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enwoso · 7 months ago

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Can I request a fic on platonic arsenal x reader with reader and Kyra scaring the shit out of other players especially leah and Katie. They don't scare lia because she is a princess and kim because they are afraid of her

JUMPSCARE — arsenal women x reader

i do apologise if this is bad but i’m currently suffering from being concussed perks of getting punched square in the nose but i’m on the mend don’t worry but bit of life advice don’t get concussed guys i wouldn’t recommend it😅🙃

masterlist

you and kyra were known to be the teams pests. always finding a way to annoy your teammates or cause trouble around the arsenal training camp as well as doing it at your respective international clubs.

this week at training you and kyra had made it your mission to scare your teammates. having already gotten a few of them. the likes of beth, vic, stina, caitlin, teyah and just recently alessia with a simple fake spider it being such an old and simple prank but such a good one.

especially to see their faces, filled with terror and screams as they felt a spider be dropped on them. you and kyra being sat their with the smuggest little smiles as you would turn to each other to high five each other at another successful prank before plotting the next, victim, teammate to prank.

“y/n, kyra!” you heard alessia scream as you both dashed out the room getting to the end of the corridor and stopping running to catch your breath before the two of you burst out laughing.

“another one down!” you cheered, “whose next?” you asked kyra as she just began to stop laughing.

“um, we’ve done steph, we can’t do lia cause she the people princess and she’ll make us do extra gym” kyra made a face of disgust at the thought of having to do extra gym. the same thought sending a shiver down your spine.

“or kim cause she’s scary and i don’t fancy a twelfth lecture of the week” you pointed out, kim forever having to tell you off for your childish behaviour. she calls it childishness you call it having fun, each to their own.

“yep, so that leaves… leah and katie!” kyra gasped as you turned to look at the young australian already having a perfect idea.

“i’ve got a werewolf mask in my room — don’t ask — i hide behind the bush as we go out to training and you can walk them that way and then boom.. i jump out!” you explained a little over excited but kyra nevertheless following along.

“sounds perfect, should we do it tomorrow?” kyra asked, you nodding “tomorrow is perfect” you mocked the australian accent as you said tomorrow. kyra nudging you as she shot you a glare for the terrible attempt at the accent.

the next morning, you both were prepared. came into training as normal, acting as you always did. it was all part of the plan, the plan you and kyra had spent all evening planning over facetime. making sure it was perfect, down to how long you would stay behind the bush to what kyra would say to both katie and leah.

the two of you getting ready, giggling as you quietly went over the plan. a few looking over in suspicious but luckily it wasn’t the two who were about to be your next victims, they were totally clueless.

“what are you two scheming?” lia asked, one eyebrow raised at one the quietness of the two of you but also the whispering the two of you were doing.

“nothing lia! we don’t scheme!” you said so innocently flashing your best cute smile as kyra carried on tying her laces on her boots.

lia hummed not in the slightest convinced by your words before giving you a warning look as she left the changing room.

you quickly moving to get the mask out your bag and under you top to hide it so you could get out of the changing room and into position before leah and katie came out to the training field.

you flashing kyra a quick thumbs up before leaving hoping that nobody seen you slipping away. you usually always walking with kyra to the training fields.

so it was left to kyra to play the waiting game, she tightened her left boot then her right, put one shin pad in as slowly as she could before doing the other and then finally leah and katie were leaving.

kyra leaving a few seconds later so it didn’t seem obvious, leah and katie walking down the corridor toward the exit. kyra speeding up and barging her way inbetween them.

“hey!” kyra smiled at the two of them as they gave her a glare probably for the fact she had just interrupted their conversation but kyra didn’t really care.

“why you walking with us? where’s y/n?” katie asked as kyra still stayed smiling, she had her lines rehearsed.

“oh she’s just gone to the physio” kyra shrugged as the three got the exit, pushing the door open. any second now..

“why, what she done now?” leah asked, while being known as being the pest also came with getting silly injuries from doing pulling pranks on your teammates. but in your mind something had to give, right?

“um, just a bite-“ kyra started, using the code word as they got closer to where you were crouched down behind a bush. you could see their feet edging close.

leah and katie both sharing a look over the australians head. but before they could ask any further questions you jumped out in front of the two, kyra dropping to the side quickly.

and boy or boy did you wish someone was recording as their reactions where priceless. katie jumping pretty much six feet in the air a scream more high pitched than a recorder as leah backwards fell to the ground, clutching her chest as an almighty scream came out.

you and kyra bursting into laughing, tears about to spill from how hard you were laughing. taking the mask off as you continued to laugh, katie and leah now realising they had been the but of one your twos jokes. something neither of them liked.

“gocha!” you cheered in between giggles, you and kyra both cheering with your arms in the air.

katie helping leah back to her feet as a katie’s annoyed face had appeared on her face and leah’s was plastered with a deep frown. they were angry, very angry.

“we’re gonna go… run kyra” you trailed off with a nervous laugh, pushing kyra a little before whispering for her to start running before you joined her in running from the very angry katie and leah who were a time bomb both waiting to explode.

“GET BACK HERE YOU TWO PESTS!

#woso community #woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso blurbs #awfc #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #arsenal #alessia russo #kyra cooney cross #katie mccabe #leah williamson x reader #england wnt #england women #england #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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littlejuicebox · 1 year ago

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Astarion talks in his sleep.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav (Shadowheart is our lovely supporting role though.) Summary/Setting: 6 months post BG3, "good/spawn" Astarion ending, all fluff Rating/Warnings: PG / Very mild if any game spoilers but nothing related to major content or scenes Word Count: 900+ Notes: Inspired by this post here!

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Astarion talks in his sleep. It’s something you’ve never mentioned to him, because it’s mostly when he’s having a nightmare about Cazador or some other horrid trauma from his past. You'd quickly determined it not worth bringing up, for fear of embarrassing him. Plus, if you were being honest, part of you found it rather endearing... especially the lighter drabble that would escape his lips. Delighted giggles, little purrs... it could be overwhelmingly adorable, on occasion.

In fact, the first time you ever heard him say he loved you was in his sleep. Then you'd waited weeks… anxiously, impatiently, unbearably for the revelation to come out while he was awake, under his own terms.

But tonight, the talking and tossing isn't cute. The vampire writhing in bed disturbs you, and your eyes flutter open, catching the smallest glimpse of daylight between the thick, tightly drawn curtains and shuttered windows of your bedchamber. You'd just fallen asleep, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit annoyed.

You idly try to figure out the date. Adjusting your schedule to the night life was… difficult; you often lost track of dates nowadays. But somehow you manage to remember that it's been nearly six months since you all saved Baldur's Gate; six months since Astarion had been returned to a creature of the shadows. Six months you've been in the house provided by the city as you two adjust to whatever normalcy you are able to conjure up and figure out your next steps. You were a strong proponent for the Underdark; Astarion was not quite sold.

At first you think the silver-haired elf's tossing and turning is a night terror… it’s been nearly two weeks since the last one. He’s overdue. You ready yourself to pop out of bed and grab your calming herbs to steep a quick sleeping draught. But then you hear him, soft and garbled, laced with thick strings of sleep.

“Will you marry me?”

You turn to stare stupidly at the elf, eyes piercing through the blackness of your room; his face is obscured, you cannot tell if he’s awake. “…what did you say?”

Silence. A long, unbearable stretch of silence where your heart is pounding into your throat, practically rattling around your chest cavity at the sudden shock. And then he’s snoring again, and you’re left with your brow furrowed and robe half pulled onto your shoulder. Well, so much for your sleep.

You meander down the hall to the kitchen, where Shadowheart has several jars and plants strewn across the table. She’s practically taken over the kitchen since Gale left, not that you particularly mind, since she’s also taken over the cooking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?” She asks, spotting you out of the corner of her eye, not lifting her focus from the mortar and pestle in her hand.

“You won’t believe what Astarion just said in his sleep.” You murmur in dazed response, walking over to the cabinets and rummaging through the contents. You grab an old kettle and fill it with water, turning to look at the cleric.

“Gods, what was it? I’m quite thankful to be out of the camp... his night terrors woke all of us up at one point or another. It's no wonder you’re struggling with the schedule adjustment.”

“He said, ‘Will you marry me?’” You respond, almost giggling at how silly that sounds in retrospect, as you place the kettle on the stove.

Shadowheart pauses. One, two, three beats of silence. “Shit… well, I guess the cat is out of the bag now.” She murmurs with a shrug, before returning to grinding her herbs.

“Wh-what?!”

“Oh, come off, don’t be daft! You had to expect it would be coming sooner or later. Gods, your love is almost sickening… it was sickening, having to hear it all the time... once again, so thankful for the separation of these walls.”

You are frozen, your hand still holding onto the kettle as you appraise your friend. Shadowheart is right. You knew a proposal would come sooner or later… you just figured it would be much later. Astarion was still struggling; more often than not you woke to him in tears or in the throes of a sleeping fit. Countless calming elixirs and teas had been drawn up by you and Shadowheart in the last six months. Truly, you hadn’t thought he was thinking that deeply about it... you hadn't been, if at all. Gods, you two still didn't even know where you were headed after leaving this city-supplied house... the lease was up in a few weeks' time.

“I guess… well, I suppose I didn’t think he was ready.” You sigh, lighting the stove and sitting across the table, watching the cleric as she works.

“Oh, trust me, he’s ready. And he's certain. Perhaps not about anything else... but definitely about this. He's been writing to Gale for weeks trying to source a particular ring." Shadowheart responds, now pouring the contents of her grinder into pouches. "Just promise you'll act like it's a surprise when the time comes... he's been talking about it for a while. He's put a lot of thought into things."

"When will it be?"

Shadowheart laughs, the edges of her eyes crinkling as she flicks her gaze toward the ceiling. She’s now cinching the sachets and sorting them all into a nearby basket. "Now that I'm not telling you. I've already given away too much."

You try for a few more minutes to pry the information from your friend, but she remains tight-lipped. You even threaten her with detect thoughts, though you both know you'd never go through with it. Finally, a whistle from the kettle beckons you back to the stovetop, and the conversation is halted as you ready your tea and aim to go back to bed. You might not know when your love is going to pop the question, but you do know that when the time comes, your answer will be a resounding yes.

Click here for Part 2

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fluff #astarion fluff #astarion x gender neutral reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 fic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 imagines #astarion imagines #i feel like shadowheart would be my best friend IRL

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chaotic-toasters · 9 months ago

Text

Tunnel Vision

Arsenal Women x Teen! Reader

Thanks to @scribblesofagoonerr for helping me on this every time I got stuck (I got stuck a lot 💀)

TW: Graphic descriptions of injury and blood, allusion to a panic attack

----------------------

"Hi, Foxy!" you chirped, hugging the older American from behind. "Are you ready to kick Aston Villa's butt?"

"Hey, kid," she smiled fondly, squeezing you tightly. "I'm always ready. That reminds me, are you all packed for US camp next week?"

"Yeah," you responded with a grin. "I'm excited to see everybody."

Emily released you, ruffling your hair as everyone began lining up in the tunnel. "They're all excited to see you too, but let's focus on the match right now."

"Okay, Foxy." Just before you slipped into your match mindset, somebody else tapped you on the shoulder.

"Oi," the new voice whispered. "No hello for your old roommate?"

"Jordan!" you beamed, tackling the older girl in a hug. "I missed you!"

The Brit's smile was blinding. "I've missed you too, kid. We'll talk more after the game, okay?"

You nodded, hugging her again before stepping into line behind Frida. It was always nice seeing old teammates, but you had no problem beating them in matches.

With the score at 4-1 in favor of Arsenal, the gunners should have been having a great time. For some reason, though, your teammates wanted more. They were hungry for a bigger gap in the scoresheet, and it was messing with some of their heads. Steph was pushed up even farther than usual, Leah's tackles were unreasonably harsh, and Stina's shots were so powerful, it was almost like she was angry. The most noticeable change in behavior, though, was Alessia's.

The Englishwoman's challenges and touches to other players were far more fierce than they should have been, and some of the Aston Villa players were making a conscious effort to stay away from her.

You, on the other hand, didn't think the forward's aggression applied to you. That was why you didn't blink twice when Alessia sprinted towards you in the box, trying to open herself up for a pass.

It was unfortunate, to say the least. Most of the players on the field were crowded into the 18-yard box, so when Alessia accidentally slammed into your side, none of the players or officials saw it. Alessia herself didn't even notice, too focused on the ball and too high on adrenaline to feel just how hard she'd hit someone.

Play continued on as you went flying headfirst into the advertising boards, colliding with the signs with a sickening crunch, players too busy yelling and trying to push each other out of the way to hear or see. Not that you could tell. To you, the world was completely devoid of sound. The nearly sold-out Emirates Stadium was silent and dark, things around you terribly blurry and dim. You tried to pull yourself to your feet, but your hand merely shook on your chest as blood started creeping down your forehead. It was strange, you thought, how you could be bleeding like this, but not feel any pain. While debating whether it was a good or bad thing, you passed out.

It was Beth's scream of terror that caused play to die down. She'd taken up space on the wing, looking for a pass, but when she glanced up at the goal, her eyes instead zeroed in on your limp form laying in the broken pieces of the advertising board. The Englishwoman's guttural cry of fear had rung out over the roar of the crowd and instantly caught the attention of everyone on the field, and they'd all followed her gaze only to be met with the sight of you, a curtain of crimson slowly oozing down to your cheeks.

"What- what happened?" Emily's voice was weirdly high-pitched as Lotte tried to lead her away. "She- she was fine just a minute ago!"

"Don't look," the Lioness murmured, gently guiding the other defender away by the shoulders. "You'll just worry yourself more if you look."

But she couldn't. Your only American teammate at Arsenal couldn't help but stare as paramedics ran onto the field, surrounding you, talking quietly but quickly amongst themselves. She wanted to look away, she really did, but fear gripped at not only her heart, but her head. It forced her to watch on, to watch as you suffered and didn't respond to the paramedics. The fear was stronger than anything she'd ever felt before, and she was certain that it would be the strongest thing she would ever feel.

The gunners were evenly split. Half couldn't tear their eyes away from where the paramedics were lifting you onto a stretcher, and the other half were trying to get their shock-ridden teammates to look elsewhere.

Most of the players apart of the second half were successful in getting the others to direct their attention away from you, but there was one player who was stood inside the box, firmly rooted onto the pitch where she'd stood when the whistle was blown sharply.

Alessia. She'd realized what had happened as soon as she saw you. She may have only felt herself collide with you subconsciously, but she could still remember it. She could remember sprinting as fast as she could, tunnel-visioned on the ball but hitting you in the process, and it was as if she'd been tased with the terrible realization of it all.

She had been the one to push you. She had been the one to send you flying into the advertising boards. She had been the one to cause whatever horrific injury you had just sustained.

She'd been so focused on the game that she'd sent one of the sweetest and most innocent people on the team to A&E.

And for it to be you? You were only sixteen. You were always so happy and and positive, and now you were in bad condition because Alessia was too busy being greedy and wasn't paying attention to anything other than scoring.

As the paramedics carried you away on a stretcher, Alessia's legs gave out beneath her. Her breathing was rapid, guilt taking over every fiber of her being as she gripped at the grass beneath her. Some of her England teammates crouched next to her, speaking quietly, but she was too spaced out to notice.

What was supposed to be a simple match day had turned into a horror show. And there was no one to blame but her.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal women x reader #alessia russo #lotte wubben moy #emily fox #leah williamson #steph catley

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the-oblivious-writer · 29 days ago

Text

Let the Light In |9|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Nine: Struck by Cupid's Knife

Summary: After working up the courage, Tara asks you to spend Cupid’s birthday with her, but neither of you could have predicted the results.

Warning(s): Swearing (I think), arguing, Tara wearing The Skirt™️, innuendos, miscommunication/shit communication and mentions of masochism.

Notes: Reader’s a thirsty son of a bitch.

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

You're sprawled on Tara's couch, one hand absently scratching behind Dookie's ears while the other reaches for your water. The cat purrs contentedly in your lap, a rare sight according to literally everyone who's ever met the notoriously selective feline. On screen, Leatherface is doing what Leatherface does best – terrorizing unsuspecting teenagers with questionable decision-making skills.

"You know," you muse, "for someone who claims to hate slashers, you sure own a lot of them."

Tara throws chips at your head. It misses spectacularly and lands on Dookie, who gives her the most withering look a cat can muster. "I never said I hate slashers. I said modern slashers lack the psychological complexity of—"

"—of 'Prom Night,' yes, we've all heard the dissertation," you interrupt, earning yourself another chip projectile. This one actually hits its mark. "Which, by the way, is absolutely not better than 'Sleepaway Camp.'"

"Oh my god, are you seriously starting this again?" Tara pauses the movie, turning to face you fully. "Angela Baker is iconic, sure, but—"

"But nothing! The psychological implications alone—"

"The psychological implications of a movie that ends with—"

You both start talking over each other, your voices rising with practiced familiarity of an argument you've had dozens of times before. Dookie lifts his head to watch the verbal tennis match, tail twitching with mild interest.

"Okay, okay," Tara finally concedes, though her tone suggests this is far from over. "We can agree to disagree. For now. But only because I'm starving and we still haven't decided on dinner."

"Indian?" you suggest innocently, already knowing the response you'll get.

Her eyes narrow. "You know damn well what happened last time."

"You mean when you insisted you could handle the spice level and then spent three hours complaining about heartburn?"

"I did not complain for three hours."

"You literally texted me at 3 AM to tell me your esophagus was staging a coup."

She throws her hands up in exasperation. "Fine! What's your brilliant suggestion then?"

You pretend to think about it, even though you both know exactly where this is heading. "Well, there's this place I know. Makes great burgers, killer onion rings, milkshakes that'll change your life…"

"You mean the same place we always go?"

"If it ain't broke, princess."

The nickname slips out before you can catch it, an old habit you can't seem to shake. Tara's expression does something complicated – a mix of annoyance, fondness, and something else you're not quite ready to analyze.

"Speaking of things that aren't broken," she starts, then stops, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "There's this Valentine's party next week…"

You focus very intently on Dookie's fur, suddenly finding the pattern fascinating. "Oh yeah? Sounds fun."

"Yeah, it's at Chad's place. You could… I mean, if you wanted…" She trails off, then quickly adds, "But you probably have plans."

"Actually," you say, still not looking up, "I was just gonna stay in. The new season of 'Yellowjackets' dropped and—"

"Oh." There's something in her voice that makes you finally look up. "That… that sounds good too."

A moment passes, filled only by the sound of Dookie's purring and the paused image of Leatherface on the TV.

"You could join," you offer, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them. "If you wanted. Instead of the party."

Tara's face brightens for a split second before she schools it into careful neutrality. "What happened to your sacred solo binge-watching ritual?"

"Well, Dookie's already broken that rule," you gesture to the cat who's now fully asleep in your lap. "Besides, someone needs to be there to judge my commentary."

"Your commentary definitely needs supervision," she agrees, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "But what about Chad's party? You sure you don't want to…" she waves her hand vaguely.

You raise an eyebrow. "Want to what?"

"Nothing," she says quickly. "Just… you know. Meet people. Or whatever."

"Careful, Carpenter. That almost sounded like jealousy."

"You wish," she scoffs, but there's a faint blush creeping up her neck. "I just don't want you blaming me when you miss out on finding your soulmate at a frat party."

"Right, because nothing says true love like keg stands and questionable punch."

She throws more chips at you, but she's smiling now. "Shut up and watch the movie, dork."

You press play, and Leatherface resumes his rampage. But you can't help noticing how Tara seems more relaxed now, how she's shifted slightly closer on the couch. Dookie stretches in your lap, completely unbothered by the chainsaw sounds from the TV, and you think maybe this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Even if Tara is completely wrong about "Prom Night.

—

Valentine's Day arrives with all the subtlety of a horror movie jump scare. You're pacing your apartment, pretending you haven't spent the last hour deciding what to wear for what's supposedly just another movie night. Dookie, who somehow managed to sneak into your place during Tara's last visit and never left, watches you with judgmental eyes from his perch on your bookshelf.

"Don't give me that look," you mutter, adjusting your shirt for the hundredth time. "This is completely normal behavior."

Dookie blinks slowly, unconvinced.

Your phone buzzes with a text, and you definitely don't lunge for it like a teenager waiting for their crush to call.

Tara (6:45 PM): omw Tara (6:45 PM): with snacks Tara (6:46 PM): and NO you cannot veto my candy choices this time

You smile despite yourself, typing back a quick response.

Dork (6:46 PM): If you brought those weird swedish fish again, we're going to have words

When the knock finally comes, you open the door to find Tara wearing a skirt that makes your brain short-circuit. It's not even particularly revealing – just a simple black pleated number that hits just above her knees – but something about the way it moves when she walks past you makes your mouth go dry.

"Earth to Y/N," Tara waves a hand in front of your face. "You gonna let me in or just stand there having a stroke?"

You snap out of it, closing the door perhaps a bit too quickly. "Sorry, just… wondering if I should be concerned about what's in that suspiciously large grocery bag."

"Liar," she smirks, dropping said bag on your coffee table. "But I'll let it slide because I'm feeling generous."

Meanwhile, in a group chat you're blissfully unaware of:

CORE 4 & CO.

Mindy: TARA CARPENTER Mindy: YOU DID NOT JUST LEAVE THE HOUSE IN THAT SKIRT Mindy: TO GO WATCH TV Mindy: WITH YOUR “NEMESIS”

Sammy: Let her live, Mindy

Chad: anyone else find it sus that they're both skipping the party? 👀

Mindy: "skipping the party to watch yellowjackets" sure jan

Tara: i can see these messages you know

Mindy: EXACTLY Mindy: WE KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING

Chad: yeah wearing The Skirt™️

Tara: it's just a skirt omg Tara: and don't you all have better things to do??

Mindy: than watch you attempt to seduce your nemesis? Mindy: absolutely not

Sammy: I'm turning off notifications Sammy: have fun sis Sammy: and remember to text me if you end up staying the night

Tara: SAM

Back in your apartment, you're trying very hard to focus on setting up the TV and not on how Tara's legs look when she's curled up on your couch. It's just a skirt. You've seen skirts before. This should not be affecting you like this.

"You know," Tara's voice breaks through your internal crisis, "for someone who was so excited about this show, you're spending a lot of time staring at everything but the screen."

"I'm not—" you start to protest, but she cuts you off with a knowing look.

"The remote's upside down."

You look down. The remote is, indeed, upside down in your hands. "I'm trying a new technique," you deadpan, refusing to acknowledge the heat creeping up your neck.

"Uh-huh." She shifts on the couch, the movement causing her skirt to—nope, you're not looking. You're absolutely not looking. "You know, we could still go to Chad's party if you're having second thoughts."

There's something in her tone – a careful casualness that doesn't quite mask the uncertainty underneath. You finally look at her properly, taking in the way she's trying to appear nonchalant while picking at a loose thread on your couch cushion.

"And miss the chance to prove how superior 'Sleepaway Camp' is to your precious 'Prom Night'? Not a chance, Carpenter."

The relief that flashes across her face is brief but unmistakable. "Oh my god, you're still on that? You know what, just for that, I'm eating all the good candy."

"Bold of you to assume any of your candy choices qualify as 'good.'"

She throws a Swedish Fish at your head. You catch it with your mouth, surprising both of you.

"…Okay, that was actually impressive," she admits.

"I have hidden depths," you say solemnly, finally settling onto the couch beside her. "Now shut up and watch the show. I have theories about Lottie that will blow your mind."

As the opening credits roll, you're hyper-aware of every inch of space between you, of how her skirt brushes against your leg when she reaches for the snacks, of how this feels simultaneously like nothing and everything has changed.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket – probably Henry asking how your "not-date" is going – but you ignore it. Right now, all that matters is this moment: Tara's commentary about the show's color grading, the way she unconsciously leans into you during the tenser scenes, and how maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you both want to be.

The thing about watching TV with Tara Carpenter is that she can't sit still to save her life. She's constantly shifting, readjusting, finding new ways to accidentally-but-maybe-not-accidentally end up closer to you. It's maddening in the best possible way.

"That's not how decomposition works," she critiques, reaching across you for the popcorn. Her skirt rides up slightly with the movement, and you suddenly find the ceiling fascinating. "The timeline is completely unrealistic."

"Sorry, I didn't realize I was sitting next to a forensics expert," you quip, trying to ignore how she hasn't fully moved back to her original position. "Please, enlighten us with your extensive knowledge of body disposal."

She turns to face you, and you immediately regret your life choices because now she's even closer, her eyes sparkling with that dangerous mix of challenge and amusement that always spells trouble.

"Well, considering the ambient temperature and soil composition—"

"Is this the part where I should be concerned about your search history?"

"Please," she scoffs, but there's a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Like yours is any better, Miss 'I-need-to-research-medieval-torture-devices-for-academic-purposes.'"

"That was one time!"

"The FBI agent watching your browser history probably needs therapy."

You're about to retort when she shifts again, and suddenly her leg is pressed against yours. All coherent thoughts evacuate your brain without so much as a goodbye note.

"You okay there?" she asks, and there's something in her tone that suggests she knows exactly what she's doing. "You seem a little… distracted."

Two can play at this game.

"Just thinking about proper body disposal techniques," you say innocently, stretching your arm across the back of the couch. Not quite around her shoulders, but the implication is there. "You know, for academic purposes."

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that your way of threatening to murder me? Because I've got to say, your technique needs work."

"If I was going to murder you, Carpenter, you'd never see it coming."

"Promises, promises."

The air between you crackles with something that definitely isn't just friendly banter anymore. On screen, someone is probably being dramatically eviscerated, but you couldn't care less because Tara is looking at you with that half-smile that makes your stomach do Olympic-level gymnastics.

Your phone buzzes again, breaking the moment. This time, it's a series of texts from Henry:

Henry (8:15 PM): so how's the not-date going?? Henry (8:15 PM): has anyone been murdered yet Henry (8:16 PM): either literally or metaphorically Henry (8:16 PM): also tony says hi and wants to know if you've kissed her yet

"Something important?" Tara asks, and you quickly lock your phone before she can see the messages.

"Just Henry being Henry," you say, silently plotting your best friend's demise. "Probably asking if we've murdered each other yet."

"Night's still young," she shrugs, but she's still got that look in her eyes that makes you want to either kiss her or start an argument about horror movie tropes. Possibly both.

"Speaking of murder," you say instead, because you're a master of deflection, "want to hear my theory about why 'Sleepaway Camp' is actually a groundbreaking commentary on—"

She groans, throwing her head back dramatically. "Oh my god, you're actually the worst."

"That's not what you said when I brought you soup when you caught the flu."

"That was before I knew you'd use it as ammunition in your endless crusade against good taste in movies."

"Bold words from someone wearing a skirt that's clearly meant to be a distraction from your terrible opinions."

The words are out before your brain can stop them. Tara goes very still, and for a moment you think you've miscalculated spectacularly. But then she looks at you with an expression that's somewhere between amusement and challenge.

"Is it working?"

Your mouth goes dry. "What?"

"The distraction," she says, and you swear she moves even closer. "Is it working?"

You're saved from having to answer by Dookie, who chooses this exact moment to jump between you, apparently deciding he's been ignored for far too long. The cat gives you both a look that clearly says "I've had enough of your nonsense."

"Traitor," you mutter to the cat, who responds by making himself comfortable across both your laps, effectively creating a furry barrier between you and Tara.

Tara laughs, scratching behind Dookie's ears. "My hero," she coos to the cat. "Saving me from another lecture about Angela Baker's psychological complexity."

"You're both against me," you declare dramatically. "I'm being ganged up on in my own home."

"Cry about it," she suggests sweetly, but she's leaning against your shoulder now, and Dookie is purring, and maybe being ganged up on isn't the worst thing in the world.

—

"I cannot believe you're still defending this," you say, watching in horror as Tara drowns her mac and cheese in a truly concerning amount of hot sauce. "This is actually painful to witness."

"You're being dramatic," she retorts, adding what appears to be her entire body weight in ketchup to the already crime-scene-worthy pasta. "Some of us actually like flavor."

"Flavor? That's—" you're interrupted by the doorbell, which is probably for the best because you were about to launch into a dissertation about the difference between flavor and masochism.

"I'll get it," Tara says, but you're already standing up.

"Absolutely not. I've seen enough horror movies to know the cute girl who answers the door always dies first."

The word 'cute' slips out before you can catch it, and you practically sprint to the door to avoid seeing her reaction. This proves to be a tactical error when you open it to find possibly the most conventionally attractive pizza delivery guy you've ever seen, complete with the kind of jawline that belongs on a CW show.

"Hey," he says, then looks past you to where Tara has appeared behind your shoulder. His entire demeanor shifts, voice dropping an octave. "Hey."

You resist the urge to close the door in his face.

"That'll be twenty-four fifty," he says to Tara, completely ignoring your existence. "Though I could make it free if you'd let me take you out sometime."

Something hot and uncomfortable coils in your stomach. You reach for your wallet, but Tara beats you to it, pulling out cash from her pocket.

"Here's thirty," she says, a slight flush creeping up her neck. "Keep the change."

"You sure I can't convince you?" He flashes a smile that probably works wonders at frat parties. "I make a mean pasta. No ketchup required."

Your head snaps up at that. He must have overheard your earlier conversation, which means he's been standing here long enough to eavesdrop, which means—

"She likes her pasta exactly how she likes it," you say, perhaps a bit sharper than necessary, taking the pizza from his hands. "Thanks for the delivery."

You close the door before he can respond, turning to find Tara looking at you with an expression that makes your heart do something complicated in your chest. The flush on her neck has spread to her cheeks.

"So," she says, voice carefully neutral but eyes dancing with something that looks suspiciously like amusement. "No ketchup required, huh?"

"Don't start," you mutter, carrying the pizza to the kitchen. "And don't even think about putting hot sauce on this. I saw you wincing earlier from your mac and cheese."

"My tongue is fine," she protests, following you. "Besides, maybe I like the burn."

"Your masochistic tendencies are concerning, Carpenter."

She hops up onto your counter, legs swinging slightly in that stupid perfect skirt. "Says the person who just went full guard dog on the pizza guy."

"I did not—" you start, then catch the look on her face. "I was just… concerned about food temperature maintenance."

"Uh-huh." She's full-on grinning now, cheeks still tinged pink. "And I suppose the death glare was just about proper pizza handling protocols?"

"You know what?" You grab a slice, pointedly avoiding her gaze. "I preferred it when you were defending your crimes against pasta."

"Speaking of which…" She reaches for the bottle of hot sauce she apparently manifested from thin air.

"Absolutely not." You snatch it away, holding it above your head. "I'm not listening to you complain about tongue burn all night again."

"Bold of you to assume I need your permission," she says, sliding off the counter and stepping closer. Much closer. Close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, can feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

Your breath catches. She reaches up, ostensibly for the hot sauce, but her hand lands on your wrist instead. Neither of you moves.

"Tara," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Your mac and cheese is getting cold."

She laughs, the sound soft and close, and you think maybe this is better than any Valentine's party could ever be. Even if she is completely wrong about pasta condiments.

"You're impossible," she says, but she's smiling, and she hasn't moved away, and maybe—

Dookie chooses this exact moment to knock over the entire box of pizza.

"Traitor," you both say in unison, then look at each other and burst out laughing.

The moment breaks, but something else settles in its place – something warm and comfortable and maybe a little bit inevitable. Like the way Tara's hand is still on your wrist, or how she's looking at you with that half-smile that makes your heart skip beats.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, screen lighting up with a notification. Tara glances at it reflexively, and something in her expression shifts – subtle enough that someone who doesn't know her as well as you do might miss it, but you've spent months cataloging her micro-expressions during horror movie marathons.

"Charlotte?" she says, and there's something in her voice that makes your stomach drop. "Didn't realize you two were still talking."

You reach for your phone, but Tara's already turning away, suddenly very interested in reorganizing the scattered pizza toppings on her plate. "It's not—"

"No, it's fine," she cuts you off, but her shoulders are tense in that way they get when she's trying too hard to seem casual. "I mean, obviously you can talk to whoever you want."

"Tara."

"I just thought after what happened at New Year's—"

"Nothing happened at New Year's," you say, perhaps a bit too quickly. "We just talked."

She lets out a laugh that doesn't sound like a laugh at all. "Right. Because that's totally why you disappeared for an hour and came back looking like—"

"Like what?" There's an edge to your voice now, the playful atmosphere from earlier evaporating like morning dew. "Come on, Carpenter. Say what you really mean."

She finally looks at you, and there's something raw in her expression that makes your chest ache. "Like you'd rather be anywhere else. With anyone else."

"That's not—" you start, but she's on a roll now.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have…" she trails off, pushing her plate away. "This was stupid. I should go."

"Are you seriously doing this right now?" You follow her as she starts gathering her things. "Over a text message you didn't even read?"

"This isn't about the text," she says, but she won't meet your eyes. "This is about you always having one foot out the door."

"Me?" You can't help the incredulous laugh that escapes. "That's rich coming from someone who can't even admit why she really skipped Chad's party tonight."

She freezes, one hand on her bag. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means." Your heart is pounding, words spilling out before you can stop them. "You're not the only one who's allowed to be scared, Tara."

The silence that follows is deafening. Even Dookie seems to be holding his breath, watching from his perch on the bookshelf with unblinking eyes.

"I'm not scared," she says finally, but her voice wavers slightly.

"No?" You step closer, close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. "Then why are you running?"

She looks up at you then, and there's something in her eyes that makes your breath catch – a mix of vulnerability and defiance that's so uniquely Tara it makes your heart hurt.

"Because you let her kiss you," she whispers, and the words hang in the air between you like smoke. "At New Year's. You let her kiss you, and then you came back and acted like nothing happened, and I—"

"She didn't kiss me," you interrupt softly. "I stopped her."

Tara blinks. "What?"

"She tried, yeah. But I stopped her." You run a hand through your hair, frustrated. "Because apparently I'm pathetically gone for someone who puts ketchup in her mac and cheese and thinks 'Prom Night' is better than 'Sleepaway Camp.'"

A beat passes. Then another. Tara's still holding her bag, but her grip has loosened.

"Pathetically?" she repeats, and there's a hint of something in her voice that might be hope.

"Absolutely tragic levels," you confirm, taking another step closer. "It's embarrassing, really. I can't even enjoy pizza delivery without getting jealous."

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "That was pretty embarrassing."

"Says the person who wore The Skirt™️ to watch Yellowjackets."

She flushes, but she's not running anymore. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Tara," you say softly, "I notice everything about you. It's kind of the problem."

She looks at you for a long moment, then slowly sets her bag down. "You really stopped her?"

"Of course I did." You reach out, tentatively tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Some of us don't have terrible taste in everything."

She laughs, the sound watery but real. "Just in movies, right?"

"And pasta condiments," you agree, and when she smiles, it feels like coming home.

The moment stretches between you like taffy, sweet and fragile. Tara's looking at you with those eyes that always make you forget how to breathe properly, and you're close enough to count her freckles, to see the way her pulse flutters in her throat. Her hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with a certainty that makes your heart stutter.

You could kiss her. You should kiss her. Everything in you is screaming to close that final distance.

Instead, you step back.

The hurt that flashes across her face is gone so quickly you almost convince yourself you imagined it. Almost.

"I can't," you whisper, and the words taste like ash in your mouth. "Not like this."

"Like what?" Her voice is carefully neutral, but you can see her walls going up, brick by careful brick. "With me?"

"That's not—" You run a hand through your hair, frustrated. "You're upset about Charlotte, and the pizza guy, and—"

"Don't." She pulls her hand away, and the loss of contact feels like a physical ache. "Don't you dare try to explain away what just happened."

"I'm trying to protect—"

"Me?" She laughs, but it's a hollow sound that doesn't reach her eyes. "From what, exactly? From making my own decisions? From wanting something that apparently terrifies you?"

"That's not fair."

"No?" She takes a step back, and somehow that small distance feels like miles. "Then what is this, really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like you're the one with one foot out the door."

The words hit like a slap, echoing your earlier accusation back at you. "Tara—"

"You know what the worst part is?" She's gathering her things again, movements sharp and jerky. "For a second there, I actually thought… God, I'm such an idiot."

"You're not—"

"Save it." She's not looking at you anymore, focused intently on collecting her scattered belongings. "I get it, okay? You're not ready, or you're scared, or whatever excuse you want to use. But don't pretend this is about protecting me."

You want to stop her. Want to explain that you're terrified of ruining this, of losing her, of what happens when the Valentine's Day magic wears off and she realizes you're not worth all this trouble. Want to tell her that you've never been good at keeping the things you love.

Instead, you watch her shrug on her jacket, that stupid perfect skirt swishing with the movement.

"Tara, please—"

"I should go," she says, and her voice is steady even though her hands are shaking slightly. "Before I say something we'll both regret."

Dookie watches from his perch as she heads for the door, tail twitching like he's judging your life choices. You don't blame him.

She pauses at the threshold, one hand on the doorknob. For a moment, you think she might turn around, might give you another chance to fix this. But then her shoulders straighten, and you know what's coming before she says it.

"For the record?" Her voice is quiet but clear. "You're wrong. About everything"

The door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than a slam would have. You stand there in the silence, surrounded by half-eaten pizza and the lingering scent of her perfume, thinking about all the ways hearts break in horror movies versus real life.

-------

A/N: I feel like a cartoon villain. It's nice.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #let the light in au

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crossingthedreams · 5 months ago

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no one else to turn to — aemond targaryen x sister-wife!reader

masterlist | day 16 (@angstober) — no one else to turn to

summary: in aemond’s mind, everything he did, he did to protect his family. what he didn’t realize was how much he was hurting them in the process.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst. targaryen incest (brother/sister). arranged marriage. sexism. reader is one of the greens (i’m not though). slight reader x aegon, if you squint. no use of y/n. not proofread.

You were more than somebody’s wife, somebody’s sister, somebody’s daughter or somebody’s grandchild. That’s what the men in your life constantly failed to understand. You were a person before you were, involuntarily, theirs.

The matter at hand wasn’t your right to an opinion, but a right to your very own identity.

Somehow, all of the sentences coming out of your brother’s mouth began with “as a child of…”, “as the sister of…”, always justifying how you should be by taking the men in your life and putting their wellbeing and their thoughts above your own. it was degrading and belittled you, not as a Targaryen Princess — which, make no mistake, you most certainly were — but as a human being worth of the same rights as any men.

You stomped angrily towards your sister’s room, eager to share your frustrations. It wasn’t until you were inside that you were reminded she’d be very little conversational. All your worries faded momentarily when you saw Helaena curled up on the couch, a green duvet in her hands and gaze lost in the distance.

It was only a few weeks since the terror she was put through with her children. She looked so small now, and she was barely older than you.

You sat next to her, but didn’t touch her. Before the terrible events, Helaena already disliked being touched. Now, you didn’t even want to risk it. Poor girl, she didn’t deserve all this sorrow and stress.

“Sister”, you called, quietly, trying to enter her vision camp. “Sister, it’s me”.

“She won’t talk right now”.

Your mother’s voice came from the entry, and she was elegant as always. The grief clothing she wore for your father and nephew suited her. As you turned to look at her, your back straightened instantly. Your memory of tedious suppers during which she would tap your leg to fix your posture was immediate, and you didn’t want to relieve it.

She approached the both of you, and sat near Helaena without saying a word. You wondered if this was her daily ritual.

“I believed you’d be at your brother’s side, dear”, the Queen Alicent said to you, without taking her eyes off Helaena. She passed her hands through the disheveled hair of the current Queen, and you realized you hadn’t responded.

“I was”, you began, unsure whether it would be wise to continue. Not because of your family, but of the servants. Anything could go back to your brother and, depending on his mood, even the kindest words spoken about him would do you more harm than good.

Your mother raised her brown eyes to meet yours, “I see”.

Your gaze moved from your mother to your sister back and forth, before deciding this room was much too crowded. You excused yourself, filled with a new sense of horror as you left the room. Even the Queen couldn’t be protected, so what hope was there for the common woman?

You walked slowly back to your chambers, which were joined with your husband’s. You were just shy of six-and-ten at the day of your wedding, and your mother was adamant that there would be no bedding ceremony.

Your husband, then, in an unusual act of selflessness and kindness, chose to wait a while, until it was you who came to him. The joined room’s were his idea after the first night you spent together. That way you could have your space and still come to him, and have him come to you, too.

In that aspect, you were lucky. When Helaena was pregnant, she talked more, and she mentioned Aegon would be in and out of her in five minutes, and only every other night. What an awful relationship.

Yet, Aegon was still your brother, and he was severely wounded after the Battle of Rook’s Rest that took Princess Rhaenys’ life. You weren’t close to her, but you knew her, and she was always kind to you. It was a terrible loss caused by this senseless war.

According to your dearest brother, though, you didn’t have a clue as to what was necessary to the Realm.

The memory of it made you tear the necklace you were wearing and throw it against a wall. Your maid called your name, and she probably saw you as a petty, annoying Princess right now, throwing a tantrum like a child.

You stilled your breath, and turned towards her. “Please make arrangements for me to see the King this afternoon”, you told her. You hated giving orders. That was something your brother Daeron wrote about to you constantly.

Later that day, you still had your family in your mind. How did you all become such a mess?

You practically tiptoed inside Aegon’s chambers, unsure to what he’d be, look or act like. You hadn’t seen him since before the battle, and all you knew your mother and husband had told you. Apparently, he looked terrible, felt a lot of pain and was but a shell of who he used to be.

When you found his figure, laying on the bed, you realized they had been too kind in describing his state.

He was burnt in a way you had never seen before, and it went down to his body beneath the covers. His hair had mostly fallen, and his ear melted to his ear. The pain he must have felt… You felt awful. There had to be something you could do to ease him. He wasn’t a wise man, nor was he the most galant, but he was your big brother.

“What are you doing here?”, he said with difficulty, before you could even open your mouth.

You looked into his eyes, the violet of it paler than ever. Before you could speak, you decided to sit at the chair by his bedside, so you weren’t looking down on him.

“I had no one else to turn to”, you decided to tell him the truth. He remained quiet, but you saw something shift in his gaze at the realization he was still needed, and not useless. You let your head drop to your hands, feeling ridiculous to be complaining to a man who had just survived dragon fire and the loss of a child.

Still, the tears began to fall.

“You may talk”.

At his bed, burnt beyond recognition, without a crown — that was the first time you saw Aegon as a King.

Your head raised, and you wiped away your tears. Before you began, your back instinctively straightened.

“Mother is… well, mother”, you both let out a breathy laugh. “She’s deeply unhappy, brother. Daeron hasn’t sent news in over a fortnight, and Helaena is…”.

“I think it’s best if we skip over my dear wife, sister”, his gazer turned away from you. You felt honesty in his tone in a way you hadn’t ever. “I don’t know, and never knew, how to comfort my wife”.

“Marriage is tricky, is it not?”, you tried to lighten the mood, making a small jest. However, Aegon didn’t laugh.

“I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for you”.

Your confusion must have been clear, because he continued, even though it clearly hurt for him to speak. “You were just a child, and you were thrown into a man’s bed, which can be quite the insalubrious environment, as I have been made aware. It kills me to think what married life must be for you and Helaena”.

“It wasn’t your fault”, you said, with sincerity too. “You were a kid, and you were thrown into all this. We deserved better, brother”.

You didn’t want him to cry anymore than you wanted to cry yourself. When you saw the tears in his eyes, you stood up and kissed the top of his head. A gesture of fraternity.

A sound came from the door, and when you turned, you saw the man who was the object of many conversations you had lately.

Aemond Targaryen was a complicated man, with more nuance to him than poetry, and sharper than a dagger. Your older brother who, at adolescence, took you as his wife before the Seven and, later, in a Valyrian ceremony for your family.

The fear that emanated from Aegon as soon as he saw Aemond was perceptible. You had no idea what happened amongst them, and as much as you wished to find out, you knew some things were out of your reach, even with deep curiosity.

“My love”, Aemond greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, as if nothing happened earlier. He then looked over to Aegon, taking his hands and kissing them gently. “My dear brother”.

Aegon was quiet now, still afraid.

Aemond’s hand found the small of your back as he guided you outside, not letting you say goodbye. He said it for you before the door slammed behind you, and Aegon was left alone inside once more.

“What were you doing in there?”, he demanded to know, the hand that laid carefully on your back now grabbing your arm as he walked with you in the direction of your joined chambers.

There was a part of you that refused to talk, whilst the other wanted nothing more than to rub his face in… in whatever that with Aegon was. Unfortunately, mysterious didn’t do it for you.

“Conversing with my brother, the King, who is severely injured and in need of company”, you spatted.

“I know he is injured”, Aemond grunted.

“Of course you do, after all, you were there”, you replied as coldly as you could. He turned to you immediately, his one lilac eye almost in flames.

“What are you implying?”, he said between gritted teeth.

“Absolutely nothing”. You moved your face closer to his, letting him see you smile.

You didn’t fight often with Aemond. He was your husband, your older brother and you loved him dearly… Most of the time. Today, though, today he pissed you off — and you had earned the right to piss him off right back.

“Certainly you do not think me capable of any sort of con or coup, my love”, the irony that flooded in your voice was unfamiliar even to yourself. “After all, I am but a woman”, you mirrored his words from earlier that day, when you were called upon by the Small Council to fight alongside your husband and brother. Your refusal made Aemond cruel towards you, battering words you’d never thought you’d hear from the man who shared your bed.

His one eye closed, and he let go of your arm, that would surely be bruised for days from the sheer strength he held you. You let out a long breath as your husband approached the opposite side of the corridor, the one with a view to the Winter Garden. From the garden, you could hear your mother’s voice. The long sleeved black dress you wore, with gold, green and red details, was enough to cover whichever bruises you might have. From this ridiculous exchange with Aemond or any other affair.

You sighed profusely, both from tiredness and to get Aemond’s attention. His head turned a little to look over his shoulder, but he didn’t make eye contact.

“Am I excused?”, you broke the silence, annoyed still. “Or am I to watch as you pout like a child looking for mother?”

He turned so quickly towards you his hair made a whoosh sound. He pointed one finger at you, lips pressing against each other, and then threw his hands in the air.

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman!”, he exclaimed, turning around once more so your eyes didn’t meet his.

It was wiser to let him vent at this moment instead of making another remark, so you waited for him to continue.

“All I do, I do for you”, he lowered his tone, still avoiding your gaze. “And yet, here you are. An unappreciative, ungrateful little girl”.

“Mind your tongue”, you said, feeling your blood boil. You squeezed your eyes, hand still on the arm he handled with such force earlier. “I am not a whore you visit whenever you please and talk as you please, I am the daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and sister of King Aegon Targaryen. You will not speak to me this way”.

You’d never heard silence quite this loud.

“If I cannot count on you, Aemond, then who will I turn to?”

“You can count on me to defend you, sister, but…”

“Who will defend me from you, brother?”, you interrupted him, letting the frown between your eyebrows grow. “Who will stand up for me when you bring me down in front of those pampered men thinking they can order me and my dragon around, not knowing the first thing from either me or Silverwing?”

Aemond straightened his back. He looked cold, distant at your firm tone. What an interesting sight it was for any servant who passed at the moment. The Prince Regent and his wife, in a staring match at the halls.

There was an old saying that whenever a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin, and the whole world holds their breath to see which way would it land: greatness or madness.

There was another thing about Targaryens, as you came to realize. The terrible loneliness. None of you had, truly had, one another. You heard the rumors about Daemon and Rhaenyra. You saw before your own eyes Aegon and Helaena. You knew the stories about what your father did to the late Queen Aemma, who was as much of a Targaryen as any of you.

You loved your husband. That was exactly why it pained you so to realize you had no one else to turn to.

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 10 months ago

Text

Ghostbuster. || kidnapper!Simon "Ghost" Riley

[ FIC MASTERLIST ] || [ CHAPTER 2 -> ]

Rating: M + Dark Fic + DDNE Words: 4.2k~ Pairing: Serial Killer!Reader x Serial Kidnapper!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark fic, serial killing, serial kidnapping, torture, body disposal, death, murder (purposeful), murder (accidental), mentions of rape? (neither Simon nor reader rapes anyone!!!!!), blood, knife/weapons, gross abandoned buildings, police verbage. tags: dark fic, serial killer AU, no smut (for now), OOC Simon, you/your pronouns, afab!reader, reader & simon terrorizing the city of Manchester, Manchester geography/accuracy?. a/n: fully inspired by the post below, by @moongreenlight ; also fully a gift for @superhero-landing

"This marks the 7th body found in the Greater Manchester area in the last 6 months."

It's dark outside. Eerily so. Probably because, although the moon is high in the sky, full and bright, plenty of clouds hide it from view. The weather forecast speaks of heavy rains for the next few weeks, but you got lucky... It's not currently raining. It leaves the night feeling weirdly still and quiet, the roads long empty after people retreated into their homes after work.

But not you. Never you.

You turn your head to peer at the old box TV in the room over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed in on the screen where the news anchor talks about the police investigation at hand.

"The victim, a 24-year-old university student, residing in Wythenshawe, had been reported missing last month, on the 18th, after having not come home after a nightout with friends."

The old shop is dark too, barely illuminated by a camping lantern you've brought inside when you first broke in. The air is stale, almost unbreathable from all the dust; the floor, and counters caked in a layer of dried particles, courtesy of the decades' long abandonment the shop has suffered, as well as the ceiling panels having come loose, knocking down concrete dust all over the shop.

Shaking your head, you carefully click your tongue in displeasure, while you clean the tool in your hand with a rag, keeping your eyes and ears still honed into the broadcast. "Poor thing." You comment to yourself.

Your head slumps forward to reach your arm, and you rub the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and forearm, sniffling a bit to clean some of the snot dribbling down your nostrils due to the overly dusty air.

"The Great Manchester Police HQ has issued a warning on the brutality of the recent string of murders and their commitment to find the people responsible. The Police Chief urges that anyone who might have any information to please come forth."

Sighing, you turn your head away again, as the news anchor drones on about the funeral for the young girl who was just found. You step away toward the array of tools displayed, for your convenience, on one of the old counters, laid neatly across a black tool roll bag and carefully set the knife atop it.

The shop smells. It's not entirely unpleasant, but you've gotten used to it either way. You're pretty sure if you weren't, it'd smell horrendous, like it did in the beginning. Stale, dusty air, old blood caked into the gashes and knife cuts on the wooden countertops, tools that were abandoned and grew colonies of bacteria after enough time went past, old vent systems that haven't been cleaned, meat display cases that didn't get disinfected before the butcher shop went out of business.

Tossing the rag aside, atop the butcher's block countertop, you run a finger over the wristband of your black cooking gloves, the latex feeling sticky and damp due to the fresh blood caked onto it. Turning on your heel, you return to the center of the room and look down at the body slumped on the chair before you.

"That guy is a fucking sicko, isn't he?" You complain and crouch before the man tied to the chair, raising his bruised and bloodied face by gripping him around the chin.

The man before you looks like the rest of them, balding and with a 5-o'clock shadow of a beard. He was greying as well, as most of them tend to be. Old, perverted bastards... He's slowly paling before your eyes, the blood slipping down his abdomen, soaking through his clothes and flowing onto the drain below his rickety chair.

"You know, you've gotta be a particularly... Nasty bastard to kill women that young... To bathe and redress them post-mortem..." You trail off. The man before you doesn't reply. He looks groggy and languid, blinking irregularly, and his chest heaving. Barely aware of anything as his life, much like his blood, drains from him.

It's almost poetic to watch his blood stain the white tile of the backroom of the shop, the walls lined with racks and hooks meant to, in the past, hang carcasses from... Almost like this old cooler room is finally fulfilling its role again, to cool and drain a dead body of its blood, all of it flowing down the incline toward the drain...

"I believe I saw in a few Criminal Minds episodes that those types that... clean them afterward feel 'regret' for what they did." You shake your head and kiss your teeth in annoyance.

"They feel regret after it's done, but not while they do it. 'es it mean they gain a conscience after the fact?" You ask him. "Monsters, the lot of them..." You chide and scoff, letting go of the man's face.

Then, you smirk as you notice his breathing get shallower, his head going a bit more limp, hanging low, his chin pressing over to his chest. Leaning forward, you bring your mouth close to his ear, your lips almost grazing his ear. "Don't worry, I won't clean you up once I'm done."

Sitting in your dark bedroom, you lounge back lazily on your desk chair, chewing some bubblegum and tapping away at your mouse before scrolling down a forum page.

The room, much like the rest of your flat is dark, only illuminated by the bright blue-toned light emanating from your computer screen, even in dark mode.

The best part of the internet age is the fact people share, comment and gossip about everything. It makes your research so much easier. Though, you suppose it's human nature... to be curious and gossipy. Social creatures and such.

Clicking on one of the posts on the subreddit r/ManchesterCrime, you skim through the post, where the OP is mentioning how they live nearby to the location where the new body was dumped: the southside of Manley Park.

Grabbing your pink fuzzy-top pen and a couple of highlighter markers, you get up from your desk chair and lean over your desk to the corkboard hanging behind it.

You take your writing materials to the printed map of the Greater Manchester area which you had pinned to the cork slab, tracing the information you have so far:

Resident of Wythenshawe.

Captured somewhere between The Three Pigeons and home.

Dumped in Manley Park.

You set down your pens and grab some pink wool string and a couple more pins, using them to rig up a new line to connect the dots over the map.

Taking a step back, you look up at the map and sighed, shaking your head, feeling anger flowing through your veins.

You have been trying to figure out the killer's area of operation for months... Trying to triangulate it, find a pattern...

But nothing.

No convergence point for the lines; no silly little connect-the-dots shape being formed; no secret message being shared... Or maybe there is and you just suck at reading it.

So far, all you have is 7 pieces of string of different colors... 7 victims. All over Manchester, with no overlay.

Just... 7 young girls taken for weeks at a time, killed and then dumped like rubbish.

Has he been taking them to different secondary locations all over the city before slaughtering them?

Has he been driving about, passing by schools and homes and banks and shops, on his way to the dump sites... with a body in his car?

Allegedly, they were all bathed and redressed, with no signs of sexual trauma or abuse, other than a stark loss of weight and some rope burn around the wrists and ankles...

But who really knows?

You are no PI or constable, just a sleuth. Whatever information you have, you got from the internet and from the news... You have no way to be sure of anything.

It angers you to imagine what he had been doing to those poor girls while keeping them to himself.

The poor, terrified girls... someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's girlfriend, someone's friend... And he had been plucking them from their mundane, safe lives and murdering them?

Throwing yourself back down onto your chair, you stack your fingers together, elbows on the armrests, and swiveled side to side as you looked at the corkboard map.

You hate men like this.

Predators.

Taking and hurting and killing with no issue or hesitation... Sure, psychologists might allege that he feels regret and expresses it by caring for them after death... But you disagree with that interpretation.

You've never met a man who regrets hurting a woman.

It's almost funny how easy it was to play with a man's emotions.

They see a pretty face marred by running mascara and red, swollen tear-filled eyes, holding a thumb out for a ride on the side of the road, and they always stop.

From then on, you can just spin whatever sob story about needing a ride...

Men love to play the hero... and oh, how idiotic they are.

They always let you in, and within an hour you have a new warm body to tie up and toy with.

In a way, you are actually surprised by how long you've been able to get away with this for.

You're secretly thankful your murders have not been given any attention so far.

You suppose that's one thing you could thank that... killer for.

You hate how the internet had given him a name already:

The Ghost

because someone allegedly witnessed him dumping a body in Heaton Park, and then vanished into the shadows of the night like a spectre.

Don't they know what happens when they give these types killers nicknames?

How that embiggens and emboldens them?

Have they never watched a true crime show? Or even a fictional one?

But... regardless... as long as young women are being slaughtered by a maniacal monster of a man, and, therefore, kept in the eyes of the world... No one is going to notice the missing middle-aged men you'd been consistently murdering for the better part of 3 years.

Yet another way where men have the upper hand over women. Lady killers just don't get taken as seriously.

You think of that as you watch the body disappear under the water, the cinder blocks you had tied to his feet dragging him under.

You wait a few minutes after his bald head vanishes from view, making sure it doesn't re-emerge, your hands tucked into the pockets of your parka, dead leaves crushed under your hiking boots.

Another body; the 8th one.

This one got dumped much quicker.

A 26-year-old till clerk at a Tesco had been reported missing only 36 hours before her body got found.

The news spoke about the incident and the GMPHQ deemed it a separate occurrence. An accident. The girl had been a Type 1 diabetic and seemed to have had a fatal sugar crash.

But you know it has to have been 'The Ghost'.

You don't know why. But you can just tell.

And, for the first time, as you draw up the line over the map, to signal where she got picked up and where she got dumped... there's an overlay.

The pick-up site, somewhere between her job, and her home... and the dumpsite.. Alexandra Park, near Oldham. Both those locations were mere minutes away from where the second victim had been picked up months ago.

Has he gotten sloppy?

Has her sudden death thrown a wrench in his plans and caused him to panic and pick somewhere nearby?

Your eyebrows twitch and a smirk takes over your lips as you finally find something you can exploit.

"Got you, you fuckin' knob'ead." You say and can't help the proud chuckle that escapes your mouth.

Simon's pissed off.

He feels like shit after having gotten that girl killed on his watch.

Not that he hadn't gotten the other ones killed either, but this one had truly been an accident.

Between the stress and the fear, her blood sugar had dropped and Simon hadn't noticed before he left the house to pop to the shops and get them both some food.

And by the time he got back and made her dinner, she was just... gone.

It startled him.

Startled him more than when the other ones died.

While looking in her purse for a justification as to why she passed... like any medication he failed to give her, he found the insulin pen and the sugar monitor.

So now, here he is. Back on the street. Back on the prowl. With 8 accidental kills under his belt and a desperate need to fix his streak.

He drives aimlessly. It's a Saturday night and Simon was sure he was going to find some young, vulnerable girl wandering about and stumbling over her own feet, too drunk or high to even walk in a straight line without stumbling or having to lean on street lamps and walls for support.

He hates seeing girls in that state. Young, vulnerable, alone... Left to be preyed upon by some creep in the shadows... Their support systems having failed them...

What kind of friend leaves a drunk girl to find her way home alone when she can barely stand?

What kind of manager lets an employee walk home after dark?

What kind of parent, or sibling, lets a girl walk home from the bus terminal during a storm?

And then they wonder why girls get raped or murdered senselessly by dirty bastards in back alleys.

That only happens because no one protects these vulnerable girls.

They protect them as children, but not as adults? What kind of world does such a thing?

Probably the same world that misinterprets his actions as senseless killing.

He's not a killer.

He's... just very bad at taking care of the girls he... 'helps'...

He never means to hurt them. He's no monster. He just wants to protect them.

For once it's actually raining. Heavily so. The water has soaked through the slinky mini skirt and spaghetti strap top you're wearing, your heels are open-toed and slippery, and each step you take feels like you're about to fall face-first into the mud.

You've had your arm out-stretched and your thumb up for the better part of an hour, trying to flag down any car driving past, only to get no luck.

You're at your wits' end, and so so close to calling it a night and trying to stop baiting a driver into taking you in. It's that bad tonight. You can't seem to reel anything in.

The cold wind nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs, and you know well you'll spend the next week in bed with the nastiest cold of your life.

A car zooms past you as you walk and show your thumb, only to groan and protest when it doesn't stop...

But it does slow down to a stop not far ahead of you, having turned on its blinkers after spotting your outstretched arm and thumb up.

Rushing over to it, you stumble a few times and trip and slip with your heels on the wet tar of the road, before you come up to the passenger side door.

Look in the window, you find a young-ish looking bloke behind the wheel, looking at you with concerned eyes and knitted brows. He leans over and pops the door open for you.

"Get in, get in!" He tells you urgently when he notices you shivering like a wet dog in the rain.

Climbing inside the car carefully, you close the door behind you, hearing how the rain and wind turn muffled once you do.

It's surprisingly clean inside, the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror smelling of pine. It's also warm, so warm, the heater running at max temp and making the car so much more cosy.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for stopping!" You whine, forcing yourself to sniffle and hiccup as tears pour down your face. They're fake ones, warranted by you watching a handful of soldier-coming-home videos on youtube and using some menthol-infused stick in your undereye.

"You alright, sweet'eart?" The man asks as he looks at you with worried eyes. "Are you all alone out here?" He asks and glances out of the window.

He's younger than most of the men you usually bait out, but he'll do. He's also... more handsome than most of them too. Long, prominent nose, a long jaw and chin, pouty pink lips, and the biggest brown eyes, not to mention a crew cut worth of blonde hair.

"Yeah..." You sniffle. "My boyfriend he... we were coming back from a birthday party and we... he... we were arguing and he tossed me out of the car and... and...!" You explain. The practiced lie slips through your teeth quickly. It's been used on about 7 of the 20 or so men you've wiped off the map, and you say it as if you truly believe it, which helps sell it.

You also stumble over your words, as if you're starting to choke up, to make sure you sound even more distraught. Men love when you're hyperventilating.

"Alright, it's alright-!" He tries to reassure you and sets a hand on your shoulder. "God, you're freezing. How long have you been out there?" He asks you, concerned.

"I- I don't know! An hour?" You answer with a whine, your lip quivering as more sobs rack your body.

Your eyes are sharp, though. You're noting his every movement. How he quickly pulls away from the backrest of his seat and shrugs off his coat and wraps it around your bare shoulders. "Here. It's alright. You're alright."

You continue softly sniffling, tucking your legs to the side toward the door, while hiding your face in your hand.

"Where can I take you?" The blond man asks gently as he glances at you and slowly leans closer, resting an arm on the steering wheel, the other on the centre console.

"I don't... I don't know..." You whine and sniffle. "I can't... I can't go home... I can't face him right now..." You trail off. "I can't believe he'd toss me out of the car like that...!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, love, but he sounds like a right knob'ead." He says and carefully pats you on the shoulder. "How about I take you to the bus terminal? Or the station?"

"I don't know...!" You whimper. "He took my things with him... I can't even buy a ticket home to my mum..." You hiccup and try to clean the tears off the corner of your eyes.

He's handsome, he speaks calmly, hasn't tried to touch you longer than simply patting you for reassurance, and even gave you his jacket... You almost feel bad about doing this to him. Almost.

"Tell you wha'." The bloke says as he leans a bit closer, tilting his head to look at you in the eye. "I'll take you to the bus terminal and give you a couple more pounds so you can call your family or a friend to come get you, yeah?"

Sniffling, you shake your head. "No... you're already... doing so much! I can't... I can't even pay you back!" You add.

You really should earn an Oscar for this performance. The damsel in distress who's actually such a good girl that she doesn't want to impose on this man's money or take too much of his help.

"Don't worry about any of that." He tells you and waves his hand to dismiss the point, before leaning over and fixing the direction of the air vents on the dash, making sure they point at you to keep you warm. "You don't have to pay me back, alright?"

Nodding a bit, you try to stop crying and rub your eyes with your hands, causing an even bigger mess within your make-up, your fingers now also stained with mascara.

"Here. It's alright. No need to cry anymore." The driver says affectionately as he offers you a tissue from a pack, before he shifts in his seat and starts driving forward.

Simon watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives. Poor little thing, all alone, abandoned by her boyfriend, left on the side of the road...

It's like the universe had handed you to him on a silver platter. He couldn't not take you in! And, this time, he's not going to let anything happen to you.

He's not risking it.

And so of course he's going to soothe you, to calm you down, you, the poor little thing, that got left on a side road by your awful boyfriend, like a stray cat no one wants to feed...

That's the thought in his head as he drives down the wet roads, the windshield wipers working overtime to beat the pouring rain that decided to attack the city of Manchester even more aggressively than usual.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, making sure to drive carefully and steadily, and trying to spot the look in your face as he does.

You still seem stressed, frazzled, worried. The tears haven't stopped despite your breathing having settled...

He wonders if you've had anything to drink. You're definitely not drunk, but the amount of tears... maybe tipsy?

Maybe you won't even need to be threatened. You'll just... let him take you into his house, gently guide you into the bathroom and let you wash off the mud and rain...

He'll give you clothes, and food, and let you watch tv with him... And he'll keep you warm and safe, like everyone in your life has failed to, that got you to the moment you were now in...

Alone.

Afraid.

Abandoned.

He wants to tell you not to worry, that he's here now... But he holds his tongue. You'll hear it later.

"You should've kept going forward instead of turning right..." You say aloud, forcing your voice to still sound soft and meek, as you look out of the window.

You've been driving for a while. You've kept your head low, enjoying the warmth coming from the A/C, which helps with the genuine cold wetness of the rain that settled on your skin and bones.

You're not stupid. You know the way to the bus terminal and to all the train stations in the area...

He's not taking you to either. In fact, you're pretty sure you've taken 3 rights in the last 5 minutes, and are, in short, going back the way you came.

"Sorry. It's easy to get turned around with this rain, I'll go back to the main road." He replies. His tone apologetic, and his brow scrunched in concern... But his eyes... his eyes are hard.

It sends a tingle down your spine. For once, you actually baited out a man that has nasty intentions with you.

Had he not tried to do that, you would've considered letting him live... But no, of course, he's actually a creep...

What a shame... He's actually kind of cute. In a blue collar sort of way.

It gives you some weird sense of satisfaction, the realization in the back of your mind that you might have succeeded... that you might have bated him out... The Ghost.

Your hand carefully slips into the left side of the waistband of your slinky skirt, the side closest to the door, so he can't see, your fingers already wrapping around the handle of your pistol.

Your eyes remain on the street, the road, keeping an eye out as he returns to the main road and goes back over the area he has just driven past. A closed down shop, the post office...

And you wait.

You wait patiently for the next time he tries to turn right and put you back on course toward the area you had triangulated for The Ghost to live in or work out of...

And he does. He does just that.

Within a minute, he turns right again...

And you don't hesitate.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol handle and you rip it off the confines of your skirt, your arm hurling itself toward him, steadily pressing the barrel to his temple...

Only for you to notice his arm moving sharply at the same time and, you're suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

His eyes are wide, his brown irises nearly invisible from how wide his pupils are blown and he stops the car suddenly with a hard brake that jostles you both forward.

Looking each other in the eye, over the top of both your pistols, you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

The look of surprise, confusion and pure dread painted in his features, the way his brows knit together and furrow in displeasure, his lips already twisted into a scowl...

It's a sickly sweet pleasure, to spot the way that, just like the other ones, he's scared of your pistol... It's likely his first time... But an unfamiliar warmth forms in your tummy as you stare down his pistol too... It's also your first time...

"Well, well, well... Would you look at that?" You quip as a smirk takes over your lips. "Looks like I've busted myself a Ghost."

You don't miss the way his brows go from concerned and fearful to dropping low onto his eyelids, and his jaw clenches in disgust.

Got him.

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itsonlybaby · 10 months ago

Text

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 - 𝐣. 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐲﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist ! i hope you enjoy this

John Murphy - Dropship

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ You hated Murphy since you landed on the ground, you didn't expect for him to awaken something in you. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: shameless Murphy smut, plot, some violence, nsfw

Life on the ground was incredible.

It was like nothing I could've ever imagined, even though there were threats, such as the grounders and unstudied plants due to radiation- but none as big as John Murphy.

Everywhere I looked he'd be there; infecting everything with his toxins. The power Bellamy had given him went straight to his head, he truly believed he was better than everyone.

He seemed to know I hated him, and he gladly reciprocated that. His way of showing me? By humiliating me every chance he got.

I hadn't understood why he hated me, I had always tried to be nice to everyone around camp; even him at times, but he knew just how to wear my patience thin.

I had been peacefully minding my business skinning the newly fresh rabbit brought in by the hunting party. The game they brought was enough to feed everyone for the next two weeks. A deer, two bunnies, and a bird. One girl also brought in a few plants for me to work with for seasoning.

I was the camp butcher and cook, having sadly lost the previous ones. Everyone always adored my cooking and I tried to work with what we had.

Well, everyone except Murphy.

"What're you doing?"

The voice hit my ears like nails on a chalkboard, I didn't need to turn around to know who was about to pester me into a hole.

"What do you think I'm doing roach," I ask with heavy annoyance in my voice, still focused on skinning the rabbits while the water for the stew boiled.

"Poisoning the camp with your horrendous cooking," I could hear him walking closer to me, and my patience grew thin with every step.

"just go away-" I had been cut off by a loud crash.

He had kicked the pot of boiling water over into the dirt, drawing the attention of others.

This was my final straw.

Gripping the knife in my hand I swiftly grabbed Murphy, holding the bloodied knife to his throat.

"Fuck you, Murphy!" I shouted the blood from the rabbit was now on his neck.

Fear was masked behind ego in his eyes, I could tell he was scared by the way his hands defensively went up.

"I'm sorry, alright!" He spewed, something was relieving about hearing those words, seeing him so afraid of me. Though, anybody would be afraid.

Deep down I knew I wouldn't kill him, I knew the consequences of that. Killing Murphy wouldn't be worth getting tossed out of camp.

It had only been a few seconds before Bellamy was pulling me off of him. I didn't fight it, I just glanced around at everyone before picking up the pot and heading out to the river to collect more water while also clearing my mind.

There were never any final straws with Murphy around.

When I returned back to camp the air was thick with tension, and eyes were locked onto me as I prepped the broth for the rabbit meat.

I wasn't sure what Murphy could've told them, and I didn't care, if they chose to believe the cockroach then humanity was doomed.

It only took an hour to get the soup ready, everyone leaving me alone. I hadn't spotted Murphy yet, he wasn't terrorizing anyone, not making his presence known.

Was one threat really all it took to get rid of him?

Once I set up food for everyone I headed towards my shared ten with Raven, exhaustion quickly catching up with me. I had long forgotten about Murphy, the only thing on my mind was a peaceful night's rest.

Entering the tent I shrugged off my shirt, trying to change into a new one when I felt someone grab me from behind, making a yelp rupture from me.

I felt something cold and sharp press against my neck, fear instantly climbing up my spine as I thrashed around. The person's hand went to cover my mouth as he leaned in towards my ear.

"What're you gonna do now?" He whispered threateningly.

I instantly knew who it was, his scent invading my nose in a surprisingly good way. I tried to fight it, the thoughts of how his hands were on me felt good, this was no moment to think about Murphy like this.

He was holding a knife to my throat for fucks sake!

Knowing Murphy I thought he was really going to kill me, I soon felt regret for holding that knife to him.

I stopped thrashing around as it was no use, my breathing became wild as I prepared for the worst.

"Giving in to me so easily?" His hand uncovered my mouth, fingers still touching my lips.

"Suck," He demanded, his tone of voice was strong despite being hushed so nobody would hear.

This was the last thing I'd expect to happen with Murphy.

I couldn't help the lower sensation begin to rise throughout my entire body as I opened my mouth, Murphy's fingers instantly invaded the wet and warm place. I felt fuzzy and vulnerable all over, soon realizing I was enjoying this.

"Good girl," He said, making my thighs clench together, trying to get any type of friction to my clit.

Over time the blade on my neck didn't scare me, the fear turned to pleasure. My lower body became needy, the taste of his fingers being engraved into my mind as I was sucking wildly as if it was Murphy's cock and not just his fingers.

I could sense his smirk after I let out a soft moan, he was enjoying this too. Having me under his control, to do whatever he wanted with me. The thought could've made me cum then and there.

"Remember this next time," He whispered into my ear.

His knife trailed up and down my body, making me shiver at the coldness of the metal.

He suddenly retracted his hands to his sides, making me miss his fingers and the authority he held over me.

I turned around and he was leaving the tent, the taste of his fingers still vivid in my mouth.

I had debated running after him and demanding an explanation but I stood there, starstruck.

It didn't take long for me to snap back into reality, the thoughts I had about Murphy hit me like a train, embarrassment suddenly replacing the feeling before. I tried reminding myself I hated him, but despite everything I told myself, my body longed for his touch once again.

I wasn't sure what possessed me that night, I was sure it'd pass after a night's sleep. But I wasn't even safe in my dreams, his touch followed me everywhere.

Who knew weeks of hate could diminish with a few touches?

Though I still hated him.

I was sure of that.

But I couldn't stop my attraction.

I couldn't stop my mind from roaming in places it shouldn't.

I couldn't.

The only day I wish he annoyed me, he didn't. He would walk right past my butcher table, right by me. As if the previous night hadn't happened, as if his fingers didn't fill my mouth searching every crevice and crease.

Every so often Id catch him stealing glances at me- or at least I thought I did.

But I knew it was true when he was the first in line for breakfast, taking an extra long time to pick out his decision, forcing the tension between us to grow thicker. It was like he was torturing me like he knew just how bad I needed him.

The feeling had become too much for me, I quickly filled the bowls for dinner and rushed off to my tent once again, needing to relieve myself at least a little bit. I knew Raven was working with Monty in the dropship to figure out the wristbands so I had a bit of time to myself.

Rushing into my tent I dropped my pants and threw them onto a nearby chair. I climbed into the makeshift bed and began sucking on my own fingers, trying to mimic Murphy's movements the best I could.

I couldn't believe myself, getting off to the guy I despised with every ounce of my being. The way his middle part looked, how his nose was a bit too big for his face, how dark his blue eyes looked. I imagined every part of him, going back to that night in my mind.

My other hand snaked down to my clothed pussy, rubbing myself through the fabric while a series of moans escaped my occupied lips.

"Murphy..." I let out unrestrained, speeding up my movements.

"Yeah?" I heard someone ask.

My eyes instantly shot open as I scrambled up, staring at the one and only Murphy. How did he keep sneaking in her without me hearing?

He walked closer to me, "Don't let me stop you," He spoke, staring down at me.

I was frozen with shock, unable to process what just happened. How much had he seen? My face must've been a bright red by now.

"Too scared now? I said, Don't let me stop you." His hands found their way to my throat, giving it a light squeeze. I wasn't sure of his motives but I knew, in this moment, I was more turned on than ever.

The grip he had on my throat only turned me on more, now soaking through my panties.

I shakily began rubbing myself through my panties again, my nerves shooting through the roof. The man Id been having fantasies about was now watching me fuck myself.

Murphy swiftly unbuckled his belt and undid his zipper, bringing his hard cock out in front of my face, the sight had me drooling while he smirked down at me.

"Put that practice to good use," He spoke, tapping his tip on my lips, the hand on my throat now running to my hair, grabbing a fist full of it causing me to open my mouth just enough for him to thrust into it. He released a low groan at the initial feeling, the taste of his cock now invading my mouth.

I swirled my tongue around the shaft of his dick while he fucked mercilessly into my mouth, gripping my hair tighter every time to keep me still. With every thrust he hit the back of my throat, sending chills down my entire body.

"Thought you hated me," He said in between grunts, "Now you have my dick in your mouth," His familiar smirk was still planted on his face, he'd never let me live this down.

I felt his dick twitch in my mouth before he pulled out, tear snow streaming down my face.

"Fuck you," I said in between breaths, regaining my composure.

"Yeah, don't worry, you're about to." He took me by the arm and made me lay flat with my ass in the air.

His hands grabbed and slapped at my ass, making me squeak out pathetic moans. Grabbing the waistband of my panties he dragged them down, revealing my soaked pussy.

"You sure you hate me?"

Before I could reply he had already trusted into my pussy, giving me no warning. the sudden filling made my back arch. Murphy threw his head back, relishing the feeling of my tight pussy around his dick.

He didn't let me adjust before he was thrusting deep inside of me, unable to control his urges. The pleasure was unlike anything of felt before, his length made it so easy to hit every spot inside me, spots I'd never even known of.

"I hate you!" I moaned out, I wasn't sure if it was true or not anymore, I just didn't wanna give him the satisfaction of knowing I loved being fucked by him.

"Want me to stop?" He retorted. He knew I didn't want him to stop, so when I didn't answer he grabbed a fist full of my hair again, forcing me to prop my arms up to support myself. The grip on my hair only helped him pound into me further, not giving me any chance to think.

I wasn't just full of Murphy, I was full of hatred. I hated the fact I enjoyed this so much, hated the fact I never wanted it to end, hated the fact he could make me feel this good, hated how much I loved this.

"Fuck, Murphy!" I felt the familiar wave of my climax race up my body, making me shake with pleasure as I came around his dick. This didn't stop Murphy, in fact, it only fueled him more.

"Just let it out," He spoke breathily, my arms felt like they were gonna give out but before they could he pulled my hair, bringing my back to his chest as he held me up. "Let everyone in camp know how good you feel right now,"

His hands snaked up my body to my neck, giving it a tight squeeze, something I never thought I'd be into until Murphy.

"I hate you," I moaned out between cries and breaths, my sweet spot now becoming sensitive as he kept relentlessly fucking me.

"Sure looks like it," He smirked into my shoulder, now beginning to suck and bite as his own climax was nearing the edge.

The grip on my neck was enough to make me cum again, the tightening helping Murphy reach his own high.

Murphy quickly pulled out of me, shooting his load onto the ground of the tent, laying his head in the crook of my neck while he caught his breath. I leaned into his touch while his hands slid up and down my sides, tracing each curve with admiration.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked muffled.

"Go fuck yourself,"

Despite my words, he knew I wanted it just as bad as he did.

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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captainjonnitkessler · 2 years ago

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You know the first time I watched Nimona I was pretty firmly in the “Ambrosius is being a shitty boyfriend” camp. But the more I think about it, the more I think that if my boyfriend murdered someone in front of me, vanished off the face of the planet for potentially weeks?? and didn’t bother to so much as send me a text message explaining what the fuck happened, probably leading me to believe that I’d accidentally fucking killed him, and then he suddenly showed back up at my job, apparently totally fine, to commit a little light domestic terrorism before booking it the second he saw me . . . I would also probably not be in much of a listening mood the next time I saw him

#ballister: i was trying to see you -#ambrosius: I HAVE A CELL PHONE AND EIGHT SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS #WHY WOULD YOU DEFAULT TO WALKING INTO THE POLICE STATION LOOKING FOR ME #nimona

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mcuamerica · 6 months ago

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Waiting For You | Eris x Reader

For Eris Week 2024 - Day 1: Bonds | Bargains @erisweekofficial

Summary: Lucien and Tamlin bring Rhys's sister to Eris after Tamlin's brothers almost kill her. Eris finds out who his mate is.

Warnings: mentions of SA (nothing happens), canon level violence, torture, parental death (let me know if I missed anything!)

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears for Eris Week.

Your mother and you were in a small cabin just outside the Illyrian war camp territory, waiting for your brother to show up after his training for the day. You’d spend a week as a family, minus your father, in the cabin. As you admired the river streaming below the small porch, you took in the fresh air. Out in the middle of Illyria, no males to bother you. It was wonderful.

You let your wings spread out, admiring the way they felt as you took in the cool wind. Only, something was off about it. You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked around, knowing Rhys liked to play tricks on you all the time. While you were a fully grown Fae, you were still young and he was still teaching you a lot about being alert. This time, you were too late when your mother started screaming. Not in terror but for you to run.

Instead, you walked right back into the cabin only to see Tamlin’s brother, Xavier, with a dagger to your mother’s throat. Before you knew what was happening, another one, Neo, had one to your throat. “Hmm.. you smell devine… I should like ravishing you before I destroy these.. Precious wings.” He sneered. A cold chill went down your spine at his words. Your wings. Mother, please don’t let them take your wings.

“You let her go.” Your mother said. A fierce female that wouldn’t let either of her children get hurt if she could help it. You let out a sob as Xavier pressed deeper into her throat. You scented the blood before you saw it draw from her neck. “Do what you want to me, but leave her alone. She’s innocent.” She said.

“She won’t be for long,” Neo said, a shudder running down your spine as he nipped at your neck. Your magic was still new to you and certainly not as strong as Neo’s. Not to mention, his strength alone could hold you in his restraint for hours.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Your mother growled. A female protecting her young, that was all in your mother’s eyes. Suddenly, you had a terrible feeling neither of you would get out of this alive.

“Oh, we won’t make you watch.” Xavier let out a low laugh. “But you…” His gaze turned towards you just as Neo shoved you into a chair. “You get to watch us gut your oh so loving mother to shreds…”

“Why?” You asked, doing your best to keep your voice from shaking. “Why are you doing this? Rhys- Rhys is helping you!” You yelled. Too young. You were too young to understand any of this.

“Rhysand is growing too powerful and close to our dear brother… so we need to show him just how powerless he is. Let’s start with you.” He said, running the dagger along your mother’s arm in a deep cut.

Once they were tired of your screams, they put a gag in your mouth. And as your mother laid on the floor, blood flowing out of her, you couldn’t bear to watch anymore. But they made you, kept you awake just so you could watch them take her wings.

The things they did to you next were unspeakable. Carving scars and words into your back, around your wings. Running their rough hands along your wings… your body. The only thing they didn’t do was rape you… but their hands on your body… it was terrible.

And then they took their swords to your wings, shredding them and eventually peeling them from your back. Slowly. Their magic woke you long enough to view yourself in the mirror. Bruises covered in bright red blood along your once clean skin. Just hours before, your wings were intact and stretched out in the sun.. but now they were in the hands of your tormentors as they sneered.

“I hope Rhysand sees this message… not that you’ll live long enough to know.” Xavier said, his laugh echoing in your head before delivering the final blow. And then everything was dark.

Something wasn’t right. Eris could feel it in his gut, something was very very wrong. Someone was hurt… he just didn’t know who. Or why he felt this way. Still, he felt a tug on his heart, and he tugged back. Whatever that tug was needed an answering one.

He didn’t know what it was until his brother… the one who had vowed to never step foot in the Autumn again, came stumbling in with Tamlin. And a bloody, broken body between them.

“Xavier and Neo went crazy.” Lucien said. “They- they killed the High Lord of Night’s wife… and this… his daughter.. Rhys’s sister..” His words stumbled. “Eris, she’s barely alive.”

Lucien looked at his brother, the one who wouldn’t take part in killing his lover. The one who he knew had a compassionate side of him. Begged him to help her. If she died… It was bad enough that the Lady of Night was killed.. But a future heir? The High Lord of Night might start a terrible war. Tamlin and Lucien set you on Eris’s table, both peering at him like deer in faelight.

“Bring her in… and go find Renae. Quietly. Tamlin.. I suggest you go home and see to your brothers. The High Lord of Night will hear of this soon enough.” Eris ordered. Tamlin, the young prince he was, stumbled out of Eris’s private cabin and winnowed away just as Lucien went to find Eris’s trusted healer.

“(Y/N)...” He whispered, his magic flowing to heal any wounds. Just as it did… the bond snapped. His eyes widened and he stumbled back, the pain that eddied down the bond was unbearable. How… how were you still alive?

Eris let out a low growl at the thought of those males touching you. Hurting you. Like this. You were so young… just over 30 years old. And yet… they did this to you.

He shook his head, stepping up to you again to heal whatever he could with his magic. His wards rang the bell that Renae and Lucien returned, and he sat aside as he waited for Renea to work.

He told Lucien to go back to the Spring Court, check on Tamlin and not come back. Eris would be in deep shit when Rhys found out where his sister… his wingless sister was taken but he’d be damned if his little brother was caught in the middle of it.

So, he had a messenger deliver the news to the Court of Nightmares, that the Princess of the Night Court was healing in Autumn, too fragile to travel, and to send an emissary of Night to watch over her.

Azriel is the one who showed up, almost knocking down the door in the process. Eris growled as Azriel walked up to the table.

“Step back, boy,” Renae said, looking up from her gaze on you. “If you want her to be healed properly, you will give me space.” She said.

“We will have our own healers assess her.” He replied.

“She can’t leave. Moving her here was a mistake enough. Another trip might be fatal.” She stated before getting back to work.

“Why, Mother above, was she brought here?” Azriel asked, finally moving his gaze towards Eris.

Eris’s lips were a thin line, hiding the swirling emotions… The pain you were feeling… “The heir of the Spring Court found out about his brothers’ plans. Arrived too late to save the Lady of Night, but found the Princess unconscious. My brother, in aiding his friend, brought her here. Because if either of them stepped foot in the Night Court, they would have died instantly.” Eris explained.

Azriel let out a low growl, but paused when he heard a whimper come from your lips.

“I have healed all I can for tonight. She needs rest. Do you have a bed?” She turned to Eris.

“I will take her,” Azriel said, glaring at Eris as he gently took your broken, bruised, and bloodied body in his arms. Eris focused on restraining himself at the sight of another male touching you when you were hurt.

“Second door on the right.” Eris ground out. He was shaking by the time he heard the door shut. “Will she survive?” He asked Renae.

“She will… it will be a long healing process… but she will survive. When she wakes, she will be disorientated. I suggest that Illyrian stay with her, if she knows him well. A familiar, safe face will ease the pain of what she went through.” Before she left, she said she would be back in the morning to check on her, but to get her if anything else happened.

You woke up screaming from the pain. Of course, it was the one time Azriel stepped away to relieve himself and Eris was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. His room. You were in his bed. Azriel, thank the Mother, had cleaned you of the blood. You had bandages in almost every spot on your body, the brace on your arm and leg a temporary solution until Renae could come to fully set them.

Your screams… They were terrible. Full of pain, misery, and terror. Relentless horror.

Eris knelt next to the bed, not daring to touch you in fear he might hurt you more. “(Y/N), you are safe.” He whispered, resisting the urge to cup your cheek. Gods… Your face was still bruised, your nose now slightly crooked from how terribly it was broken.

Then your sobs started as you tried to move, but the pain must have been too much as your body slackened. Azriel burst through the door, shoving Eris aside as he took his place beside the bed.

At Azriel’s voice shushing you, you quieted. Your sobs were soft whimpers as your swollen eyes searched for Azriel’s. Or so he thought… until your gaze landed on Eris.

You couldn’t speak, but the way your eyes slightly widened… The slight tug on the bond he felt… He knew you felt it snap. You knew Eris was your mate. And you couldn’t do a gods damned thing about it.

It took two weeks for you to be well enough to travel. In those two weeks, Azriel didn’t leave your side. And neither did Eris, no matter how many times Azriel said he wasn’t wanted.

Azriel didn’t say that again when you corrected him. “I want him here.” You muttered, your voice still hoarse. No matter how much water you drank, the injury to your throat was a burden. “He’s helping me. I want him here.”

When it was time for you to go back to Velaris, you told Azriel to go outside. Shadows included. You wanted a word with the heir of Autumn alone. So, Az did as he was told and went outside, but kept an eye on you through the window.

“What can I do to thank you?” You asked, leaning against the cain Renae gave you, since your leg was still healing.

“Nothing… You don’t have to do anything. I don’t want anything.” He said and shook his head.

“You’re my mate.” You whispered, searching his eyes. “You have every right to claim me and keep me here.”

“Do you want that?” He asked, a soft look on his face.

You bit your lip, eyes glancing to the floor before you looked back at his face. “I will come back to you, Eris.” You said, reaching up your free hand to cup his cheek. “I promise.” You said. “I need… need to heal first.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.” He said, a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist. “I promise.”

With that, a tattoo formed around your forearm, and one on his. It was one of flame and shadow, but perfect for the bargain made for mates of Autumn and Night. “Thank you.” You whispered, then gave his cheek a gentle kiss.

You made your way to Azriel, taking his hand and telling him to not ask about the bargain you just made. You would get enough questions about it from your brother. And all you wanted to do right now was go home… where the new High Lord of the Night Court awaited you… and you needed to say goodbye to your father and mother at their burial sites, since you missed their funerals.

As you appeared in the Town House in front of your now smaller family, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you would have to wait to see your mate again. Or how long that bargain would last before it pulled you towards him again. What you did know, however, was that you didn’t care how long it would take. You would go back to him again. You would be with your mate. The male who healed you and helped you through the terrors of pain and loss in those initial days, even if they were now a blur in your mind. You would return to him. And he would be waiting.

Eris Masterlist

A/N: This is my first official Eris Week participation! I'm so excited! More to come throughout the week. I think you all will like it!

#erisweek2024 #eris vanserra #eris fic #eris x reader #eris acotar #acotar fic #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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jekosnd · 1 month ago

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Hypnosis Mic characters as real customers I had to deal with

To clarify I'm fond of most of these customers.

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Ichiro- guy who told me I need to stay in school or I'll turn out like him

Jiro- teenage boy who said I "can keep the change" and his change was $12

Saburo- kid who kept hitting his brother so much his mom made him go sit in the car

Samatoki- Guy wearing a shirt that said "Mess with my family and you get the fangs" with a shitty png of a wolf

Jyuto- officer who bought mouthwash while he was supposed to be responding to the woman who crashed into our store window

Rio- Guy who bought a tarp, rope, and trash bags and said "this is not for a body or acts of terrorism it is for camping"

Ramuda- guy who came in and bought $80 worth of candy and only candy

Gentaro- guy who kept going "Or am I" or "Or is it" to everything he fucking said

Dice- Lady who comes in every few weeks and gets a full cart only to buy five items max and only pays me in quarters and pennies. No other coins. She always says she'll have proper money for me the next week. She never does.

Jakurai- doctor who comes in only at night and buys whatever his kid wants

Hifumi- guy who screamed "NOOOOOOO" when I said over the intercom that we were closing in 15 minutes

Doppo- man who came in and told me he just got off a 14 hour shift and said this was his "last meal before his slumber" and it was cashews and a Reese's cup

Kuko- guy who said "I don't smoke any of that weed shit !" And then laughed and said "Fucking look at me ! Of course I smoke weed !"

Jyushi- woman who started sobbing when I told her I couldn't refund her purchase onto her card without the receipt. My manager felt bad and did it anyways and she started crying harder

Hitoya- old woman who told me she finally figured out how to prank her best friend of 55 years. She never explained the prank to me

Sasara- guy who made a pun about every single item he took out of his cart. He had over 20 items.

Rosho- woman who told me she started drinking because of her students

Rei- guy who wore a straight pride shirt

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Sorry I thought this was funny

#hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypnosis microphone

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hotnbloodied · 1 year ago

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I know you will probably ignore this but can you try doing Yan farmer x hero reader? (I guess an iskei trip or whatever idk I just wanna know if you could try and build with this idea)

I would never ignore a request, if I couldn't do it I'd let you know! But thank you so much for your request it was very fun to do! I hope that you enjoy~ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚HB˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Yan!Farmer X Isekai'd Reader

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

TW: implied non-con, obsessive personality, controlling behavior, toxic relationships.

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

It’s been a month since you found yourself in a world very much like the mmorpg game you used to play back when you were on earth. The first week was extremely rough, in the first three days you were in a frenzy trying to get your wearabouts about you. A couple of knights found you and were actually pretty helpful in guiding you to the church where the nuns made sure you were fed and taken care of. On your calmer day you decided you wanted to try something and called out the menu aloud. You almost jumped when the all too familiar screen popped up in front of you, the only thing missing was the option to ‘quit game’. The next chance that you got you asked one of the nuns how you could go about being an adventurer.

Here you were getting the hang of your class, who knew that combat in real life would be harder than it would be in a game. Monsters were actually terrifying and being in the wild sucked but at least you weren’t relying on other people to get by now.

You might have been getting too comfortable though because while taking on a quest to get rid of some monsters terrorizing some local fields you all but reached your limit, you were tired and wounded but the request was done and you just needed to report back to the guild now but you passed out.

You woke with a jolt. You thought the knights found you and took you to the church again but after looking at your surroundings that didn’t seem to be the case since it looked like a quaint cabin. You also noticed you were bandaged up really well. The door creaked open and in came a person you never saw before. “Oh you’re awake! That’s good.” “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude,” you told them. He shook his head, “It’s the least I can do after you helped clear our fields of monsters.” “Ah, I need to report back to the adventurer’s guild.” “You’re not in any condition to move! You need rest.” “I’m okay, I need to collect my money after all.” “Then, let me come with you.” Seeing no harm in that you allowed him to come with you. “I’m Mikha by the way!” The two of you exchange greetings and names. “Wow so you’ve only been an adventurer for a month? What made you want to be one?” “Change of pace I guess.”

After finishing the business at the adventurer's guild you were about to say your goodbyes with Mikha but he invited you to dinner and you couldn’t pass up free food. Back at his home you helped however you could in the kitchen but since everything was so primitive compared to your original world you were slow in learning. Over dinner you two talked about life, his parents died when he was young and he had to learn to take care of the farm from a young age in order to survive. He talked about how nice it was to have dinner with someone after being alone for so long. “Have you never thought about finding a spouse?” You asked. “I have, it’s just so hard when you have to tend the farm all the time.” The night ended with Mikha insisting that you spend the night there, which you agreed to since it’s better than camping out or spending money at an inn again.

A couple more months went by and you basically made yourself at home with Mikha. Even though he insisted that you paid with your company you still gave him money for his hospitality. All seemed to be going well until you informed Mikha that you were leaving this part of the continent to broaden your horizons of the world. “Mikha, are you okay? You dropped your food.” “I- I’m fine, when are you leaving?” “It’s going to take me a month to prepare so I’m not going any time soon.” “I’m going to miss you…” “I’ll miss you too! I’ll definitely try to write to you when I can.” Mikha lost his appetite, he thought everything was going good between the two of you, he thought he could convince you to stop adventuring someday and the two of you would settle down and start a family together. Was this really how it was going to end? No, he won’t allow it.

Your preparations were coming along and you were getting more and more excited about your journey. You couldn’t help but notice that Mikha seemed to have gotten quieter and just overall seemed to be more on edge. When you asked him what was wrong he’d vehemently tell you nothing was wrong.

Finally, the night before your journey arrived and Mihka had prepared more food than usual as a celebratory feast. You two ate and drank to your heart's content and Mihka even seemed like he was back to his cheerful self. After cleaning up, you went to go get a good night's rest but in the middle of the night you felt something burning in your core. You were extremely turned on and it was to a point where it was near uncomfortable. You squeezed your legs together, you tried to breathe it out and you even tried to relieve yourself but nothing was working. You didn’t even notice the knocking on your door until Mikha walked in to ask what was wrong. “Stay away from me!” You warned him, “I’m not in my right mind!” Mikha didn’t listen and because of that you jumped him and used him to your heart's content.

The next morning you were ashamed of yourself, you saw the marks and bruises you gave him from the night before. You were on your knees, crying and sobbing for forgiveness. He seemed like an angel when he pulled you in for a hug and told you everything is going to be okay but you’d need to take responsibility. You kissed your future dreams goodbye and eventually the two of you married and took care of the farm together. Mikha was just glad that you agreed to take responsibility so easily, but in case you ever tried to leave him, he would tell you about the succubus mark that was implanted on the two of you that night meant that no matter who else you decided to be with your lust wouldn’t have been satisfied by anyone except him.

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cinnamongorll · 10 months ago

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a fragile line - chapter 32

read on ao3! (146k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warnings: animal death

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter 32:

Two weeks later

Joel's POV:

“Get your gun out,” Joel commanded, pausing his own movements to watch as Juliet’s hand reached into the pocket of the jacket he had given her.

That jacket had been with him since before Boston, before he had even met her, and now it hung from Juliet’s shoulders, marking her, in a way, as his.

Those months in Jackson, after he’d pushed her away in the cruellest way possible, Joel watched as Juliet formed a life for herself just as she had all those years ago in the QZ. He would watch her leave for patrol with aching terror weighing him down, and he would see her walk past his house with Ethan as that dark jealousy almost ate him alive. And when Joel came to his senses, and his world was drenched in thick regret, there was one thing that let him hold out hope that he could be forgiven, that there might still be a chance for them: When Juliet left for patrol with Matt, or ate in the dining hall with Ethan, or laughed with Tommy, she was always wearing his jacket.

That mark of his depraved possession was still on her and Joel knew that deep down their connection remained.

“I’ll do the talking,” Juliet announced as she tightened her hold on the horse and adjusted her gun in her other hand.

She looked ready for battle. Her hair tied back in a ponytail and her face wiped clean of any fear.

Joel still thought this whole trip was the most idiodic thing he’d ever agreed to. But to Juliet, it really was a battle. She was fighting for the truth about who she was, and what was done to her. She didn’t want revenge, Joel had already sorted that for her. Juliet just wanted to find a way to move on, and Joel would fight to give it to her.

They stood in the field between the edge of the forest they had just travelled through and the fence surrounding Elijah’s community, or that’s what it had once been. Joel feared where the leadership landed following his death.

Joel released a heavy sigh and focused his gaze on the tall fence in the distance. He didn’t see any movement but that meant nothing. The greatest threats were usually difficult to spot.

He turned to Juliet behind him, allowing his eyes to sweep down her body. It was a nervous habit, Joel was always searching her body for any signs of hurt.

When he closed his eyes he still pictured her lifeless body in that metal chair.

His fists closed around his shotgun, tightening until his knuckles were a stark white.

“Any sign of trouble, we get the hell outta there. You hear me?” he warned Juliet, already contemplating changing his mind and taking them back to Jackson before they even reached the fence.

Juliet would find a way to get here on her own, Joel knew she would. That’s why he agreed to this fucked up plan in the first place.

That crease between her eyebrows formed as she looked at him, then she nodded slowly. Joel allowed himself to take another breath, then another, as he turned back towards the fence.

“Right, let’s get you some answers.”

………………

They approached the fence cautiously. Joel walked in front with his gun ready and Juliet was only a few steps behind, holding the reins of his horse who walked beside them.

The last time they’d been here, Elijah’s men had circled them immediately, having spotted them in the watchtower a mile off.

Now, there was nothing. No security, no sound. But that’s not what made Joel pause. As they drew closer, he noticed that the towering wooden gate… was open. Almost as though they were waiting for someone to stumble in.

Joel turned back to Juliet, catching her wide eyes with his own. He shook his head quickly before turning back to the fence. He wanted her to stay where she was. Joel was going first.

That voice in his head was screaming at him to turn back. But maybe the town was just abandoned and, if Juliet could see that, they could head home, back to Jackson. Maybe Juliet would learn to live without closure.

Joel’s already tight jaw tensed even further, his teeth grinding together as he walked quietly to the open gap in the fence and stepped inside.

With his shotgun raised, Joel sweeped his eyes across the field in front of him and narrowed his gaze towards the buildings in the distance.

It was empty.

He stood for another minute, barely breathing as he listened. Still, he could hear no voices and he couldn’t track any movement on the mainstreet.

Joel had been doing this for long enough to know that this initial observation meant fuck all if there were people hiding out in the houses, or waiting eagerly for him to draw closer before they decided to strike.

Something about this was different, though. He knew the history here. Their leader died a few months ago, and the townspeople seemed useless. Maybe the entire community just fell apart.

But why would they leave?

“Joel,” a sharp whisper beckoned him to turn around.

The decision lay heavy on Joel’s chest. They could turn around now, leave this place behind forever, and just put this whole quest behind them.

Meeting Juliet’s eyes, and seeing the glimmer of sacred hope forged in them, made Joel decide otherwise.

Slowly, he nodded, and let his shotgun swing from his shoulder as he wedged the fence open wider to allow Juliet and his horse to come through.

Instantly, Juliet stiffened. She looked as though the weight of her memories were consuming her from the inside. Joel itched to sooth the crease in her forehead and erase every dark thought, but his hands were too rough and he could never find the words.

“Don’t wanna be in the open too long,” Joel said, squinting in the winter sun, “if Danny is here, we better try and find him.”

Juliet nodded but said nothing, just tightened her grip on the horse and started heading towards the mainstreet. It was like she’d never left this place, the way her shoulders instantly dropped as she walked through the fence.

Joel ground his jaw and prayed to whatever god still looked down on this wasteland that Danny was still alive and was able to ease the horror that lived in her head.

…………………….

It was worse than he’d imagined.

Every house was ransacked. Doors were broken down, windows had been smashed in. The glass littered the rickety wooden porches.

The people here hadn’t left willingly, if they had left at all.

There were dark patches on the concrete pavement, trailing a map of spilled blood down the street. The stains were black, indicating that this had happened a while ago.

“Raiders,” Juliet whispered as her eyes flashed to him.

It wasn’t a question but Joel still nodded slowly in silent agreement. They had both lived that life and knew exactly what mark it left behind.

Joel wondered how long the community had held out after Elijah had died.

Juliet let go of the horse’s reins to wipe a hand over her forehead, then she turned to Joel.

“Maybe Danny’s still here… he’s resourceful, he could have survived this,” Juliet said quickly, then paused, biting her lip as the reality of the situation seemed to hit her.

Joel gave her time, his eyes stayed locked on her face as she puzzled over their situation.

Finally, Juliet inhaled a deep breath. “We came all the way here, we have to try,” she decided, reaching to grip the reins again.

“Okay,” he ground out through his gritted teeth.

If he had the guts, he’d throw her over his shoulder, get them both on the horse, and get the fuck out of here. But, in doing so, he’d be sacrificing whatever affection Juliet still had for him and he couldn’t let that go.

Instead, he stepped in front of her, raised his gun higher and led the way down the street to where he remembered Danny’s “bar” being. If they were doing this, he wasn’t letting a fucking thing happen to her.

………………..

“Shit,” Joel murmured under his breath as they approached the building.

Panels of wood had been nailed across the door, blocking all sign of entry, or keeping something out…

“Take the horse,” Juliet said from behind him in a detached voice, as she dropped the reins and began to jog around the side of the building.

“Juliet,” Joel scolded as he grabbed the reins and followed her. Joel’s heartbeat had begun to roar in his ears, echoing the desperate fear that consumed him when Juliet was out of his sight.

He watched from behind as Juliet reached the gate around the back of the building and walked inside, with a carelessness that made Joel’s heart wrench.

Every inch of the town was thick with an almost impossible silence and Joel cringed with every brush of their feet on the concrete.

When Joel reached her, Juliet was standing at the back door to Danny’s building. Joel dropped the horse’s reins, stalked over to her, and gripped her arm, pulling her in a hard tug towards his body. Once she was plastered to his side, Joel dropped his mouth to her ear.

“What’re you playin’ at?” he demanded, breathless.

Juliet’s breathing was quick and wild as she turned her head to blink up at him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Juliet looked dazed, as though she hadn’t realised what she had done. From the looks of it, her mind was back in that basement with Elijah.

Joel eased his grip on her.

“You move when I move, that’s it,” he said in a cold voice, his heart still pounding.

Quickly, Juliet nodded back.

Joel turned to look behind him, his horse stood patiently inside the fencing that surrounded them. There was still no sign of people, so Joel decided it was safe to leave him out here while they searched the building.

With his hand still circling Juliet’s arm, Joel swung her around until she was at his back, ignoring the sharp gasp she let out.

The quiet that surrounded them seemed to scream in his ears like those old white noise machines people used to have. His thoughts condensed into one mantra: get in, get out, keep Juliet safe.

The handle turned easily and Joel’s eyebrows furrowed.

He pushed and held his breath as the darkness inside the building beckoned them in.

It was in this bar that he had met Ethan, who confirmed the worst assumptions Joel had made about Juliet’s father. The memory was like a bitter taste in his mouth, reminding him of his own stupidity.

He was always too fucking slow.

Joel took a step inside, then another, and heard Juliet do the same behind him, mimicking his movements in the way only she knew how to do.

The darkness was fierce as the boarded up doors and windows blocked any light from entering. Joel inhaled a breath and regretted it almost immediately. The air was thick and unusually humid like the bar hadn’t realised outside had turned to winter.

Once they were in the centre of the room, Joel stopped, reaching a hand behind him until it hovered over Juliet’s waist. Then, he squinted his eyes and attempted to the best of his ability to search every corner of the room, searching for godknows what -

“Who’s there?” a startled voice rang out in the empty room.

Joel gripped Juliet’s waist tighter, pressing her to his back, shielding her with his body. He couldn’t see a damn thing, didn’t even know what direction the voice came from.

Suddenly, he was blinking as an oil lamp was turned on, bathing the room in a soft, warm light.

Juliet stepped around Joel’s body. “Danny?”

“Juliet?”

Joel stiffened as he took in the man before them. This was not the bartender he remembered. This man’s face was unshaven and his body looked as though he hadn’t eaten a thing in several weeks. His eyes were the worst. They had that starved look about them, the look that usually meant that he’d forgotten what it meant to want anything other than a meal.

“Jesus,” he coughed out, stumbling closer as he walked around tables and chairs with a stiff, painful looking gait. “The last time I saw you, you were bleeding out on a table.”

Juliet’s entire body recoiled and Joel flexed his hand around the trigger of his gun.

“What are you doing back here?” Danny asked cautiously, scratching his head.

Joel looked down at Juliet, but she was just staring ahead at the man, looking as though she’d seen a ghost. And maybe she had; it didn’t look like there was much life clinging to the man.

“What happened here? Where is everyone?” she asked quietly, in a voice barely above a whisper.

Danny’s lips spread into a thin line as he slumped into one of the chairs, having grown breathless from his short walk across the room. With a trembling hand, he reached out in front of him, gesturing at the other chairs. “Take a seat,” he grunted.

The man couldn’t have been older than his mid-forties, but he had aged rapidly in the last few months. It was hard to imagine this being the same man who helped him restrain Ethan in the back room.

Juliet carefully lowered her gun and stepped forward towards Danny. Joel did the same, but his gun didn’t drop an inch. Once they were both seated, the weight of Juliet’s unanswered questions hung between them, unable to be ignored.

Danny sighed and shot a look behind him before he leaned forward until his sharp elbows rested on the table. Joel shifted in his seat, positioning his gun under the table to face towards its potential target, should he need it.

“Please,” Juliet breathed in a voice far gentler than he expected, “what happened?”

Joel looked at Danny and watched as his eyes softened at the sight of Juliet’s pleading. The sight made him wonder what kind of friendship they had before she left town. Joel remembered the horror on his face when he saw Juliet on that metal table, with the evidence of her father’s hate etched on her body. The healed scars on Juliet’s body told him that her spilled blood was not an unusual sight in this town. How could a man stomach to watch a young girl go through that and still stand by the man who made her bleed?

Joel’s finger hovered over the trigger.

Finally, Danny ran his hand through the greasy strands on his balding head and met Juliet’s eyes.

“Things fell apart pretty quick after Elijah died,” he began. Joel didn’t miss the way his glassy gaze flickered to him.

“Your father liked his secrets,” Danny said with a strange smile as he clasped his hands in front of him. “It was the mark of a great leader, I’d always thought. He made sure we didn’t know everything, to keep us from carrying the burden of the town.”

Joel’s eyes hit the ceiling as he puffed out a breath.

Danny ignored his reaction and continued. “He told the town that they were the only survivors. It was a lie, of course, but a necessary one. It kept people from wanting beyond their means -”

“And it kept people dependent on him,” Juliet cut him off sharply, shifting in her chair to cross her arms over her chest.

Danny laughed, and Joel was struck by an intense urge to squeeze a little tighter on the trigger.

“Well, yes. I suppose it did. What I was trying to say was… your father held those secrets a little too close to his chest. Meant that when he died, we had no access to his suppliers anymore,” Danny grew quieter, his eyes locked on his hands.

“Your father was a God to these people,” Danny paused, shaking his head, “when they found out he died….”

He scratched his neck, turning to look back over his shoulder.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted.

“So where is everyone?” he demanded.

Danny’s eyes thinned. “Did you not see the streets? They’re all dead,” he swallowed and dropped his hands back onto the table, “raiders got to us, we had no defences left. I’m the only one left.”

Ain’t that convenient.

“What are you doing here, Juliet?” Danny asked, pointedly avoiding Joel’s stare.

She shifted in her seat.

“That night, when I came back… my father told me something before he died. I have to know if it’s true,” Juliet answered as she straightened her spine.

Danny’s eyebrows furrowed. “What did he say?”

Juliet swallowed and Joel ached to touch her, but he was too tense. Being gentle wasn’t an option for him.

“He told me that I wasn’t really his daughter, said that he killed my real parents,” Juliet revealed in an almost robotic voice, distancing herself from her emotions.

Joel kept watch of Danny’s face, tracking his reaction like a hunter.

It looked like he was doing a damn good job of not reacting at all, apart from the slight quiver of his lip as she continued to stare at Juliet.

“Your father told you that?” he asked quietly.

Juliet nodded. “Was he telling the truth?”

Danny dropped eye contact with Juliet, leaned back in his chair, and for the third time since they had sat down, he looked over his shoulder towards the back door.

That instinct that had guided Joel for the past twenty years, the instinct he should have listened to all those months ago when they first walked through this town, was roaring at him to bolt. Something wasn’t right here.

Joel stood, bringing his shotgun with him. “Who else is in this town?” he demanded, flicking his eyes between Danny and the back door.

Danny’s eyes widened and he held his hands in front of him. They were still trembling.

“Joel,” Juliet hissed, moving to stand beside him, trying her best to get him to look at her.

Danny broke out into a sick cough, pulling their attention to him. “No one,” he said between thick breaths. “Just me, I told you.”

“Joel, what are you doing? He knows something!” Juliet protested, gripping his arm to lower his shotgun.

“I know he does,” Joel agreed coldly, then turned his focus back to Danny. “Why’d you keep looking behind you?” he challenged.

Danny’s hands were still in front of him. “I haven’t! Just put the gun down and we can talk about this,” his eyes darted to Juliet, “I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Please, Joel,” Juliet whispered to him, seemingly blinded to all danger by her desperate need to know the truth.

But he knew what was best. He knew how to protect her, even when she couldn’t do it herself.

So, Joel stepped around the table and stalked through the room towards the back door. Juliet was on his heels.

“I swear, there’s no one out there,” Danny called out behind them, struggling to match their pace.

When Joel’s hand reached the door, he paused, listening. Beside him, Juliet did the same, slowing her breathing. Seconds later, she looked up at him and Joel watched as her eyes darted to the door with a nod. Juliet’s self preservation had returned.

He nodded back and held up his hand, asking her to wait, to trust him. Juliet pulled her gun out and flipped the safety off, nodding back.

Her faith in him nearly sent Joel to his knees.

His hand met the cool metal handle and he turned, pushing the door open only an inch. Joel turned back as the winter sun streamed in, illuminating the red hidden in Juliet’s deep brown hair.

Then he pushed the door open further, and stepped out into the small courtyard. His head turned quickly, scanning the area for any movements. His horse was -

Where was his horse?

Hot blood rushed in Joel’s ears as his gaze dipped.

No.

The carcass barely resembled the creature they had ridden here on.

It lay on its side, with black eyes now devoid of life. The head was the only part of him still intact. Its torso had been split open, its ribs had been cracked and only red nothingness remained inside.

Shock didn’t usually get to Joel, but the sight made him pause.

Time slowed to a crawl. He should have called out to Juliet, yelled at her to slam the door closed, to lock herself inside. The words coated his tongue but he couldn’t get them out.

Whoever did this was still here, waiting, lingering. They had probably been watching them the whole time.

He didn’t know where to look. They could be anywhere.

Time started to speed up again and Joel’s head turned as his warning began to leave his lips.

“Stay insi-”

His world tilted so suddenly, Joel wondered, for a split-second, if the world had been knocked off its axis. Then the pain exploded across the side of his head.

Joel’s vision blurred as he dropped to his knees on the biting concrete. His shotgun slammed to the ground beside him, echoing the sound across the walls of the courtyard.

A piercing scream unleashed from a direction he couldn’t figure out, he thought the voice called his name but his head hit the ground and he couldn’t hear anymore.

He was always too fucking slow.

___________________________

@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom @joelmillersblog @socialistmary @orcasoul @ashhlsstuff @caitlynsixxx

#joel miller #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #joel miller hbo #ao3 fanfic #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #Spotify

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severalowls · 2 months ago

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Look I'm extremely pro-luigi but some of the posts about how he's "the wrong guy" are fully nuts conspiracy shit.

"It was a different jacket" yes, the surveillance picture where you can see his face is from the night before, when he checked in to a hotel. Having a backup jacket and backpack to ditch (which he did, in central park) is like the most basic thing you can do to evade identification.

"He looks different" People look different from different angles and especially different lenses. This is basic shit yet its still the basis for shit like "Avril Lavigne was replaced by a lookalike" stuff

"He said police planted evidence" yes, but please don't just read headlines. The planted evidence was 1. Large amounts of cash, which would potentially increase the severity of the crime 2. A 'sophisticated' backpack, which is just completely nonsense it was probably just expensive. They're using both of these things to inflate a case of him being some kind of professional assassin or danger to society. This is the part that he is denying. Because it's bullshit, it's inflated, and its extremely deniable. But...

"Why was he carrying a manifesto and the gun and all that other stuff, why not dump it" now I'm not Luigi any more than the next poster, but when you escape from a high profile assassination in a major city, and are on an intercity bus which by some miracle, has not been stopped by the police for like 3 days your paranoia is through the roof. It doesn't calm down, it just gets worse as the improbability increases. I imagine the mental space to be similar to my great grandfather's friends, who escaped a prisoner of war camp in fascist italy, and those few weeks on the run left them on edge, moments from being caught, for the rest of their lives. Compare his remarkable calmness "in the moment" vs descriptions of him visibly shaking when approached by the cops.

So the gun is either 'security' or, my initial assumption was that he was heading to another city to do another one but that is likely the narrative the prosecution will try to construct.

The manifesto is also security. He was up against the nypd, who recently shot about 4 bystanders over a subway fare. If he was gunned down, he needed to be able to communicate his motivations weren't just (as I've seen some clown on here say) "wanted to kill somebody"

"The manifesto is terrible" yeah its pretty weak, its not impossible that it's fabricated but its also possible it's of the "written on his phone while on the run" variety, see above point.

"Why was he in a McDonald's" he had been on the run for days, the places that greyhound buses stop are irregular and also stupid. He didn't come out of hiding and pop down the road for a big mac. As noted above, he may not have planned not to be caught, and have overestimated the nypd.

"He's innocent until proven guilty" yeah thats how the US justice system works. He's innocent of the crime, particularly of terrorism. Does this mean that physically literally he didn't cause bullets to enter a CEO who subsequently died of bullet wounds? No, honestly, he almost certainly did that. It remains to be seen whether, legally, this makes him either a murderer and/or a terrorist. People who demonstrably shot bullets into a person who then died are acquitted on a regular basis, though most of them are cops.

#i promise if he didn't do it he would have made that claim at any point whatsoever #this has been in my drafts for weeks but im STILL seeing REGULAR replies to ANY post about him #repeating all of these points passionately. mostly the planted evidence thing.#the distinction is whether he is a killer [not technically a crime] or a murderer [a crime] or #a terrorist [a political label to justify removal of human rights]#luigi mangione

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docochocart · 9 months ago

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DOCORONPA R

CHAPTER TWO

[ victim ]

Trucker lay twisted on the Craft Hall floor, blood gently trickling from his now crooked nose. It was certain the man was unconscious, otherwise he would've risen by now.

Cowboy repeated himself to an audience of his stunned peers:

"Everyone good?"

Streamer was the first to pipe up, naturally. She let out a stilted cackle looking down at Trucker.

Cowboy spun to meet her eyes, clearly not sharing the same light-hearted attitude about this situation. He spoke sternly, letting the girl know that she'd wind up on the floor with Trucker should she do something like this again.

It wasn't long before MonoMaton arrived, bringing backup and a stretcher with him. They loaded Trucker up and unceremoniously hiked him off to the Medic building to join the others.

The group split after a short debriefing.

...

The next morning, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Physically at least.

MonoMatons had clearly moved in overnight to get the Craft Hall back to tip top shape for the camper's morning meal.

Breakfast was still as uncomfortable as usual. Bartender and Sailor continued their verbal crusade on Ice Skater to a minimal reaction.

Drummer could barely stomach her food. The room was emptier than ever with 2 students dead and 3 in the Med Building, how many more would they lose?

Social Star tried making light conversation, giving up after the fifth interruption by Sailor's drunken roars. The rest of their meals were finished in a brooding silence.

After their breakfast, the girls headed down to the lake for some rest and relaxation.

Social Star led the conversation, letting it be known how fed up she was with Bartender. The other two girls agreed, sharing similar sentiments.

The three agreed that they would try and pull the diva aside at lunch. Maybe if they pointed out the target on her back she'd dial back the theatrics.

...

The group rejoined for lunch, Social Star wasting no time in approaching Bartender. The girl looked at her with a sneer after a tap on the shoulder.

Social Star subtly tried to separate her from her new, overgrown bodyguard. No luck. Bartender coldly replied that if they were gonna talk, Sailor would stay to chat too.

Social Star used all of her PR skills, putting it as gently as possible that they both were being huge fucking wads. Before Bartender could get her jabs in, Sailor piped up:

"Oh... You're taking sides with the Traitor, huh?"

Social Star took a step back, hastily clearing up that she had "no side in this." Wrong answer.

Sailor rose to his feet, staring down at the girl from his towering height. He cracked a drunken smirk, boldly turning to the room:

"Any of you pussies who are making 'friends' with this traitor should be watching your backs too."

Sailor fell back to his seat with a massive thud, clearly very proud of himself. Not nearly as proud of Bartender, though. She coldly looked back to Social Star, dismissing her back to her table.

Social Star turned back in fear and shame, her eyes subconsciously drawn to Cowboy for protection.

Cowboy sat upright, staring silent daggers at Sailor. His silence was deafening, it was clear that Cowboy had much less confidence in taking on Sailor than Trucker.

The gruesome twosome continued their verbal terrorism until everyone had finished their meals.

...

Back at the lake, Social Star spoke much more passionately than she had earlier. It was almost as if she'd caught whatever toxic-rant bug Bartender had.

Personal Trainer tried talking her down from her rage, to little avail. The rant was only interrupted by a long, gravely scream coming from the trees.

The girls froze, not sure what to do. After the week they'd had, they wanted no part in whatever danger was about. They stayed planted on the dock until that dreaded sound rang throughout the camp.

*DING DING DING*

A BODY HAS BEEN DISCOVERED!!!

The girls sprung to action, all sprinting back to base camp immediately following the announcement.

A group had already congregated outside of the Craft Hall. The girls joined the crowd, completely out of breath.

Sailor's voice carried over the rest of the chaos. He drunkenly span in circles crying out:

"WHERE IS THIS FUCKING BODY?"

His questions would soon be answered, as Rebel, Cowboy and Welder came sprinting from the brush. The terror in their eyes said everything the cast needed to know.

...

The entire camp, excluding injured parties, came to inspect the body. They all anxiously followed Cowboy back to the corpse in silence. Deep in the woods, they finally reached what they'd been looking for.

A neon yellow sleeping bag laid mangled in the brush. It was stained completely red toward the bottom, clearly collecting blood for hours. The zipper was partially undone, but the body still completely obscured.

Cowboy turned away as he pulled the sleeping bag open, and what was underneath was nearly unrecognizable:

SECOND VICTIM

ULTIMATE TRUCKER

Trucker could barely be made out from what had been done to him. The poor man's face was mangled beyond belief, shattered inward from blunt force trauma.

His body laid in a pool of blood, clearly collecting for several hours. He almost didn't look human.

Drummer stared forward in disbelief. It almost didn't feel real. How was this possible? Who could have done this?

She could hear the delayed reactions of her peers around her. The groans, the tears, the vomit. They didn't feel real either.

...

Trucker's body was dragged back to basecamp by Cowboy. He was laid out by the trees, out of sight, with wrapped up safe in the sleeping bag.

Daredevil and Ghost Hunter were both relocated their cabin by the time they'd arrived back with the corpse. Daredevil was up and ready to walk, Ghost Hunter was bed ridden.

The group tried to debrief, but the panic in the air kept any real delegation from occurring.

Ice Skater and Cowboy both did their best to rally the rattled campers to no avail. The image of Trucker's concave head was burned into their collective conscious. Even so, they only had a few hours until they'd have to find his killer.

After 20 minutes of Cowboy talking the group down, they all were finally ready to start investigating. The group decided to split to search for clues, agreeing to meet back at the Craft Hall like they had the first trial.

Drummer tried her best to participate in this planning, but the corpse she'd just witnessed wasn't the only thing distracting her.

Marine Biologist was staring directly at her for the entire meeting. Terror in the girl's eyes, she stood just behind Ice Skater. She trembled silently, never breaking her terrified stare at Drummer.

There was nothing Drummer could do with Ice Skater between them, so this awkward limbo continued until the groups split to search.

Drummer watched on as Marine Biologist silently departed with Ice Skater. She feared for the worst, but had to continue on with Social Star and PT.

To be continued...

#danganronpa #dangan ronpa #oc #dangansona #fangan ronpa #fanganronpa #docoronpa #docoronpa r #my art

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