#fear of being watched and known and exposed? paranoia!

[neim-batteries-not-included]

jonathan jarchivist sims when i fucking catch you

[sistertotheknowitall]

Some Guy on Fear Gas (can apparently turn invisible)

Masterpost

“Danny was supposed to be in class today.”

There was a round of sighs in the coms. See Danny didn’t react in the same manner as the rest of the population when exposed to fear toxin (or in general, but they were mostly used to that). See Danny didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he didn’t get violent. He got unnervingly paranoid.

He got so unnervingly paranoid about being watched, specifically by the government if the muttered and whispered words were to be believed. His eyes tracked nothing while he slowly moved around invisible people. It wasn't like dealing with someone in an active hallucination experiencing a psychotic break. It was like dealing with someone in a paranoid delusion. He wouldn't let any of the bats near him and often took off, disappearing into the chaos.

Four months into seeing this kid everywhere and their suspicions were confirmed when he literally disappeared after the second time being poisoned.

Danny was a meta and he was afraid.

That’s not the reason for the exasperation felt by this family though. It was what always happened after. The first time he ignored every vigilantly when they tried to bring it up. After the second time he attempted to avoid everyone, extended family included.

(He had asked Kate if she was also Batman’s kid. “More like their aunt.” “Oh okay so it really is a family business. Like that show Unnatural. You don't happen to have also lost your parents at a relatively young age and now go on to fight a dark presence in their honor, do you?.” Kate had stared passively at him, the others had warned her. “….. okay… are you more of a Zuko honor type?”)

However, it was like the universe conspired against Danny. Even Bruce agreed that there had to be some god or being doing this (nothing is ever a coincidence). They kinda felt bad for him. He was very obviously trying to avoid them and he was either really bad at being evasive or a deity was laugh at him. Once he had thrown himself behind a lamp pole smaller than himself and closed his eyes to avoid Stephanie.

(It was very awkward. He could turn invisible and knew they knew so why…..? She had politely continued past so not to embarrass the poor guy further. Cause this was embarrassing and they both knew it.)

Finally it was Duke who pulled them all out of limbo. He had come across Danny on the roof of another bank. A lesser known capital union closer to crime ally this time.

Danny hadn’t been avoiding Duke in the same manner as everyone else. He still stopped to give Duke food but he never spoke and he ran after. Duke thought it would be weird to chase him but it was also weird to turn around, have an orange shoved into his hands then watch his friend run away.

However, this time Danny didn’t run as Duke approached so Duke sat next to him. Pulling out a granola bar, he handed it to Danny, “that’s why you feed me all the time right? Cause you know how many calories we need as metas.”

Danny had laughed, “no actually, that was a bit that morphed into a habit. I just thought it was funny.”

“….what.”

“Don’t get me wrong, now that we’re friends I am more than happy to feed you but yeah. The first candy bar was a thank you and then the second time I thought ‘I have fruit.’”

“….. wow… okay.” There went his plan of empathizing. They sat in silence as Duke tried to reorganize his thoughts.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you all.” Duke turned his head to face Danny, who kept his eyes forward, “you know no one cares that you’re a meta.” “Obviously. It wasn’t the invisibility that I was upset about," Danny said.

“The muttering. The paranoia.” Danny grimaced and didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to tell us till you’re ready, man. Just let us know if you need help. Please, are you safe?”

Danny nodded and Duke nodded back and they had both continued to sit. When they parted ways Danny handed Duke a small bag of chips.

Danny had apologized everyone one at a time even though they had heard it from Duke. Danny never explained nor did he want to talk about his it. His power of invisibility was also a subject off limits. All of them were worried but they didn’t want to force him to talk about it. They had to trust that he would one day feel comfortable doing so with any or all of them. (Still, it was hard seeing their friend so paranoid that he flinched back from them. )

Post Six

[comfortscripts]

The Way I Love You ¬ Coriolanus Snow

Plot - All you want is one night with Corio, the real him. Pairing - Young!Coriolanus Snow x Best Friend!Female!Reader Notes/Warnings - Corio is ooc in this, but the idea is that he is slightly hinged for her and he is aware of his redflags. Possessive? Mentions of deaths. Reader is lowkey just blind to Corio's darkness. First fic back so let's see how it goes! Word Count - 1,443

9pm

“You promised!”

“And when exactly did I promise this?”

He watched as her fists clenched the corners of her skirt, breath dripping with exasperation. Calmly watching from the comfort of his leather chair, nursing a glass of amber whilst his eyes followed the milky fabric adorning his best-friend’s figure. Almost 30 minutes of her attempting to convince him to leave his opaque penthouse.

“Last year, when you were too busy on my birthday, you promised me that I could choose whatever I wanted to do for one da-” Stilling her movements, frozen as realisation washed over her. “You sneaky fucker! Not once have you forgotten a promise between us.”

Corio wanted to laugh as her face scrunched with faux anger, but all he did was cock his eyebrow as a gentle smirk settled on his lips. “Of course, I didn’t forget. However, this little song and dance has been quite amusing.”

Resting his drink to the side, he rose to full height and reached his delicate hand out towards the girl. “I will agree, purely on the premise that nothing we do could harm either of our reputations.”

A smile brighter than freshly fallen snow crept onto her face.

“You have my word.”

1am

Corio may have noticed the ache in his legs if he didn’t have such a captivating distraction hanging from his bicep. After aimlessly strolling through the Capitol, the myriad of hues illuminating their faces as they spoke of the most mundane aspects of their adult lives to giggling at memories of their youth. Having known one another since the tender age of 10, there is little left unsaid between the pair. Perhaps only one thing.

“I’ve missed you Corio”

Shifting his head to where her figure was pressed against his side, their tandem steps slowed. Only those who understood the inner works of Coriolanus Snow could see the cogs turning behind those azure eyes. Flickering across her face, attempting to decode her words.

“Don’t be silly. We see each other constantly; your office is barely 20 steps from mine.”

 The young woman bit back a sigh. In all the years she had known Snow, he excelled in many things but struggled with matters of the heart. “No, I see Coriolanus Snow constantly. Future President of Panem, prodigy Gamemaker. I can barely remember the last time I had a conversation with the real you, Corio, before tonight.”

Stilling completely, allowing her arm to slip from the loop of his. It was a rare occurrence for the young man to be devoid of words, only having ever been rendered speechless by the very same woman only a touch away. In all truthfulness, he yearned for her presence. He longed for the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with delight when indulging in dessert, her uncanny ability to understand his thoughts, and most importantly, the way she allowed him to be himself.

He missed her too.

Perhaps it was his silence, or perhaps it was the cool air that unsettled her. Bubbles of anxiety began to rise in her stomach, fearing that she had overstepped or somehow offended the blond. “I only mean that you have sides to you. Whilst I like all of them, the one I care about most is the real you. I’m sorry, but I miss my best friend.”

“I barely know the real me anymore.”

It was truth. Being betrayed by Lucy Gray, the blood on his hands, the character he has had to play since; it was exhausting. The darkness swirling inside of him corrupting his daily thoughts, paranoia and greed clouding his mind. It was all too much to expose to her.

She embodied life, a breath of fresh air in a world torn apart by capitalism and violence. Coriolanus could never understand why she cared for him, why she befriended him. But he could never jeopardise losing her. The darker side of him wishes to lock her up in the Penthouse, so her sun only shines for him. Keep away the prying eyes of men who wish to glimpse the sweetness of her smile. But alas, he cannot. An innocent fragment of his soul forbids his darkness from tainting her, even if he must create distance to do so.

“After all that has happened, the Corio you know barely exists anymore.” Those stormy eyes refusing to meet her gaze by fixating on the gleaming silver ring adoring his finger. “If only you knew, you wouldn’t look at me the same.”

The warmth of her hand sliding into his captures his focus. “If only I knew about what happened during the games? If only I knew about Lucy Gray, and those people you killed? If only I knew how dark your soul feels? I know Corio.”

Snapping to meet her gaze, he feels as if she had knocked the air out of his lungs. How could she possibly know? Why would she be standing here with him? Was she going to hold this over him? A flurry of thoughts stormed behind his eyes, as she only tightened her hold on his large hand.

“Did you really think you could lie to me? I know you better than I know myself. When you came back from District 12, I could see behind those lies you were spewing. I saw the hurt she caused, the trauma you had witnessed, and how it broke the light inside of you.”

For the second time tonight, Coriolanus was speechless. Perhaps she didn’t know whose blood coats his hands, or the exact details of what happened those years ago, but she knew enough. And she was still standing there in front of him.

“And you still care about me?”

“I will always care about you Corio.  Now come on, I want to take you somewhere!”

And with that, she pulled him further into the night.

2:45am

Neither of them had uttered a word since their conversation.

Laid side by side on the refreshing emerald blades of grass as they look towards the stars above, only their subtle breathing filling the air. Despite the silence, the interlocked fingers expressed a thousand words.

A hitched breath broke the still atmosphere of the hilltop.

“Do you love me?”

Her words stopped his heart mid-beat.

“What? Of course, I love you. You are my best friend.” His words flow smoothly, as his thoughts run erratically to concoct the perfect lie.

The grass shuffles as she turns her head to face him. “No, do you love me like I love you?”

Corio continues staring straight towards the constellations, knowing that her alluring eyes could weaken his resolve in mere seconds.

“Because the way I love you is more than someone who loves a best friend. Almost as if you are the only person who makes my heart dizzy with joy. If you don’t love me the same way, it’s okay. Just needed to finally tell you.”

The breeze acts as a ticking clock, emphasising the lack of response from the young man and amplifying the anxiety building in the woman as she faces the stars once more.

Its almost too quiet to be heard, a whisper in the wind, but she hears it clearly. “I do love you the way you love me.”

Turning in unison to face one another, his free hand reaching to caress the toasty skin of her cheek.  Gentle strokes of his chilled fingers, drawing without destination on her skin as the blond builds the courage to speak once more.

“The way I love you terrifies me. You are the only one who brings me happiness, the only one who knows my sorrows, the only one I would sacrifice for. I obsess over you. I want to hold you and protect you. I wish to possess you. All because I love you the way you love me.”

Searching his irises for any fragment of dishonesty, her smile grows as she finds none. Inching closer to the man who has held her heart for a decade, his minty breath invading her senses.

With lips mere millimetres apart, a light whisper leaves her mouth “I’ll be yours Corio, for as long as you are mine. We can possess one another.”

As if those were the only words he ever craved, he intertwined his lips with hers. Soaking in the feeling of ecstasy as his hold on her tightens. She embraced the overwhelming sensation of complete bliss, revelling in every single second as her fingers interlock with his porcelain-locks.

Her lips fit with his so perfectly, it was clear that they were made to possess each other. And now that Panem’s king had his Queen, nothing could break him.

[blindmagdalena]

I had a really fluffy homie thought; basically cuddling on the couch under a fluffy throw blanket and watching cartoons like Rick and Morty or Bob’s Burgers. It’s probably totally ooc for HL but the holidays are always a little rough for me and this made me feel all fluffy and warm 😂

Homelander really doesn't care what goes on the TV. That's not why he pushes you down onto the couch or why he's nuzzling into the crook of your neck, snaking his arms around your waist.

The TV being on is more incidental than anything else; maybe it's for you, something to keep you distracted and still while he indulges in being more vulnerable than he usually cares to show.

Either way, he never pays much attention to it.

He's far more focused on the slightly alien feel of his bare fingers brushing the nape of your neck. He normally keeps himself so removed from the world, sensation muffled by the soft leather of his gloves.

He doesn't need the suit here. He doesn't need the world to be deafened or muted. With you, he can be raw. Exposed. Content.

This way, he can clearly feel the beat of your heart against his chest without thick padding dampening it. He wonders if you can feel the steady, strong thump of his. He listens to your lungs fill and empty, the breath from your lips ghosting over his temple and rolling goosebumps down his spine.

He can feel your mortality in every bit of you. Your whole existence can be broken down into such simple, primitive mechanisms, and yet the sum of you is something magic.

There is no frailty in the way you hold him, no uncertainty. You don't hesitate. You love him. More than that, you make it seem so easy. He can't understand why so many have failed to give what you have in spades.

He's not cold, but it's sweet that you pull the throw blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over your entangled bodies. Your fingertips brush his jaw as you tuck it in around his neck. He smiles against the skin just below your ear and kisses it appreciatively.

You card your fingers through his hair, gently separating any gelled pieces that might tug. You don't have to, but it's sweet that you do.

It's sweet that you touch him like you could break him.

It's a difficult pill to swallow that in reality, you could. You could break him apart with the wrong words, the wrong look, the wrong rush of adrenaline. He would fall apart and tear the world down with him if you ever turned on him.

His grip tightens just enough to hitch the flow of your breaths.

"You okay?" You ask, hand pausing to cup the back of his head.

There it is. Your frailty. It would take so little to break your spine, and yet the echoes of that crack would haunt him for the rest of his life. The circle of your arms is a glass house, a precarious invitation for tragedy.

Sickening that the thought of tragedy still frightens him when it's all he's ever known. That fear sits inside him like an ugly, festering wound. The rot of it spills into all aspects of him—paranoia, anger, possessiveness, he feels it all with such burning fervor.

It's easier to simply call it love.

"Yeah," he says eventually, lifting his head to meet your gaze. You look concerned, so he kisses you. "M'great," he insists, shaping the words against your lips. "You make everything... great." He feels you smile at that.

"If you're sure," you say, pushing both hands through his hair. He can only imagine the shape of it after all the toying you've done with it. "You're squeezing awfully tight."

"Sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry. He won't tell you that he was testing the give of your body, sensing with his arms exactly what it would take for you to break apart within them. Not when he's so devastatingly content.

You brush his cheek with your knuckles. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"I might squeeze too tight," he says, leaning into your touch.

"You won't," you assure him.

"I have before," he counters.

You pause a moment. "You know better now."

"Sometimes." He says it like a confession. A dirty little secret for your ears alone that sometimes—only sometimes—he's not entirely sure he's doing the right thing.

The two of you sit in a poignant silence, the television paused on one of those Are you still watching? prompts.

"I'll tell you when it's too tight," you say, tipping his head back to meet your gaze. "And you'll listen to me."

He stares at you for awhile, gaze flitting slightly as he takes in the somber look of you. You've never been afraid of speaking up. Not even against him. He believes you.

And you'll listen to me.

An assertion he would balk at from anyone else. Instead, in your voice, from your soft lips, the thought soothes him.

"Yeah," he says, flexing his grip slightly. "Okay."

"Good. You can squeeze a little tighter," you say, settling your head back down against the couch.

He does. He closes his grip ever so slightly and buries his face into the crook of your neck, taking in a deep breath. A little tighter, and you squeeze his shoulder in warning. He lets out a breath and relaxes his hold on you with it, practically melting against you.

The two of you stay like that for a while, each of you testing the feel of the other. The slow tap of warm fingertips and freely exploring hands mapping out a lifetime of potential in the others body. He's gentle out of necessity, and you're gentle out of understanding.

Homelander hits play on the remote before he settles back down. He still doesn't care for watching, but it's a means of telling you without telling you that he's not ready for this moment to end.

Blessedly, you slip your fingers back into his hair, accepting the gesture for what it is.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

How would Rafal react to finding out he is rather popular in our world

Rafal: [feigning apathy] I’m popular in your world? What a concept. [Secretly, his interest has been piqued, he’s rather pleased, and is already plotting.] Popularity doesn’t matter to me, but tell me: do I outrank Rhian? [He displays little emotion, except for a slight, expectant smile, like he already knows the answer.]

Rhian: That's preposterous! Everyone likes me better. After all, I'm a benevolent ruler, and you're... decidedly not. Why wouldn't the public's opinion of us be the same in another world? You’re probably only popular amongst psychotic Nevers.

Rafal: Oh, shut up. I already know my own students and most who've met me detest me and wish me dead.

Rhian: That's incredibly strange to hear from you. And how could you know what they thought of you behind closed doors? I didn't realize you had such self-awareness... or that you cared.

Rafal: I have eyes and ears everywhere. How did you think I remotely punished seditionists when I wasn't around?

Rhian: [pointedly] Is that why the Nevers have been cowering in empty hallways past curfew? Great. Another thing to not worry about.

Rafal: [growing impatient] Well, rarely does anyone listen to me. I have to instill fear to get by.

Rhian: [sighs]

Rafal: Regardless, what use could I get from this “popularity” you speak of? Would it grant me power over your world? To rule it?

Rhian: Not this again—

Rafal: [suddenly appalled by a realization] Wait a moment, does that mean I'm known? [to Rhian] It's not as if my weaknesses are publicized, are they?

Rhian: No, you expose yourself all on your own. [He turns to their audience.] Pride is weakness #1, if you've not been following along. And, oh look, there's paranoia and wrath, bringing up the rear! I could name your faults exhaustively, you know, brother mine, but I'm polite enough to restrain myself.

Rafal: You wouldn't dare.

Rhian: [grinning to himself at having found leverage] No, I wouldn't. Provided you don't test me and find out.

Rafal: Not here. Not when we're being watched by vulturous eyes. And that's a command, not a request.

Rhian: And there's character flaw #4: theatricality.

Rafal: [seizes Rhian by his necktie and drags him away.]

Rhian: [while choking, stumbling after Rafal with no choice in the matter] Good-bye all—send thoughts and prayers!

Rafal: Not another peep out of you. And you can have my useless popularity while you're at it. I don't want it anymore. Better your secrets laid bare than mine.

Rhian: Rafal—

Rafal: At dinner we're discussing new rules for interacting with these, these otherworldly gossip-mongers. I refuse to entertain them any longer.

Rhian: I—it's not as if you can exile them. They've done no wrong!

Rafal: Fine, I'll fall back on good, old-fashioned murder. Our uninvited guests will return to dust.

Rhian: There's nothing Good about murder!

Rafal: It's reliable, isn't it? And Good is constant and loyal to its fellows. Murder serves me well, as well as any Everboy knight could serve his liege.

Rhian: But that's, that's—well, your reasoning doesn't make sense. Murder can't be personified!

Rafal: Everyone personifies Death often enough. Why can't the same be done to Murder?

Rhian: Huh—I'd... not thought of it that way. Give me time to think before you do anything rash. And having a... skewed argument doesn't place you in the right!

[animegoddess15]

Yandere Batman x Female reader

Y/N= Your Name

In the dark and twisted world of Gotham City, there is a vigilante who strikes fear into the hearts of criminals. He is known as Batman, a brooding and mysterious figure who prowls the streets at night, seeking justice for the innocent. But what if the Caped Crusader's obsession with justice turned into something more sinister?

Y/N is unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows, as Batman begins to stalk her every move. His obsession with her grows with each passing day, until he can no longer resist the urge to possess her.

Y/N is oblivious to the danger that surrounds her, as Batman watches her from the shadows, his eyes filled with a twisted desire. He follows her every move, studying her every action, and becoming more and more consumed by his obsession with her.

As Y/N goes about her daily life, she begins to notice strange occurrences - a shadowy figure lurking in the darkness, a feeling of being watched. She dismisses these feelings as paranoia, but deep down, she knows that something is not right.

Batman's stalking becomes more intense, as he begins to invade the reader's personal space, leaving cryptic messages and gifts for her to find. Y/N is both terrified and intrigued by the mysterious figure who seems to know everything about her.

As Batman's obsession with Y/N reaches its peak, he finally reveals himself to her, confessing his twisted love for her. The reader is horrified by the revelation, realizing that the man she once admired as a hero has become a dangerous and deranged stalker.

In a chilling climax, Batman's dark desires are exposed, and Y/N must fight for her life against the man she once trusted to protect her. As the shadows close in around them, Y/N must find a way to escape the clutches of the Batman before it's too late.

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 2 - Jet

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!Female!OC, Friend!Matt Murdock

Summery: Everything changed after Marc and Simone moved to New York. Being in a relationship with the Fist of Khonshu proved to be difficult enough without the added obstacles of normal relationships being forced into the mix. With seemingly irreconcilable differences overhead, fate’s plans continue to drive the pair back into each other’s lives, testing their patience, self-control, and new relationships. Is it truly written in the stars, or is it old habits taking over?

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT |  Warnings: OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Alcohol mention, stalking, paranoia, suspense?, mention of pregnancy, miscarriage, and abortion, a brief firearm, minor SamBucky in my AU, major fear of parenthood

Words: 3K

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter List

"All of our ears to the floorboards There's nothing left for anyone I know who is in the backyard But who's that living in our home?" -"Jet" by Citizen

"We all have scars from our own battles, James. Like the scars on my skin, your prosthesis is the same." Simone explained to her new patient after much talk about his war experiences, both in the 40s and modern times. He nodded with understanding before looking at her curiously. 

"And what battle was it that gave you those?" He questioned, motioning to her exposed arms. Watching his eyes wander over them caused chills from her fingers to her biceps and made her subconsciously rub her hands over her forearms. 

The story had come from Simone's mouth so often that she didn't want to talk about it anymore. She resorted to having people google it instead, given how much press the escape of John Walton and the requisite killing spree received. This was different, though.

"We aren't here to talk about me." She brushed the subject off, crossing one outfitted leg over the other and shifting to make herself comfortable for the remaining ten minutes of the session. "Tell me about your more-than-friend. Sam, wasn't it?"

"Sam Wilson. We've known each other for a while now, but the relationship part is still new." James explained with a slight shakiness in his breath. This contradicted what he told her before, and he knew it. 

"Yeah? During our last session, you mentioned he wanted to take you to Louisiana to live with him. That's a big step for something new."

"It is, and I'm still unsure if I wanna go that far right now."

"Does Sam know that?"

"I think so."

"So you haven't told him?"

"I've hinted to it."

James twiddled his thumbs awkwardly, knowing he hadn't done anything to make Sam believe he was against moving in. Simone caught this and studied the mannerisms for later sessions before making a suggestion. "What if you brought him in, and we did a couple's session? This way, you can get your fears out in the open, and I can help explain if Sam doesn't understand." She offered. The return she got was a hesitant nod.

With her final session of the day coming to a close as she watched the cyborg soldier leave, she decided to lock up her office and hang out across the hall in the office of Nelson and Murdock. 

"Evening, Dr. Fred." Foggy Nelson greeted her upon her entering, using the nickname only he did. He was the shorter but arguably better half of the duo and much funnier. 

Simone went straight for their coffee pot and pulled a disposable cup from the caddy, feeling the outside of the decanter for freshness. She decided it was warm enough and poured herself a cup. "Always showing up for our coffee." Foggy continued. Simone snickered,

"I'm all out, and I can always count on your two to have a hot pot waiting. Want me to make a cup while I'm over here?" 

"No, thank you. We're actually about to head out to Josie's if you're down to tag along." Foggy answered just as Murdock came out of his personal office space, taking notice of her long before he ever stepped through the door.

"Absolutely!" Simone accepted the invitation before the bitter beverage reached her lips. 

After nearly an hour of conservation at the bar, Foggy called it a night, and Matt took his absence to explain the events of the night before to Simone. She wasn't as shocked as she was mortified that Mr. Knight knew she was keeping tabs on him. More than that, she wasn't pleased about him watching her, either. 

"I don't think you should be alone tonight. Do you have a place to go?"

"I'm not running, Murdock. As always, I'll go to my place and keep my piece close. Besides, I don't think Mr. Knight is gonna hurt me. He wouldn't."

"And you're sure about that?"

"The others wouldn't let that happen even if he had a reason to." She insisted, referring to Jake and Steven as the others. Matt knew a little bit of the lore. Not everything, but enough to know who she meant. Simone didn't believe for a second that Marc or Mr. Knight would lay a hand on her.

The pair walked back to Matt's building, where Simone had to nearly fight him to go home instead of walking all the way to hers and back. She appreciated her friend's concern but found it needless.

"Good night, Dr. Fredrick," Matt said as he unfolded his cane. Simone crossed her arms,

"Don't be so formal, Matthew. Have a good one."

As she took off down the street, she strived one foot in front of the other and enjoyed the oddly quiet neighborhood. When she heard movement behind her, she clutched her bag a bit closer to her side, not for fear of being mugged, but for access to her toys.

The source of the movement gained momentum and overtook her on the sidewalk. Just a normal guy. Nobody she knew, nobody she needed to worry about. The man's form grew smaller as he crossed the street quickly, seeming to have somewhere he needed to be. 

"So, who's the blind guy?" A voice spoke up from behind her. Simone whirled around, and in one swift movement, she had her small .22 between her and the man who startled her. The familiar face that wore a newsboy cap threw up his hands at the sight without fear. "Easy, hermosa. It's me." 

Even pointing a gun in his face, Simone was a sight for sore eyes. He missed her terribly and cursed his host for driving her away. 

It wasn't a surprise now that she knew it was Jake, and it suddenly made sense that someone would be watching her. Whoever Matt heard on the phone must have been talking to him. 

She watched as Jake's large hand pushed the firearm down slowly. He was always so calm and level-headed; god damn, was it sexy. Simone had to shake the thought away for her own sake as she put the gun back in her bag.

"Stalkin' me now?" She questioned.

"I have my sources. If you can have someone watchin' me, I can have someone check up on you, doll." He attempted to explain it away, following Simone closely as she continued toward her building. "How ya been?"

"Fine," She answered shortly, trying to avoid too much talk. It occurred to Simone that Jake was looking right past her, not noticing anything unusual. 

"Marc is still gone, so I've been handling a lot of the Mr. Knight stuff. Also, Grant's been in charge of the money. Invests like a sumbitch, as always." Jake rambled. Simone wasn't surprised about Marc and was happy for Steven. As if Jake summoned the Englishman, his eyes changed, and he removed the cap before rushing in front of her.

"What were you doing in a bar, darling? That's not good conside-" The realization filled his glance as he looked her up and down, confused. Ever the observer. Simone decided her appearance was good enough to confirm and skirted around him. 

"For your information, I got a glass of water, Stevie." She said, starting back down the street. There weren't any stepping sounds behind her, and she didn't have to look back to know he was stunned. She didn't cover much ground before a grasp braced her arm, stopping her in her tracks. 

"How long ago, Moni?" The voice of the missing man appeared. No matter how much Simone ached to hear it for so long, the circumstances of his return made her want to regurgitate. She pivoted around and raised her brows,

"Oh, now you wanna talk? Fuckin' typical." She said, nearly yelling. 

"How long ago?" He repeated, more sternly this time. 

Simone didn't want to give him the satisfaction of saying anything, but something in her wanted to lay her cards down once and for all. 

"Two months ago." She admitted. Marc stayed silent almost long enough for her to start walking again. 

"And you didn't call?" He asked. His voice was softer, like he was genuinely hurt that she didn't tell him about it. She wanted to go home but knew he would just follow. 

Screaming match in the middle of the street, it is. 

"Like you gave a shit, to begin with. You ran. Didn't even talk to me about it." She spat, harshly over-enunciating each syllable. She wanted him to hear her this time. 

Marc knew she would be pissed at him. He prepared for it, but he still needed to explain himself. "You left before I had time to process." He said. His tone was still calm, hoping she would imitate it. 

"We should have processed it together. Instead, you dipped like always." She started, stomping her feet on the concrete below as she approached him. She wanted to hit something, but she couldn't let that something be him. "Three fucking days I waited!" She continued to bark, red-hot rage running through her veins.

As much as he hated her being upset with him, he was sure she was releasing six months' worth of pent-up rage. It reminded him of their last split-up and what ultimately fixed it. She just wanted an apology then, so he decided to give it a shot this time. "I'm sorry, Moni." 

The unfortunate truth was that Simone didn't want an apology this time. It was long past time to say sorry. Her reflex was to roll her eyes and turn away, refusing to look at his face. 

She still loved him to pieces, but forgiveness wasn't in her deck this evening after months of considering what she would do or say if he returned to her. "Don't act like it suddenly means something to you." 

Marc watched her lower lip quiver and her shakey hands hide under her elbows. Surprisingly, she was holding back, and that alone nearly made him fall apart. "Fuck, baby, I was scared." 

"And you didn't think I was? I was carrying the thing! Four months, I pondered what the fuck I was gonna do, and then it was over. Six months, you didn't reach out. Not to check on me, not to see if I was alive or if I got an abortion, nothing from you." Her voice began to pick back up, nearly as loud as before, and she didn't care who heard. "I know neither of us had model examples of parenthood, but I needed you."

"I know I fucked up by running off-" 

"And you fucked up again by showing up only after you realized I'm not pregnant anymore." Her voice cracked on the P-word. It sounded like the most pathetic thing in the world from her ears and made her want to curl up into a ball and stay there forever. "This is exhausting." She muttered, starting back down the street. She'd had enough. 

As for Marc, he wanted to follow, catch her, hold her, let her cry into his chest, but she would never let him. Moni got a few feet away before he had one last question buzzing in his brain.

"Did you want it?" He called out to her again. A sniffle and a crack of disbelief proceeded her answer, not turning around.

"What does that matter now?" 

"It's a question, Moni. One I should have asked forever ago." 

That was the most on-the-nose thing he had said all night to her. 

One I should have asked forever ago. Damn right, but you're still missing the mark here, my man. She thought as she stopped, pivoted, and answered.

"Not until after I lost it. Have a good night."

The confrontation brought her right back to that time of old. Being one day late for your period isn't anything to panic about. Being two days, for Simone, meant absolute denial and terror and refusal to give up on praying for it to rear its ugly head. 

It was day three. Day three was when she took five tests showing two lines. They were faint, but they were there. She didn't believe what she saw and even resorted to pinching herself to wake up from what she could only assume was a nightmare. 

She was still in her bathroom, a cup of pee in hand, surrounded by several white sticks with pink caps.

Fuck me. She thought, realizing she and Marc never even so much as discussed kids. She assumed it was off the table for him just as much as for her. 

Simone sat and considered how it could have happened. Of course, she was still on the pill, but even that method wasn't perfect. She googled the possible conception date, knowing there was a period just weeks prior when Marc seemingly lost his mind.

All the other times, they fucked like rabbits. The dates that fell in her palm told her the one moment of weakness during that time was all it took. Ovulation does crazy things to people. She was no exception, even if her lover was just coming down from nothing short of mind control during that time. 

I'll just talk to him. I mean, obviously, I'm getting an abortion. She thought to herself, palms braced on the vanity. Unless he wants to keep it. No, don't be an idiot. Do I really want this thing? Hell no!

As she walked back into the living room, she felt her hands go numb with nerves. One foot before the other, she approached Marc, who was talking a load off on their couch. She shook her hands to get blood flow to return to them. 

"Babe." She said simply. Marc lifted his head to look at her with a smile. He was always happy to see her. His grin drifted when he noticed her not return it. 

"What's up?" He asked, concerned. All the while, she was rehearsing it in her head. 

I'm pregnant. I'm with child! Oh, gods, no. I'm getting an abortion. Just skip the announcement part entirely? 

"Moni?" Marc spoke up again as he watched her eyes begin to water. She couldn't do it. 

"Bathroom." She said quietly. He was perplexed by the single word she seemed to have to force out of her throat. He realized she was telling him to go there in the least-demanding tone he had ever heard. 

Marc did just that, and when he flicked on the overhead light to find the scattered white tests with pink lines, he froze. 

No. He thought. She's not... no. 

Moni peered beyond the doorframe to find him staring blankly at the countertop. "Marc?" She spoke his name as a question. She wanted something, anything.

How did this... Me? A dad? 

He felt his hands begin to tremble. The man who had been close to death countless times and faced enemies bigger than he was, was scared of a mere embryo. Without thinking for another second or allowing himself to show that panic-

He vanished. 

"Marc?" Simone repeated, this time placing her hand on his shoulder. Steven was suddenly in the driver's seat and confused about how to respond. 

"Love..." He started, losing whatever words he meant to say before they came out. In the mirror before them, he watched Simone's face turn from concern to disbelief. It was clear that she needed Marc, not him or Jake, but he would be damned if he didn't try his best. 

"Did he really just..." Simone trailed off. Steven knew what she would ask and turned to face her and reassure her. 

"Marc just needs a minute, darling. He'll be back."

Steven didn't know if he was being truthful or not.

Day one without Marc wasn't anything to panic about. Day two, for Simone, meant absolute denial, terror, and refusal to give up on praying for him to return. 

It was day three when she gave up. Day three was when she started screaming. 

"Marc! Please! Stop being like this!" She yelled to Jake, who she loved just as well but was a shield for Marc to hide behind. They were standing in the kitchen, unmoving. Simone swore she saw his eyes for a split second, but when Jake spoke, it was it for her. 

"Hermosa, it's gonna be alright." 

Marc heard it loud and clear but couldn't face her. Fear of the pregnancy, fear of Moni, fear of himself took over like a dark cloud. He wanted to call for her when he watched her grab her bag and coat and take off out the door. The words stayed where he was. 

Simone marched into a clinic, sat in the waiting area for twenty minutes, then walked out with tears streaming down her face. She knew she couldn't do it out of anger for Marc. She needed to think it through. 

Eventually, she settled on adoption, unaware of why a crippling dread took her over whenever she got near the clinic. She did everything right: appointments, healthy habits, the works. Started gagging at the stench of liquor, smoke, and cooking meat, which never disappeared after the heartbeat did. 

Marc wasn't sure if he was relieved or not to see Moni without a bump. He knew he went about this whole thing the wrong way, and she hated him now for it. He wished he could have been there for her, but ultimately felt that if she kept the baby, they'd be better off without him anyway.

[lomoent]

Scp containment breach endings

Lloyd interviewd 1504 and in the game there are notes left by Doctor L These include Halothane gas dispensers (Which correlates to Decontamination gas used)ĭr. In the facility that SCP-1504 is stored in there are multiple measures outside of 1504's containment area to stop his breaches. The site had a nuclear warhead which was detonated. SCP-1504 caused a CONTAINMENT BREACH that unlocked most of the doors to the SCPs. SCP-1504 was held in a facility with mulitple Keter-class SCPs. There are many parrelels with the area in SCP Containment breach these include: I didn't have much evidence to support any of them or know if it was any of them until I was reading up on SCP-1504. SCP-513-1 was removed in version 1.0 and replaced with SCP-372 as the harmless fear mechanic.In the game SCP Containment Breach there are a few different endings, all of which are plausable (within the game's universe not the real one). Destroying SCP-513 will make SCP-513-1 disappear. It simply serves as a fear and scaring mechanic. It simply stalks the player, appearing briefly before disappearing and breathing loudly. SCP-513-1 appears in the game after the player rings SCP-513. He is assumed to be sadomasochistic, malicious and insane. It is believed that his fleeing is not done out of cowardice or safety, but rather to more slowly and strategically damage the mental health of his victims. He is shown to be very patient, insightful, manipulative and calculating, driving those who heard SCP-513 insane. Little to nothing is known about SCP-513-1's personality or motivations. From the note found on SCP-513, it is known that it is male. Processes are still underway to try and capture SCP-513-1.ĭescriptions of SCP-513-1's appearance vary based off of the subject, but most claim him to be a dark, skeletal humanoid with abnormally large hands. If the victim is Class-D personnel or falls asleep/unconscious, they will be terminated. Victims exposed to SCP-513's ringing will not be allowed to sleep or fall unconscious. Personnel stationed around the holding cell wear noise-dampening earmuffs and earplugs, and removal of SCP-513 is only to be performed by surgically deafened personnel. SCP-513 is kept within a soundproof gelatin block. The repeated exposure the stalking and attacks leads to serious deprivations in the victims' mental health, such as paranoia, aggression, sleep deprivation, depression, and hypervigilance, eventually ending with the subject committing suicide. Upon awakening, SCP-513-1 will flee again. Upon being sighted, SCP-513-1 will reportedly flee the area.įears and anxieties begin to worsen as the victims are continually stalked, and if they should attempt sleep, they will be viciously attacked by SCP-513-1. Approximately an hour after exposure, victims will begin to catch glimpses of SCP-513-1 out of the corners of their eyes, in mirrors, and/or opening doors. They begin feeling as if they are being followed and watched. If you hear it, he can touch you." It was revealed soon after that any individual that hears SCP-513 ring will instantly develop acute anxiety and paranoia. SCP-513 was recovered with a scrap of paper on it and the bell's clapper being taped down to one of the interior sides.

[animeyanderelover]

I am going to be honest and admit that I did not expect to see characters like Tatara and Kichimaru in here…I generalized it into s/ being a famous celebrity.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy mindset, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, stalking, threats, intimidation, disturbing behavior, paranoia

Petite and shy s/o is a famous celebrity

Pain

🌧️I see Pain in a modern AU still in a relatively high position since he's a business man through and through. That guy owns money and has the tactical mindset to know exactly what course his company should take in order to get the most win. People and co-worker respect him for that, though they can't help but be slightly intimidated by him. He's quite polite yet his whole aura seems so cold and distant and somehow the many piercings on his body add to that intimidation factor. Yahiko is just so untouchable and even if that is his charm, not to mention that he's quite attractive, he doesn't display any sign of yearning for a relationship. He rejects those who confess with a icy and polite tone and those who bother him too much and turn too pushy have left his office with tears in their eyes and hearts pounding in fear. Pain isn't one to yell or get violent, his words and overall demeanor are more than enough to send someone running though, not even to mention that he has influence.

🌧️No one seems to know about what he does in his free time except his two best friends Konan and Nagato and people would probably never guess that he's madly obsessed with one very well-known celebrity. Yahiko has a reputation to uphold after all and is aware that his tendencies go into a very obsessive area, but in his eyes you're a literal goddess so no wonder. I'm not even kidding, you're this man's religion and he has something dangerously close to a shrine dedicated to you somewhere in his house. Whether you are a singer or a actress, whatever has to do with you is being bought by him immediately and kept safe and treasured somewhere. It has to be said that Pain never steps over the boundaries since he respects and worships you too much to lower himself to the level of collecting hair or your personal belongings. Instead he hires himself a painter who paints him portraits of you, depicting your glory perfectly. He keeps his whole collection in a special part of his house where no one except him and his two friends are allowed to enter.

🌧️Yahiko was mesmerized the first time he saw you, someone as fragile and bashful as you who still managed to be confident and fantastic when it came to your skills. He's watched every concert/movie you were in and remembers everything down to the minor detail about you and every interview you ever held, he has watched. He absolutely adores it when he sees you turning all shy and sweet when talking to others, despises those who make you uncomfortable though. In his eyes you're a holy being from heaven and for that alone everyone should only treat you with the highest adoration so every hate comment, rude remark from a fan or a hater and knowledge that you're forced to do something against your will sets him off. He tries to hide it at work, his workers notice on the slightly dark glint in his eyes and the barely dark undertone in his voice that something is wrong.

🌧️People who work for him are being exposed to his obsessive nature as well. Talent to prosper his business is something he regards highly yet he has certain patterns and habits which are to blame on his religious view on you. Those who love and praise you daily in his company tend to be let easier of the hook as long as it hasn't damaged the company and during interviews he gives a person more likely a chance if s/o is their idol and views you in high regards. Those who badmouth you are loaded more in work and he goes harsher against them. It's all happening under the surface and no one really catches on, thinking that he probably just had a bad day. Pain sees himself as your loyal follower and for that has deluded himself into thinking that he has to get rid of those who dare to tanish your reputation, be it because they wish you death or count to the disturbing sort of fans, he will get rid of them. He can bend the rules to his liking a bit and has enough fortune to cover certain accidents up.

Juuzou Suzuya

🔪No one wants to admit that someone like this little weirdo made it into the police and became the leader of his own special task force. Juuzou is an outsider, only those who got to know him really closely know that he is a loyal albeit weird guy. Many from his work don't even want to admit that he's there so the realization that he is incredibly good with what he does stings even more. Suzuya was able to solve quite a few complicated cases where everyone else alread failed simply because he thinks out of the pattern and uses methods which are, even if still legal, not something the average person would do. That' why the people above his rank tolerate him. He is a talented guy and has never let his superiors or co-workers down before. So they'd rather get used to his quirks such as constantly having sweets stored in his pockets and desks and his playful and somewhat child-like behavior instead of risking disappointment from the public in a difficult case.

🔪Juuzou isn't an individual that hides his preferences very much. Sure, he has a somewhat serious side to him and he tends to switch his giddy demeanor whenever a case gets dangerous or he's seriously mad, that doesn't keep him from being very much open with everything else. So it's a well-known fact to everyone he works with and hasn't worked with yet that he is a huge fan of darling's. With him working directly under the police, Juuzou attempts to not let his craziness shine through too much to the point where he is being suspected of having a unhealthy obsession with you. It's a thin line he works with, people tend to underestimate his intelligence though so he actually pulls it off. The fact that he adores you so much can make it hard for those who aren't exactly fans of yours since Juuzou tends to be even more of a brat to them. He loves getting on their nerves, sometimes plainly refuses to talk or even acknowledge them and their presence and will point out every mistake about them that he notices.

🔪His own Squad is the one who gets the worst of it all because Juuzou never stops talking about you. Whenever you release a new song or movie, he is busily rambling the next day why you are as wonderful as you are and that you're a literal angel and the list just goes on. So even if someone from his Squad has never heard of you before or just isn't quite as big as a fan of yours, Juuzou will pretty much force them to like you or otherwise they'll have to endure having their nerves poked constantly by him. Always sits in his office either watching a movie or series you are playing in or listening with the volume turned maximum to your songs. Even in his car he always jams to your music and people he drives by hear it since he never turns down the volume. Juuzou is in his own ways very nice and friendly to those who are fans of s/o as well and is all too eager to start a chat with them about you. It could be as much as him hearing someone praising you on the streets and he'd instantly talk with them a bit. He has absolutely no shame to approach a stranger.

🔪His whole house is filled with posters of you and his own room is the worst since every inch of it is covered with photos and posters of you. Only loves what features you and even if it's something he hates more than anything, he'll start adoring it. Juuzou is a major obsessive fan as well so he knows everything you ever mentioned somewhere before as well. He knows your favorite sweets and they've been his favorite ever since as well. The type to talk to the photos and posters of yours and kiss them and he's even gotten himself a pillow with your face. You're his angel, your personality and petite body only enhances it and he will absolutely go mad whenever he hears that you're being mistreated. If he knows that person, he will pay them a visit and creep the shit out of them, in the worst case scenario he might even try to frame them with a crime. Would die to get his hands on a chance to meet you personally and get an autograph from you and a few pictures without you knowing about it.

Uta

🎭Uta isn't a guy who would enjoy being in a position where he has to work too much or would be in the eyes of the public. The guy just wants to enjoy a peaceful and quiet life doing what he wants. He owns his own little tattoo and piercing shop and frankly spoken, he's talented with what he does. He has artistic blood running through his veins and that's what has made him sort of famous in his business. he's creative and has very special motives and tattoos which you just don't find anywhere else. Occasionally he's also willing to craft and paint certain masks and sketch a few things if a client orders and pays for it, mostly when he celebrates something special such as the anniversary of his shop or a special day in the year. No denial that he has some fans as well since he's mysterious and intriguing. Aside from the chats he has with his customers, Uta doesn't interact much with others, much less goes on dates. The only person he is close to is Itori with whom he tends to go out for a drink about two or three times a week.

🎭Uta is smart so he would never slip up in front of people about his obsession. He himself is pretty nonchalant about the whole ordeal, knows that in the eyes of others he'd be labeled as a crazy person so he keeps his obsession hidden. That doesn't mean that he hides the fact that he's a fan though, he just presents it in a way acceptable to society. His shop is decorated with one or two posters of yours and even if this is more subtle, he has designed it here and there in the colors he knows to be your favorites. If you should have released albums of any sort, he lets them play most of the time in the background and if you have appeared as a main character in any sort of film or series, he prefers to have them be played on the TV he has installed in his shop. He's even gone as far as to design some tattoos inspired by you, such as your favorite animals or other aesthetics you love. Even some tattoos which feature you directly, he doesn't display them in his collection for customers though unless someone specifically requests to have one with you.

🎭It has to be said that he tends to put a little bit more care and work into tattoos designed with you in mind since you're that important to him. His darling is Uta's muse who gifts him with inspiration and creativity. His shop wouldn't give it away, his home mirrors his obsession more. Sketches are decorating the walls, all with you as the center of attention and not all sketches Uta has made are exactly innocent. Uta has fantasies and he won't really shy away from drowning in them or drawing them and since you're already so sweet and shy, he finds it all the more sweet and alluring. The detail he puts in them are nothing short of mind-blowing and highly disturbing if it is a darker work of his. Uta is a little sadist so the image of ruining someone as innocent as you and having you do lewd things is very arousing in his opinion. He always draws or crafts masks whilst listening to your music or having a show of yours running on his TV.

🎭Uta has some level of self-control so when he's confronted with someone who clearly doesn't like you, he wouldn't act rash. He can't disappoint a customer if there is a chance that they will talk bad about him and have a negative impact on his business, he remembers them though. Uta is aware enough that he isn't exactly in a very powerful position and so he has to approach such scenarios more carefully. His shop is good to find out potential gossip or stir some up, sending letters to threaten someone to shut up is an option as well if someone is really annoying, not like Uta hasn't a sharp tongue himself. His fury whenever someone disrespects you is mostly let out in aggressive drawings in which he always pictures the person dying a gruesome death and he will send such pictures anonymously if he should know where the person lives. Such a drawing of him can do much due to it's horrifying level of detail and lead to paranoia of the victim. Uta himself as a tattoo of you somewhere on his body, though it's covered up all the time.

Itori

💋Itori has her own bar in which she often serves herself. Her bar is famous for quite a few reasons. The first one is Itori herself since man and women are attracted to her looks and her appealing charm. The second one are her drinks that are being served in there. She has more money in her pouch than the average person and owes some really expensive wine and alcohol which she serves in her bar. On top of that her cocktails and drinks are very beloved since she has a tongue for how to mix something together that will be to her customer's enjoyment. Be it a classic drink, something really fruity, a drink that warms you up from the inside and leaves a pleasant burning in your throat or something really refreshing and cool. She has everything and constantly adds new things to her list. She sometimes even invites Uta over so he can try her newest cocktail out with her. Probably got tons of confessions before, turned every single one down though.

💋Itori is a simp for her darling, a huge sucker and that i something she doesn't necessarily hide. Sure, she possesses enough sense to understand that she will never be able to expose the true extent of her adoration, but she definitely wants to express enough of her love for you to let others know. Her bar as well is decorated with posters and grafitti with you or titles of movies and albums you were featured in and the music that is being played for the nice vibe in her bar is going to be only from you if your career should include singing. She's even as slick as to name the drinks served in her bar after your song titles or roles you played in series and movies and those are her favorite drinks which she always recommends. She even went to Uta's tattoo shop a few times before to get a few tattoos with you as the motive. She exposes a few of those tattoos, not all though. Even requested him to draw a few cute sketches of yours which she keeps at home.

💋Her clients get the idea though and she loves engaging in talks with fellow fans of yours. Those talks can really go on for a long time, though she has to occasionally leave them for a while to take the order of another guest of hers. It's really one of the easiest ways to get her to talk a conversation with someone and sometimes she's even as nice to give out a drink for free. It's really cute though when she starts gushing about how much her darling is an idol for her, she gets all bubbly and excited and a pretty smile is tugging constantly at her lips, accompanied by a small blush. It's the complete opposite of someone who expresses dislike towards you. She completely ignores them and often has one of her employees attending to their orders. Cuts conversations short with a more frosty tone and does everything to avoid them. Her bar is important to her so she wouldn't risk more, but she is in no mood to endure someone who is against her sweet darling.

💋At home she has every fan item that could possibly exist about you, listens only to your music and only watches stuff you are in. She doesn't seem to like anything else anymore and constantly fangirls when you appear on screen. What she adores more than anything is in the end interviews or TV shows you are in since she could die out of love whenever she gets to see the real you, the sweetest babe in the whole world. She'd dare to day that s/o is almost too precious for this world and rude people that keep on saying nasty stuff about them who she often wishes to torture for being so cruel to darling. All Itori wants is to have s/o in her arms and shower her with the love and affection she deserves and she loves to get lost in such couple fantasies as well to the point where she has even asked Uta to draw her fantasies for her as well. He's aware about her more obsessive side, keeps it a secret though.

Naki

✍️Naki's job is one which should be questioned since he works for a person who leads a rather corrupted organization, though the image in the eyes of the public has to be perfect. In the eyes of others Naki is some sort of assistant for the boss Jason which isn't completely wrong. Only that instead of paperwork, Naki is responsible to remind every person who hasn't paid the money back to his company that they should do it very soon or otherwise there will be problems. He gladly gets violent since he's incredibly loyal to Jason and that is what has scored him a high position within the corrupted company. He might not be the smartest candle, but that's not even that big of a problem since he has people cleaning up after him and the whole power of the organization behind his back. Blackmailing, bribing, threatening to literal assassination is how the company solves problems if it can't be helped and they even have connections in the black market and he is part of it all, even if he's friendly to his co-workers.

✍️Maybe it is the dark business he finds himself daily involved with that made him fall head over heels in love with darling the first time he saw her on screen. He was just utterly lovestruck and turned into a obsessive fan very little time and literally everyone in the company who knows who he is knows that as well. His whole office and home are plastered with photos, images and posters of yours, he constantly listens to your music and watches anything you've participated in and buys all the fan merchandise a fan could have about you. Everything about you is remembered and constantly chanted like a prayer in his heart and soul and if someone were to ask him, he could easily list every single detail that has ever been published about you. Some people find it somewhat amusing, others cute and then there are those who are either creeped out or annoyed with his burning passion that regards everything involving you. Naki never slacks of in his job though which is why Jason never complains.

✍️The man is so sensitive though so it is better to never say anything against you as long as there is the risk of him hearing it or someone telling it to him because Naki is going to be livid. He idolizes you, views you as the most lovely and sweet human to exist on this planet and so every insult directed against you sets him off. He wouldn't hurt his subordinates, but he's yelling and screaming at them, calling them names before storming away to listen to your voice and watch an interview to calm down. Oh, his poor and sweet baby has to go through hatred depite being nothing more than perfect. His reaction to any sort of negative words and critique against you is the worst simply because he can not regulate his emotions very well and loves you too much to accept any of the bullhit some people throw your way. He's delusional even in a modern AU, convinced that you're too pure for a world filled with disgusting people who only want to hurt you.

✍️So to protect you from such vile people, Naki resorts to the illegal influence he has. He tracks down persons in the city he works in who express their dislike towards you in form of hatred or even death threats online and hunts them down. His life is embossed with violence and blood as it is, this is nothing to him since he is completely convinced that he does something good for s/o by beating up everyone who ever dared to type hurtful words against her. How bad the damage of the other person is going to be depends on how much hatred they expressed, in the mildest case they will be send into the hospital with several broken bones since Naki lets his emotions take control of him too easily. In the worst case Naki will murder them and have the traces leading to him or the company be erased by his subordinates. Would really just be willing to bleed severely to be able to meet you and considering that he is one of Jason favored employee, that chance looks terrifyingly realistic.

Tatara

🔻One of the guys in this post who is the most associated with the dark and criminal world. Tatara is someone who prefers to avoid the public eye and working as a leader for a criminal organization is the best way to never interact with people. He's basically an albino with his red eyes, pale features and white hair which would draw the attention of people who surround him, a dreadful thought for him. His job is gruesome since he murders in cold blood yet it has never really bothered him much. He's so indifferent about it all and above everything just loyal to his superiors. His underlings aren't treated with the same respect since he Tatara views them as people below him for him to use and for him to die, he has no problems admitting that either. He never cares when they die and he never cares to act nice to them either, he just commands and uses them. It's this cold and untouchable side of his that has him shrouded in mystery since he rarely talks and gives something about himself away.

🔻Tatara probably doesn't even know himself how he became a fan of yours and how he fell into the rabbit hole of obsession from there. Truth be told, he never expected to care about any sort of celebrity out there in the first place. Not knowing you is sort of hard though since you are well-known and he has to go undercover for missions sometimes as well which is why he got to hear about you in the first place. Tatara is a quite secretive about the start as a fan of yours though, he will never tell anyone about it. It's more a slight curiosity at first to see what the hype is all about, all it was supposed to be was a small glance. Instead he found himself almost enraptured by you to the point that it angered him. Your personality was something out of this world, you were basically a shy and small mouse standing in the spotlight. For someone who has known violence and evil as long as him, someone innocent like you in this world was out of comprehension.

🔻The whole world is corrupt so how does it come that you can stay so shy and weirdly cute? Tatara...is weirdly intrigued by this and decides to take closer looks which marks the day of his obsession. He watches and analyzes every music video of yours, every movie and every interview and how you can change your whole demeanor and gain confidence when you do what you know you are good in. He only watches everything to analyze and understand you more, the more his liking towards you grows the more he starts liking your music and the shows you are in though. It happens so slowly that even he needs a while to catch on, once he does though he is perplexed. Tatara overcomes the feeling that he is somehow being ridiculed from you, though he knows that it's technically not true since you don't even know him. As soon as that thought crosses his mind he almost feels sad that you don't know him, leading to him feeling even more embarrassed.

🔻I said it once before, I'll say it again. No one from his underlings has even a clue about what is going on inside of him and even his superiors have a hard time reading him since he's always so stoic and carries himself around with his usual confident and commanding gait. Despite his thoughts constantly swirling around s/o, he doesn't get affected to the point that it shows in any way. With time he just accepted the fact that he's obsessed with you and that he has this weird need inside of him to protect you from haters. It's not for the sweet reason it might sound at first, Tatara has just this entitlement to be the one to corrupt and ruin you since your shyness is equally adored and disliked from him. He's possessive and most likely one of the first to start calculating and planning on how to kidnap you. Since he has so little respect for others, he never really bothers to get rid of those he knows hate on you and wish you death. He has enough underlings to spare who can spill the blood for him.

Washuu Kichimaru

🟣Kichimaru is someone who has the act of a pretender nearly down to perfection which allows him to lead some sort of double life. He has his hands involved in numerous companies and organizations and with that influence comes a lot of wealth and power. He pretty much inherited it from his father who used to be a chairman, even though he was a illegimate child. Kichimaru worked his way diligently and slyly upwards from there on and he does not shy away from cheap tricks. He has a very duplicitous nature, able to play the polite and soft-spoken chairman and representative of his company who respects his co-workers and employees. Reality looks different though and that's especially true for him. He cares in real life little about the people he works with and has tainted his hands with the malice and blood of the black market and crimes. He is a nihilist after all, he believes that everything will end anyways so he might as well take advantage out of it and have some fun.

🟣His nihilistic view seems to twist and bend the moment he saw you on TV for the first time and found himself instantly enraptured. All things are going to end and the efforts of humans are useless in the end anyways, that's what he used to believe. But you...are eternal. Ethereal. Kichimaru doesn't want you to end nor does he sees the work and effort you put in as useless. Obsessive doesn't even seem to be the right word for Kichimaru, he's way beyond that and is the sort of Yandere and obsessive fan who takes a trophy for being highly and unbearably disturbing. Maybe that comes from the fact that Kichimaru has pretty much declared his s/o to be his purpose and sweet sunshine in this otherwise boring and gray world, he just wants to have them and is selfish enough to go through as quick as possible with his plans. Since he has so many underlings in so many places it is especially easy and he is definitely going to find a way to stalk you or at the very least let someone stalk you for him.

🟣That's how he gets his photos and that is how he gets some things of you which he adds to his shrine he has dedicated to you. Don't misunderstand him, he loves all the pictures that he has found from you and which cover every last centimeter of his walls. Those who are being snapped without you knowing are just more special since he's the only one who gets to see them. Kichimaru reacts, similar to Naki, very sensitive to any hatred and pressure put your way since you are his innocent and cute angel. Differently from Naki, who takes a violent approach, Kichimaru takes the sadistic approach. He loves destroying someone who hurt you and completely justifies all the killing because of it. He's some sort of puppeteer who pulls all of the strings, who watches how he crushes a human and laughs about their futile efforts to go on and wait for the better days. By the end of it all he kills them, sometimes in a really gruesome way if they forced you to do something you didn't want or tried to hurt you.

🟣He keeps his crazed obsession away when he acts as chairman of his company, taking the role of the quiet and soft-spoken leader once again. That doesn't mean that he just hides the fact that he's a fan of yours completely. He continues to listen during work to your music since it keeps him motivated an in a good mood and he's somewhat delighted when someone notices it and addresses him since they're a fellow fan as well. He's glad to know that s/o is so beloved, on the other hand it often has him feeling queasy as well. He knows how delicate and bashful darling is and it worries him sick, especially with how dangerous and ugly people can be and he should know best. He's being hypocritical at best since he has deluded himself into believing that he can cherish his s/o most and protect them the best when he himself is under the radar of the public involved in criminal activities. Maybe a part of him knows that, he's too needy and selfish to care much in the end though.

[lantsovsupremacist]

nikolai lantsov: currents

warnings: nikolai lantsov being the best man ever wouldn’t you know 🙄☝️

spoilers: set during king of scars but no major spoilers!!!

you looked up from the paperwork strewn about the desk situated in a far corner of the war room. tucked away here, you would never be the first target. some might call it paranoia or chalk it up to the trauma of the civil war, but you simply preferred a spot to observe quietly in the shadows.

toyla and tamar followed the king inside, nodding at zoya, genya, and david surrounding you.

“oh. it’s you. it’s all of you. i...” the man, or more likely boy, who skittered into the room spoke in a squeaky tone, “an absolute honor. a dream, really.”

briefly meeting nikolai’s eyes as he turned around from shutting the door behind him, you transferred your line of sight to the figure now bowing at your feet. zoya scoffed, eyes rolling to the heavens. genya and david shared a cohesive frown.

dropping the pen from your hand, you pushed your hair over your shoulders and straightened. you listened thoughtfully as he gave an introduction to each of your fellow grisha, recounting his apparent conclusions of them. when he treaded the sparkling waters that were genya, your face began to drop into anger.

“the first tailor, who bears the marks of the darkling’s blessing.”

her flinch did not go unnoticed by you. and as the only one whose temper rivaled yours kept hers in check, you failed to. the pressure immediately began to decrease in the room and the air dry of any moisture. nikolai’s head whipped up, perhaps the one most familiar with your temperament (other than zoya in your shared youth—never happy to be on the receiving end of a soaked kefta in class).

his hands flew up, taking a step towards you, bartering with any position he could gain. your fierce protection over genya was not unknown to those close to you, a flaw in the monk’s faulty perception. you let your shoulders fall, calming any potential downpour.

if yuri noticed your show of power, he made no move to address it, “ravka’s most powerful tide maker. oh the stories of how the darkling sanctioned you with the power to drown men on land.”

you froze but not because of a lie. his words were all true. the darkling hand selected you for this special training at age eleven. you allowed the legend to transpire, protecting you much like kaz brekker, dirtyhands of ketterdam. this was not a lore you would repeat with starry eyes and dreams of an otherworldly fantasy. none of the lives you had been forced to take before jumping ship to join sturmhond during the civil war could be washed away.

for all of your hard edges and brutal words, there were chinks in your armor that could not be hidden. tamar and toyla brought a hand to their weapons in startling unison. zoya’s eyes called out for yours.

nikolai’s features immediately darkened, an eclipse shadowing the usual light in his eyes. he rose from his chair slowly, exhibiting all of the power that he had inherited.

the shameless monk managed to hold himself upright but the unchecked tremble of his fingers exposed the fear instilled by the king’s actions.

“if i ever hear of her name—any of their names—leaving your mouth again,” nikolai began, his words sharper than the edge of his sword, “for any purpose in any country,” nikolai paused to watch yuri shrink under his steady gaze, “there will be nothing left for your believers to mourn into martyrdom.”

you held your chin high, your eyes twin daggers poised to launch across the room and eagerly embed themselves in a target. the ire in your chest began to subside upon witnessing yuri’s response to your boyfriend’s threats, only to be readily replaced by a flush of desire as his hazel eyes sharpened.

breaking eye contact with the monk who could not decide where to offer his, you glanced about the room. zoya had steeled herself beside you, radiating enough anger to address each of yuri’s mislead and misspoken opinions. even david’s face appeared from behind the book in his hands, though he kept his page by leaving it open to rest on his lap.

“am i correct in my assumption that you have heard me clearly,” nikolai’s voice carried across the walls, not quite commanding any longer but instead demanding the attention of those stood inside.

“y-yes your highness,” yuri stumbled out weakly as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his wiry nose.

after finishing up matters with your friends, nikolai took off out of the room, glancing back to make sure you intended to follow. you fell in step behind him, remaining quiet until you reached the stairs leading up to his chambers.

“i could have handled him, you know,” you pressed nikolai, hands repeatedly flexing and unflexing as they brushed against the sides of your blue kefta. your tone held no anger, simply indicating a truth.

nikolai drummed his fingers against the railing, pausing before turning back to face you, “of course you could have, love, but where’s the fun in that for me?”

you appreciated his willingness to defend your honor but the playfulness in his tone felt forced. he did not even make an attempt at his trademark smile imbued by charm and confidence. you decided in that moment that you would do to see it’s safe return.

“nik,” you spoke, repeating yourself after the absence of an answer, “nik.” your hand finding its way into his own hanging limply at his side.

“do you really see yourself in that way?” his voice shook, nearly choking on his final words.

any time the topic was brought up, nikolai was reminded of your stance. you had broken down to him the night after the darkling fell at the hands of alina starkov. no matter any of your friend’s persuasion, you stood firm in your position. you deserved to pay for the harm you inflicted on so many innocent. you were a monster, one who had given in to being handcrafted by another.

the untroubled nature with which he typically carried himself had vanished. your own expression faltered. his particular kind of magic, knowing smirks and careful quips that were like incantations for smiles, vanished.

and while it was normal for nikolai to drop the facade of a charming king around you, the pain held in his eyes plummeted your heart into your stomach.

“i think i did once,” you replied airily, not wasting your breath on a lie that nikolai could surely detect before the sound waves settled, “right after the war ended.”

nikolai chewed on the inside of his cheek anxiously, “but you’ve intentionally chosen past tense to describe these feelings.”

“yes,” you nodded, drawing your lover closer to you by the lapels of his jacket, “always so observant. it’s only of the many things i admire about you.”

nikolai sighed, closing his eyes and letting his blonde curls fall upon your forehead. you brought a hand up to stroke his cheekbone, soaking in the warmth of his skin pressed up against own.

“your strength,” nikolai said after a moment, drawing a hand to your waist, “your perseverance.”

“hmm?” you hummed quietly in question, content to reside with him inside this moment only belonging to the two of you.

“qualities i admire in you, my love,” he smiled after a moment, not entirely to be described as filled with confidence but surety nonetheless.

the flush of color in your cheeks always reminded nikolai of the pink dahlias planted in his favorite corner of the garden. maybe it was because it was where he had first kissed you. he decided that was probably his reason, although he never needed one to justify the beauty of either the memory or girl in front of him now.

too caught up in the memory, nikolai’s lips dipped to yours. you could always grasp a lingering taste of saltwater no matter how far away he was from sea, how many weeks removed. it reminded you of home. it was home.

“i love that you protect me, sobachka” you whispered against his lips, down his jaw and neck.

you did not need the exaggerated tales of your terrifying capabilities to destroy to wear as armor anymore, for you had the best man you had ever known to guard you.

as his hand wove into your hair and the other spiraling lower down your back, your breath hitched in your throat when he answered, “i can do so much more than that, my sea.”

nikolai settled on a simple quip, something guaranteed to make you smile. as a boy, he dreamed of a girl who would laugh at all of his jokes. when he grew, he figured many would be forged, a fallacy to fall in good graces with the king. he had yet to detect a lie within the giggles that left your lips.

the golden haired king would do anything to see you smile. he would pour hours into chasing perfection for you. once, he had even allowed toyla to confer with him about romantic poetry. despite the recitation being quite dreadful, you had laughed the most you had in a long time that day. now, just to catch up with the smallest piece of that magic again, he brought a new poem to you each night.

“i thought that i had seen the most gorgeous sights as sturmhond,” he began, unable to help biting his lip at your smallest quirk of a smile, “the volkvolny showed me how to fall in love with the endless waves at sea.”

you sucked in a breath, immersed in the way he spoke so intentionally. he was entrancing. you loved to hear about his travels before you met him, immersed in his storytelling.

“but none of them were every as beautiful as the ones you make,” he finished with a grin.

instead of reaching up to smack him at the cliche, you ignored your first reaction and instead pulled him closer to you. with your hands tucked against the back of his neck, you allowed your thumb to ruffle his lose and unruly curls. here, he was soft and gentle, untouched by his role.

“our ship had four other tidemakers,” you voiced softly, recalling your betrayal of the darkling after sturmhond’s crew imposed a mutiny, “but you chose me to lead the crew. you told me that was because i was the most powerful, but i certainly wasn’t with the waves. my power was not as practiced with currents.”

“but they were the prettiest,” he chuckled with puppy dog eyes honoring his nickname.

you gaped at this confession, “are you telling me you picked me as a leader during a war because the waves i created were pretty?” the initial seriousness in your tone melted away with every breath.

“i remember calling them the prettiest,” he twisted your hips, swaying you with him, “didn’t help me that the girl that could make them was the most gorgeous one i had ever seen. darling, i’m a prince, so i will inform you now that i have met a lot of people.”

your laughter was more delicate now, trailing off as you found direction in his eyes, “i had not been trusted with currents in years,” your voice softened, “he wanted my power elsewhere. i hated all of it. do you know the only memory i have of my parents is my father guiding the currents with me while we fished outside of town as a child? i was so excited to create like that with my power but all i did was destroy,” fighting back any moisture building in your eyes, you continued, “you gave me that back, nikolai.”

nikolai felt his heart stir inside his chest. he caught up to one of his most favorite smiles of yours. a rarity it was, reserved for the quietest and most understated moments that you could hardly share due to the both of your occupations and temperaments.

“i love every part of you,” nikolai dictated, “every drop of saltwater in the sea could not compare.”

you repeated the phrase before stilling, “well, now you’ve gone and ruined this with another one of toyla’s fictions.”

“ah, ah,” he tsked, “i made that one up myself, love.”

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 18

Masterpost

@sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lavmars @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it @haro-whumps @simplygrimly @alex-ember @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @mnmlover2002 @jordanstrophe @princessofonward @xmonster-under-the-bed @as-a-matter-of-whump @5boys1house @crystalrainwing @starnight-whump @chifechi @unicornscotty @penny-for-your-whump @getyourwhumphere @likeit-or-whumpit @jasm0307 @lightdrinker @hurting-fictional-people @captainseconds @glamrockgregory

CW: recovering pet whumpee, environmental whump, references to an amputated finger, paranoia/hallucinations

-

As he turned to lock the final door behind him, Rowe could see that he had been in a warehouse, evidently a rarely-used one. A single floodlight was on, illuminating nothing but a bare wall and the road leading up to it. Rowe had been correct- it was night. The open air was a thousand blessings as he breathed it in. His eyes felt clean, he could stand up properly, he wasn’t wearing that fucking collar anymore.

The happiness was short-lived, but he let himself have it. He was free. He just had to get home, now.

Rowe would have panicked, at that moment, but instead his heart toughened, because Kasia hadn’t been able to break him down. He was missing a finger, and the throbbing pain made sure he wouldn’t forget in a hurry, but he was still there, still himself. His nightmares would probably take a new form, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep alone again, but he was fine. He was a Pet. He was a person. Surviving was a skill of his.

He rested a hand on the wall, making sure he was hidden in shadow, and let himself take some of the weight off his scarred leg. Burnt, smashed, sewn up and burnt again. He would be limping, by the time he got home. But get home he would, and in some way, it was thanks to his leg. He had been sat on his bed, back when he couldn’t walk, looking for something to distract him from the feelings of anger and uselessness and what if he throws me out?

So he’d looked down and practised his reading. He remembered it perfectly. Tomas G…Grz…. something… 12 h-a-r-t… Hartland Road… your Pet… s-p-l-i-n-t…. bed rest for up to one week…

Rowe had read the address, and perhaps even then he’d known he might one day need it. It didn’t solve the problem of knowing whereHartland Road was, or whether he’d make it there without being stolen or beaten up or killed, but he had to try.

Kidnapped, he thought. You’d only say stolen for a piece of property.

The warehouse was evidently on the outskirts of town. Was it the right town? Rowe thought so, as he studied the lights shining down the road. Several of the shapes were familiar to him. The colourful string bulbs that were hung up along the shopping streets, the glow from the theatre on the hill, the dark spot where the graveyard sat. From his bedroom window he had to crane to get a good look, but he could see it well from the office. He ached to be back there. In the warmth and familiarity of it. Back with- Master? The word sounded strange now. Especially since- since Rowe felt like he understood him now. Understood his intentions.

He started to walk. Kasia’s jacket rested on his shoulders, and he couldn’t bear to put his arms in. The idea alone made him feel trapped. The thing smelt distinctly of the bastard, but Rowe knew it was preferable to the cold of a dead night. He found a main road soon enough, built up above the rest of the grassy flatland, so he gingerly climbed down the hill and walked alongside. He would be hidden from passing cars well enough, but his bare feet soon began to take the brunt of the choice of rough land over tarmac. Stones, sticks, was that roadkill, oh, god, all were littered through his journey which was only sparsely lit by the occasional road light. After a particularly sharp stone, or possibly even a discarded glass bottle, Rowe knew his foot was bleeding. He ground his teeth together. It wasn’t real if he couldn’t see it. And right now, he couldn’t see his own hand in front of him.

He kept his eyes on the lights from the town before him, slowly drawing closer.

He thought he heard footsteps behind him, running closer with horrifying speed. As they drew near he could hear Kasia screaming at him.

You think you can fucking get away from me? You think you locked that collar? You really think I won’t come back?

He kept his eyes fixed on the town. “It-it-it’s n-not real,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. He was trembling with fear. “It’s not real, I locked him up, I st-stopped him, it’s not real, it’s not.”

The paranoia wouldn’t leave him, though. Every passing car, though they were few and far between, made him jump and crouch down, hands clamped over his mouth. He couldn’t shake the fear that it was Kasia after him, out searching for the rotten escaped Pet. His leg burst with pain every time, making him whimper and cry when he tried to stand back up.

The sounds of footsteps gradually stopped, and Kasia’s voice faded, but Rowe could still feel his hands clawing at him. His back tingled with the overwhelming sensation that someone was behind him, creeping up and reaching out to grab-

Against his better judgement, he turned back. Darkness there, and nothing more. “Fuck, f-fuck, keep it together,” he muttered.

Just up ahead, he could see streetlamps. Proper ones, glowing a gentle orange. He went as far as he could along the grass, then climbed up, wetting his hands in the dew. He checked for cars, and seeing none, scrambled fully onto the road.

He realised he couldn’t run anymore- his leg would give out, or he wouldn’t be able to contain a howl of pain- so he limped as quickly as he could towards the next patch of shadow, over and over.

Eventually he came upon a sign: Welcome to….

It was half shadowed, but it was a map. He pushed himself up on his tip-toes, eyes scanning the jumble of letters and lines and symbols. Eventually he spotted it. Hartland Road. He traced the direction in his head, making sure it was committed to memory, although he knew he wouldn’t forget it even if someone tried to beat it out of him. And then, he started walking.

He couldn’t tell exactly what time it was, but he would have guessed around three or four in the morning. The pub, as he passed it, was quiet, although he still kept his distance, hugging the shadows.

He soon reached the base of the hill he knew he’d have to climb. As he started to ascend, he saw the Pet hospital in the distance. Oh god, would he have to go back there to get his finger treated? He pushed the question to the back of his mind. If he did, there wasn’t anything he could do.

A few cars drove by, as he walked. He wanted to duck into one of the smaller streets that branched off, but he had only memorised one route home, and he didn’t trust himself to improvise in the dark. So instead he squared his shoulders, stopped hunching, tried his best to look like a person walking home in his heavy jacket, not afraid, not prey. It didn’t feel quite right, but it was easier than he’d expected. And it worked- no cars stopped, no one seemed to give him a second glance.

He finally reached the street, the name lit up. Hartland Road. The sign was scuffed, like kids had popped the cap off their beers along its edge. It was fixed to the wall of a garden, weeds poking out through the bricks, a flyer from the council tied at eye-level to the neck of the streetlamp. Rowe took everything in as he walked. The bicycle clipped to a fence, the parked cars, the black bins left out for collection. Before, he never would have taken notice. None of it had mattered. But now, Rowe felt as if he had a new connection to the world around him. He could interact with it. He wasn’t leashed or under the watchful eye of an owner, he wasn’t crawling or blindfolded in the boot of a car. He was in pain, yes, but he was always in pain, so constantly that it hardly registered anymore. He was free.

Rowe didn’t recognise the house itself. The only times he’d ever left it, he’d been unconscious, or practically so.

But when he turned around, he saw the same view he’d had from his bedroom window every morning and night. He was home.

He remembered Kasia’s key, but it no longer fit into the front door. The lock must have been changed. Rowe hated that the alternative was to make a loud noise, at this hour, but perhaps that was the smarter way than simply slipping inside like- like Kasia. So he hesitantly pressed down on the doorbell, hitting his fist against the wood as well. He waited. He thought about how he’d never rung a doorbell before in his life.

Silence. Rowe wasn’t exactly surprised, but his heart still tightened. Suddenly the fresh air didn’t feel freeing, it felt exposed. He rang again, knocking harder, not giving up. Surely he would know it was urgent? Surely he would come down, and Rowe would get to see his face again?

Faintly, he heard the creaking of the stairs. “I-I-It’s me!” he said, hushed. “It’s me, I…”

His words died as the door slowly opened. Half a face, an eye framed by blond curls peered out, full of apprehension. In a heartbeat it landed on Rowe and widened, and the door flew open.

“Tomas,” Rowe said, loving how it felt to say his name, loving him, loving everything. “I’m back, I, I’m back, I’m back.”

Tomas raised a hand over his mouth, and for once he was the one shaking. “Oh my god… oh my god.”

And then he was reaching both arms out for Rowe with a sob. Rowe threw the horrible jacket to the ground and fell into him, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding on tight. He couldn’t have known whose knees failed first, but suddenly they had collapsed on the floor, clinging onto each other, not leaving a shred of space between as they both cried. Soaked in the orange light that pooled through the still-open front door.

[plush-rabbit]

Overhaul's Little Sister

Request: are you happy to write some more overhaul? he's how i found your blog! i think a lot of people tend to have issues with characterizing him but you do it so well! maybe overhaul as a manipulative, overprotective big brother? i imagine he'd be the type to make his lil sis rely solely on him, going as far to drug her to keep her movements sluggish whilst claiming it's because she's sick. he'd take her to the bubble bath princess style and sponge her all over before drying her and dressing her up in pretty clothes. she'd eventually be more like overhaul's doll than his little sister hehe.

A/N: Taking a quick break on the OM requests to put this up!! I really love the concept of Overhaul because I always wanna make him slimy and mean because I don’t think he’d change much in any sort of relationship

-

Protective isn’t the correct word, but it's the word that he uses. Of course, he has to protect you. He’s your big brother. You’re the only one allowed to ever call him by his name- to grasp his sleeve in your delicate hands and call him Kai. He puts his entire trust in you, telling you all his secrets as you lay under the covers, his hand knitted into your hair and commenting about how you’re the only that fully understands him- even more than Pops. You’ve been with him through the thick and thin of it all- you’re the one who held him close when you both lived on the streets and filth ruined your skin. You’re his little sister, and he’s the one who will protect you through it all.

Even though the Shie Hassaikai are made up of those that he can trust- for the most part- he can’t bear for any of them to look at you in a way that isn’t respectable. You’re a budding young woman, you’re going to receive looks that are less than pure and it makes his stomach twist in a way that acid rises and burns his tongue. His only solution is to dress you, to have you understand that what you choose to wear only makes you look cheap and he’d rather die than have you look easy. He chooses your clothes for you, and he’ll brush his thumb over your cheek when he senses your hesitation. You need to understand that he has to take care of you, that he can’t have anyone look at you in such a perverted way.

Very rarely will you interact with anyone that isn’t him. He’ll often point for Chronostasis or Mimic to watch over you if he happens to be busy with personal projects of his. He isn’t fond of having others watch over you but if it’s them, then he can at least know that you are in safe hands. However, the talking is kept to a minimum. You learned early enough that no matter how much you try to have them talk to you in a way that is less than formal, and actually try to hold a proper, friendly conversation, it’ll always be met with silence. Talking is often kept to a minimum, with them only confirming your words or to ask if you’re all right.

Despite all his efforts, he still frowns when you ask him to take you outside. It isn't fair that he actually gets to go out and experience the world. You want to go out and eat fried chicken and try dango. You’ll beg and plead for him to take you outside, but he isn’t so easy to break. Eventually he'll fulfill part of your wish. He’ll have a small garden assembled for you. It's a nice patch where there’s a garden of flowers and fresh vegetables for you to pick and admire. He’s even added a swinging bench where he can sit with you. He’s quite proud of what he made for you, standing tall with his shoulders squared and hands behind his back. There’s a smile underneath his mask, the fat of his cheeks pushing upwards as he walks towards you. You wanted to go outside and now you can in your own personal garden where you won’t be bothered- not that you ever were bothered.

He should have known that the garden could only have entertained you for so long. He’s surprised it’s even lasted as long as it has given how disappointed you had looked. If you were to whine just enough and beg to never leave his side nor let go of his hand if he takes you out, then he might actually consider it. It’s a sudden surprise when he picks the clothing for you and has your hair done up, and when he stands behind you in the mirror, his hands are on your shoulders as he tells you that he has to pick up some supplies outside and that you are welcome to join him. The nausea of exposing you to the outside doesn’t stand a match for when you wrap your arms around his neck and thank him profusely. You hardly ever leave the home, but when you do, it’s always with him.

The trips to the outside are uneventful. You’re always dressed in clothing that can cover enough of your skin. Paranoia will wash over him, sweat beads against the nape of his neck as the sunlight hits you. There are no walls that surround you, you are free, only to have his hand tighten around yours. He warns you to keep close to him and maybe afterwards he would reward you with something special at home- an extra snack, a few more minutes of screen time, even being able to stay up late. He just needs you to stay close to him. He needs for you to stay focused because if he feels that you linger for even a moment, that you show resistance to him, you’re never allowed to go back outside. Not until you can earn his trust again.

Once in a while, he’d actually let you eat some sort of sweet. It’s always in moderation and only given to you when you’ve behaved. He isn’t fond of the idea of having you eat something that isn’t on the meal plan he has planned out for you, but how can he ever refuse you? Your meals are dictated by him, healthy food and never going above the recommended calorie count for you, and with additional supplements. He just wants you to grow up nice and healthy, to keep the glow that makes you shine like a freshly bloomed flower.

It’s not just others' eyes that you have to be careful of. Their eyes are perverse and your big brother’s words have tainted your thoughts. You only see them as underlings as some sort of depraved monsters who would have their way with you if it weren’t for your big brother. But you’ve failed to notice just how perverse he is with you, caring for you in a way that isn’t humane. He keeps you trapped in a little cage, under his ever watchful eyes. He wants to keep you nice and pretty, docile enough for him to sleep in a few drugs into your system to have rest on his lap, your nose pressed against the waistband of his jeans as he listens to what the news has to say. He has you in a daze, your mouth slack and eyes unfocused on the wall in front of you as he sits beside you, busy working and busy keeping you in check.

Your big brother rarely directs his anger towards you, but when he does, it's terrifying. You’ve seen his quirk, you know what it can do. You’ve witnessed the horrors and the miracles that his hands can bring, He’s seen the fear in your eyes and has felt the heartbreak of having you fear him. His quirk won’t work on you, it would only serve as a divider between the relationship that you both have. He can’t protect you if you fear him. Wit is his only saving grace, something where he can use as an advantage to your naïve mind. While he’d never lay a hand on you, he would scare you. If you had behaved poorly during an outing, he’d simply pull you into a dark room and let you sit there as you think about your actions. The room is cold and empty, something that you aren’t fond of, something that he’s made you fear. He’d wait until you’d scratch at the door, begging for your big brother back, that you’re sorry that you failed to listen to him. Afterwards, he’d pull you in for a hug, his voice lulling you to sleep as he comforts you and wipes your tears. He’d he’d never lay a hand, but he would lock you in a room and comfort you later when you cry

No matter the age, Kai is always willing to bathe you. It’s a simple time, one where the room is quiet and you can only hear the rushing water as the iridescent soap covers your sensitive skin. His hands are gentle, never lingering anywhere for too long and his eyes are always on you- gold that bores into your own innocent eyes. Ever since childhood, he never trusted anyone else to touch you, always fearing that the wolf that waits outside would taint and scar your skin. He’d be the one to wash your hair, to dry you and have you pick out the scent of the lotion. He’d keep his eyes on you, eyes subconsciously narrowing when you avert your gaze from his. He’s the only one who can keep you clean, and it’s wrong to believe that anyone else would do his job so proficiently. He’d let you slip into your pajamas, cover the blanket up to your chin and sit with you until you fell asleep. He has to keep watch over his little doll, to make sure that you are properly taken care of, that the porcelain is always kept intake and free of any blemishes.

[cherryfi]

Cat and Mouse (M)

Plot: Meeting Johnny had been an accident but the night you’d spent with him wasn’t. Now that he’s had a taste of you there was no way he was going to let you go.

A/N: @lovejohnnvsuh​ gave me this idea. It’s not very good but please be kind :D.

Warnings!: Unprotected sex, a little angst I guess, that bisexual agenda (if you squint). Mafia Au so mentions of violence.

Requests are open!!

This is my fav gif of him , my god!

Word count: 3463

The mission had been pretty simple you were just to take out one target and walk away like nothing had happened it should have ended well but, you hadn’t counted on Eunwoo being as smart as he was psychotic.

Neo zone was an upmarket bar owned by NCT, in the centre of the city. Anybody who was anybody hung out there and that was meant to be where you’d end your target’s short, crime-filled life.

It had been a summer night, the air still warmed by the setting sun but not as heavily as it had been during the day. The cool air carrying the promise of an eventful night.

The feeling of smooth satin rubbed against your body as you walked through the club confidently. The thrum of heavy noise music mixing perfectly with the swaying bodies on the dance floor, you fell into step with them perfectly aware of the eyes watching you; smirking when you caught your target’s eye.  Not noticing the other eyes that watched you dance with beautiful stranger on the dance floor. She smiled at you in invitation and if you hadn’t been on a mission maybe you would have let yourself be swept up by those full, pretty lips and even prettier eyes but you were working.

“I’m sorry honey but, I just came to dance.” You locked eyes with Eunwoo again, running your hands up your thighs and when he invited you over with a swipe of his hand, you were happy to oblige.

Sitting next to Eunwoo, you spent the night pretending that you were completely enthralled with his conversation, hanging off the edge of his every word. Laughing as convincingly as you could at his dry jokes while you rubbed his arm and eventually the more time that you spent with him, the more comfortable he got. His hand wandered to your thigh as you leaned into him.

“We should go somewhere more private, don’t you think.” You tried for sultry, hoping that you convinced him you were falling for him.

But really, he was falling into your trap. All you needed to do was just to convince him that it was a good time for the two of you to be alone, you’d take him somewhere away from the club and it would be a done deal.

You’d make it look like heart failure and no one would look into.

Given that you weren’t able to kill him in the club. Especially because Neo Zone was of course owned by NCT and everyone was subject to a search as soon as they entered, you had to pack something small. So a dermally absorbed poison disguised as a lipstick, would have to do.

All you need to do was rub it on the side of his neck and he would be dead within 5 minutes. He’d slip away peacefully not really knowing that he was dying and when they found him any autopsy would say that he had had a heart attack. Which of course would be a little suspicious given the fact that he was 23 years old and in prime health but because of his position within the organised crime community there was no way that anyone would really take any special look into his death because that would place them down a rabbit hole, exposing a lot of people along the way.

That was how the plan should have gone, but it didn’t.

As you leaned forward suggesting to him that maybe it was time for you to find somewhere private to go, you felt the cold and recognisable, fear inducing touch of the barrel of a gun against the back of your neck and in the same whispered tone that you’d spoken to him in…

“I know exactly who you are, and I know what you do. It’s over, Y/N.” On the outside you’d kept your cool but, inside the feeling of dread gripped you, sending adrenaline surging through your veins, while keeping you frozen. He laughed mirthlessly as he leaned back into the plush leather of the VIP couch.

Fate really was a cruel mistress; or maybe it was karma for all the people you’d killed.

You were one of the corporation’s top assassins and had been sent in on difficult operations.

Your best tactic was seduction.

You should have been able to complete your mission. But unbeknownst to you, you’d garnered a name for yourself in the mafia community and some of its top members had been waiting for you – you’d been compromised.

Just as you were being ushered to get up, you were surrounded by new men, some you recognised, others you didn’t but, you knew that they must have all belonged to NCT.

“We’ll be having none of that in my club Eunwoo, Neo zone is neutral territory, even for her, put the gun down before I have to make you. Miss Y/N, you and I need to talk.” Johnny stood at the helm, his height and dominant presence just begging anyone to oppose him.

He’d effectively saved your life but, you’d broken the rules and now it seemed that you were in trouble.

Neo Zone was neutral territory. Everyone knew that, including the Corp.

Regardless of what was happening, no blood could be spilled in an establishment owned by NCT.

They were the kings of the city and nobody wanted to invoke the wrath of their head ‘Lee Taeyong’, not even a group as powerful as the Corporation.

The Corp had largely stayed away from NCT as they hadn’t done anything to upset the heads at the top and NCT had stayed away too (providing the Corp an illusion of power that everyone knew they didn’t really have).

The rumours had been that Taeyong had dirt on everyone in the Corporation and with all the support of the top gangs in the city, could cause a mess if the corporation chose to ‘step out of line’.

But this wasn’t about the precarious relationship between the Corp and NCT, this was about Johnny Seo, the man who currently had you by the arm and was taking you to an awaiting car.

Seo Yongho or Johnny, as he was better known, was the second in command to Lee Taeyong and they matched perfectly. Where Taeyong tended to be introverted and cold, Johnny was open and warm making him the perfect host for a neutral and welcoming club like this.

“Get in, Y/N.” The whisper of his deep voice next to your ear, drove a chill down your spine. You hadn’t expected him to be so close and his imposing aura had become dominant and seductive.

You looked at your reflections in the car’s tinted window and it was clear from the way that he was looking at you what his intentions were.

You weren’t about to become some King pin’s maitresse  en titre.

“Look, thanks for back there but, I wasn’t about to do anything on NCT property. I know the rules and I know that the Corp isn’t immune. I’ve got work to do so; I’ll just be heading back.” But Johnny just chuckled as a man that you didn’t recognise opened the car’s back door, his copper skin seeming to shine even in the dimly lit night.

“Don’t you think you should thank me for saving your life? Get in the car Y/N.”

And thank him you did with the silent acknowledgement that this would be a one-time thing.

You were allowed to enjoy yourself from time to time, right?

You’d found yourself in his bed wrapped up in his soft cotton sheets where you’d thanked him again and again for his… kindness.

The way he’d held you, the way he’d said your name, hell, just the way he’d looked at you had bought on a feeling that you’d not felt for anyone and you knew you had to get away.

It was dangerous, how intoxicating he was and it was clear from the moment that you’d stepped into his car, that you’d never have enough of Johnny Seo and there was no way that he was going to let you. That was made even more clear at the end of the night when he’d whispered, “You’re mine.” Against your skin, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

But by daylight you were gone.

Thus, entering you into the game of cat and mouse.

Your company had put you on leave, understanding that you had been compromised and could no longer be in the field undisguised (and eventuality that you’d all planned for) but, you hadn’t planned on being chased by a very powerful man.

NCT (and therefore Johnny) were so powerful and so well connected that the Corporation refused to get involved, the thinly kept truce between the 2 groups on the line.  They did even give you a safe house to hide in but had instead given you the funds to keep running.    

You’d been running for 6 months and it was beginning to get tiring. Constantly teetering on the edge of paranoia, always looking over your shoulder, you were mentally drained.

With Johnny always one step behind you, you’d been unable to stay in one place for more than 2 nights without catching sight of him and you were running out of places to hide.

You would soon be trapped.

In a rare moment of good fortune, you’d been able to send him in the wrong direction, buying yourself some time to recoup before you’d be on the run again and you’d used that time to book yourself into a beautiful hotel.

The Lotus was a 5- star top of the market hotel, prized for its extravagant rooms and exceptional customer service. They had some of the best spa facilities in the world.

So, you’d booked yourself suite 448, a room with a beautiful view of the city and a full spa day with all the trimmings.

Taking off your hotel robe, you hung it behind the changing screen and made your way to the massage table. The smell of Jasmine wafted in the air, calming you as you rolled your shoulders and lay down on your stomach, covering your lower half with a towel.

As instructed, you pressed a button on the massage table, letting your masseuse know that you were ready and soon enough you heard the light padding of someone entering the room.

They said nothing as they began to pour warm massage oil onto your back and it should have sent alarm bells ringing but, you were too tired to care; sighing in bliss as you felt strong, warm hands working the knots out of your muscles.

The strong grip, however soon became painful as the (obviously) male hands started to push down onto your shoulders and when you felt them wrap around your neck, you jerked up; ready to throw yourself at whoever this psycho was.

You froze when your eyes met Johnny’s stern gaze.

“Caught you.” You scurried up the table, looking between him and the door but, you knew you didn’t stand a chance.

And as if reading your mind, Johnny grabbed your ankles pulling you down the table and into him.

He stood between your naked thighs, his hands underneath them, keeping you trapped.

“I’ll make sure that you can’t run from me again. Let’s use up all that energy, yeah?” The softness of his voice did little to mask the dominance of his words and you shuddered.

There was no way that he’d ever let you go.

“Do you want me Y/N? I know you do but, I need to hear you say it. I need you to hear yourself tell me how much you want me.” You felt brush of his eyelashes as he kissed along your jaw and down your neck. Lifting you off the table, he placed you to stand in front of him.

He hungrily drank in the sight of you, your nakedness on full display and you drew in a shaky breath, the heady smell of jasmine becoming intoxicating as it mixed and danced with the smell of his cologne.  You desperately wanted to hide.

The tension in the air grew thick as he watched you expectantly.

“Let’s cut this game short. We both know what we want so just say it. I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted; just say the word.” Even before you could muster up the courage to give into what you wanted, needed even, he’d already known that you would.

Johnny held your gaze, his eyes full of lust as he took off his clothes. His gaze becoming playful and smug when your eyes traced his movements.

“I want you.” And if it wasn’t clear enough, you grabbed his hands, stopping him as he made to undo his belt, instead undoing it for him.

Now on your knees, you were face to face (dick) with his member, gasping in surprise because of his lack of underwear. He only smirked down at you.

You gripped him gently, biting your lip as you began to stroke him; humming as he hissed in pleasure.

“How did you find me?” You kissed his tip, literally pumping him for answers, and took a tentative lick, making him buck his hips slightly.

“Does it matter?” You supposed it didn’t but, you wanted to know so that you’d make sure that he’d never find you again. You shrugged it off for the time being.

Johnny didn’t know it, but this would be the last time he saw you; you’d be in the wind again before he knew it.

“No.” You took him in whole, bobbing your head slowly, letting his deep groans egg you on.

You wanted to give into him, a man you barely knew, and that was dangerous. Assassins like you weren’t supposed to be taken with flights of fancy.

You let your thoughts go, fully enjoying the sensation of his hands your hair while you worked him to a frenzy. You moaned around him, increasing your speed when his grip got tighter, losing yourself in the burn of having your hair pulled.

You snapped back to reality when he pulled your head back and guided you to stand up and pulling you against his body, his lips stealing your breath away.

When he broke away from the kiss, his lips were swollen, his breathing heavy.

“As pretty as you look on your knees baby, that’s not how I want you.” He smiled sweetly and kissed your knuckles, helping you back onto the table.

“You’re so beautiful baby, I missed this view.” Johnny placed opened mouth kisses down your body and along your waist, your breath catching as he avoided the very place that you needed him.

He chuckled lightly at your exasperated huff as he kissed your inner thighs; gasping when he bit down, causing you to loosen your grip on the table, falling back onto the table.

“Y/N look at me.” You raised your head. Your vision hazy with need, you met the steely and determined gaze that you’d seen over 6 months before when you’d first met him.

“I’m going to devour you.” You wanted to curl up and hide from that gaze, but he wouldn’t let you. His grip on your thigh tightened as he opened your legs.

Your eyes rolled back into your head and you fell back again as he kissed your clit. His tongue worked you open, causing you to cry out and grip the sheets in your hands.

You were losing your mind, slipping closer and closer to the edge as he worked his tongue inside of you.

You cried out your hand flying to his hair and gripping him hard as he moaned against your clit, your thighs squeezing around his face.

Johnny’s left hand gripped your thigh as he sent to you to a fever pitch with the middle finger of his right hand; increasing in speed when you started announcing your orgasm.

He worked to your edge and then pushed you over it, your body going stiff and then lax as your orgasm washed over you, crying out with abandon.

He kept going even as you began to push his head away, the oversensitivity make you curl up.

“Johnny, stop. S’toomuch…” Your voice coming out garbled, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel shame at how loud been, especially when Johnny stood up – his big body looming over you.

“It’s too much? It can’t be. I’m not done with you yet.” When he had that look in your eye, who were you to tell him no? You gasped into his fervent kiss as he entered you, wrapping your legs around his hips when he’d fully entered you.

Johnny was not a small man and you were reminded of that with ever inch inside of you but, you loved it.

Especially when he started rocking his hips.

He set a brutal pace, slamming against you in ways that made you sure you would bruise. His head resting in the crook of your neck, you felt more than heard every groan as he pounded into you.

He sunk his teeth into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, increasing in speed and causing you hiss, the pain quickly leaving you as he licked the sensitive spot, your head falling back.

You stiffened up, your hands gripping onto his shoulders as he rubbed your clit, his fingers matching the pace of his thrusts, his eyes never leaving your face.

“You gonna cum for me again, sweetheart? Let me know how good I make you feel.” Forehead pressed against your own, he held your gaze, his dark eyes daring you to tell him that you didn’t feel good.

The only responses you good muster up were garbled version of his name mixed with curse words eyes squeezing shut as you came again. Your vision turned white as you cried out, letting go and falling back onto the massage table – thoroughly exhausted.

Johnny came inside of you soon after, chanting your name like a mantra.

The joint comedown from your high was sobering as the gravity of what had gone on hit you.

Johnny held you gently, kissing along your jaw and eventually kissing your lips deeply. He helped you off the table and to a couch in the room; bringing you to sit on his lap.

“Won’t you be with me Y/N?” You laid your head on his shoulder trying to catch your breath and struggling to find reasons why it would be a bad idea to fall in love with him.

“You’d be happy with me; we both know it.” You wanted to believe him; you really did. But people like you, assassins, didn’t have happy endings.

“Would I?” You needed to get out of here.

“Yeah, I’d make you so happy. I know we don’t know each other deeply but, don’t tell me you don’t feel something.” He was pleading with you but, this was your chance. You climbed of his lap, wobbly on your feet, feigning exasperation and putting space between you.

You grabbed your robe, slipping it over your shoulders and tying it around your body. “It’s not that easy and you know it. There’s no happy ending here when I know that you’re just going to use me for sex.” Was that hurt you saw flash through his eyes?

It didn’t matter.

You needed this over and down with and just like you’d expected, Johnny bolted up from his seat, wrapping his arms around your waist to stop you from running. You wrapped your arms neck, hugging him tightly before you slipped the syringe out of your sleeve and injecting hm in the neck.

Johnny gasped, pushing you away and falling back into the couch, a wounded look on his face.

“What did you hit me with?” His words already slurring, he put his hand to his neck.

“It’s a sedative, you’ll be out for an hour or so. This can’t work Johnny. You know that, you have to know that. I’m so sorry but, I need you to let this go.”

“Why?” Honestly though why? You could genuinely see yourself being happy with him, there was no real reason to stop you other than fear. You wished you could give him a legitimate answer but, there was none.

Johnny soon passed out, the cross look on his face smoothing as he lost consciousness and you called it in, asking for the clean-up crew to tie up the loose ends; making sure to tell them not to hurt him.

They’d placed him in your hotel room to sleep the sedative off, while you disappeared, just as you’d planned.

Johnny woke up in suite 448, alone.

[mileycyprus-hill]

A Simple Kindness

Kieran x Reader 

Had this on the back burner for a while and realized I haven’t written a Kieran x reader fic. So here’s a bit of fluff.  

Summary: You begin to sympathize with the new O’Driscoll prisoner, and decide to give him a little help. 

Warnings: none.

You weren’t exactly sure why this O’Driscoll was in your camp, but you didn’t bother to question it. You were taught to despise any member of Colm’s gang and you thought to do the same to this poor man. 

That poor man. 

He didn’t seem up to par to the common O’Driscoll, sniveling and begging for mercy while tied to that tree. He never cursed at any passerby. Never threatened death upon anyone once he would be free. 

He only begged for mercy. 

You never met a man that soft. 

Was this man really an O’Driscoll? A member of a ruthless, bloodthirsty, thieving, murdering gang? 

Hardly. 

It had been a week since Arthur had brought him back to that cold barn in Colter. He was tied up in the back of a wagon during the trip to Horseshoe Overlook like some prisoner. 

Well, he is a prisoner. 

Left to blister in the sun on this high bluff with no food and what little water he could swallow from the passing rain. That poor man sat there, his arms tied behind him on that birch tree. The papery bark scratched against his tender forearms while the thick hemp of his binds cut into his wrists. Blood red cuts and rash marks painted his pale arms that lay exposed beyond his rolled up sleeves. 

The past few days, you watched him struggle to stand against the tree, his head dropped to his chest in exhaustion and self-pity. Sitting from the table across the way, you’d watch his legs tremble and buckle beneath him as he’d struggle to hold his own weight. He’d squiggle and squirm and whimper to get just a little more comfortable. 

You had half a mind to shout at him, tell him to ‘man up’ and be strong. But watching him pull against his binds was like watching a stray dog pull against a short leash. 

Frightened. Alone. Starving. The only attention came from the daily beatings and tongue-lashings. 

A scrap of bread would be tossed at his feet. Barely enough to satisfy a hungry dog. It’d lay there, taunting him as he’d struggle to kick it closer to himself. Even if he could, how could he grasp it with his arms bound behind him? 

You’d watch him struggle for it anyway, his will driven by hunger. Day by day, that piece of bread would lay there. What was left behind by the pecking chickens would turn to mold and only the flys would claim it.  

How much longer would Dutch allow this to continue? Until the man dies? Or when he gives information that he deems satisfactory? 

From what you’ve heard while eavesdropping, this young man wouldn’t know anything reliable, being Colm O’Driscoll’s abused stable boy. 

You began to fear for him. Truly. 

What would he know, being a newly initiated member of Colm’s circle? For all you knew, he was excluded. Cast onto the edge of the social circle of the gang, left to chat only with the horses and other members of the lowest caste. 

Day by day, you struggled. What was it your mother always taught you? 

“If you watch an evil being done unto someone and don’t stop it, you will be judged for the same crime by doing nothing.” She would say. 

Could you stand there and do nothing? What kind of a person were you? The men around would say you’re a survivor. But is this surviving—torturing a man for information in a petty rivalry? 

When you reach those golden gates and are asked, ‘Why have you done nothing?’, what would you say? 

Because it wasn’t your place to interfere? Because you didn’t want to get in trouble? 

...........

You awake just as a the sun rises and decide this is enough. Only a select few gang members are awake as they stayed up too late and too drunk the previous night. Those who’re up are tending to their own business or had already left.

Walking towards the back of the provisions wagon, you notice he’s alone. Looks like no one’s started the torturing ritual yet. Bill’s talking to Arthur about some stagecoach job over by the horses and Dutch remains shut in his tent with Molly. 

You step briskly as you saw your chance, walking towards the small cooking fire and grabbing a tin cup that rests on the ground next to the warm percolator. 

Looks like Pearson just finished making the coffee. You peek over to his work station and find him deeply focused on preparing today’s stew.

“Psst!” You hear from your right. 

You dare not to look towards the source to avoid suspicion. Discreetly, you turn your head only slightly, pretending to check the hem of your skirt and peek from the corners of your eyes. 

From your downward gaze, you catch Kieran staring at you. You watch him desperately try to get your attention without alerting anyone else. 

Pretending not to hear him, you walk past him with your cup full of coffee and ignore his whispering pleas for water. You stop at the back of the food wagon, hiding yourself behind its large wooden panels. A bucket of rain water sits by a steel dish tub on the table, waiting to be dumped into the tub and used as dishwater. 

You hear Kieran drop his head in defeat behind you. An aching, heavy weight pulls downward in your chest. 

Taking a sip of your coffee, you fake a look of disgust. You take another sip and repeat your act before dumping the contents from your cup. 

Quickly, you dip your cup into the water bucket to rinse the taste from your mouth. 

The cool water touches your lips but you don’t sip, keeping your lips tight against the rim of the cup. 

The coast seems to be clear. No one’s watching or noticing. Checking around you, you dart over to Kieran. He hears your quick steps against the grass and almost yelps in fear. He looks up and sees your face close to his, causing him to drop his eyes and cringe in submission like a beaten dog. He pants pathetically and waits for you to strike him. 

Avoiding eye contact, you grasp his chin and gently prop his head up. He lets out a tiny whimper until you bring the cup to his lips. His eyes grow wide at this merciful gift. The cold metal clanks against his teeth and the cool water rushes through his chapped lips. He feels his throat expand as the water flows like a spring flood rushing through a dry desert canyon, washing away the dirt and dust.  

You continue watching around you for anyone who may come walking and hear him slurp from your hand.  

No one seems to notice, so you move your eyes over to watch him. He sips greedily from your cup, making you tilt it towards him so he can gain every last drop. His Adam’s apple protrudes from his throat in a sharp angle and bobs with every gulp. 

With a final gulp, he exhales in relief and attempts to breathe a ‘thank you’, to which you quickly silence with a finger to his moistened lips. 

“Nothing happened.” You stare at him with such intensity, it’s almost threatening. 

You step away with your dry cup and hear him speak to you in the softest whisper. He mumbles a sweet “thank you” under his breath, nearly undetectable. You smile softly on your way back to your tent until you see a pair of eyes watching you. 

Shit.  

Mary Beth. 

She stands by the rounded table, her hands paused from opening the domino box and watching you curiously. You freeze in place and plead her with wide eyes and upturned brows. 

Please don’t tell. You beg with a silent, sorrowful look. You don’t know what would happen if the others found out, but you’re sure it won’t be pleasant for you. 

A tight-lipped smile grows on her face and she gestures with an open palm towards the dominos. Her invitation is met with hesitation. Can you trust Mary Beth? You haven’t known her for that long and have kept your secrets to yourself. But the look in her eyes show comforting sympathy, not judgement. 

Stepping with bated breath, you bring yourself to the chair across from her. 

Neither of you speak while she shuffles the dominos on the table. The gentle clicking of the ivory rectangles seem so deafeningly loud compared to the unspoken words you pass to each other. 

Mary Beth gives an understanding nod and looks into your eyes with a sweet smile. No doubt she’s gushing at how romantic and noble your simple gesture was to the prisoner. 

You didn’t realize how long you had been holding your breath until you let out a relieved sigh through your nose. You sincerely hope Mary Beth can keep a secret. Sitting here with her, you begin to believe she’s more trusting compared to the others. 

However, you still worry she may not be the only witness to your act of kindness.

.........

Another day passes by and you hear a startled cry followed by angry shouts. The eruption startles you and the grooming brush drops from your hands. Your horse beside you immediately senses your alarm and reacts with a twitch of her muscles and a jerk of her head. She promptly resumes to grazing while you bend to pick the brush off the ground. Holding the brush against your chest, your fingers run against its thick bristles. Your heart rate quickens and you step over to look towards the dead birch tree. A sickening unease washes over you as you watch Arthur, Bill and Dutch surround the Duffy boy. 

You stop in your tracks as you watch Bill hold a pair of iron tongs with a sadistic look on his face. The edges of the tongs are glowing red and sparks fly with every metallic snap Bill makes. Arthur’s broad frame blocks your view of Kieran, but you can barely see his trousers that pool around his ankles. 

Your feet remain frozen in place. You hear Dutch’s voice but your mind doesn’t process his words as you’re too focused on what torturous act is about to happen. 

Tongue fat and lips glued shut, you stand there in the open, unable to prevent Kieran’s frightened pleas from entering your ears.

Just talk, boy. C’mon. Your thoughts scream. An internal conflict burns within you: desperate to intervene but the paranoia warns you’ll be ostracized and labeled a traitor for defending an O’Driscoll boy. 

“All right, I’ll talk!” He cries. 

It’s as if Kieran heard your thoughts. He spills everything. Colm...Six Point Cabin. 

But you don’t feel relief just yet, eyeing a disappointed Bill who still holds the hot tongs close to Kieran’s naked bottom half. 

It isn’t until you see Arthur cut his bonds that you finally loosen the tight fists at your sides. Your fingernails leave marks against the skin of your palms.

Pulling his trousers up to hide his shame, Kieran’s eyes catch you across the way. He sees the fear wash from your face as he follows the men to their horses. He still looks deeply terrified, unsure of whether this ride with John, Arthur and Bill will lead to his execution. 

“Be safe, boys!’ You call to them. 

The four of them, including Kieran who sits behind a disgruntled John, turn to you in their saddles. They look at you as if hearing a babe say its first word. The slight surprise mutes them for a moment until Arthur finally speaks. 

“We’ll be fine, (Y/N)” he says, “Don’tchu worry.”

You watch them ride off down the hill to Six Point Cabin, the location Kieran mentioned. You may not read people as well as others in this gang, but his words seemed true and genuine. You can only hope your instinct is true until the men return, and then you wonder if Kieran will be turned loose...or killed after the job is done. 

You sincerely hope it’s the former.

...........

It’s late afternoon and supper is just ready. The men have been gone for several hours now and your thoughts are no longer kept at bay by busy chores. You don’t hear the subtle hoof beats entering camp, nor the teasing remarks passed between the riders. 

Until a shrill voice startles you from behind, causing you to early spill your dinner. 

“Get this man a bowl!” Bill’s voice yells behind you, “We ain’t found Colm, but this lucky bastard here saved Arthur from gettin’ a bullet in the head!” 

Mumbled voices around the fire exclaim in shock and relief for Arthur’s sake, but little ‘thank-you’s are expressed to Kieran. He steps behind you as you turn to smile at him and Bill, grateful for their safe return. 

You watch him happily grab a bowl of stew and sit on a log next to Uncle, who makes a grimaced look of disgust and moves to a different spot—preferably upwind. 

“Thank you Kieran,” you gently call over, “For saving Arthur.”

He looks to you with those big doe eyes and smiles awkwardly at your statement of gratitude. 

Standing and rubbing your sore hip with one hand, you walk over and extend your bowl to him. He scarfed his food so quickly that his bowl looks almost sparkling clean. 

“Here,” you offer the rest of your dinner, “You sure look like you could eat.”

Kieran stammers, “Oh, no ma’am. I couldn’t do that.”

“Please. I’m not that hungry anyway...Hate for it to go to waste. And Pearson never makes enough for everyone.” You give a gentle smirk. 

“Thank you miss,” Kieran blinks. “That’s very kind of you.” 

He holds his bowl steady with his eyes darting nervously across your face as you transfer your leftovers. You nod and start to walk away until he stops you.

“Oh, and miss?” He whispers.

You turn to him, an eyebrow slightly arched at his politeness.

“Thank you for...yesterday.” 

“Don’t mention it,” you smile. “It’s the least I could do.”

Little do you know when you leave, Kieran feels eternally blessed by your act of kindness. It may not seem like much to you, but to him that showed your true soul. This world is brutal and unforgiving, but your empathy and tenderness is what gives him hope and comfort. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

[a-study-in-crime]

Under The Microscope: Jeffrey Dahmer’s Mental Disorders

I have decided to start analyzing certain criminals or crimes more in depth in a ’’series’’ I have decided to call Under The Microscope. Disclaimer! I want to be clear that I am not a professional in any field related to crime, mental health or anything related else for that matter. This is simply me analyzing different crimes and trying to answer some questions.

Introduction

Jeffrey Dahmer did not suffer from a mental disease, at least in the legal sense, though it is clear that he had issues with mental health for many years. What was he diagnosed with? How were the symptoms expressed through Dahmer? Was he disturbed from a non-legal standpoint? Could he have been saved?These are the questions that will be discussed in this text. 

A timeline of Dahmer's mental health

The first time Jeffrey Dahmer spoke to somebody about his mental health was in 1987 after he was found guilty of disorderly conduct after exposing himself by a river. Dahmer had to go through two tests, the first one consisting of statements he had to claim as true or false and the second one consisted of completing sentences regarding Dahmer's personal life.  These were the statements Dahmer wrote were true in the first test:

Lately, I've begun to feel lonely and empty

Ideas keep turning over and over in my mind and they won't go away

I've become quite discouraged and sad about life recently

Looking back on my life, I know I have made others suffer as much as I have suffered

I keep having strange thoughts I wish I could get rid of

The second test, were Dahmer completed sentences looks like this (cursive text is Dahmer's words):

My father always worked hard

My earliest memory of my father is when he went to work

When my father came home I was happy

When my mother came home, I was watching TV

Dahmer also had to go through therapy sessions after his conviction, but he rarely spoke and often became angry with the doctor. His doctor describes Dahmer as paranoid when angry, which she considered being genuine. The doctor also reported that she was certain Dahmer suffered from schizoid personality disorder with some paranoia.  Dahmer also had sessions with a clinician who reported that Dahmer was easily hurt and disappointed and that he seemed to be impatient (Dahmer often tapped his fingers on the table as if he was in a hurry). The clinician believed that Dahmer could become a psychopathic deviant with schizoid tendencies, as well as worsening his alcohol abuse.

Dahmer also spoke with another doctor before his trial for disorderly conduct in 1987 and described being anxious, tense, and depressed. Dahmer also told the doctor that he felt alienated from society, and the doctor concluded that Dahmer needed long-term psychological treatment. Two months after speaking with this doctor, Dahmer was interviewed by another one. This doctor reported that Dahmer seemed suspicious of other's intentions as well as manipulative and self-centered. He summarized by describing Dahmer as a disturbed person and a possible danger to society. 

Dahmer was prescribed anti-depressants (which kind he took is not known) and continued with his sessions at the doctor's office.

In 1991, after Dahmer's arrest, he was interviewed by several psychiatrists and doctors, which led to different diagnoses. Dahmer was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, schizotypal personality disorder, anti-social personality disorder, personality disorder not otherwise specified (featuring borderline, sadist and obsessive-compulsive traits) alcohol dependence, psychotic disorder, and necrophilia.

Dahmer continued taking anti-depressants (Prozac, also known as Sarafem and Fluoxetine, is an SSRI which Dahmer took while in prison) for some time during his incarceration but decided to stop taking the medicine for unknown reasons. 

Dahmer's mental illness in his daily life

If we start by analyzing the different traits doctors and Dahmer himself described, it is clear Dahmer had struggled with his mental health for a long time. A depressed state of mind is a recurring theme in Dahmer's life, which can be observed even in his younger years. For example, Dahmer never seemed to plan his future (his father and step-mother almost made all decisions for him, like enrolling in a university and enlisting in the army) and drank to numb his feelings (which he of course also did to cope with his necrophilic thoughts). As Dahmer got older, he seemed to exhibit even more symptoms of depression such as distancing himself from his family (he had almost no contact with his mother and brother until his arrest in 1991), suffered from suicidal thoughts (he described that he had thought about injecting formaldehyde into his veins, but was afraid that it would be a painful death) and low self-esteem.

Dahmer also showed signs of sadistic and paranoid tendencies. The sadistic trait is, of course, easy to apply on Dahmer's life since many of his murders were extreme in the sense that he sometimes would drill holes into the skull of his victim and inject muriatic acid or hot water into the hole. The paranoia Dahmer supposedly felt is harder to find any concrete examples of, but since it was noted by several doctors and psychiatrists, it is possible it was most noticeable when meeting Dahmer as an outsider with knowledge and education in mental illnesses. Dahmer was also described as manipulative by one doctor he met in 1987 and this is definitly correct. Dahmer managed to get out of many situations by manipulating people around him; one of many examples is when he managed to convince the police that 14-year-old Konerak Sinthasomphone was his 20-year-old lover and that they had a consensual relationship, even though the boy was young-looking and tried to escape from Dahmer several times.

Now, onto the diagnoses, the first being borderline personality disorder. I have previously made a text about Jeffrey Dahmer and the possibility of him having BPD (you can find it by clicking here), but it can be summarized like this; Dahmer showed many signs of suffering from BPD, such as extreme fear of abandonment (his motive for his murders were that he did not want his victims to leave him), dissociation (Dahmer reported sometimes seeing himself as if he was another person looking at himself, especially when committing his crimes) and reckless behavior (such as his alcohol abuse). Regarding schizotypal personality disorder, Dahmer experienced many of the symptoms such as bizarre fantasies and ideas (the best example of this is Dahmer's plan to create a shrine made of bones and skulls of his victims so that he could feel eviler and feed his obsession), lack of close friends (Dahmer never had any real friends; the only ones he ever had were in high school, and those friendships were mostly superficial) and paranoia (as previously stated, this was noted by several mental health professionals). The third personality disorder Dahmer was diagnosed with was personality disorder not otherwise specified, which indicates that Dahmer did not fully meet the criteria for a specific personality disorder according to the person making the diagnosis (this diagnosis was set by clinical psychologist Samuel Friedman), but it was clear that he suffered from some form of personality disorder. The last personality disorder Dahmer was diagnosed with was anti-social personality disorder. There are many symptoms of this disorder, but Dahmer seems to fit some of them such as a disregard toward others' feelings and lack of remorse (the fact that Dahmer killed people without thinking about his victims and their families is probably the best example of this. Dahmer stated that he felt some remorse for his crimes, but he admitted to probably not feeling as much remorse as he should have), criminal behavior (Dahmer was in contact with the police even as a teenager; he had to be escorted out of a bar by a police officer because he refused to leave, exposed himself on at least two occasions, molested several men and boys and of course murdered 17 people) and superficial charm (Dahmer was described as charming and pleasant to be around by many people, such as the detectives who interviewed Dahmer). 

Dahmer was, without a doubt, a necrophiliac an an alcoholic. Dahmer had reccuring fantasies and urges of having sex with dead people since his teenage years, and he sexually assaulted almost every victim once they were dead. Dahmer was drinking daily since he was around the age of 16-17, and often turned up drunk to school and spent his nights drinking at home or bars during his adulthood. 

Dahmer was, as previosley mentioned, unwilling to get help for his problems. It was only after his arrest he decided to tell his full story, but while in therapy before his crimes were exposed, he often sat silent and became defensive when asked questions he did not like. Dahmer was not willing to get help, and therefor he could not be saved.

Conclusion

Jeffrey Dahmer had issues with his mental health from a young age, and he was diagnosed with many different disorders. He was definitly a disturbed person from a young age, and he was not open to get help. Could he have been saved, if he had gotten the help he needed? Perhaps, perhaps not. That will continue to be a mystery.

[chibimyumi]

Kuro 161 Summary & Thoughts

その執事、執拗： 狩るか、飼うか? That Butler, Tenacious: To hunt or to keep?

In the previous chapter (160) we see what Rin had been trained for at last; big target assassinations. She failed at her mission and made Sebastian spill the tea. But now chapter 161 will spill... even more tea.

“Failure of a mission means death, there is no time to think, I gotta run,” Rin reasons and runs for her miserable life. It is but a simple phrase, but it adequately sums up the ways of the underground society she belongs to.

Back in the Phantomhive manor O!Ciel is understandably distraught. Sebastian however seems too amused to be bothered by such an assault on his master even though he only narrowly managed to prevent it seconds ago. I do not blame Sebastian for his peculiar priorities however.

As he claims, he cannot sense the presence of humans within the possible range of shooting, nor were his demon ears able to hear the sound of the trigger being pulled. So who or what could possibly have been able to handle a rifle and aim for his master’s little head with such astonishing accuracy and skill? Quite impressive indeed. As discussed previously in S&S Kuro 158, Rin did indeed turn out to impress Sebastian enough to spare her life.

However amused, the butler’s duty never ends. Hastily Sebastian washes and dresses his master with such astonishing speed, I bet even the dirt on the boy’s body had not noticed they were made to leave.

Without further ado Sebastian excuses himself, and the hunt is on!

Within all normal common sense, Rin believes to have secured enough distance between herself and the Phantomhive manor to be in safety. Despite her logical judgement however, she cannot help but be overcome by paranoia and check her surroundings. This shows just how much knowledge and fear Rin has gotten in her during her profession as assassin.

Then, almost like in a Looney Toons series, a figure bolting from afar leaving a train of dust and smoke behind itself approaches. The figure’s steps leave a loud train of ‘doh doh doh doh...” sounds like an overly aggressive rain dance performed by a seagullzilla. Surely the unsuspecting worms underneath the ground would at least pop out their heads to check what kind of weather would be responsible for this monstrous rainfall.

Seagullzilla’s face is now in sight, and Rin identifies it to be the butler of the household. She is shocked, but allowing the shock to sink in is a luxury that she does not have on her hands, so she decides to finish her pursuer and takes aim.

With great ease and a smile on his face, Sebastian dodges all the bullets headed for him. We know that the demon is very confident about his speed, and now even more so that he estimated to have enough time to first wash and dress his master, seat him at a table, and still be able to catch the assassin. This is yet another reminder of how terrifying our Trash Demon™ is, and that if anyone were to try escape him, they would merely have a snowflake’s chance in Hell.

Only a second ago, Sebastian was still so far away from Rin that she could take immaculate aim for the target’s vitals. Rin probably only had the time to blink, and suddenly the butler has already appeared right in front of her with apparent murderous intent.

Murderous intent indeed, but it was not her life the butler was after, but the man named Pigeon behind her who was about to silence Rin for her failure.

Again Rin does not get the time to ponder about the meaning of all that had happened, and she is already engulfed by Sebastian’s black miasma. “At last we meet.”

“Young master, pardon my insolence, but I have caught you an owl.” Sebastian has brought his prey in really not unlike a tied animal. Rin is pinned against the floor with only her hands tied back. Presumably, even Rin knew why her captor did not bother tying her feet, as any attempt to flee would prove to be moot.

“Haku of the Qing Syndicate keeps an incredibly skilled sniper named ‘Owl’ who is after my life...... it appears that this intel was correct,” the young Earl says. This catches Rin’s immediate attention and she makes the educated guess that there must be a traitor within the Syndicate. “K-kill me! Torturing me will only make your floor dirty!” Rin quickly pleads.

“Torture? Oh I will do no such inefficient thing,” Sebastian scoffs with a ridiculing smile. As it appears, the demon disagrees and looks down on torture. As discussed in this post and this post, Sebastian is indeed not unnecessarily ‘actively’ cruel; he simply does not care about the well-being of anyone he is not interested in. Or in the least, Sebastian is not cruel in a physical way (when it comes to psychological torment though, his cruelty is without peers, of course).

It is very interesting to see how the image of demons most people have is that they would resort to cruel behaviours like impaling or skinning people alive. To Sebastian who 1. is only interested in the soul of a human rather than their flesh, and 2. does not have a physical body of his own but is simply an embodiment of his mind, naturally psychological torture is so much more meaningful.

Though not entirely related to the current chapter, this bit does give a nice little insight of Sebastian’s personality. Thought for later!

Returning to the main case; clearly somebody with accurate information had informed O!Ciel of ‘Owl’s’ existence and the Qing Syndicate’s agenda. Who is this ‘traitor’? The first person to pop up in my mind was Lau, but is this instinct correct? Not very likely, but not impossible. It also entirely depends on whether Lau already knew O!Ciel or not.

Previously in chapter 159, Sebastian delivered a letter from his master’s “dearest”. Was this letter just another one of Queen Victoria’s to send her Watchdog on a mission? Or was this the letter sent by “the traitor”? Judging from the way the letter is wax-sealed, it seems more likely the sender is a person of acknowledged social standing, so the probability of a mafia member to have sent this is somewhat lower. Still, this does not rule the possibility out entirely.

Again, this is material for future speculation and revelation.

After Sebastian makes clear that he will not do anything like torture, he instead proposes something rather outlandish. His proposal is something readers like you and I have known for at least 14 years (waow...this manga is 14 years old now...), but to O!Ciel and Rin, it is something beyond their wildest expectations. “Instead, won’t you come work for the Phantomhive family?”

“What do you mean, Sebastian!?” The boy protests. “I meant my words in a literal sense,” the butler replies. “To speak entirely honestly, we have a severe staff shortage in this household. We just had to be employed be a bizarre master who just seems hell-bent on not employing new servants. If what occurred today were to happen again, Finny would simply not be equipped to handle the situation. Owl’s eyes seem to be especially efficient for far distances, they could prove to be effective in keeping watch in security.”

The young master does not seem to be convinced, and understandably so because the candidate the butler has his eyes on had indeed just made an attempt to murder him.

Sebastian assures his master that there is no need for worry as the assassination attempt has failed. He explains that failure in the underground society is not ever met with toleration. Once someone fails, they shall only be chased to the end of the world and live a life of a fugitive. Rather than being a fugitive for the foreseeable future,  Sebastian proposes to Owl that starting a new life as a servant to the household would be a win-win situation for the both of them.

“Besides, Young Master, did you not say you wanted one maid in appearance alone before?”

“A maid?” the young Earl repeats in puzzlement. “Indeed. “Owl” is... from a human biological point of view, a woman.”

For many years Rin has lived as a man to protect herself from danger. The 19th century was especially unfair to person viewed as women, indeed. Though the butler exposed her secrets in an unacceptable manner, could it be that this also liberated her from having to live hiding true self from the world?

Regardless, I bet that in the next chapter, we shall find out whether Rin views this ‘exposure’ only as sexual harassment and undue exposure, or whether there is also a sense of relief mixed within.