives you all the details -”trust and believe, my raven none shall harm your feathers”

====Hugo============

-also dead and most likely buried -unlike barnabas, he wouldn't show you the person’s dead corpse unless you want to -i also think he would do it in secret -he just want you to be happy and not see the more cruel side of him -your his precious gem and he doesn't want you to crack any time soon over trivial matters -he would only warn the family of the person who harmed you by presenting the dead person in front of the family