#but he was a good killer. that was his nature and he couldn't escape it.

[hannibalismos-jaaneman]

will wasn't crying for himself in ko no mono, he was crying for hannibal.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Living Weapon Whumpee part 1

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, captive whumpee, memory loss, murder mission

Whumpee is a trained killer, a lethal monster forced to fight and pitted against the enemy in the war time and time again... but this time... he's set loose on an innocent town, in a different kind of attack. His mission: leave no survivors.

Whumpee hated it when he was forced to fight and kill. Hated his handlers, his conditioning... hated himself for giving in and being their weapon. Their winning card in every game -- people as pawns.

And today, he hated that he was being set loose yet again, a deadly killer given knives and a mission, pointed in the direction of an enemy town. Though it wasn't an 'enemy', really -- while Whumpee’s handlers usually had him kill soldiers on the battlefield, this time he was to destroy a town full of innocents, of mothers and children sheltering from the war. Whumpee's leader had no morals, and he didn't plan to spare his enemy's wives or children, even if they weren't a part of the battle. He was sending Whumpee to slaughter them all, deal a vicious blow to the enemy in a way Leader couldn't do on the battlefield -- strike where it hurt most, where the grief alone would weaken his enemy's soldiers.

And he'd planned everything so perfectly, sending part of his own army to distract the enemy and give Whumpee a clear path into the town to deal his damage.

Whumpee's orders were clear: kill every living human he saw and crossed paths with -- indiscriminately. Leave none alive.

Fighting on the frontline of war was something Whumpee was trained to do, created and molded and enhanced by chemicals, and he was good at it, strong and mighty and dangerous. While he didn't particularly like killing the soldiers of the enemy, it gave him an outlet, a way to take out his rage and fury at everyone who had chained him in his own mind -- it gave him something to do, a purpose in existing.

But he'd never killed defenseless civilians before. His stomach churned with nausea at the thought, despite his bone-deep conditioning and training instinctively telling him to fight fight FIGHT. Flood the streets with blood. Attack and destroy.

He wasn't normal, he was a freak of nature -- a man taken to a lab, torn apart and put together so many times his skin was almost made of solid scars. They'd done something to him, something to his mind as he was strapped helplessly to a table, injected with unknown chemicals that burned inside him. But he could never remember exactly what, or how they'd managed to erase large parts of memory to make him cold and impassive, the perfect killer to lead armies.

Some nights he tried to remember what his life was like before becoming a living weapon, a walking murder machine. But it always hurt to think too much about it, leaving him frustrated and no closer to answers. So eventually he'd just... given up, accepted his role. And now here he was, in leather stealth suit, armed with blades for slaughter as he marched into the target town he'd been sent to.

He wore a cloak over his suit to hide his weapons, a hood pulled over his head to conceal his scarred face. Everyone in this war knew who he was, the loyal and vicious dog of Leader. A single glance at him would terrify people.

The town he walked into was very small, probably housing only half a hundred people in total -- that would all be dead before the sun set.

Whumpee stalked into the village with the confidence and grace of a lethal warrior, the cloak hardly being enough to hide his identity when any sane person could see from his gait alone that he was a skilled warrior who had survived many battles.

Whumpee's heart began to pound as he successfully reached the center of the village where his killing was to begin, to maximize casualties in case anyone managed to slip away and run -- most of the townsfolk were located in the center. And most would not escape.

Strange, he briefly noted, that his heartbeat quickened, when he had long since tamed it to be steady and sure even in the heat of combat, not to mess with his head or concentration. After all, adrenaline was what made people sloppy, panicked, what made people lose in battle. He had mastered his control over fear so many years ago it was as instinctual as breathing.

And yet, he hesitated. Paused, before drawing his dual daggers from his belt, shedding the cloak like a wolf in sheep's skin and revealing himself for who he was, what he was.

"It's Weapon!!" The alarmed cry came before Whumpee's cloak had even fully slid off. He grimaced at hearing his war-given name. He hated it.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[soulessjourney]

Quiet Confessions

Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: As memories flood back, Tav opens up to Astarion beneath the moonlight, sharing the chains that bind her.

Warnings: Truama talk, mentions of abuse and violence, Angst, fluff, hurt and comfort, Tav being an emotional wreck in the softest way possible, talk of self hatred

A/N: I'm gradually working my way down the list of tasks I need to complete, which means I'm getting closer to the fantastic requests I've been receiving. If you have a request, feel free to share it! I thoroughly enjoy bringing your ideas to life!

Uncertain of how long you had been away from camp, you found yourself lying in the grass, gazing up at the moon. Time slipped away as you became lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts. The journey began when a torrent of memories, once erased during your escape from the ship's pod, flooded back, triggering a piercing headache. These recollections unveiled a darker version of yourself, one capable of committing unspeakable acts in pursuit of power. The realization of your own monstrous nature left you feeling contaminated, haunted by the deeds done beyond your control.

Choosing to forget the past, you had embarked on a new life, hoping to bury the shadow of the person you once were. Yearning for the demise of that former self and its memories, you couldn't help but wish they had perished the day you awoke on that ship.

The serenity of your contemplation was interrupted by the soft cadence of approaching footsteps. Astarion, with his distinctive gait, revealed his presence. Over the past few months, you had honed the ability to identify individuals by the sound of their steps—a skill cultivated, perhaps, by the constant threat of someone attempting to sneak up on you.

Sitting up, you turned to Astarion, offering a tender smile, reciprocated by his affectionate gaze. "Once again, I fail to surprise you, my love," he remarked, settling down beside you.

You shrugged, reclining in the grass, allowing your gaze to settle on the moon. A comfortable silence enveloped the space between you as Astarion leaned back on one hand, holding a book in the other. He never felt the need to inquire if something was amiss; he understood that you would approach him when ready, just as you had done for him. Neither of you pressured the other, always waiting until one felt inclined to share what weighed on your minds. This dynamic defined the perfection of your relationship—rooted in trust and patience, creating a beautiful harmony. Astarion sensed your internal struggle and refrained from prying, recognizing the feeling of being bound to something without an escape.

You debated with yourself on how to approach the topic. Keeping your gaze fixed on the sky, you decided to let your thoughts flow into words. "Sometimes when I look in the mirror, all I can see is a monster—a cold-blooded killer who gazes into people's eyes as life leaves them. I hate how good it makes me feel when it happens," you suddenly confessed, pulling Astarion's attention away from the book. He closed it, placing it beside him, and lays back beside you, offering his undivided attention. He was prepared to listen to every word, no matter how violent or disturbing, understanding that being present for you in this moment was the best form of support.

"As I would take off my armor and examine my arms, a part of me felt ashamed of what I saw. Scars where the skin was rubbed raw. Initially, I thought nothing of it, but now I can feel those shackles that kept me confined to that room. A room with a window too high for me to look out, allowing sunlight to reveal its true small and decaying nature. A room where the body of the person I murdered lay in the corner, reeking of death, and I was forced to stare at it for days until the stench drove me mad," you whispered, furrowing your eyebrows as your mind wandered back into that haunting memory.

Anger surged through Astarion upon your confession. You were a prisoner of your own mind, with no escape until recently, just like him. Astarion refrained from touching you as he observed you beginning to fall back into the past—a familiar experience, losing oneself in a memory and reliving it.

"The day I felt those chains break from the ground was the day I learned how to truly walk. It was the day I killed so many people, and every single one of them begged for their life. I remember laughing and smiling like an accomplished fool when I took their lives. It's so disgusting, knowing that I did what I did, how I killed the people that I did. With that came the pure torture my so-called father put me through. He would lock me in this room with his followers and see just how much pain I could take. He claimed it was to make me stronger, to be the perfect killer I was born to be. But each time they cut into me, I lost myself piece by piece," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Astarion rolled onto his side to look at you, studying your features as you spoke. He noticed the subtle cues—how your jaw clenched when discussing anger-inducing events, how your eyes softened when recalling taking an innocent life, and how your nose would scrunch when lost in thought. Everything about you was beautiful, breathtaking even, which intensified his resentment for the pain you had endured.

As you spoke, Astarion began to grasp why you lingered sometimes, gazing at views or exploring houses and temples. These were sights stripped from most of your life, confined to the inside of a cell or a room, enduring unimaginable pain.

What you chose to share next shattered Astarion and revealed the depth of your strength. "But now that I have Wyll, Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Halsin, and even you, I'm learning how to be strong for the first time ever. I'm learning how to confront the darkness and face my own reflection without resentment, knowing that I bear the face you love and cherish. I'm learning how to truly live for the first time, and it terrifies me," you confessed. Astarion felt his eyes soften, his hand moving to rest beside yours, his pinky gently brushing against the side of your hand in a small gesture of comfort.

Lost in your memories, you didn't even register the subtle caress of his finger on your hand. Your eyes had glazed over, ensnared in the labyrinth of your mind, silent tears tracing their path from the corners of your eyes. Your profound silence began to concern Astarion; it seemed as if you were paralyzed in that moment, with no discernible movement. He felt a sense of helplessness, unable to assist you in the way he desired, as he, too, often succumbed to the torturous memories inflicted by Cazador.

When a strangled sob shattered the silence between you, Astarion sat up and enveloped you in his arms. This was a method he knew could often bring comfort when you broke down. No words needed to be spoken as he held you tightly. You were someone who wore a mask around others, refusing to reveal your vulnerabilities. Yet, with him, you found solace and strength, as he did with you. Lae’zel often remarked on how you both carried the weight of the world, calling you two sides of the same coin.

Or when rejecting Gale, he commented on the irony of your love for Astarion, noting the striking similarity in your personalities. While said to hurt you, there was truth in his words. You and Astarion understood the shared pain and the deep connection between you, choosing to be there for one another and share love you both craved.

Drawing you closer, Astarion let your head rest in the crook of his neck, his cheek against the side of your head. He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he felt your arms wrap around his middle, bringing you back from the daze you were trapped in. You were here, in his arms, holding on as if afraid he would vanish if you let go. Leaning back slightly, he cupped your face in his hand, running his thumbs over your cheeks in a soothing manner. "There you are, my love. I was worried I lost you," he said, the concern and fear evident in his voice.

Shaking your head, you placed your hands over his, leaning into his touch. Although your response was silent, he understood. "Can we stay and watch the sunrise? I've never seen it before, and I want to experience this new thing with you," you whispered, searching his eyes for any sign of rejection. You wanted to linger, to feel alive, if only for a moment, before returning to the mask you had carefully crafted.

Pressing his lips to the crown of your head, he nodded, pulling you closer and shifting so you both could sit in a more comfortable position. "Of course, my love. For you, I'd sit through a million sunrises if you asked me to," he said, prompting a small smile to grace your lips. This moment with the person you cherished was your sanctuary, he was your home.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Two Hours - Chapter 1 - Shigaraki x Reader

***

Maybe, just maybe, some things might be worth waiting for.

***

Two hours.

He was late by a full two hours. Meaning 120 minutes, 2700 seconds, 7200000 precious milliseconds wasted of your life. You'd know, you counted.

You glared at the library clock again, as if it was its fault you had been stood up. Disgruntledly, you pushed back your chair, getting up to put your laptop and revision materials back in your bag. It was the last time you'd try and help a stranger because clearly, strangers sucked.

You had done tutoring for different classes since your second year in college. Literature, philosophy, anthropology, history- name it, you could teach it. And you loved doing it like few other things made you happy. Was there anything as wonderful as showing others the beauty of human nature, its creativity, its passion, its sincerity?

"Sincerity my ass," you thought, angrily shoving your backpack on one shoulder. It clunked loudly as it bumped against a wooden shelf, and the librarian threw you a dirty look from the other side of the room. Part of you felt bad; you had spent a while trying to cultivate a good relationship with the older man, since you spent most of your free time in the library. But the rest of you, which was to say almost all of you, didn't care, because you were unbelievably frustrated.

You had had students give you tons of excuses before: they were sick, their mom was sick, their neighbors' dog was sick, and they just had to skip the tutoring session. You didn't mind that; they'd always text at least an hour in advance, and you'd have the time to read their message and go home with a smile, instead of walking all the way to the library. 

But today's guy was different. You knew he had your number and your email address: it was part of the tutoring agreement you had both signed online. And yet he hadn't had the decency, the respect, to send a single message to tell you he couldn't come to the two-hour appointment he himself scheduled. And now, you had just wasted two hours, excitedly waiting to expose the wonders of literature to a guy who couldn't even bother to text you "can't come". 

You gave the librarian a half-hearted nod of apology and headed toward the big glass doors at the front of the building. The weather looked moody outside, the sky grey and heavy like rain could start pouring at any moment. You didn't need to check your bag to know you didn't pack an umbrella. It was clear this was one of the days.

Sighing, you opened the heavy door to walk out at the same moment a man pushed to get in. You tucked your body to the side to keep the door open for him, but he flatly ignored the gesture, walking past you without uttering a "thank you".

"Yup," you thought, "strangers suck."

Before you could take more than a few steps outside, a droplet of water fell right on top of your nose, stopping you in your tracks. And then another, and another, and in a flash, the area was getting flooded, puddles already forming around on the dark asphalt. You couldn't help as another sigh escaped you, bracing for the impact of the freezing rain as you took a step forward into the tempest.

Then, something grabbed you by the shoulder.

You yelped in surprise and turned around, fists instinctively bunching up to your chest to protect yourself, heart racing. It took you a few seconds to recognize the rude guy who had just passed you on his way in.

He was tall, taller than you had first realized. His oversized hoodie made it hard to gauge his frame, the visibly worn-out fabric stretched shapelessly around his torso. Your eyes looked up for a face you couldn't find: the black hood fully obscured his features, and for a second, images of killers in horror movies alarmingly flashed through your mind.

You shoved yourself out of his grip and took a step back, eyes wide. He nonchalantly placed his hand back in his pocket, an unimpressed glare staring right back at you. His eyes were red, bright red.

"You're the tutor, right?"

You looked at the ominous figure incredulously.

"What ?"

"You're the tutor, right ?" he repeated in a low, raspy tone. He sounded annoyed.

You kept staring at him, wondering if he was speaking in a foreign language you had never heard of.

Then, his words started registering.

"Tomura..." you started uncertainly, the math adding up in your head as you remembered the name on the little manilla folder you had prepared for today, "Shigaraki ?"

A small smile etched itself onto the man's face, and you noticed how cracked his lips were, a faded scar going through the dried skin. Strands of slightly greasy hair, white as snow, rebelliously escaped the black hood, and for a second you caught another glimpse of his crimson eyes. But they disappeared back under the shadow of the fabric, and you realized your body had tensed like a rock.

"I'm the guy," he said nonchalantly, the hand you had pushed away going up to his neck and mindlessly scratching the skin there. There were marks there, some old, and others so fresh they looked like they were bleeding. Anxiously, you wondered if instead of a killer, you had stumbled on an addict.

"Hey, so when do we go get a seat inside? It's fucking cold out here," he added, gesturing lazily towards the library.

You kept staring.

And staring.

And staring.

He hadn't possibly said what you thought he had just said. No one was so impossibly clueless and self-centered that they would come two hours late to a meeting and act like they were the one who was being bothered. But the cold rain falling down your face made it aboundedly clear: this was real.

"No," you finally said, enunciating the word slowly.

He looked as confused as you first did, the smug, composed look on his face instantly falling. He didn't look like he was told "no" often, and you felt the flame of anger start to burn inside you.

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no," you replied drily, feeling confidence coursing back through your body. There was no doubt in your mind you already looked like a drowned rat from the rain, and that your waterproof mascara was starting to reach its limits. But you weren't about to be scared of some loser trying to look tough with a crusty hoodie and unwashed hair.

"You came two hours late for the tutoring, which lasts two hours. My work slot with you is from four to six, and it's exactly," you snapped, bringing your phone up to his face, "Ten past six, so my work here is done."

He stared at your phone in incomprehension, then back at you, irritation slowly settling on his pale features. His thin brows frowned, and you noticed another scar marring his right eyelid the piercing crimson stare bore into you. Maybe he was some kind of gang member, and if so, was it a good idea to mouth off to him?

"Look, I don't know what crawled up your ass, but I'm paying to have a tutor," he snarled drily. "That's not fair."

You had to wonder if you were even talking to an adult. So maybe he was a killer, or an addict, or a gang member, and he would end up stabbing you for it, but by God, were you going to put that guy back in place.

"Well, tough luck, buddy," you almost spat out, your usually level-headed patience entirely fizzled out, "it wasn't fair to make me wait two hours and then expect me to have nothing other to do in my life than tutoring your sorry ass. But life isn't fair, is it ?"

You turned around, throwing the man one last angry look: "If you want tutoring, then be there next week. On time."

You felt oddly proud of yourself as you walked away, leaving him wet and alone in the rain. And if you were slightly trembling at the feeling of the crimson stare boring through you all the way down the library path, well, you just had to pray he didn't notice it.

---

"Huh," you noted with both surprise and apprehension, "you're here."

And indeed, there he was, slumped in one of the library's chairs, the stranger you were certain wouldn't come to your meeting this week: Tomura Shigaraki.

You had spent a few days feeling bad about the way you had handled things; yes, he had been incredibly late and entitled, but you never gave him any time to explain himself for it all. Maybe he did have a good reason, and maybe he had only acted so entitled because he was having an especially rough day.

One look at the condescending glare he threw you was enough to confirm that wasn't the case.

"Yeah, I'm here," he muttered, looking away, his right hand still ripping away at his neck like the last time you had seen him. You couldn't help but wonder about the gesture, the practiced way his fingers would visibly carve into the skin. Allergies? Eczema?

His vermillion eyes never left your figure as you put your bag down and awkwardly sat across from him, looking down at the carpeted floors. 

"Why are you that surprised ?" he added flatly, "I told you, I'm paying for this shit."

You weren't a confrontational person; or at least, you did your best to avoid confrontation. But you'd been tired last week, and his whole little disrespectful charade had pushed you over the edge. You weren't sure you were up to deal with it again.

Your lack of response seemed to irritate him; he picked up a small handheld console from his lap, immediately busying himself in a game like your presence held no meaning to him.

You took a small breath, not wanting your temper to rise again; if you wanted this to work, you'd need to be the first to give the olive branch. You put on a nice, professional smile: "Let's put everything to the side for a moment, start over. Maybe we could both introduce ourselves again ?"

His thumbs toyed with the joysticks on his handheld, disinterest palpable."Why? I know who you are."

You could have strangled him.

"Nevermind," you smiled so forcefully it hurt your cheeks. "So, you're here for Lit 3250, Absurdism in Literature. That's a fun class."

"I'm only taking it because I have to," he grumbled. "I'm in computer programming. They make us take a class in the humanities department because the education system is fucked."

You raised an eyebrow at that, genuinely surprised: "They're making you do literature in computer science ?"

He shrugged, his eyes going back to the game on the small screen with obvious boredom.

"Told you. The system is fucked."

You pulled out the little manilla file you had prepared for him from your bag, spreading a few documents on the table between the two of you. For a second, you could have sworn his bored expression flickered into something new, but it was gone before you could register it.

"Well, I might not be able to do much about that, but I can try and make the class easier," you smiled a little more genuinely this time as he put his handheld to the side to look at the papers you had slid in front of him.

To your complete astonishment, as you guided him through the material, the man listened, never once taking notes, yet able to answer any question you threw his way in the shortest, most concise way possible. He seemingly absorbed the information while looking wholeheartedly disinterested, like remembering the words was barely any more work than eating or breathing. You had to wonder if the programmer in him coded the sentences in his mind, imputing every word as little lines of binary code, or if he was just this naturally, annoyingly smart.

"Alright, that's it for today," you concluded, noticing you had gone over the material you had planned for two sessions in just the last two hours. "I didn't take you for the kind of guy to listen to a tutor, but you've done a really good job today."

You gave him an honest smile, hoping to finally mend the bridge from last weekend's incident. Instead, he promptly looked away, lips tightening into a thin line.

"S' just cause I need to pass the class to get my diploma. I don't really give a shit about any of this stuff."

If he saw your face fall at that, he didn't show it. He grabbed his handheld and shoved it in his front pocket, promptly throwing his ragged backpack over his shoulder, as if the last thing he wanted was to stay here a minute longer with you.

"I'll see you next week, then," you hesitantly said, more a question than a statement. He didn't look back at you when he spoke with a grunt, already making his way out.

"Whatever."

---

"So Camus' thing is society is fucked, and as soon as you realize it you gotta kill yourself, right ?"

"Basically !" you beamed excitedly, circling a paragraph in the text facing him with the tip of your finger. "It's the idea that when you understand your role as just a cog in the machine in a mindless daily life, you have to either ignore it to rejoin society, or leave society altogether." 

A small smile danced on Shigaraki's chapped lips, as smug and mocking as all his smiles were. You sometimes wondered if his face could ever express pure, genuine happiness, or if it was perpetually stuck with that self-satisfied expression. 

"Yeah, I can get behind that."

It fit him, in a strange way. And he had every reason to be pompous: in three weeks, you had both gone through double the material you had planned for his first sessions, as be blasted each lesson like a simple tutorial fight in one of the many video games you'd catch him play before each lesson.

"Me too, actually," you agreed.

He looked at you disbelievingly: "You? Feeling like you're not a part of society? Give me a break, you're a tutor in university, there's probably a normie award for that."

"Well, even us normies are really just always doing the same thing, aren't we ?" you explained, laying your chin against your hand pensively. "Take the two of us. We always meet here at four o'clock on Wednesdays, at the same library, at the same table. We don't go through the motions because we want to, we do it because we have to, and that's what everyone expects from us. Kinda makes you want to quit society too, doesn't it ?"

For a moment, he said nothing. There was something unsettling in the way his ruby eyes bore into you, like he was judging your very soul. You felt your cheeks unwillingly redden after a few seconds under his piercing stare, looking away in slight embarrassment. If a few weeks spent with him were enough to convince you he wasn't a serial killer, you still found yourself troubled whenever he'd look at you too long.

He finally seemed satisfied with whatever he found looking into you, eyes mercifully leaving your face before settling on something on the table.

"That's a Plus Ultra sticker," he commented flatly.

You followed his gaze to your cellphone, face down, the small video game logo barely visible on the cover. How had he even noticed it? 

It wasn't that you were ashamed of gaming in your free time, but you knew for a fact the entire literature department bore a clear disdain for any media not printed onto pages. They laughed off anything else as childish and a waste of time. Needless to say, you had never shared that passion with anyone on campus before that moment.

But damn, did you love Plus Ultra.

You couldn't help but grin excitedly at him: "Oh wow, you play too !"

"Sometimes," he shrugged with obviously fake disinterest, his crimson eyes brighter than you had ever seen them before."It's not the best game or anything, but it's alright. I feel like the whole hero fantasy trope is kinda overplayed."

He suddenly clammed up, like he had just remembered who he was talking to. The classic sour, haughty look you had gotten to know reappeared on his face.

"I just didn't know any girls played that game," he mumbled.

And there he was, the asshole you had met on that first rainy day. 

"Well," you replied drily, "I play, and I'm actually one of the top All Might players in the country."

His pale fingers tremored at that, the excited brightness that he was trying very hard to conceal back in his eyes. It was so childish it was almost endearing, in a way.

"Well, what a coincidence. I'm also a top All Might player, except I was in the world ranking, last time I checked," he bragged, nonchalantly picking at his fingernails. "Maybe I could teach you a thing or two later." 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the implication of a "later", of a world where you would be together outside of the required tutoring time, seemed to dawn on him. He stammered wordlessly, red spreading like fire on his pale face. It was... a lot more endearing than you would have thought.

"F-forget it. That was stupid."

You couldn't help but soften at that. Maybe, underneath the dirty hoodie and the deadly glare, he was as timid and insecure as you felt he was. The lashing out, the quips, the bratty entitlement- were they all just a facade for a guy who genuinely didn't know how to interact with others?

 "Well," you hummed, "maybe after you're done with your midterms you could come over to my dorm for a match. There's a big communal TV you can pair consoles with."

The cold, detached mask was back, but it was much harder to believe with the pink coloring that reached the very tip of his ears.

"Yeah, maybe."

---

A month passed before you encountered your first hurdle in your tutoring work with Shigaraki, in the form of a "CLOSED" sign glaring back at you from the library's glass doors.

"Damn it," you mumbled, opening up your phone to find an unread message from the faculty announcing a temporary shutdown. Shigaraki, who had taken up the habit of coming on time for your sessions, looked incredibly pissed.

"So the fuckers think they can send one email and be done with it ?" he angrily snapped, kicking the library's plexiglas door so harshly it made you flinch. You took a mental note to never do anything to find yourself on the wrong side of that kick.

"Well, we can reschedule for tomorrow!" you chirped. Perhaps he'd appreciate you trying to put a positive spin on the situation.

The look he gave you could have turned you into dust.

"I'm already here. And I'm busy tomorrow. I have important things to do."

Briefly, you wondered if by important things he meant staying home and gaming. The college's main campus wasn't very large, and in the few years you had studied here, you had never caught a glimpse of him once. He had the kind of dim presence one could easily forget, but if you had passed him before, you would have known.

"I think the law building lets you take rooms for study sessions, " you proposed.

He sighed, voice raspy with irritation. "It's full of pretentious assholes," he replied drily, "and it's almost a thirty minutes walk from here."

"You're kind of a pretentious asshole yourself", you thought silently. It was clear he wasn't going to help or do anything that required too much effort on his part. When Shigaraki wanted to be annoying, he was really annoying.

"You got a better option ?" you mumbled, frustrated.

He looked down at his shoes, suddenly silent. "Ah ha", you thought victoriously, "didn't think so".

Then, words you could have never expected came out of his mouth: "Yeah. Come to my place."

You looked at him incredulously. He looked as surprised as you did, like he wasn't the one who had just talked.

"I live like ten minutes from here," he explained hurriedly, glaring down at the asphalt like it might melt and swallow him whole, "it'll take way less time."

It wasn't as if you didn't know the guy at all, but to say you knew him enough to go to his house, alone, was a stretch.

Although you had been able to shake off your initial fear of him, you still felt something dark and looming in the way he carried himself. For as easy as it was to read him when he was embarrassed or caught off guard, the calculating, sharp gaze he seemed to judge the world with still left you at a loss. Even more so right now, when it was directed at you.

"Ok," you eventually said before you could decide against it. What was the worst that could happen?

At first, you hadn't had much reason to worry; you walked along the main streets that cornered the campus, still filled with quite a few students going about their business. But then, he took you into a small alleyway. And then another, and another, and another, to the point where you couldn't recognize what part of the city you were even in. The buildings you passed had gotten older and older the more you walked, most of the ones surrounding you were now decrepit and abandoned. They loomed over you and Shigaraki, fully blocking the sun, a claustrophobic maze of old bricks and concrete.

You realized that you had drifted closer to Shigaraki unconsciously, your shoulder almost brushing against his. But you couldn't bring yourself to move away, the simple proximity of someone you at least relatively knew reassuring to your mind.

If Shigaraki noticed, he said nothing, his long, lanky legs moving forward without hesitation. You took a moment to discreetly observe the man, his features more detailed now that you stood next to him. The scarring was much worse than you had first realized. It spread from the small glimpses of his forehead you could see behind strands of shaggy white hair, to the start of his chest hidden by his black shirt. In some spots, the skin looked dry, old; in others, it was like it had been freshly ripped apart by sharp and uneven nails. You had found it worrying for yourself, at first, when you thought he was some kind of junkie; but now you found yourself worrying over how much the bruising hurt him.

His hand protectively grabbed his neck when he noticed your staring, thin eyebrows frowning in annoyance.

"Before you ask, yes, I've tried creams and ointment and all that shit the doctors send you to buy at the drugstore. It doesn't work. I know I'm ugly, you don't need to rub it in."

A pang of guilt hit your chest. You didn't think before honestly replying: "I don't think you're ugly."

He looked at you coldly, any trace of friendliness gone: "You think you're real smart playing with me, don't you?"

"No, I mean it, I don't think you're ugly!" you hurriedly exclaimed. "Just, ok, look."

You quickly pulled back the sleeve of your shirt, showing him the inside of your forearm with insistence. His eyes narrowed suspiciously: "What the hell am I supposed to look at?"

"A scar," you replied, showing him the thin pale line that crossed your skin. "I got it as a kid when I fell from a tree in kindergarten. Oh, and I also have this one!"

You tugged at your pants to reveal a darker webbed mark on your ankle, the skin smoothed by time: "That one is really stupid, I got it from wearing heels three sizes too small at my high school prom and falling down a flight of stairs. And I also have this other one-" 

"I get it !" he interrupted, frustrated. "Yeah, alright, you have some scars too, but it's not the same thing as me."

"I know it's not," you replied calmly. "I'm not trying to say it is. But... I don't think having scars makes me ugly. I think they show I've been through something, and I'm still here to tell the story. And I think you might have been through a lot, but you're still standing here with me. So... if you don't think my scars make me ugly, then you shouldn't think yours do."

 

He didn't reply, silently making his way forward. Had you made him feel angrier, or even embarrassed? In one last effort to get your point across, you added:

"I think they kind of make you like Eraserhead in Plus Ultra 3."

That made him stop right in his tracks.

"You...think I look like Eraserhead ?" he hesitantly asked.

You nodded, and his cheeks reddened slightly. He took a few seconds before letting out the next words:

"Don't laugh," he warned you, "or I'm leaving you here. You can just find your own way back or get murked in an alley for all I care."

You crossed your fingers, presenting them to him ceremoniously.

"I won't laugh. Promise."

"I actually decided to grow out my hair to look like him."

Cute.

That was the first word to come into your mind. Cute. 

You quickly chased the very strange and unwelcome thought away, in case Shigaraki interpreted your pause as a laugh. 

"Well," you replied, "when I was seventeen, I dyed my hair bright yellow to look like All Might. I think I definitely got the short end of the stick in the idea department. "

He laughed, honest to God laughed, a raspy and genuine sound that made something foreign in your chest tightened. You started laughing too, and soon, you were nothing but two giggling idiots in the absolute middle of nowhere.

"Guess you're not that smart after all, miss tutor," he commented with a smirk.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long, like he wanted to say something else, but ultimately chose against it. He continued walking without a word, and you followed him the rest of the way in companionable silence, never straying far from his side.

---

It was a bar.

Or rather, the remains of something that once was a bar. A dingy neon sign with the three-letter word hung precariously above the door, the large "B" flashing within an ounce of its life. The walls were covered in graffiti and grime, a suspiciously moldy smell seemingly emanating from the bricks themselves.

"You... live here?" you asked hesitantly as Shigaraki made his way towards the building with no hesitation.

"Yeah," he let out, head snapping back around and eyes narrowing defensively. "You have a problem with that?"

Yes, several, including the probability of being stabbed to death here and my remains being found in the back of a garbage truck.

"No, no problem," you said.

He answered that with a grunt. The small staircase that lead to the entrance creaked under his weight, and he pushed the front door open.

"Wait here," he commanded. It was clear the subject wasn't up for discussion, so you opted for nodding along. "I'll come get you when I'm done with something."

It was all starting to feel like a terrible idea. So what if he liked the same games you did and actually seemed to listen to you rant about literature? You barely knew anything else about him. 

You knew he felt lost in society and rejected by the world. You knew his whole face would become red as a tomato anytime he felt embarrassed or flustered. You knew he would bite his lip in concentration when he played on his handheld, and that his leg would bounce up and down like a puppy's tail every time he got close to winning. You knew his eyes were unlike any you had seen before.

But what did you really know?

"You lost ?"

You spun around so fast you stumbled on your own feet, almost falling straight onto the dirty pavement.

The man standing in front of you had sneaked by so silently you had never registered his presence, even with how close he had gotten. He seemed very amused at the way you backed away in fear, your eyes wide.

"No, no I'm fine, I'm- I'm waiting for a friend, actually," you managed to stammer out.

Somehow, he didn't look like he believed that at all.

He was the picture-perfect example of men your parents had told you to stay away from. His skin was covered in dark tattoos, their shapes incomprehensibly mingled with what appeared to be burn scars, seemingly spreading all over his body. In the dark, one could mistake him for a walking corpse, blue eyes glistening unnaturally in the middle of a patchwork face.

The man dragged his cigarette across his lips, letting a dark puff of smoke escape.

"What a friend, making you wait outside in the cold," he commented, the burnt and inked skin around his mouth moving in a manner you could only describe as uncanny. "Pretty stupid of you to hang out with people from here, princess. Lots of creeps in the area."

He moved closer, so close you could smell the tobacco off his breath, and the instinctive need to run coursed through your body.

"No need to be scared though," he let out with a smirk that screamed the absolute contrary. "I can stay with you for a while. Protect ya."

He was too close for you to run, now; if you tried, he could easily grab you with the large hand that was nonchalantly making its way toward your waist. 

"Dabi."

Your head spun towards the entrance at the same time as the man's did. Relief spread through your body at the sight of Shigaraki, standing in front of the door where he had left you. His crimson gaze, which usually never left your form alone for more than a few seconds, was not focused on you, but on the stranger, who looked back at you with an utterly flabbergasted expression. Whoever he was, Shigaraki wasn't happy to see him.

"That's your friend ?" the stranger snorted as he started laughing uncontrollably, like he had just heard the funniest joke in his life. "Holy shit, you're even dumber than I thought you were !"

Clearly, Shigaraki did not find that funny in the slightest. You had forgotten how cold his expression had been when you first met him, uncaring and eerie. This was that, but colder, angrier, like the ripples that started forming in the water as a devastating storm would approach.

"Dabi," he repeated, and his tone was dark, final. For the first time in weeks, you felt something akin to fear at the sight of him, even knowing his anger wasn't directed at you. Had he always looked so unnervingly intimidating?

"Ok, ok, she's all yours, boss," the man finally said as he backed away, dropping the butt of his cigarette before unceremoniously stomping it. "Didn't mean to touch the property."

Tomura silently walked towards you, a rigid, cold hand forcefully grabbing yours and pulling you towards him. He headed back in, fingers so tightly clutched against yours that it hurt, and you followed without protest. You threw one last look at the man he called Dabi, a look of pure amusement on his face.

"Property", he had said. 

The innards of the bar were much cozier than the outside view let on. It was relatively well kept, with a red counter with a few retro-style stools occupying the majority of the space, the leftover corner dedicated to an old leather couch facing a battered TV. With no windows on the walls, the only light came from a few yellowish neons hanging on the ceiling. The room was empty except for the well-dressed man behind the counter, who you could only assume was the bartender. He merely nodded at your arrival, his face obscured by a cloud of dark hair in the dim light, what you could discern of his body barely a shadow against the wall of bottles.

Shigaraki ignored him, pointedly dragging you to a door at the back, which lead to a small, dark corridor. He only stopped when he reached the last door, swiftly turning the rusty knob.

It wasn't difficult to understand it was his bedroom; the only light came from the double monitor screen connected to an impressive gaming PC. With the exception of a few shelves filled to the brim with trinkets and figurines, the walls were mostly bare, the white coat of paint discolored and yellowed. Visibly dirty clothes were pilled up in a corner, as if someone had hurriedly picked them up for the floor and tossed them there in an unsuccessful attempt to conceal them.

"Sit anywhere," he grumbled, looking away. "Or don't. Whatever."

He was even worse at hiding his blush than he was at hiding his clothes. You couldn't help but smile.

There were only two spots you could sit in the room: the expensive-looking gaming chair, which was clearly the most valuable item in the entire bar, or the messy one-person bed, which seemed to not have seen a washing machine in a while. The last thing you wanted was to anger Shigaraki after the encounter with the man outside, so sitting in his gaming chair seemed like a bad idea. You opted for the bed, praying to God the sheets naturally looked so patchy and discolored.

"W-what the fuck are you doing?" he sputtered immediately as you sat, eyes wide.

"Sitting," you replied simply.

"Not there! Are you stupid or something?" he audibly cringed. Damn it, you had made the wrong call. "Just sit on the floor. It's not dirty or anything, Kurogiri cleaned it recently."

You glanced doubtfully at the impressive amount of energy drinks and used tissues littering the room before lowering yourself down out of fear of seeming rude. Briefly, you wondered if Kurogiri was the man you saw mend to the bar. He looked nothing like Shigaraki, and referred to him far too politely to be family. He was too young to be his father either way. Was he both the bartender and the housekeeper?

"But why would Shigaraki have a housekeeper?", you wondered silently

"The guy outside, Dabi," you finally said. "He called you boss."

Shigaraki didn't even bother turning around to answer flatly: "And ?"

"Do you... own this place?"

"Something like that. Here."

He handed you a controller you immediately recognized, your hands automatically wrapping themselves around it just like with the one you had spent countless hours playing with at home. Shigaraki smirked slightly at the sight of you already being ready for combat.

"So, spill it out. What's your tragic backstory ?" you asked, leaning your back to the wall with a mischievous smile.

"What ?" he replied, seemingly caught off guard.

"C'mon," you pressed. "I've never seen you wear anything other than a black hoodie over a black shirt and black sweatpants. You're not subtle about it."

"I don't think you've unlocked that dialogue option yet," he retorted, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "How about you? What's your tragic backstory ?"

You chuckled: "What makes you think I have one?"

"You'd have to be a little fucked up to follow some guy you barely know into a shady bar in the middle of an abandoned factory district," he replied, raising an eyebrow, a wicked smile on his lips.

You couldn't help but smile at that; he was right. "Well, I don't think you've unlocked that yet either, Shigaraki."

"Just call me Tomura," he offered, a touch of resignation in his voice. Was he finally warming up to you? "Might as well if I'm stuck with you for the rest of the semester."

Maybe not. But something felt oddly nice about this, about him, and no matter how weird it all was, you couldn't help but let yourself bask in the strange feeling.

The computer let out a familiar little tune as the game booted up on the screen. Shigaraki visibly hesitated between sitting on his own chair or the floor, ultimately selecting the floor while keeping a reasonable distance from you. You had a feeling he wasn't very comfortable with women. But what he may have lacked in social skills, he definitely made up in gaming: his eyes burnt with fiery passion as the title screen appeared on the monitor, his hands tight around the controller. The look he threw you was one of pure confidence:

"C'mon. Show me what you're made of."

He immediately selected All Might in the character selection, implicitly daring you to do the same. All Might was the most powerful character in all the game, but he was famously the hardest one to master, with his controls requiring intense speed and dexterity. You could tell Shigaraki hadn't been lying about being one of the greatest All Might players; his fingers were already lined up on the buttons for a noticeably hard deadly combo. But you weren't one to back down on a challenge.

"5 rounds. No bonus power-ups," you smiled right back at him, pressing the button to also select All Might. The screen flashed red as the game loaded the fighting arena.

"You're playing a pretty dangerous game, you know that, player two ?" he commented, a hint of warning in his tone.

"I don't intend on losing," you replied with a grin.

And if the wild spark in his eyes meant anything, neither did he.

[evilcokito]

@ceruleancattail Cater Serial Killer Au. This is revenge, I hope it's not too much. Really hope so, I'm sorry if it's too much!

Tw: Yandere, Blood / gore, Knife, Murder / Death, Cater, suggestive, Cater again.

Had to do it here because can't hide [ keep reading ] sending asks, so well. I'm bad at writing, ignore the errors IT WAS GOOGLE TRANSLATOR.

Dangerous animals must be caged. Unfortunately for you a cage is a prison and at other times, a fortress. Cater knows that too well.

With that conscience stained red, try to constantly ignore the reality that your eyes manage to appreciate: Nothing motivates and puts Cater in a good mood, than playing with his prey. Not even animals, no matter how wild they are with that level of cruelty.

Every time someone died by your hands, that despicable… boyfriend… made fun of his prey. Not at all chosen at random, that was YOUR style. Absolutely all of Cater's victims are his acquaintances from some point. And if there is something that this cunning fox loves, it is when people beg for mercy. Using the word "sadistic" is absolutely foolish now. Who deserves Cater's mercy and who doesn't? Did you think he would be different with you?

-What are you thinking? Cater asked at the very moment he took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours and starting to kiss your wrist.

-… nothing.

Your eyes were lost on the body in front of you, a girlfriend? She is… was absolutely gorgeous. Her wide and beautiful dress, very fashionable. So beautiful that even stained with carmin and destroyed stomach by your knife, looked good. Her soft, blonde hair was well combed. Perfect makeup, so perfect that it wasn't noticeable. Unfortunately, your sad victim died by drowning, happens when you stab in the lung, that's why her lipgloss were stained with blood and saliva. Cater, Cater… this is definitely your "type". Natural beauties, redundancy, are in fashion today.

-She was a horrible person anyway.

-…a horrible person?

Cater is a guy with tender habits, he always repeats the same thing after you murder someone. Your voice broke off when he began to kiss your neck and anticipating your movements, brought you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. With a giggle and a mischievous look from those green eyes, the kisses began to go down your neck, reaching your collarbone. Each kiss are more tender and sweet than the last, addictive. Your legs trembled and you succumbed to his arms with each sigh. That gingerhead is annoyingly good at this.

-Hehe~. What will be the limit today? ~mmhh???

His hand on your hip began to slowly rise towards your waist, lifting your shirt a little along the way. Didn't stop there, he continued to rise through the skin, looking for-

SLAP!

There it was, the limit. You stopped Cater with a slap of such magnitude that his mouth began to bleed. After a motionless moment and a painful gasp, he watched you intently with his eyes wide open.

-Did the same to her too?

-Everyone. But she and the others was boring. They were an accessory. He wiped his mouth by lifting his shirt. Don't let him distract you. Don't lose that esmerald eyes.

-...Jealous?. He took your hands and holding them firmly, cornered you against the wall.

-I'm sorry~~ but you started it. It hurt me a lot. Just two last kiss, kay?~♡ He kissed ternderly your cheek, but quickly lowered your sleeve and bit your shoulder. A choked gasp escaped from your lips. Cater watched your every move closely, smiling. He licked that wound slowly, until, sank his finger into it. This time you couldn't contain your tears.

Cater hated cages. For animals, no matter how wild they are, should be free. Condemn you to be in one just like him…

Forcing you to take a false step, look for each of your limits, observe your movements, he is addicted to it. And when he finds it: giving you a light punishment, leaving marks on you. For stubborn and arrogant being, you gave him an excuse to stop being that tender and boring boyfriend that everyone wants. No one could resist him, and when you contrasted with that, drove him totally crazy and obsessive. One day you'll beg him to continue, right? ~~♡ Incredibly, he stops every one of his impulses with you, keep that in mind.

You'll have to be brave, who knows if you'll suffer the same fate as the corpse scattered on the floor, guts outside, if you ask him. Unfortunately, Cater lacked that tenderness with you in the end. Will it be okay if it hurts just a little? You'll continue breathing for him despite this, right?.

My victim?

[fruitycasket]

Carleton Told A Lie (1 of 6)

A horror fic where Carleton spreads a nasty lie about Marvin: That he kills cats.

Obviously this isn't true, but that doesn't mean other people don't believe it. While the school jumps on the drama and Marvin faces the consequences, Sunday and a few others refuse to take the rumor at face value and grow concerned with the lengths Carleton is willing to go to ensure everyone believes. (Read part two HERE.)

Word Count: 2,467

Notes: Thanks to @the-pastel-kitsune for reading all my janky rough drafts and giving me feedback / story ideas! This story has all its roughs done and now needs edits. Idk if I'll update it on Tumblr and Ao3 yet... CTAL is also up on Archive of Our Own with fancy formatting!

"Deal with him before he grows any stronger."

When they were teenagers, none of them older than 17, a kid they called Carleton told a lie.

He came to school red in the face, saying, "Marvin kills cats."

But it was well-known that Carleton and Marvin didn't like each other. They needled one another at every opportunity, over and under their teachers' noses, and once or twice in borderline illegal ways. It was not out of character for Carleton to lie about Marvin, nor for Marvin to scare Carleton into thinking he was a cat killer. The first few students who heard the "news" that Tuesday replied with incredulous snorts.

At first.

Sunday heard about Carleton's lie on Wednesday.

The way he was told it, Carleton had told a professor or other authority figure about his supposed discovery, and they'd either done nothing or were moving too slow for his liking.

People believed that part if nothing else, as news had gotten out that Carl had argued about an unknown subject with one of his teachers last week. If that had been his attempt at getting Marv in trouble, it'd make sense that a weekend and some change of seeing nothing happen would piss him off. Only now that he was sure he'd be getting no real help was he beginning to spread this rumor.

Sunday believed it, too. These were things Carleton would say and do, in theory, but this was different than his general brand of assholery. Normally Carleton just insulted or fought people who crossed him. This level of name-dragging was new, something brought out by provocation. Marvin must have done something to really get him going this time, but what, Sunday couldn't imagine. It seemed out the question that Marvin would make Carl so mad without a plan, then again, where Marvin (and any magic beneath his rank) was concerned, Carleton wasn't hard to piss off. Accidentally going too far wouldn't be hard.

He sought out Marvin at the first opportunity he could, during their first shared class of the day. His first thought when he entered that class was Marvin hadn't come to school that day. A closer look revealed he was there, just hidden behind the backs of nosy students asking him a ridiculous number of questions. By the time Sunday got close to him, his responses to his peers' ill-natured queries were getting shorter and shorter, coming out in sharp tones.

"Have you heard"—one student began.

"Yes, obviously."

"Well"—

"I didn't and I don't."

Sunday shouldered his way through the crowd and towards the empty seat to Marvin's right. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked.

Someone in the crowd answered for him, thinking Sunday was there to harass Marvin, too, "We just want to know if what Carl says about him is true. About the cats. I mean, I don't think it is, personally. It's pretty crazy that he's not going to do anything about it, though."

He shrank back when Sunday glared, but the crowd as a whole was unbothered. That done, he scooted around them and took his seat next to Marvin, who had his face buried in his palms. "Marv?"

Marvin's reply was garbled by his hands and annoyance in equal measure, but a few choice insults and what sounded like, "I could kill him," managed to escape.

"Oooooh," went the crowd.

That was no good. This whole cat thing was a puddle of gasoline and that was dangling a lit match precariously close to its edge. Carleton would be fuming when he heard it, too. "Don't talk like that."

"I know, I know," when Marvin looked up, it seemed like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep for a week, "But they've been bothering me about it all day."

Evidently, Carl had a way with words. What was hearsay at the beginning of school was… well, real was debatable. Interesting, though? Absolutely. More so if certain warhawks thought they could get a fight out of it, or at least entertainment by way of bothering Marvin about it.

The crowd dispersed as the professor, who'd stepped out only a few minutes, returned to class. They carried their chatter away to their little cliques. "Carleton's in this class, right?" they said, "Do you think something will happen?"

Sunday tuned the gossip out as he whispered to Marvin, "You won't fight him."

Marv shook his head. "But everyone really wants me to."

There was an unspoken addition: Because they know I won't win.

Not because Marvin couldn't fight but because legally he wasn't allowed to weave a single spell—not even if his safety depended on it. That left him with his hands and feet as weapons, and he was no barbarian (a couple people liked to compare him to a stick insect in strength and constitution). Carleton had him beat in every aspect. Optimistically it was nothing so vicious as that, just a general bloodthirst and a vague hope the underdog would win. But realistically…

Sunday didn't know what else to say. Their conversation ended and the last of the students, including Carleton, trickled in.

Marvin and Carleton acknowledged each other a grand total of once during class by locking eyes for a few seconds. The event would later be spun by witnesses into some fearsome death glare or declaration of war, but the two had done that song-and-dance a while ago, when there had been no snarl of dead cat-related intrigue to hook their attention.

This look, though… This was different, Sunday could tell. He just didn't know what had changed. Or why.

When class got out, a crowd stalked Marvin and Carleton as murder of crows would trail a wolf and deer. If Sunday hadn't been sticking close to Marvin already, he might have been swept up and away by the horde.

If he were (too) confident, Sunday could have teleported Marvin to his next class with a spell, but that required him to know where that room was, how it was laid out, and who was in it. Any mistakes meant Marvin being sliced in half, killed instantly, or worse.

So that was that. The two of them could do little but wait for Carleton's approach.

Yet, despite an atmosphere thick with the fever of bloodsport, nothing bloody happened. There was no room for it. Most professors had long since learned that Carleton and Marvin together were a bomb and a match. They were watching closely, their presence was impossible to not account for. A fight here would have been stopped as fast as it started.

Instead, he pulled up behind Marvin and Sunday, forcing his way between them and keeping Marvin close to the wall. "I saw what you did," he addressed Marvin first, "Your friend here know about it?"

Marvin kept his eyes on the floor. "There's nothing to know about."

Carleton turned to Sunday next. "You know, serial killers start off on small animals."

Sunday returned Carleton's pseudo-affable stare with an outwardly hostile one. "What's that got to do with him?"

"I'm being serious, Sunday. Dead serious. He broke its neck!" Carleton's face changed, softened with concern for just a moment. It was a good trick.

Marvin continued to stare downwards, away from Carleton and the crowd. "I didn't do anything," were his final words before he slipped away to his next class, leaving Sunday and Carleton alone. The crowd's tension dissipated around them, replaced with a palpable mix of disappointment and relief. Murmurs expressing both opinions drifted past Sunday's ear.

Sunday turned to see if he could find Marvin, and saw nothing. He turned on Carleton next, now understanding his angle. "What's your problem?"

"My problem? Not wanting cats to be murdered is a problem now?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I'm not lying. I saw him do it, Sunday, honest"—

"Carleton, just quit it already. Nobody believes you."

Sunday was only hoping that was true. Fortunately, he'd struck a nerve anyway. As he pulled away to get to his next class, Carleton snapped at him, "That's not true."

"Sure it isn't, mate."

The conversation was over, but Carleton continued to make his case at Sunday's retreating back. "Your mate's sick, Sunday! Sick!"

Marvin made himself scarce that day, even to Sunday. He wasn't followed or taunted so much as time went on, instead the rumor mill's flywheel was set to spinning, and by lunch everybody was at least vaguely aware about some business to do with Carleton, a dead cat, and some kid he didn't like. Sunday found, as he sat at his table wondering where Marvin was, that every second or third conversation going on around him concerned Carleton's lie, even if only briefly.

He did his best to ignore it and continued to wait and see if Marvin would show himself. He was both relieved and nervous that he was seeing nothing.

A stranger sidled up to the empty seat he'd been saving for Marv, and he instinctively put a hand over it, "I'm saving thi"—

"Hey, you hang out with Marvin, right? Have you heard?" the stranger asked, then continued speaking before Sunday could reply, "Carleton said he's gonna beat Marvin for what he did, do you think he'll really do it?"

Sunday tensed. "Marvin didn't do anything."

The stranger shrugged. "Carl doesn't see it that way."

"Where is he?"

The stranger's eyes locked onto something in the distance. "Oh. There."

There was a small hubbub at the far side of the room, all centered on Marvin—who'd presumably only just mustered the courage to step inside—and Carleton—who blocked his way. Carl was saying something but it wasn't possible to hear from Sunday's distance. Whatever it was, it was exciting enough that people were muttering and craning their necks to see. The kitchen staff were gesturing at each other and whispering to the professors on lunch duty.

"Oh shit," said the stranger, "He's dead meat."

Suddenly united in their desire to get closer, the two of them wordlessly moved through the growing crowd. That bloodlust-thickened air had returned twice as strong as it had been in the hall.

Even before they got closer, it was obvious a fight was inevitable. Carelton would have hunted Marvin down to get it no matter what. He had too much on the line to not back up his insane claims, and as it stood, with no other proof, this was the only way he could that.

Marvin wasn't unpopular per se, but he was used to being on the fringe, being insulted and having no recourse, being a bit alienated from his peers. Carleton was not. He couldn't fathom losing the favor of the crowd surrounding him. It'd kill him, Sunday had seen it ruin him before on tiny scales and was seized by a cool, writhing dread as he realized how big of a stage an entire lunchroom was.

The crowd's excitement was a fever. Carleton's smouldering anger was giving way to a wild, blazing rage as it infected him.

He shoved Marvin, and from that moment on, things went both incredibly fast and painstakingly slow. All the professors converged on the two (or tried to) while Sunday went wide-eyed and still, scared and ashamed he was scared.

The throng was growing tight and it was hard to move. Hard to breathe.

Sunday should have been able to jump right in there with a single thought, but he was paralyzed, and in the dense crowd he couldn't quite make out a clean spot.

"Ohhh shit," the stranger whispered.

The crowd pushed closer together, a barrier to keep Marvin from fleeing and professors from getting in. Both gladiators disappeared behind a wall of bodies that Sunday was hard pressed to break through.

What happened next, he pieced together later through eavesdropping.

Marvin said something, what exactly varied from gossiper to gossiper, but it was the little spark that hastened the explosion. It may not even been anything but a plea not to fight.

Carleton lunged.

The moment he got Marvin pinned under him, the fight's end was determined. Students pressed closer together than ever before, absorbing as much of the carnage as they could before an adult broke them apart. Or, more accurately, pulled Carleton off whatever was left of Marvin's face.

Cornered and terrified, his face full of blood and bruises, Marvin reacted with what bystanders would later hyperbolically label "supernatural" speed.

Marvin grasped Carleton's arm, sank his teeth in, and did not let go. There was a spray of blood, a scream. Carleton tried to fight Marvin off but only succeeded in getting ripped further apart as Marvin shook his head and dug his nails in like a rabid cat.

What was first a neat set of teeth marks became a wide, crescent-shaped gouge edged with red, irritated skin that grew wider and bloodier every second. The floor became slicked with red. People standing too close had their shoes splashed with gore. Later they'd claim with ashen faces that, over the screaming, they could hear the sound of meat squelching between teeth, the painful grinding of nerves under blunted incisors.

In that moment, the spectators stopped having any fun. The chanting and jeering disappeared. The crowd parted with little conscious effort as the professors finally broke into the ring—all this, Sunday saw—but even with adult assistance, Marvin was difficult to dislodge.

The adults handled him as if he was a wild animal. Two of them were required to pry his teeth out of Carleton, another two restrained each arm, and more still poured in to start shepherding the mortified students that hadn't fled out of the lunchroom.

When Marvin's jaws were finally wrenched away, his teeth and half his face were dark red and dripping, his eyes burned with malice that had gathered its strength from months of insults and malignancies (and dark magic, according to the rumor mill). He cursed and swore, hissed and spat. When he promised the entire lunchroom he'd kill Carleton and showed no signs of staunching his bloodlust, the adults did something nobody had ever seen them do before, something it had never occurred to anyone they were allowed to do.

They whispered a spell in his ear and he went limp.

Half the students were sure he'd died. His battered condition made him look the part.

Even though Sunday knew that wasn't the case, his mind didn't care. Marvin's blood-soaked face and dead body was an image that would remain trapped in his head and hidden behind his eyelids well into his adult life, and possibly forever.

Marvin was carried away.

Carleton was taken next, with his mutilated arm wrapped in cloth.

The kids were left to sit in silent awe in their classes.

[dozenssporks]

in the Office AU Vash's coworkers have only seen Knives coldly angry and have constructed a mental picture of him as stoic and generally unfeeling. They have no idea he can be cheerful.

So when Knives strolls into the building one day with a pleased smile on his face, alternating between chuckling to himself and humming cheerfully the entire office is shook.

security, calling up to warn them of knives' imminent arrival: smiling! smiling! for a second I thought it was vash with his hair down! Then I recognized the expensive suit. T-they really are twins this is bizarre!

coworker: what is he doing here?! It's eleven in the morning on a monday and vash had the weekend off! Who called him?!

*vash wanders by munching a doughnut*

coworker: why is your brother here?

vash, dropping the doughnut but crouching and catching it before it hits the ground: who? what?! no way!

coworker: he um seems to be in a good mood?

vash, droping the doughnut again and letting it hit the floor: is someone dead?!

coworker: you mean like a family member?

vash: no! one of his business enemies! or someone who cut him off in traffic! Or--oh no!

*vash rushes over to the manager's office and slams the door open*

vash: is the company facing financial ruin?

manager, visibly shaken by vash's entrance: no, we're doing well this quarter? what--

vash: have we been bought out by a larger company?

manager: not at all, why--

vash, heaving a sigh: at least it isn't that. Unless, am I being accused of defrauding the company again?

manager: not so far as I know. did you hear something? your face is dead white

vash, leaving and dialing his phone, bouncing off the door frame when he mis-aims his exit: sorry gotta go!

coworker #2: vash, what did you do?!

vash: I DON'T KNOW

coworker #2: he was smiling!

vash: I KNOW

coworker: we're terrified!

vash: SO AM I--hang on they picked up--wolfwood? my brother is in a good mood do you know what's going on? is anyone dead?

wolfwood: eh? that's terrifying.

vash: I KNOW

wolfwood: got no idea. lemme know if it's anyone I should care about. bye.

*vash, clutching the phone and emitting high pitched noises of distress*

coworker #3: the elevator is coming up! what do we do

vash, waving his arms: early lunch, early lunch! everybody out! If you don't hear from me in fifteen minutes please remember I'd like red geraniums at my funeral!

*there's a scurry of moment as everyone flees to the stairs. there's a brief traffic jam when the elevator dings and everyone tries to get through the door at once. Vash shoves them forcibly free and the last of them escape as knives steps out of the elevator*

knives: vaaaash!

vash, under his desk: be calm be calm he can sense fear I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer

knives, walking past the desks: heeey, so my phone was glitching and I had a tech look at it. Funny thing! you know that app we use to play chess? turns out it'd been hacked!

vash: oh. it's me who's dead

knives, leaning down so he can see under vash's desk: hey vash

vash, peeking from behind his drawn up knees: hiya . . .

knives: it really is very amusing! the game was rigged to make my pieces disappear so I kept losing without knowing why!

vash: haha, really? wow, so weird and random

knives: isn't it? for the sake of company security I naturally had them trace the hack

vash: yeep

knives: I've got you, you cheating piece of trash

vash: w-why are you so cheerful then?

knives: not only did you have to cheat to beat me you also got yourself found out. it proves that I'm smarter than you.

vash: . . . that is so incredibly petty. maybe I could beat you but I couldn't be bothered to waste my time trying huh

knives, smiling widely: you're a loser

vash, kicking at knives: am not!

knives, kicking back: you even lose at cheating

vash, kicking again: you're a meanie sadist

knives, grabbing vash's ankle: you have the intellect of a grade-schooler. Come out of there, we're going to lunch

vash, wiggling and flopping as knives drags him out: I have so much work I don't have time really sorry but maybe another time I can pencil you in honestly I would love to if I just could--

knives: we're going to have a great time and we're going to play chess, won't that be fun?

vash: not--not Silent Chess, right?

knives, dragging vash toward the elevator: talking makes it so difficult to concentrate, don't you think? If you think at all, that is. Not a word until checkmate. I know you like to chat, but surely you can manage for an hour? or two? or more? Time flies when you're having fun!

vash, clawing at the carpet: please tell me you're not going to have legato sit across the room and stare at me this time.

knives: he does so enjoy watching a good game of chess. stand up, please.

vash, obeying: eeeeh . . . can I at least tell my manager I'm leaving early? It's only considerate. Look, the room doesn't even have another exit and the windows don't open.

knives: be my guest

vash, turning toward the manager's office: thank you

*vash spins around and makes a surprise run for the stairs*

knives: you little--!

vash, already pounding his way down the first flight of stairs: see you later alligator!

knives, slamming through the door after him: you can't get away, cheater!

vash, on his phone while he's running: yeah, guys? office is clear but I'm gonna be cutting out--

knives: I'm gonna make your face concave!

vash: yup yup I'll be fine! I've got an emergency evacuation plan!

*vash gets off the stairs at a floor he knows has a fire escape, rounding a corner and skidding to an abrupt halt when he sees a figure in front of the fire escape window*

legato: Hello, Vash Saverem

knives, jogging up, ruffled but grinning: ready to go, vash? legato is driving.

vash, slumping: can we please not use the chess set made of poached ivory?

knives: the set carved from rhino horns it is then.

vash: jerk

knives: moron

*around the corner a brave coworker who had stayed behind to cautiously watch and follow the twins is keeping up a running report to her colleagues on the phone*

brave coworker: I think they're getting along in a dysfunctional sibling relationship that never emotionally progressed past elementary school sort of way. I think he'll be okay.

*brave coworker pauses while the others respond*

brave coworker: oh, yes, definitely, we are going to that fancy bakery and pooling funds to get vash a six pack of doughnuts tomorrow morning.

knives, in the distance: stop touching me!

vash: I'm not touching you!

knives: yes you are!

brave coworker: . . . and another six pack next week, I think

[exmortiis]

renato lyra 〃 @deadlykitefight

David wasn't a team player by any means, most of the times the man would rather take the killer head on and take them for a spin, even if at times the results weren't the one expected and by the time the trial was over he was either a bloody and bruised mess or. . . dead. Except he didn't care, that part of him, the one ever so constantly chasing the familiar adrenaline high, satisfied, and what more he could ask for when stuck in such death ridden place.

However it wasn't always like that, exceptions existed even for a man like him, as rare as they may come by. And luckily or perhaps sadly, depending on the point of view, Renato fell into such category, he was one of the few people he came to care about and what was David good for if he couldn't protect them ?

He watched the other struggling to repair the gen he was on, his actions and words doing nothing but having a familiar sense of dread pooling deep in his core. " That's fuckin' bollocks. " Frustration laced in the worry of his tone. That was something he knew first hand, more than once he found himself with his head locked in that very same trap, and thank to his stubborn nature to keep going, he knew very well the feeling of skin and muscles being ripped away from his face before his consciousness would give in to the not quite enteral sleep.

" They are close to escaping, 'cause if ya don't get that thing off, ya ain't getting out. " A bloody hand taking a hold of the younger man's arm, pulling him away from the generator. He could deal with Renato being mad at him but not with him being dead because of how selfless he was but most of all because David failed to protect him. " Ya either go find the damn thing to get that off, of I'm carryin' you to each one of 'em. " Dark hues never wavering, ever so focused on the other, despite everything going around them. A deep breath exhaled from his nose. " I'll finish working on this and ya get that thing sorted out, deal ? " A kick to the half repaired generator. Fingers still wrapped around the other's arm, the grip firm and yet, far from painful. " I ain't leaving without your ass. " And that was a promise.

[tobiasdrake]

That questioning provided little in the way of concrete answers but gave us something to work with. Let's fire up my favorite Forte and get another angle on this killing.

We're back at the scene of discovery. Victim's been dead for eight hours. First thing to check out is, of course, the victim's body. That's the biggest thing we couldn't see from the present.

Do his hands look waterlogged? They look waterlogged to me.

Which backs up the idea that the room was half-filled with water when he drowned.

Still not that much water, though. So how he drowned in it remains a mystery.

We still haven't proven relevancy to our case. It's possible this is something that was done to this door at some other point in time.

But we should consider the possibility that the door had to be sealed up, to retain the floodwater. Interior rooms are not, by nature, designed to seamlessly transform into makeshift swimming pools.

It'd be easy to conclude that these are signs of a struggle. But I'm gonna say that these are signs of a flood. Pretty sure most of this stuff floats, so it wouldn't remain stationary if the room was half submerged.

If you look behind the cart, you can even see the flood line is a bit above the cart. Enough that the supplies might bob away.

What we expected to find. Smashed tanks, flooded floor, dead fish. Nothing unusual about those elements we've thoroughly gone over already.

Which could potentially make this our avenue of escape, if the killer was on the scene when it happened.

It also hinders the flood theory. Why wouldn't the victim simply open the door and let the water out? Then again, that may have been the trap.

If the servant was here in the room at the time of the murder then the Servant becomes the only reasonable suspect. Jeryn and Tetra have alibis.

Opening the door probably is how the makeshift swimming pool was undone. Of course, the water line is above the tanks, and we don't know how long the water was in here. The fish could have easily left their tanks during that time.

Maybe that's why the tanks were smashed. There was no getting them back into the tanks at that point and the killer needed a way to explain why they were out.

With weird elements like this, sometimes it pays to not ask "Why would the killer want to do that?" but rather "Why did the killer have to do that?"

If it seems like the killer did something totally weird and unnecessary then that probably means they'd get screwed if they didn't. Nobody lingers at a crime scene without cause.

Like the door tape, we don't know that this is relevant to the crime. But it's certainly weird. I was hoping we'd get something a bit more smoking gun, but no dice.

They're proof of the makeshift swimming pool.

What'd you find, girl? Is it a piece of evidence? It sure looks like a piece of evidence. It looks like a blue hose that might have been in the vent pouring water into the room at the time of the murder. Who's a good girl? You are! Yes, you are!

Y'all, I think the Forever Rain is the murder weapon. Jackpot fist pump!

You're sitting on a DME fortune and your dog's favorite toy is a knot made of blue hose? She should be drowning in squeaky things.

This is more reason why I think Tetra's clear of any suspicion. This hose knot is probably the murder weapon. If Tetra was the one to use it, she wouldn't be volunteering all of this information.

The better question is, where do you get your hoses from? This isn't exactly the sort of thing you expect to see wealthy heiresses playing with.

Holy shit, we're actually bothering with proper evidence handling. Don't want to contaminate the hose knot. Uh. Any more than Sugar's saliva and teeth already have.

Halara is the most detective out of any detective in this game.

With two suspects and nothing clinching the case, no less. The Servant seems the more suspect of the two, due to their lack of alibi and the use of a rubber hose for the murder. But Jeryn isn't clear either, as he has a potential motive and equal access to the tools of the crime.

We know the makeshift pool was the mechanism of Pops's death. But. How. If the door was taped to waterproof the room then it would have had to have happened after he came in, right? If he opened the taped door, it would ruin the seal.

After dinner, Pops must have come in here. The killer would have had to knock him out, then rig the room to begin flooding and leave him to drown in the flooding room. Which is such an unwieldy way to kill someone. What if he regained consciousness?

Ugh, this is not coming together.

I'm stunned that Halara needed to explain this to Yakou and Tetra. This may be the most obvious contradiction in mystery history.

They had to destroy the fish tanks. Though why they smashed this one too, I'm not sure. Maybe they had no choice. If its fish had swam the coop during the flood, they might have felt it was more dangerous to leave it filled but empty than to smash it.

That sounds like a smoking gun to me. He could have rigged the rain gutters to pour into the vent.

We should investigate those rain gutters next. If we can find evidence that they're rigged the way we suspect, we can nail Jeryn on this.

Yakou, you have no idea how much they've found. Don't go pre-judging before Halara's presented their final case.

ACE. DETECTIVE.

He is not blowing smoke. That is a well-earned title. And possibly in more ways than one.

[foggyparadisecandy]

MISS PURITY STORY

[CONTENT WARNING: Hypnokink, Mind Control, Corruption, Non-Con, Sexual Situations, Submission, Degradation]

Descending from the sky like a lightning bolt, Miss Purity landed with full force, scattering minions right and left.

She was a breathtaking sight, stunning the thugs with her radiant beauty, effortlessly gorgeous, clad in her short, pure white, mini-toga-like shrift, cinched with her golden rope belt and golden bracelets, and her golden calf high boots.

While they were gaping at her, struggling to shake off the effect of her mesmerizing beauty, she tore through them like they were tissue paper, tossing them aside one, two, and even three at a time.

She wondered when, if ever, the League of Evildoers would get the message that Charlton City was under her protection, and she would tolerate no crime or evil doings under her watch.

When she first arrived on the scene and began her crime-fighting career five years ago, she made it clear through the local news outlets that she was here to stay. She proved good to her word.

And since that day, she easily defeated her foes time and time again.

If anything was a problem for her, the penal system in Charlton City couldn't seem to hold on to her dastardly enemies. As soon as she had imprisoned one, it seemed another would break out or be released on a technicality. Her battles were never-ending.

Of course, the enemies were a trivial matter to defeat with her ever-reliable Purity Powers.

Her first real opponent, Mark "Man Mountain" Markovian, had been all brawn, no brains, and proved no serious match for her. He was unbelievably strong compared to the average man, but ultimately no match for Miss Purity's Pure Strength that gave her the stamina and strength of 100 men. The simple truth was that Man Mountain always thought in a straight line, making him easy to anticipate and defeat. If he wanted something, he would keep coming over and over again, after his goal until Miss Purity stepped in to take him down.

It was a shame as Markovian was quite a handsome man, big and strong, with natural charisma and charm, and he probably could do something with his rugged good looks if he applied himself to something other than crime.

Her second foe was far less attractive. A bizarre-looking, thin, and reedy little man, barely five foot tall, with a creepy visage, oily skin, and a slimy demeanor, Tim "Trapmaster" Tolliver radiated wrongness. It didn't help that he had a bizarre habit of cackling nervously non-stop, like a madman, which, in all honesty, he probably was.

Trapmaster was slightly more challenging, with treacherous traps designed to confound and capture her. But the biggest challenge was that he never actually committed crimes! He seemed to have some odd fetish for laying, setting, and springing traps on innocent citizens, peacekeepers, and Miss Purity herself. On each occasion when Miss Purity was caught temporarily, she could swear the odd little man was disturbingly aroused by the ordeals. Luckily her Pure Vision allowed her to see the way out of any trap, and she could rely on her Pure Wisdom and Pure Dexterity to escape.

But the worst of the lot was her third major villain, Lexie Leather.

Best defined as Miss Purity's arch-nemesis, Lexie had a cruel and cunning mind that was always calculating complex crimes to enrich herself or bring herself means of power over others. Even with Miss Purity's Pure Intellect, Lexie always seemed to be one or two steps ahead.

And it was so frustrating to think of the wasted potential.

With her superior intellect, stunning, sexy, killer looks, and strong, commanding personality, Lexie could have been anything and done anything with her life. Why did she waste it on crime? Miss Purity always imagined another life, another world, where the two women were best friends, solving global problems together.

Lately, the three miscreants had teamed up to form the League of Evildoers to counter Miss Purity. They had proven slightly more challenging than when they committed crimes separately, but Miss Purity always came out on top.

This current case was a typical setup of the three misanthropes.

Lexie went for the rare gems on tour at the Charlton City Museum while Trapmaster laid trap after trap to slow Miss Purity, with Man Mountain standing by to pummel her when she broke free. And, of course, the obligatory henchmen and women being used as a warm-up act.

Miss Purity wrapped up the battle with the underlings in no time, avoided the oddly clumsily laid traps, dodged the grasp of Man Mountain, and rushed into the Museum before Lexie could make off with the gems. She could return for the others later, but she had learned that Lexie was always the real threat and had to be dealt with quickly.

Rushing forward as fast as her Pure Speed could carry her, Miss Purity zipped through the halls to the special exhibit holding the gems to find Lexie Leather standing with her arms outstretched, seeming to surrender without a fight.

"What's your angle, Lexie? It's not like you to give in so easily."

"Ah, yes, my darling. You love it when I struggle and resist you before you conquer me, right?" Lexie said with a suggestive smile. "But no, this time, there will be no fight. But not because I'm surrendering. No, darling. This time, I'm afraid it will be you who surrenders."

Miss Purity's turned on her Pure Voice to ensure compliance and truth for any who heard it. "Cut to the chase, Lexie Leather. I still have to mop up your minions milling outside the Museum. What game are you playing?"

Hearing Miss Purity's melodious words, Lexie was noticeably meeker and submissive to the Peerless Paragon of Perfection. Her voice throaty with arousal and shaky with compliance, she replied, "No game, Purity. I promise. We have your friend Debbie Delight in a secret location, and we have guards ready to execute her if you don't stand down."

"How dare you involve Debbie in this? She is an innocent bystander. I don't believe you would do that, Lexie. You have never gone to such lengths!"

"Yes, Purity, I understand," Lexie said humbly, still feeling the effects of the vocal charm, "but you have to understand, we are desperate. We are tired of being constantly thwarted by your interference. I anticipated that you would not believe me. The communicator on the table will let you confirm the truth."

Besides herself with atypical anger, Miss Purity grabbed the communicator and put it up to her ear to confirm Lexie's dastardly plot.

"Debbie! Debbie are you there?" she shouted into the device.

"Miss Purity? Is that you?" came Debbie's voice from the device. "No! Get away, it's a tr-."

The VR headset went black.

Polly Preston was dazed, so caught up in the sim that she had difficulty coming out of the game. She shakily removed the headset, feeling disoriented, and zoned out, almost like she had been in a trance. Where ... where was she?

Luckily, Miss Leather, the CEO of the gaming company, was there to assist along with her two assistants, Mark and Tim.

Towering over the seated Polly, the woman stared with laser-like focus before asking intently, "Are you ok, darling?"

With a genuine look of concern, Miss Leather continued, "I know the experience can be quite over-powering with our new state-of-the-art AI-driven VR gaming units. Some people have a hard time coming back to reality. Do you recall your name?"

"Y-y-yes ... I'm Puh-puh-Polly Puh-puh-Preston" she stammered. It was a game? It had felt so real.

"Yes, that's right, you're Polly Preston. And you volunteered to try out our new gaming experience for us and share your feedback. Do you recall that? Are you ready to give us feedback, darling?"

Polly was slowly coming back down to reality. "Y-yes. Yes, I re-remember. But it felt so real to me."

"Good, darling, so good. Our team has worked so hard on making it seem real. They will be pleased to hear that wonderful testimonial that a little timid thing like you could feel like she was so beautiful and strong like your fantasy girl."

Yes, of course.

Of course, it was just a game. She was just a little timid thing, not some super-powered beauty. Miss Leather was important and strong and intelligent, and could be trusted.

"Now, we want to ask you a few questions about the game world. As you know, our AI builds the game based on your internal fantasies, so each player has a unique experience. My assistants watched on the monitors, and we were amazed at the depth of the world you created. It felt like the Wizard of Oz to see how you put me and my assistants, Mark and Tim, inside your game. I feel flattered."

"Oh. Yes. I guess I just, umm, drew on stuff from around me?"

"Yes, that must be it," Miss Leather responded. "I wonder, though, about your main character. Where did she get all of those ludicrous powers from?"

"Ummm ... I don't know ... it's kind of dumb, really."

"Well, you silly little girl, we expect nothing else from someone such as you. But even still, we're fascinated, so please do tell. And don't forget you signed a legal agreement to share all feedback with us," Miss Leather stated, alarming Polly slightly with the insinuation. Polly also noticed that the two assistants glared at her threateningly.

"And," Miss Leather continued, driving the point home deeper, "what would your little fairy doll think about you going back on your word?"

Not wanting to cause any trouble, and Miss Leather was correct, Polly seemed to recall at some point that she agreed to share the feedback and everything about her game. And, yes, Miss Purity wouldn't go back on her word, so Polly should be strong like her dream.

So she hesitatingly explained Miss Purity's backstory.

"Well, ummm ... I know this will sound like really dumb, but like ... umm ... Miss Purity is like ... pure. Like ... ummm ... you know ... like ... a virgin." Polly felt her cheeks flush with saying it out loud as if she was revealing some deep secret about herself. "And ... ummm ... like ... there is a Council of Purity that, like, you know, gave her powers because she was ... ummm ... a pure virgin ... and, like, has a truly pure and innocent soul."

Miss Leather, Mark, and Tim laughed out loud in derision at this revelation. Their great scorn tore at Polly's remaining confidence, leaving her fragile and more off-kilter.

"You are right, darling; that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." She looked down mockingly at the girl, who squirmed with discomfort under the condescending glare of the trio.

Polly felt deeply embarrassed, ashamed, and struck dumb by this stunningly intelligent, attractive woman's mocking laughter. She felt it was important to impress Miss Leather, and here she was, screwing it up by making up childish stories.

Why was she being so stupid when she knew how important it was to behave for Miss Leather? She couldn't explain it, but with every second that passed, this need to obey and submit to Miss Leather grew deep inside Polly.

Looking down sheepishly with complete remorse, Polly felt her anxiety surfacing as she wanted to please the beautiful and commanding presence looming over her. "Miss Leather, I ... I'm suh-sorry ... I ... didn't mean to ... it juh-juh-just came out like that. I di-di-didn't mean it."

"It's no matter, darling. My silly little mouse. The AI drew upon your fantasies. I do think a girl in her mid-twenties, like you, would want to grow up at some point, though. Please don't tell me you are still a virgin like your little fairy princess in your story?"

Polly felt her cheeks blaze red with shame. And worse, for some reason, she was struck with odd sensations growing through her body that she didn't understand.

Still looking at her feet, unable to even consider looking the powerful Miss Leather directly in the eye, and with the need to please the dominant woman growing alongside her shame, Polly quietly whimpered, "yes."

"What's that, darling? You need to speak up, little mouse. Are you a virgin? At your age? My god. How EMBARRASSING!" Miss Leather laughed, mocking the girl. Mark and Tim chortled alongside her with lecherous looks aimed at Polly. "How absolutely pathetic and embarrassing that would be. Speak up, mouse. Did I hear correctly?"

She wanted to crawl into a hole. She wanted desperately to impress Miss Leather, but she kept disappointing her. The shame continued growing alongside the mysterious feelings she had never felt before.

"Y-yes," she said as loudly as she could muster.

"Yes ...," Miss Leather said expectantly.

Momentarily confused, Polly wasn't sure what was expected but then remembered her manners and her need to please Miss Leather.

"Y-yes, Miss Leather."

"Good girl, Polly. What a good little girl you can be."

The new feelings coursed through Polly suddenly like a bolt of lightning. She gasped out loud with ... happiness? Excitement? Something foreign and unexplainable rushed through her.

Miss Leather smiled down at the girl. "My, my. It appears my little mouse likes being called a good girl?"

Ohhhhhh ... the feelings again. What was that? It felt good but wrong. Like nothing she had ever felt and nothing she was ever meant to feel. She felt her cheeks flush again, but with something other than embarrassment this time. She felt a slight shiver run through her body.

"Oh, you poor darling. My god. Is it possible? No. Surely, no? Have you ever been aroused before, my good girl?"

OOoOOOhhhhhhh ... ooohhhhh ... Polly let out a soft, uncontrollable sigh as the feelings washed over her. She felt an odd pulsing through her body and an ache between her legs. Something was wrong with this. It felt wrong. But it felt so good.

Nodding her head to confirm Miss Leather's suspicion, Polly pleaded, "Mi ... Miss Luh-Leather, I ... nee ... need to guh-go now. Puh-please, Miss. I hav ... have to guh-go."

"Nonsense, darling. We still need to talk about your experience. I wonder if your little virgin doll in your story would keep her powers if she was no longer a virgin?"

Even though it felt wrong to reveal Miss Purity's secrets, Polly knew she had to speak the truth to Miss Leather. Miss Leather was important and strong. Polly was weak and nothing compared to Miss Leather. Polly was a little mouse. Miss Leather was dominant and Miss Leather was everything. Polly must obey Miss Leather. She had to obey Miss Leather.

Feeling sick to her stomach to betray Miss Purity's secrets, but seeing no choice but to behave as a good girl, Polly answered.

"No, Mi ... Miss Leather. Miss Purity only has powers because she is pure of heart, chaste, and virginal. The Council of Purity would strip her of all her powers if she violated those decrees."

A cruel laugh escaped Miss Leather's lips. Polly felt her legs grow weak as she basked in the oddly wonderful feeling found in Miss Leather's derision.

"Oh, such a pathetic little thing, your fantasy girl. So easy to wipe away with the secret laid bare. Darling, you will be such a good girl for me, right?"

oooooohhhhhhhhhhh ... oh gods ... what was happening ... Polly was awash with confusion over these new-found feelings and sensations. She could feel the treasure between her legs throbbing and growing slick. She felt something was horribly wrong and wanted to scream. But the desire to obey Miss Leather grew uncontrollably as Polly's body betrayed her.

"Mi... Miss Leather ... pleeeeease. Something's wrong. Please help me." She looked plaintively to her lovely mistress to help her.

"Oh no, my darling. Nothing at all is wrong. Everything is going as planned. Such a good little mouse. Things are going to be so right soon. You'll see. You're going to be such a GOOD GIRL from now on."

Polly fell to the floor, shaking and moaning, feeling her secret treasure flood with what she finally recognized as arousal and desire and pleasure. She would do anything for Miss Leather to feel that indescribable glorious feeling. She felt wrong deep inside, but resisting Miss Leather was impossible.

"Oh my darling, pretty Polly. Yes. Things are going to be so right for all of us. Be a dear now and clean my boots as long as you are down there, won't you dear?"

Confused and feeling disoriented, Polly looked around the room for cleaning supplies of some sort so she could obey Miss Leather's command.

"Oh, little mouse," Miss Leather laughed contemptuously, "so simple-minded. With your tongue, darling. With your tongue. That's a good darling."

Of course, thought Polly. She was so simple-minded sometimes. No wonder she had fantasized about being Miss Purity who was so smart and wise and different than Polly.

Miss Leather was so wonderful, wise, and helpful. Polly crawled over on her hands and knees and tentatively started licking Miss Leather's boot. Once she began, she felt the arousal of obedience kick up several notches and started licking in earnest, up and down the toes of her mistress's boot, feeling her pleasure mounting as she obeyed.

Glancing over to the assistants, Polly felt a tiny burst of excitement at seeing the look of unbridled lust in Markovian's handsome eyes and a touch of terror when she saw the cruelty contorting Tolliver's face into a savage sneer.

Polly lay there, prostrate, obediently licking the delicious boot, looking up at Miss Leather with lust in her eyes, hungering for more words to obey, longing to receive more pleasure and to give in to her desires to serve.

Ignoring the slavering looks of Miss Leather's assistants, Polly knew at that moment. It was time to grow up and put aside her childish fantasies about superheroics and do-gooding.

Pleasing Miss Leather was all she wanted now.

And pleasing Miss Leather was all she could do.

[I have big plans for Miss Purity - if you like this, please consider clicking the heart or reblogging - I sincerely appreciate it! Click here for Part 2]

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[Second image from Betsy Jons, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons]

[silasbug]

a love letter to the cats from my youth.

i was feeling a bit sad recently when i thought about my younger years and how it feels like more and more memories have started fading. i know that i am the unreliable narrator of my own life, but there's certain things i hope not to forget.

when we were living in a small house between the fields in Canada, we decided to adopt cats from someone i'd met at school. we were only going to take two, but we fell in love with three of the kittens and took them home, marking the beginning of my little family.

they were: Big Foot (left, he was a 24-toed polydactyl, he always looked like he was wearing a cat-suit one size too big for his build), Bubbles (a cute little tabby) and Loveless (right, beautiful, fluffy, gray).

what we didn't know, however, was that there was another cat living in one of the abandoned and dilapidated buildings on the property. after we adopted the kittens, she became curious. we assumed that she must've lost her own litter, because she adopted the kittens and started nursing them. she was very hostile towards us at first, but eventually warmed up to the point that we could let her inside, pet her, have her sit close by. she never let us pick her up though, which is fair. whenever she had a litter, she would always hide the kittens under my mothers bed. i called her Blackjack. she was wonderful. the mother of mothers.

i did everything with these cats. if i was inside, they were near me or on me. if i escaped the house, they would follow. they joined me on every walk. climbed up every tree with me. they sat in all of my puzzle boxes and napped on me.

in the evenings, i would sit myself in our freezing little porch area while all three of them were curled up on my lap because i couldn't bear to be apart from them. (space ran out when they got older and larger, but they made it work & i got used to not feeling my legs under the mass of fluff.)

as an adult, i now realize that it was reckless and irresponsible, but we couldn't get them sterilized due to financial problems. so they had kittens, naturally. lots of them. we would always find them good homes, but with every litter, at least one would stay with us. my family of cats was ever growing and i loved all of them so fucking much. they were, more often than not, one of my only reasons to come home, to stay home, to get up in the mornings and to stay alive.

i miss the days of being buried beneath ~10 cats. i miss singing to them. i miss our walks. i miss the rustling of the grass around me as they followed my every step, their tails peeking out in between. i miss escaping with them. i miss how sweet they sounded and how they were more family to me than the people with whom i lived in that house. they walked me to the bus in the mornings and picked me up when i came home. they joined all of my adventures and they were the only reason i didn't feel completely alone while i was lost in the fog of life and the creeping depression of teenage.

they sparked joy when there was none and brought love to someone who needed it desperately.

they were everything.

Sora (the fluffiest motherfucker alive, he was baby) and Russia (don't ask me why i named a cat Russia):

Killer (chased a fox thrice her side across the fields, she was death, destroyer of worlds, the feistiest and most energetic cat you could ever imagine) and Chou (severely disabled, but so /so/ fucking sweet. she was pure sugar, pure love, an angel on earth. she just understood. if i thought i'd ever experienced unconditional love, it was from her):

Halfpint (named after Laura Ingalls from Little House On The Prairie, he looks a grump but he was a calm and loving soul) and Charcoal (sweetheart, looked like she sneezed into a pot of black powder lol):

some group pictures:

top: Chou, Sora and an unnamed kitten | left: Sora, Blackjack, Killer, Russia, Halfpint and Chou | right: Blackjack and Sid (a cat we took in briefly, he was attached to my hip, but didn't get along with the rest)

we couldn't take them back to Germany with us when we had to leave, and i still miss them dearly. i only hope they are still happy and well to this day, that the people that took them in loved them as hard and as wholeheartedly as they deserved.

but not everyone made it until the end, unfortunately, and i couldn't let them go. so i made them a little graveyard. hidden somewhere between the trees. RIP Big Foot, Bubbles and Russia.

[lee-hakhyun]

606, 607

lee hakhyun SWEEPS THE POLL! (51% is a sweep to me.) hopefully he'll get that tiesweep with kim dokja <3 it's been a while!

episode 11. work (1) and (2)

606.

lhh is passed out. again. by now he's basically expecting to meet kim dokja whenever he passes out. when he opens his eyes, though, he's in the theater. jung jaewoo comes to mind, and he wonders if he's here.

what was once cute kkoma kim dokjas was now a little terrifying.. are all these kkomas dead readers?

noise come from the speakers, and there's two people on the screen. yoo joonghyuk, and han sooyoung.

he awakes, and literaturegirl64 hands him some tea to drink. he notes that it's not information found in orv. these transmigrated readers are adapting to the world,, jung heewon is still passed out, and it seems the backlash for using [incite] is very strong, so she won't be waking up for a while

lhh exchanges information with killer king, and they both had encountered ohdokhyup. killer king had been hit with a curse of disorientation, so him and his sister have been wandering around completely lost.. when lhh asks why literaturegirl64 couldn't lead, killer king says she's naturally bad with directions. then literaturegirl64 kicks him.

this yjh kinnie, man

lee hakhyun can lead them to the research laboratory, but they talk about whether to go right now or not. the black moon is still ongoing, and though one of ohdokhyup's constellations left the channel the snake is still there. killer king and literaturegirl64 were able to take down one 7th grade monster, but the monsters have been getting stronger under the black moon. fortunately, the duration is only 8 hours, so they could wait it out, or at least wait for jhw to recover. but lhh can't wait. if he waits, there are more readers in the theater dungeon that could die. and yoo joonghyuk is in danger. lhh tells them that, and killer king decides they should move now.

they start heading to the laboratory, and lhh asks why the group is called the 'seven apostles'. the 'apostles' were people who never finished wos in orv.

lee hakhyun says he can't, and killer king asks why. and he says that lee hakhyun asks like he alone knows the ending. lhh takes this as a joke, but killer king is serious.

for a while i thought that'd be nice.. :(

they reach the laboratory, and there's something there.

i'm seeing this a lot. it's in a future chapter, but these people are getting excited by the chance to see a new story,, even if it puts them in danger.

607.

they run in, and killer king and his sister start fighting

gamers! a literal real life parry..

him denying that he gave literaturegirl64's skill a weird name hahahah. the coordination needed for this is insane, and they need to have a lot of trust in each other to get the skill to work,,

they continue running, but the monsters are getting faster. lhh thinks, if he can't incite as the apocalypse dragon, then maybe something lesser? he incites himself as the 'snake the severs its tail'. there's an aftermath, but it's enough for him to handle.

they split here, with killer king going to the b-wing and lhh and literaturegirl64 heading to the a-wing

they find the embryo laboratory, which has the ampoules they were looking for.

they get the ampules, and they're split in half between the two of them. lhh takes the tyrant t-rex dna ampule, for later. considering what's at the last floor, he's going to need it... while heading up to the rooftop, the cretaceous lord roars, inflicting 'predatory fear', which lhh dispells with incite. looking outside, b-wing is not doing well. but literaturegirl64 assures lhh that killer king is strong.

there's 4 people, and only 3 can escape. jung heewon has to get on, as she's incapable of fighting, and literaturegirl64 gets on too. lee hakhyun starts to think of a strategy to get through 10 minutes, but-

good on killer king for immediately stopping lhh from whatever stupid plan he was going to think of

killer king runs forward with jophiel's red fog, which protected against the breath attack, though it wasn't as powerful as the fog from the 1863rd turn.

lhh tries jumping off when killer king is grabbed, but his sister stops him. she trusts him a lot

killer king is left alone in the movie, with an item that will only protect him for 4 hours. they need to clear the scenario to get him out of the movie before the time limit, or killer king might not make it out of there.

killer king may have officially read orv 99.8 times, but he definitely deserves to say he's read it more than 100 times now.

[clown-fuckers-r-us]

Puppet master's strings - Ouroboros Unbound drabble

TW: torture mention, torture fantasies, mass/serial killer, evil bitches, manipulation Lysander comes to a realization with the help of his beloved mate.

Lysander liked the early mornings. He liked getting to the public places before anyone else, usually restaurants or cafes. Claiming his seat by the window, and watching the crowds go by. It was a good quiet time to watch, and sometimes, he'd see an anon. Oh and what a treat that was to observe the truly interesting. He could usually tell when an anon was higher or lower. Being raised in a strict caste system has an affect on your temperament, big or small. Granted it wasn't always a guarantee but oh was it always fun to guess. Highbloods usually averted their eyes and pretended that they didn't see him, The lowbloods  weren't hard to spot-- they usually stared at him like a deer in headlights and gave him a wide berth before scurrying off as quickly as possible.

Of course, the perky little blueblood across the way didn't. She smiled brightly as she talked to her friend, hands waving animatedly in the air as she beamed at them, pretty white teeth glinting in the light. They really were nice. Perfect, pointed, symmetrical. It was amazing to think that someone could have such pretty teeth, and so naturally too by the look of it. No gentle indents of the grooves to indicate cavities filled, nor discoloration to show whitening or staining. No, just two perfect little white teeth. 

The decently sized canines emphasized her excitement as she bit on her lip, causing a blue flush to come to them. It was a little hard to tell exactly what her hue was at first, but when she bit her lip the cerulean became more vibrant. For a moment Lysander wondered if he should take them and carve them into earrings for his beloved. How lovely it would be to twist them slowly from her skull. The sobs of pain would be a gorgeous symphony for them both. His mate would surely enjoy the show of that ceruleans demise, What pretty little tokens of his affection that she would wear proudly. It had been a little while since he had taken such time and care in his collection. 

His tongue flicks across his lips as he narrowed his eyes in concentration, contemplating the ways to give and take those teeth…and yet his mind couldn't seem to focus. It had been too long since he'd done anything, too long since he had been able to properly enjoy the hunt. Instead something gnawed at the back of him, gently squeezing at his chest and pushing outward at the same time. It ate away at him, sucked the air from his lungs just before he took a full breath. It was incomplete. 

That vile little Pyrite rat and his spawn had made it so he couldn't even focus on such trivial things. It burned something deep in him that they had escaped. Lysander could still feel the burns from when that m o t h e r   f u c k e r  seared his skin and took his eye… And his spawn. That fucking little wriggler. Their color. That wretched color that had warped his mind and sunk him deep into memories he didn't want to remember. Trapped him in things best left forgotten. Of course the next time he saw it he'd be more than happy to drown in that color as screams filled the air. 

His gazed grew sharper and his pointer finger dug at the table as he sneered, carving a gentle line before his thumb began to scrape it even deeper. Deeper. And deeper. A monotonous motion while his mind wandered. Much to the horror of the staff around them serving other tables, none dared to go near. His tongue licked at the tips of his own teeth and his gaze hardened. 

He hadn't even noticed the blueblood across the room had stopped smiling. Instead she stared at him, eyes wide and face frozen. Had he been glaring? He tried to save face, after all, it wouldn't do good to see a frown. Clowns live to make others smile. So he decided to give her that, her and her pretty white teeth, met with glistening gems of his own. 

He wanted to laugh as she stumbled out of her chair, quickly leaving a wad of cash on the table before grabbing her friend and running out. Glancing over her shoulder over and over, even through the window as she ran down the street. It was too bad, they really would've been pretty. But right now, it wasn't worth it.

All of a sudden something shifted, the dull humming that had resounded itself in his ears went away and the noises of the cafe came back with a thunderous roar as his eyes flicked to the side where the face of his mate watched, hard, focused. Her lips pursed, eye narrowed. She wasn't happy. She should always be happy. Perhaps he should have gone after the blue blood after all. At least then he could have seen her smile. Instead he softened his gaze, smiling gently before tilting his head questioningly. He had expected her to say something, but her gaze just hardened.

"You're distracted." Her tone was clipped. Shorter than normal. It seemed her focus lay strictly on Lysander as her hands wove together to hold her chin, gaze not wavering as she did so.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes flicked up to meet his beloved's. But there was… discontent in her. Something he was never accustomed to be on the receiving end of. “...I’m tired I s’ppose.” Lying was never never something that worked. Not with her. How odd. He usually wasn’t such a fucking coward.

There was a flare in her eye as she sat back, hands still folded as they slipped onto the table next to a long forgotten lukewarm coffee. For a moment she looked insulted, thinly veiled disgust crossing her features at the mere notion he had just lied to her. But she shut her eye, chest lifting and falling with one breath, before her eye opened again. This time her gaze was colder, not frigid or unwelcome, but not unlike the drink that sat between them. Murky and unpleasant. "Lysander." 

It was a request, not a plea. She was too good for those. But still, a request nonetheless. She wouldn't command anything from him, but then again, she didn't need to.

If there is a messiah in this universe Lysander would swear they were incarnated or commanded by the woman before him. His chest tightened at the look she was now shooting in his direction. “..M’sorry my love. I’ve been too focussed on every’thin’  haven’t I ?” his tone grew softer as he spoke, adopting a more genuine tone as it seemed that there was no shrugging off the state of affairs. If she was this upset, then it was a real problem.

Something changed in her eye as he spoke, uncertainty was a look she never thought suited him, but if the way her own gaze drifted down to her fingers was any indication, she felt something akin to it. Her thumbs pressed together before her brow furrowed. "It hasn't stopped even for a minute, has it?" Her eyes meet his once again. "You're still thinking about them."

“...I am.”

"...Lysander…what exactly are you thinking?" The question was probing, carefully asked.

There was too much going through his mind to even properly answer. Revenge? Anger?... Anxiety?  He didn't want to know, but if she was asking, he would answer. “M’ thinkin’ of a lot, darling. Lots of ideas for revenge.. How to , go about finding them,-” He hesitated, “...and..emotions.”

She had a strange look on her face, foreign, at least to her. But he recognized it as concern. Her mind seemed to be focusing on each word he said, carefully choosing each to pick and prod at, waiting to find the best one, but the last word is what stuck. "What do you mean?" “A lot of lingering conflict in m’ mother fuckin thinkpan. That fucking pyrite and his sniveling little spawn- I want to find them,  I want to rip Rutacis head from his Motherfucking shoulders, and mount his horns on my wall for what he fucking did to me.” Lysanders voice raised into a snarl , before he sucked through clenched teeth. He leaned back into his seat as he attempted to control his volume, his teeth grinding together in a fit of  barely contained rage. “And e-..Eth…SHE.. is starting. To become involved. Which I didn't get to find out about until recent.’’ 

There was a pause in the air, lingering not just from the patrons nearby who scattered as quickly as his tone had shifted, but from his partner herself. The hair on the back of her neck bristled. Ethne. 

"Lysander." And there it was. The command she hadn't spoken before, a warning to breathe, to not slip too deep. Her hand grabbed his. An anchor to reach out and grasp onto. Firm and unwavering as her gaze.

"What do you mean? What do you mean Ethne is involved?" “Shes looking for the fucking brat- she's apparently friends with their ancestor.”

"How exactly did you find that out?"

“I overheard a conversation in my old carnival as I was gathering some of my things.”

"Does she know you're looking for them?" His throat tightened. Memories burned at the back of his mind, nostalgic and painful. He could still remember her screams-  Lysander shook his head. No. No, he needed to focus on his love. His light. Everything else can burn behind them and in their wake. Nothing else mattered- NO ONE ELSE MATTERS. “She seems to know, yes.”

For a moment she was quiet, eyes taking in the man before her as his mind is desperately clawed at itself from the inside out. Though whether it was trying to stay together or to split apart was something she wasn't sure even he could answer.

"And what does Omnius think?" The question is simple and yet something unspoken lingered, on the tip of her tongue but refusing to leave. “I haven’t really asked. But from what I can gather, he has Nova now. I’m looking for Rutaci. He's in the area, the mother fucker can’t hide for much longer, especially when he's looking for the little mouse.’’

"And if Ethne finds him first?" He stared down at the table, his teeth starting to creak with the strain. She couldn't. Ethne wasn't capable of something like that…right?

Lindel watched him as he spoke, each breath, each twitch, each change of expression, and the uncertainty behind his eyes burned. "And what if Ethne finds him first, Lysander?"

“I don't know! I don’t mother fuckin know what will happen!”

The cafe echoed in the empty walls, patrons having left for fear of a clown's rage and staff hiding behind the safety of the kitchen doors. Lindel stared at him unwavering. 

"Then you'll die."

The silence that proceeded was deafening, an ear piercing ringing that gave rise to tidal waves of emotions. His love never lied. Not to him. There was nothing left for him to do but to accept the judgment. If anyone could accurately predict battles to win or lose, it would be her. “...What do you suggest, my dear?”

She didn't answer for a moment. Eyes casually caught the cup of coffee in front of her before she stood, making her way to the machine behind the counter and slowly making her own cup. She didn't look at him as she worked, eye fixated on the machinery and hands moving with precision. 

"Do you know what I thought when I saw your face? When you first came back after your little…scuffle." She said it with distaste, like the mere thought was too bitter on her tongue. "I was proud. Happy even. You had gotten into a fight worth your salt. A challenge worth meeting. A foe worth besting…but then I learned why." She pauses at that, fingers stilling as steam rose before her. "And something told me that this…this was nothing more than a fools game." 

She turned to face him then, half filled cup, slammed to the clunter as she moved, fierce and powerful as she stepped towards him. "Tell me Lysander, what do you hope to gain when this is all over?"

“...I want the satisfaction of beating someone worth my motherfuckin time.’

"Is that it? The satisfaction of beating someone worth your mother fucking time? Funny, because I don't recall you mentioning Ethne and Nova being of such importance. At least you said Ethne wasn't, and had you been in your right mind, Nova wouldn't be, either." 

She began to move, each step purposefully paced and determined- focused on carrying her higher until she reached the peak. 

"It's kind of funny isn't it, just how many people are involved in this quest mother fucking fight. You've got the equivalent of a lime blooded child running around, your  literal fucking trauma butting her nose where it doesn't belong, and a puppet master pulling the strings of a man who should literally be able to do that himself. And yet you're claiming all of this is to get to Rutaci! Funny how many other names are mixed in here. I didn't think you were sloppy Lysander." She practically snarled it out, her hands gestured wildly at the cafe around them. 

"And yet, here we are standing in a fucking cafe that's been emptied out because you couldn't hold your damn temper. Do you realize how this looks? Watching you unravel your own mind while into someone else's strings. You say you're the one chasing Rutaci, but it doesn't seem like you're the one that's in control right now.”

 She gestured with her hands this way and that as she closed in on him, voice climbing as she spoke. "I'm not involved, Ethne's only barely scraping the surface, Nova's being held somewhere, Rutaci is in the wind, and the only other name that I've heard right now who has any fucking idea of what's going on is Omnius. So, what exactly does he want you to do, Lysander? What are your master's orders? Because I'd love to know what he wants you to do once you've brought them all to him like his loyal hunting dog." Her hands slammed on the table as she leaned close to face him, only a breath away from the man she was slowly watching fall from grace. "Go on, I'd love to hear it." Only silence followed as he took in every word. Throughout her rant Lysander wanted to bite back, to snarl, to yell, but no. There was nothing he could say. What could he say? Lindel was right. She had always been right.

Why was he listening to Omnius, when he could do as he pleased? He wasn't anyone’s fucking lackey. No one’s bitch but his beloved mate. There were too many webs weaving themselves into his mind and holding him to the whims of another. He was too cocky. Too caught up in his own mind and rage to realize he had fallen into someone else's stupid scheme. Oh, and he had all the tools he needed to do it with, too. The great thing about being in somebody else's web is it's their home.  You get to have a good, looooong look at it as you struggle.

It was almost funny- no, it was mother fucking hilarious! He'd come for one fight but found another that would truly be worthy of his time. A trophy worthy of his shelves. A truly marvelous piece to add to the collection. After all, Omnius' horns were always so lovely. They would look even prettier mounted on Lysander's walls.

He smiled slowly, his eyes meeting Lindel's. "Guess I'll have ta play mah own mother fuckin game now. huh dear?" He stood up, meeting her gaze with a viciously giddy one of his own as her eye widened and her lips quirked upwards. There was her boy. "I guess I should get fuckin' started."

[spookychick78]

End Of The Line

Chapter 10: Natural Born Killer

Thomas Hewitt X AFAB!OC

Warnings: Mild Violence

Word Count: 2,314

Hunger began to make the days go by painfully slow. They went to bed with empty stomachs and woke to them too. Water was the only thing keeping the Hewitts going, Ronnie included. She was beginning to feel it's affects just as much as the rest of them. She also noticed without 'food' to prepare, there wasn't much to do around the Hewitt household. Laundry was just about the only thing to worry about and even that became less and less. Ronnie had fallen into somewhat of a routine with them. She figured letting them think she was getting comfortable was the best way to open up a way out. She needed them to trust her enough to leave her alone. Thus far, Luda stayed by her side throughout the day. Ronnie knew it wasn't just to show her how to keep the household running anymore, the woman was making sure she didn't run. During the night, Thomas was there to keep guard, or so they thought. He was very aware of Ronnie's desires to escape. She spoke about it often. As the nights went on, it had become more painful for him to think about her leaving. He found himself looking forward to the end of each day when he could walk up those stairs and leave the basement behind him. He'd take his place on the floor and listen to her voice until they both drifted off to sleep. It made it hard to imagine life returning to the way it had been before her, but he knew it was only a matter of time until he'd have to swallow that pill. He could tell she was going to try something soon and he knew he'd have to at least give her a fair shot at freedom. He didn't want her to see him as her captor. He hated to admit a part of him hoped she would fail and that he'd be allowed more time with her, but she had invaded his world so deeply. He couldn't help but think it. It made him feel guilty as he listened to her scheme in that sleepy voice he found so soothing. He knew better than to stop her, he would let her go if it came down to it. He would make good on his promise to let her story continue and content himself with being a memory that maybe she'd think on every now and then. If she even thought about him at all.

They woke once more to the sound of Mama calling them downstairs. Thomas stood before she did and allowed himself a glance at her tired form. Her hair was splayed out across her pillow and her cheeks had a red tint to them due to the heat that hung about the house. A faint layer of sweat rested on her skin, it almost made her sparkle. Mama called out again and she started to stir. As her blue eyes began to open, Thomas turned away and began his decent down the stairs. He heard her groan before she lifted herself out of the bed to follow him.

"Your mama makes a good alarm clock, doesn't she," she muttered behind him.

Thomas smiled to himself before he made his way to the kitchen where Mama stood by the counter. Ronnie entered the room and stood next to Thomas as she braided her long hair to keep it out of her way for the day. His eyes betrayed him and he knew Mama had caught him watching Ronnie adjust her dress.

"Ronnie darlin', I've gotta work the station today. Now, Hoyt's gonna be out patrollin' and Monty's comin' with me, but Tommy'll be here with you. There ain't much you need to get done, but maybe just wash up some of the dishes in case Hoyt brings home dinner," Luda said.

Thomas' heart sunk. He could feel Ronnie buzzing with anticipation next to him. Today was the day he'd have to say goodbye to her. She wasn't going to waste the opportunity Mama had unwittingly handed her.

"Yes ma'am," Ronnie replied with a genuine smile.

"You can call me Mama, you know," Luda responded as she made her way to the door.

"Right. Sorry, Mama," Ronnie said happily.

"I ain't ever seen her smile like that. You must be doin' somethin' right, Tommy. Make sure you keep her that way," Mama said before she shut the door.

He knew it wasn't anything he'd done. Mama had been the one to put that pretty smile on her face and for reasons she wouldn't like one bit. That look stayed on Ronnie's face as she eagerly watched Mama disappear down the road. Thomas did his best to hide his dismay, he didn't want her knowing that he'd grown so fond of her. He watched as she stood on her toes to look out the peephole on the front door. Once she was confident Mama was gone she turned back to Thomas.

"What do I do?" She asked him.

He took a moment to look over her. He wanted to remember as much about her as possible in case this really was the last time he'd see her. The way her hair looked in that messy braid she wore when she worked and the way she made being sweaty look so damn good. He wanted to pretend she looked so happy because she was looking at him, but he knew she was only looking at her way out. At least she looked happy, her eyes had that naïve glint they had the first time he'd seen her. It was a good way to remember her. He nodded his head to the door to tell her to go. Relief flooded over her expression and she quickly ran over to wrap her arms around him. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden abundance of human contact. He was taken aback at first, but as she held onto him he slowly returned her embrace. He was careful not to hold her too tightly, he had never seen her as terribly fragile, but with his arms around her she seemed breakable. So small compared to him. It only made him worry more that letting her walk out that door would sign her death sentence. He let out a deep breath and tried to ignore that nagging fear as best he could.

"Run," he said under his breath, but just loud enough for her to hear.

Before she pulled away, she stood on her toes and placed a kiss on his masked cheek. She stepped back and looked at him. He knew he couldn't hide the pain behind his eyes as he looked down at her one last time. She noticed, but it wasn't enough to stop her. She was determined and he couldn't blame her. She hurried over to the door and paused. He wondered what she was doing, she didn't have much time, but she turned back to him.

"Thomas," she said softly, "thank you."

He nodded his head and she didn't waste another second before she turned to fly out the door. The sun beat down hotter than ever, but she welcomed the heat. She cut through it fast enough that it almost felt like there was a breeze. She made it to the trees that seemed miles away just moments ago, but she made sure not to slow down. She ran until her lungs ached for rest and then pushed further. She didn't intend to stop until she got close enough to the road. It was within her view now and her eyes began to scan the area frantically for that damn cop car. Thankfully, it was nowhere in sight. The tall nearly dead grass stung as it hit her cheeks before she started to slow down. She knew better than to come out of it, she wouldn't risk Hoyt finding her. She crouched down until her knees hit the dirt through her dress. She brushed some of the grass aside and watched the road diligently. She didn't care if she had to wait days for a car to pass by, there was no way she was turning back. She honestly couldn't believe she had made it this far and that Thomas had actually allowed her to go. Though he'd been kind, she had never been quite sure if he would follow through with his word, but despite the pain it clearly caused him, he had. She wondered what that look he had given her truly meant. Did he long for the freedom he had given her or was it something else, something deeper than she realized? Whatever it had been, he had sacrificed it to set her free and for that she would remember him kindly. For his sake, she hoped he got away from that godforsaken place. There was something redeemable about him, but redemption was something he would never obtain if he stayed there.

Hours passed as she sat patiently in the grass. She almost panicked when she heard the sound of an engine coming her way. She ducked and peered through the weeds to see that it was a car and it wasn't Hoyt's. She hopped up immediately and began waving her arms at it as she ran to the middle of the road. It was a man, not too much older than she was and thankfully he pulled the car over. He rolled the window down and leaned over to get a look at her.

"Are you okay, miss?" He asked with genuine concern in his expression.

Ronnie was more than sunburnt by that point and the bottom portion of her dress was caked in dirt. It wasn't hard to tell something bad had happened to her.

"No," she said as tears formed in her eyes.

As relief came over her she became so emotional. She had actually survived that nightmare, that thought had only dawned on her when the man reached over and unlocked the door for her. She sat in the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her.

"You have to drive and please, don't stop. Whatever you do, don't stop," she said sternly.

"What happened to you?" The man asked as he looked over her disheveled state from the corner of his eye.

As he drove, she watched the side mirror with caution. In fact, she watched all of their surroundings with clear paranoia in her eyes.

"We have to get out of here," she mumbled to herself as she kept her eyes glued to the rear view mirror.

"You're okay, okay? Now, can you tell me what happened to you?" He asked again.

"There's these people," she started, "they're monsters. They kidnapped me, they were going to kill me, but," she trailed off when she saw another car in the distance behind them, "can you drive faster?"

"Who was going to kill you?" The man questioned.

Ronnie felt the blood drain from her face as the other car came into view. It was him.

"Don't stop," she said in a shaky voice, "you can't stop, okay? You have to keep driving."

"What are you talking about?" He asked just before the siren was turned on.

Ronnie saw him look to the rear view mirror and felt him press on the break, "No, no, no, you can't stop!"

She frantically scrambled to force his foot back down on the gas, but he resisted her attempts, "Hey, stop you're gonna get us killed!"

"I'm saving us," Ronnie screamed as she fought him.

The man slammed on the break and Ronnie started to sob, "Hey, it's okay. I'll ask the cop for help, okay? You're gonna be fine."

"No, you don't understand," she cried as she frantically tried to open the door, but he had locked it.

She saw Hoyt approaching with a shotgun in hand. The driver beside her rolled his window down, unaware of the fatal mistake he was in the process of making.

"Sorry about that officer," he said with a polite smile.

"I bet you are," Hoyt said before he slammed the back of the shotgun into the man's head.

The driver fell unconscious and Ronnie saw Hoyt lean down to look into the car. When his eyes landed on her, they lit up.

"Well if it ain't my dear sister in-law," he said with a sneer, "maybe you are a Hewitt after all, you got us dinner!"

"Fuck you," Ronnie yelled as she continued to pry at the lock.

He walked over to her side of the car and flipped the shotgun around again. She backed away as he reared it back and slammed it through the window.

"No," Ronnie screamed, she was in denial that he had managed to catch her again.

He pointed the shotgun at her and she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the barrel, "Kill me, godammit," she screamed up at him.

"I oughta," he muttered as he let his finger rest on the trigger, "I am curious to see how you'd taste."

She gritted her teeth, "Then do it."

He seemed to contemplate it. She could see his finger squeeze ever so slightly and she closed her eyes. Then he started to laugh.

"No," he muttered, "not yet."

Ronnie opened her eyes to see that god awful grin on his face, "Do it," she screamed as she pressed harder against the barrel.

She pressed so hard her bones ached under the pressure, but it only made him laugh harder at her. She clenched her fists as she glared back at him. She didn't know such hatred was possible, but she had it for him.

"I'm not going back there," she said through her gritted teeth.

"Really?" He said with a wicked look in his eye, "My money says you are," he spat back at her before he pulled the gun back and rammed it into her forehead.

[sakaiyuji234]

Female General’s Code, Fight for His Majesty

Chapter 5

*MTL*

    This black girl is a servant, and Liu Xian'er is the master.

    She can naturally drag this black girl through the streets! There is nothing wrong with it!

    And Liu Huanyi walked behind her, talking to Xiao Luzi from time to time.

    Liu Huanyi made a solemn promise to Xiao Luzi, "Heiya, Liu Xianer and I are good people who are chivalrous and righteous. When you follow us in the future, we will not treat you badly."

    Looking at the boy of the same age in front of him, Xiao Luzi gestured to him the rope between his hands and said, "I believe you are good people and want to change me. But you see I have no martial arts skills at all, is it appropriate for you to pull me like this!"

    But Liu Huanyi did not untie the rope for her, but solemnly said to Xiao Luzi, "Heiya, my elder brother is also a famous person in the world, you should bear it. Besides, your black face is really too ugly, and walking with us will lower our status. After you wash it, we will untie it for you."

    Xiao Luzi was helpless. She thought that only modern people would pay more attention to the appearance problem, but it turned out that the ancients attached great importance to it. They dragged her to parade on the street like this, and they could still say it made sense. This specious argument can only be given 100 points!

    Seeing that there was no hope of untying the rope, Xiaoluzi asked, "You are Liu Huanyi, right?"

    Liu Huanyi jumped in front of Xiaoluzi. Xiaoluzi was startled, and heard Liu Huanyi grinning and saying to her, "Yes, that's right. I didn't expect that you, a country girl, are not so stupid."

    In Liu Huanyi's eyes, those country girls have always been stupid. Shouldn't the one who can write the word beggar on her forehead be the stupidest of the stupid?

    Since he admitted that he was Liu Huanyi, Xiaoluzi asked him seriously, "If I don't want to be your girl, will you let me go?"

    Hearing this, Liu Xian'er immediately turned around, pointed her sword at Xiaoluzi, and shouted loudly, "It's your honor to accept you as my aunt, and you can't choose!"

    Xiaoluzi looked aggrieved, "But I didn't promise you."

    "It's up to you to agree or not. If you keep quibbling, I will cut your mouth into pieces of dumpling skin!"

    Liu Xian'er drew out the sword in her hand from time to time to demonstrate to Xiaoluzi.

    The woman who was frightened by Liu Xian'er could only shut up. She couldn't imagine how Liu Xian'er could be so willful! Could it be that all the young ladies from the rich families here could be so arrogant!

    If she had the power of the wild in her body, she would rush out immediately and stay away from Lin Xian'er! But the fact was that she could only pout and let Liu Xian'er drag her around on the street. Among the

    thirty-six strategies, patience is the best strategy.

    As for how she was going to escape, she had to plan it well.

    ——————

    The sun was gradually setting. Tomorrow was the day for the exchange of the Jade Blood Sword.

    Killer Leng had already arrived in the Purple Capital City and was staying in the same inn as Liu Huansheng's brothers.

    Xiao Luzi had washed their clothes under Liu Xian'er's surveillance and was preparing to hang them in the middle courtyard of the inn. And her face after washing was not so ugly, on the contrary, it was still a beautiful face.

    Judging from her appearance and actions alone, she didn't look like a servant girl at all. Xiaoluzi is a girl who is very spiritual. Because she has no distracting thoughts in her heart, she looks especially beautiful when she smiles.

    When the killer Leng passed by the courtyard, he was shocked to see the girl. Especially when she finished washing clothes, she was holding the wooden basin and wiping the sweat on her forehead with her delicate hands.

    The love at first sight that the ancients often used happened to him.

    But he was still very clear about the purpose of coming to this Zidu City. The first priority was to grab the Jade Blood Sword.

    So he observed her in secret, but did not disturb her. After the matter was accomplished, he thought of taking her to wander the world.

    Thinking about it carefully, after all, he was going to take her to wander the world, so it would be better to inform her in advance. Killer Leng had secretly made preparations. When Liu Xian'er went to eat, he ran to Xiao Luzi and said, "Girl, I will take you away tomorrow, and you don't have to suffer here!"

    Faced with the sudden handsome guy and the sudden words, Xiao Luzi was stunned at first and said, "Who are you?"

    Leng only replied, "I am your husband from tomorrow on."

    Xiao Luzi was stunned again. Are the human emotions here so shallow? They took me to elope for no reason.

    Suddenly, Feng Er's "hahaha" laughter came from the beams.

    Xiao Luzi and Leng looked over in the direction of the sound, and there was someone there who was laughing at himself with his belly in his hands. Xiao Luzi

    looked at his clothes carefully again. Wasn't he the boring uncle during the day! But she thought she should finish her work quickly and eat her meal. As for the plan to escape at night, she didn't bother herself and went into the house by herself.

    Leng had already flown to Feng Er in a flash, pointed his bloodthirsty sword straight at his neck, and said, "Who are you? How could you be so ignorant of romance?"

    Feng Er made a gesture of surrender with his hands, and said, "My hero, if I disturbed your interest, I should beat you, but my hero, do you know her identity? I'm afraid that if I tell you, you won't say you want to elope with her."

    Leng was curious and asked, "Tell me what you think."

    Feng Er bared his teeth and claws, and made a very terrifying look, and replied, "She is the disciple of Feng Er, who is famous in the world. But she is a female devil who kills without blinking an eye."

    After hearing this, Leng glanced at Feng Er, secretly mocking the other party's ignorance, and said, "Then do you know who I am?"

    Feng Er pretended to shake his head and asked, "Who?"

    Leng smiled secretly, and said, "I am the killer Leng."

    For many years, this was a sentence that made him proud. Every time he said this, he could take the other party's life.

    So, Leng used his trump card - bloodthirsty robbery. But at this time, something strange happened. The man in front of him stood behind him at a very fast speed and pointed the broken sword at his head.

    How could it be?

    Although he didn't want to admit it, Leng reacted the next second and knew that his martial arts skills were not as good as the man in front of him. But he was a killer, how could he allow others to point the sword at him? He gritted his teeth and said, "You can kill or shave, it's up to you."

    Feng Er immediately retracted the sword, clasped his hands in front of his chest, and smiled, "Kill you, the gentleman is talking and the villain is fighting. I have no grudge against you, why should I kill you?"

    Leng realized that he wanted to take the man's life first, but his skills were not as good as others.

    Leng was not Feng Er's opponent, but he didn't want to admit defeat. Today's hateful anger must be returned! But it's never too late for a gentleman to take revenge. If you keep the green mountains, you won't be afraid of running out of firewood.

    Leng asked, "Can you leave your name? One day, you and I will compete with each other."

    Feng Er smiled. He was not afraid of being so cold, and he replied, "I will not change my name or surname. I am Feng Er."

    The words "Feng Er is also" were spoken loudly, and with his internal strength, the words echoed in the air, and even Liu Huansheng and his group who were eating could hear it clearly.

    Afterwards, he was too lazy to argue with Leng and Re, and flew away alone. The speed was very fast, like a shadow, and it disappeared from Leng's sight in an instant, leaving Leng alone on the roof, feeling sad.

    This feeling was really unpleasant.

[cece693]

Why? (Stu and Billy x Male Reader)

I couldn't help but write a small insert involving my favorite killer duo—Stu and Billy. I'm not happy with the ending, so I might come back and change it. I just wanted to post something quick.

Summary: M/n Prescott was a straight-A student, popular, good-looking, and kind. So why was he holding a gun and aiming it towards his sister? What was his motive?

Sidney's breath caught in her throat as the chilling click of the gun echoed in the kitchen. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, the sound almost drowning out the sense of impending doom.

"What? Did you really believe you'd make it out alive?" M/n's words sliced through the silence like a jagged knife, their mocking tone a cruel contrast to his previous soothing nature. His eyes, once warm and familiar, now gleamed with a disturbing intensity. Sidney's hands trembled as she felt the cold metal of the gun pressed against her skull, its presence sending shivers down her spine. She couldn't believe it—her sweet brother was a murderer.

"Why?" Sidney couldn't help but ask, her voice trembling with the weight of betrayal and disbelief. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared into M/n's unsettling gaze. "Why are you doing this to me? Why did you kill our friends?" A groan escaped M/n's lips, the sound carrying an eerie mix of boredom and frustration.

"Again with the questions, Sid," M/n sneered. "They were your friends, not mine. Besides, do the majority of serial killers have a reason?"

He watched his sister's expression, almost amused by her attempts to understand the incomprehensible.

"But…" M/n trailed off, his voice taking on a sinister edge, "If you really want a reason for my killing spree, turn around." Sidney's heart raced as she hesitated, the command hanging in the air like a dark omen. Sensing her reluctance, M/n's patience wore thin. With a swift motion, he grabbed his sister and forcibly turned her around, a twisted smirk playing on his lips.

As Stu and Billy entered the kitchen with a knife in hand, the atmosphere grew even more suffocating. M/n's eyes gleamed with a macabre anticipation, relishing in the unfolding chaos. While he would have preferred to finish the job with a gun, he indulged his boyfriend's penchant for theatricality. After all, who was M/n to deny them such pleasure in their twisted game of cat and mouse?

"Surprise! Did you really think it was just M/n on his own?" Stu's voice dripped with mockery as he stepped closer, the knife held menacingly in his hand.

Billy, his expression equally twisted, chimed in, "Yeah, Sid. We've been planning this for a while now." His tone was chillingly casual, as if discussing the weather. "But it doesn't end just there, oh no. We have another surprise for you."

Sidney's heart sank as Billy's words hung heavy in the air, each syllable dripping with malice. Her attempts to break free from M/n's hold grew more frantic, yet his grip remained strong. "You see, Sid," Billy continued, his voice laced with a sickening glee, "there's something else you should know. Something that will make this all the more delicious."

Stu stepped forward, his gaze locked with Billy and M/n's, a silent understanding passing between them. "We're not just partners in crime. We're lovers."

Sidney's heart shattered at the revelation, her mind struggling to comprehend the depth of their betrayal. Billy, her former boyfriend, Stu, her friend, and M/n, her brother, had been conspiring against her all along, their twisted love for each other overshadowing any sense of loyalty or morality.

Stu's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a wicked delight. "Fucking, killing, you name it, Sid. We're a team in every sense of the word."