#i might have forgotten some more obscure ones so consider this non-exhaustive

[fullmoonfireball]

list of Club Penguin characters who have been kidnapped by Herbert as many times as Gary has:

Aunt Arctic

DJ Cadence

Captain Rockhopper

Roofhowse

Sydmull

Blizzard

Lorna

Jangrah

Merry Walrus

[kaijurakunsobs]

If requests are open could you do a Heisenberg fic with a teen or young adult reader(no older than 20 please) who stumbles into the village trying to get away from their parents and after they get attacked by Lycans Heisenberg patches them up and takes them in trying to hide them from his sister and mother miranda. Could you please do it with an AFAB reader who doesn’t identify as female? I am currently dealing with borderline verbal abuse from my conservative father who doesnt like that though I am AFAB I don’t identify as female.

first, baby, I'm so sorry that this is happening to you. I know how bad and mentally taxing that kind of living situation can get, I was in a similar situation and somehow managed to pull through.

you are not alone, you are loved and I hope everything gets better, never forget that it's you who defines yourself, your self worth should NEVER be defined by others

All you can think is...how cold everything is around you, how the freezing air burns your skin and lungs, but, you have endured something worst, physical pain can be healed with time, emotional and psychological pain is what hurts the most, what feels eternal and haunting, it coils around you, it grows and never let's go, like being branded, it leaves marks that never go away.

Running aimlessly through the snow feels like nothing.

What made you get out of the car?

Was it anger?

Desperation?

Does that even matter anymore?

You can't hear their voices anymore, so that's a win.

Farther away you see smoke and fain lights, distant sounds beckoning you closer to that place, and you let yourself smile widely when the silhouette of someone standing so close to you, you could get help, start somewhere new, be happy!

But it's so short-lived, that you question if there's divine retribution, karma, or just the universe laughing in your face.

Your "savior" is covered in blood, a man with a perpetual expression of agony lays in the snow, dead. The monster turns to you and finally the cold freezes you where you stand, it's not alone, and all the other creatures are looking at you, dark soulless eyes fixated on their new prey.

You have felt like that before under his gaze like if you were vermin, it made you furious how you were treated and consider as something lesser than a person. These things look at you the same like you are just a speck of dust in their path, and maybe you are, if the mangled body is any indication that taking a life will be nothing for them.

You see it from the corner of your eye, one of them lunges for you, and then? everything is a blur.

You remember kicking and punching wildly, adrenaline making you forget about the pain of the bites and scratches, there are memories of you running and using something to smash the head of one of the monsters, a rock, perhaps? But in the end, cold, blood loss, and exhaustion are enough to bring you to your knees. One of them grabs a fistful of hair and roars in your face and you know, that, this is it, you fought and did your best, but this is the end of your travesty...so much for your new life of freedom.

"Get the fuck away...I SAID FUCK OFF!" his voice is so loud that it makes you whimper and recoil "LET GO, CAN'T YOU HEAR ME? LET GO, DAMN IT!" the smell of blood and a warm liquid hits you hard, but at least you are free, letting your body hit the snow

"What do we have here?...this one is alive, but ya ain't from around here, do you?" he's smoking and something small and silly wants you to tell him that smoking is bad, which makes you smile so softly "...Interesting"

Heisenberg rarely gets intrigued by anything, he hasn't found anything to spark his curiosity in so long, so of course, he had to come and see what was causing such a commotion. What he thought to be a villager, fist fighting the lycans so valiantly, turned out to be a teenager, he saw you from afar,  furiously kicking lycan after lycan, you didn't even notice the growing red spots in your clothes and the black eye, it was survival and feral like behavior. Truly interesting.

Now, what made him pick you up with care? years from today he will say it was just "Scientific interest kiddo! nothing more", but, it's the pain in your face that makes him act so soft, it's not the agony brought by your wounds, this goes deeper, it's different and he knows it very well.

Under normal circumstances, he would have taken you to Moreau, but he knows the loud mouth will give you to that bitch Miranda and that will be it for you. Dimitrescu is OUT of the equation, so does Beneviento, hell knows what her psychotic ass would do to you. So he brings you back to his home and takes time to clean your wounds, true, his stitching abilities are amazing...on corpses, and a lack of anesthesia and your occasional movements makes it hard for him to stitch you properly, but by the end of everything, you are bandaged and clean, isn't that the important part?

He’s done his part, the rest is on you. If you had the strength to fight and even kill a lycan, you might live to see another day

How long were you out?

You are warm and so fucking sore, cracking your eyes open is a big task and even harder to sit up in the bed you are laying on. The room is black and smells like tobacco, oil, and something you can’t place but it’s nice.

Barefoot and curious you start to get up, wincing deep and loud when pain floods your body, but you get up non-less, you feel the cold air hit your legs, and immediately pull down the shirt to cover yourself. Then it fully clicks, the jagged memories of what happened slaps you in the face and make you lose your footing, falling back on the bed you pry the shirt off from your body, you see bandages and patches placed on smaller wounds, your head is killing you and your right eye hurts like crazy.

With small breathes you pull the shirt back on and force your body to get up and investigate the room. There are piles of clothes and pieces of paper everywhere, picking one of the pants you sigh, these are yours, but they have been destroyed either by the beasts or by however brought you here. Looking around there’s nothing more, time to go out.

The only door leads you to an open room, the kitchen and living room placed together, in one of the sofas you can see someone laying down, their chest rising and falling softly, their face obscured by an old hat.

You try to be as quiet and sneaky as possible when getting back into the room “Where do you think you are going, kid?” his voice is thick with sleep but the sound is enough to make you yelp, slamming your shoulder against the door frame, the man jumps up and in a couple of strides he’s beside you “Can you more fucking careful? the stitches gonna get open and if you get an infection I ain’t risking my neck to get you meds”

He’s a bit taller than you with squared and wide shoulders, his face is stern and it seems like he’s annoyed about something, is it you? Did you anger him? You try to remember what could you have done to make him so mad but nothing comes to you, is not like you remember much, and what you do, is better to be left forgotten.

Heisenberg has seen many people look at him with fear, reverence even, but he has never been in the receiving end of a look like yours, he has to close his eyes for a second, carefully grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the kitchen, almost forcing you to take a seat in on of the wobbly chairs he owns.

“Well now that you are back with us, I can finally cook something to eat. You must be starving! I would too after the way you fought back there” he lets out a howl while he busies himself with pulling ingredients for whatever he’s cooking “I saw ya, you know? That was one hell of a show and I know about putting up good entertainment, you gave those lycans a good beating”

Lycans? So those things have names...uuuh, who would have thought.

"What's your name kid?" you get pulled out of your mind by his voice and the smell of cooking eggs, for a moment you wonder and think, that this is the time to be addressed by YOUR name "...I'm Y/N, sir"

"Cut the sir bullshit, you ain't trying to impress nobody here, you can call me Heisenberg, Karl if you wanna get my attention quickly, got it?"

"Yes...Heisenberg?"

He's rather harsh from what little you have seen of him, but he's careful when serving you breakfast, a steady hand serves you tea and makes quick work of a loaf of bread, whit that you two eat in relative silence, he eats like a wolf and that's enough to make you hide a smile.

"Once you are...better..." he's speaking between bites, eew "I'm taking you to get some new clothes, staying here ain't gonna be free, ok?" with his fork pointing at you he waits and continues without you answering "I'll have to teach you...that's gonna take time..."

"I'm a faster learner!"

Heisenberg laughs at the offended tone in your voice, taking a big gulp from his mug once he stops "I like ya kid, there's a fire in you and I respect that, we gonna get along"

It takes you almost 2 weeks to fully recover and be able to move without crying out in pain. On the day he announces that he must take off your stitches, he's kind when pulling on the thread, talking about how that same day he's taking you to the seamstress cuz he's "done" having you wear his stuff.

The seamstress in the Village seems flabbergasted when "Lord Heisenberg" comes into her house, demanding she makes you good sturdy pants and easy to move in shirts. From that sole visit is enough for people to call you "Heisenberg's assistant" whenever you are sent to the village or just went spotted by anyone. The Duke, the merchant that sometimes you have found yourself talking to, does nothing but fuel the rumor, people already fear Heisenberg on a god day, now they fear you might be spying for him.

You would be lying by saying that, Heisenberg is a normal man, he's flamboyant and loud, filled with pride, and what you can describe as...showmanship, he speaks with passion when explaining to you the ins and outs of the factory. He's always close, never breathing down your neck, just close enough to hear if you need help.

The first time you see him use his gift is the most embarrassing and awkward moment of your life.

You are working on some molds for pieces he needs to make from scratch, he taught you where you should work on that, away from whatever lurks in the lower areas of the factory. You were so engrossed in getting the mold out perfectly, tongue sticking out and heavy gloves helping you to pry open the damn thing open, you don't even jump when a hand lands on your shoulder, but you do when the ghoulish face of a corpse appears beside you.

He's running the second he hears you, a high pitched sound tearing through the noise of the machinery, he sees you bolting it towards him and a Zwei Soldat quickly catching up with you, the drill in its arm too close to your back, the moment you are close enough he pulls you towards and behind him, a metal sheet flying to the thing and beheading it in an instant.

"Kid...Kid, look at me, hey, eyes on me" you are not crying, there's no blood anywhere and nothing seems to be missing, you seem more startled than anything else, but you listen to him, concentrated on him and his voice "Y/N, it's ok kid, I'm here"

Then it happens, you let it slip. "Thanks...thanks dad"

You feel him go tense, the hands-on your shoulders shake for a second and embarrassment comes crashing down on you, you are ready for him to yell or push you away and order you to see if the mold is still useful, but he pulls you close, patting your back like you never said anything.

There are days when you can hear him talking on the phone, his voice growing irritated, and his explosive temper getting worst.

You are curled up in the crawlspace that he turned into your room, listening to him talking with someone, he sounds exasperated and nervous. This time he takes longer to come out from his room, a new cigar in his mouth and hammer over his shoulder, usually, he would tell you that he's leaving for a couple of hours, this time he's just there, tapping his foot and sparing quick glances at you.

"Get your coat, we need to leave"

That's new...he never takes you with him to wherever he goes, but you don't feel like arguing and do as he says, slipping your boots on and grabbing your coat.

Heisenberg is unusually quiet this time, only the snow crunching under your feet make enough sound to fill in the void, he takes you farther from the village and into a rundown church, you can hear new voices and the unforgettable sounds of the lycans snarling.

Inside the candlelight is soft and cast strange shadows of the people already waiting inside. There's a woman in a white dress that probably towers over you, another lady dressed in black and her covered, she sits in a corner with a creepy doll on her lap, and finally, a shy man who battles to cover himself with the torn cloth of his jacket.

"Is this why mother Miranda called us? Did you brought a new toy and never informed her? what a bad dog you are Heisenberg"

"Non of your business, Dimitrescu" Karl does everything to keep you behind him, away from the doll or the twisted man, but especially from the woman, Dimitrescu as he called her.

From where you stood, you could see how beautiful and regal she is, sitting with grace and a sarcastic smile plastered on her face. Noticing you, she moved slightly to get a better look, narrowing her eyes, making you feel small and like food. Before she can't even speak the sound of feathers caught your attention, giving Karl enough time to guide you to one of the pews, making you take a seat beside him.

The four adults greeted the new woman, the infamous mother Miranda, you have heard about her in the village and through small stories shared by the Duke, but mostly, you have heard Heisenberg curse the woman and call her every single name under the sun.

"Usually I wouldn't care for what my children do in their dominions, but, Karl, I must say I'm disappointed in you...to hide this child and avoid telling us?"

"I apologize, Miranda, the right opportunity never came" ooooh he's pissed

"I say you take his toy, Mother Miranda, and if possible, give me that lovely lady to me?" at that your gut twist uncomfortably, it's been some time since you were...addressed like that

"Excuse me?" Heisenberg cocks his head to the side, looking at Dimitrescu over his shades "Are you talking about my SON?"

"YOUR SON?! Don't make laugh, child, I can smell the sweet maiden blood running through her veins, that's a lady not one of your dirty lycans"

"And you are bitch no matter how well you dress!"

"ENOUGH!" Miranda's voice breaks them apart, everyone looking at her "Care to elaborate, Heisenberg?"

Karl takes a second to take a drag from his cigar and blow a cloud of some into the air "I found Y/N here, they fought hard to survive and I took them in, just like Alcina, and her lovely daughters...I decided it was my time to have a child of my own"

"That doesn't change the fact that you brought an outsider and didn't inform mother, and now you are trying to do what exactly? have...them...play house with you?"

"Lady Dimitrescu, that's enough" she's looking at you, mother Miranda in staring, and Heisenberg as a hand on your back, suddenly you are hyper-aware of everything, the sounds and smells, the movements each person in the room does, the way the candles flicker "I allow it, may this never happen again, Heisenberg. Next time there will be consequences"

You feel like passing out after that, the screams of Dimitrescu and the doll get drown by the ringing in your ears, everything keeping you together is Heisenberg's hand on yours cursing up a storm as he pulls you along with him.

The cold air feeling nice against your burning skin.

"Kid? I think you are ready" you are halfway through the trek back to the factory when he speaks again

"Ready for what?"

"To be introduced to the Heisenberg family true work, of course! What kind of father I would be if I don't involve you in our family's business"

You trip with your feet hearing him say that, so...he meant it? what he said in the church...that you are his son?

"Come on Y/N, I won't go easy on you because you are my kid now, quick quick"

Catching up to him is easy and you feel at peace when one of his arms wraps around you, he begins to talk about how many things he's gonna teach you and how exciting is to have a young mind to shape.

For the first time, you are eager to get back home.

[hergan416]

Katakuri Challenge

Continuation after this post in my Seek and Ye Shall Find universe. Written for @straycrayoncrypt's Katakuri-day challenge in the MF discord server.

The main fic is rated M, but this segment is rated T.

Some notes not apparent in this text: time in Domino and time in One Piece's world do not travel at the same rate. It has been much less time for Katakuri by the time this happens, than it has been for Yugi and Ryou.

Featuring questioning Katakuri, and a bit of light pain re: Kata's relationship with the Big Mom Pirates (as seen from an outside perspective.)

Read more under the cut:

Life in Domino had mostly returned to normal since Katakuri’s sudden disappearance. It had only lasted a few days, but the city was shaken by the upstir. Pegasus was amused, Yugi was curious, Kaiba furious. Yugi chose to put the mirror Katakuri had left behind on his desk in his room for safekeeping

Jounouchi was understandably hostile towards the man, considering the damage that had been done to Seto, and the fact that he had to defeat the man himself. He refused to go in Yugi’s room with the mirror, knowing that was how Katakuri seemed to appear. Yugi didn’t necessarily blame him, even as he tried to reason with Jou that his room was too small, and Katakuri appearing through it was highly unlikely.

“He went back through it though,” Jou would say. “What if he’s spying on you?”

“You sound like Seto,” Yugi replied.

“Sometimes, Seto is right,” Jou defended, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jou wasn’t wrong per se. Yugi had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind after the whole incident that just because it was over didn’t mean it was resolved. Yugi felt like keeping the mirror around was the key to everything, so he kept it, whatever Jou felt.

Ryou seemed even more curious about Katakuri than Yugi, almost as though Katakuri was finally proof that others could see that the supernatural existed. Ryou was excited about the encounter with the oversized man, and on more than one occasion offered to take the mirror off Yugi’s hands. Yugi had declined, if only because Katakuri had handed the mirror to him. As illogical as it was, he felt that he had been handed the mirror for a reason, much like he had been given the millennium puzzle, although he did not voice those feelings to Ryou. (Ryou’s experience with the millennium items had, of course, been much different than Yugi’s.)

Instead, Yugi regularly asked Ryou to visit the mirror in Yuig’s room. It wasn’t as though having his partner over was out of the ordinary, but their activities over the past few months had begun to include a routine of performing various rituals and experiments on the mirror. Sometimes Ryou would experiment alone while Yugi watched, sometimes they’d try something together. Regardless of who was in charge, however, it seemed that all of their experiments had been a bust.

This was certainly true of their most recent one, involving lighting copious amounts of incense, and chanting various chants that Ryou explained were meant to be summoning spells.

“It doesn’t seem responsive to us,” Ryou said at the end of all of it. “We can’t summon anything. I thought I saw the shade of an old lady walk past the mirror, but I must have been mistaken. She didn’t seem anything like Katakuri, and you never saw her.”

Yugi nodded along, furrowing his brow, his mind wandering to ponder whether he’d ever find out how Katakuri’s mother had liked the sweets they had picked out.

By the time Black Friday rolled around, Yugi had forgotten the mirror’s existence entirely. Ryou was out of experiments, and work had picked up, leaving little time to deal with the mirror anyway. He plodded up the stairs to his room, exhausted from a long day at work. The game they were beta-ing was not his own design, and there were a number of balancing issues before the game would be ready for release. Unfortunately, the small company he worked for seemed keen on releasing the game “in time for Christmas,” so it was all hands on deck and mandatory overtime until then.

He paced to his closet, intent on changing out of the stuffy suit that he had worn to the office, walking past his desk as he trekked towards comfort. A tapping noise from the area to his right stopped him.

Tap tap, tah-tap tap, TAP TAP!

He turned towards the desk, concerned, eyes widening when he saw Katakuri’s head and one of his arms sticking through the mirror, gaze trained on Yugi. His hand tapped the pattern out on the pile of binders full of Yugi’s work notes that now covered the desk’s surface and nearly obscured the mirror.

“Hello,” Yugi greeted nervously, moderately concerned that Jounouchi had been right.

“Hello,” Katakuri returned politely.

Yugi softened his startled expression upon hearing Katakuri’s tone. “What can I do for you?” he asked, approaching the mirror quietly. “Do you need me to put you outside?”

“Not yet,” Katakuri replied, his eyes looking thoughtful to Yugi. “I wanted to ask you some questions.”

Yugi nodded carefully. “Sure thing! We can talk!”

“Your friend, Ryou,” Katakuri asked carefully, eyebrows furrowing uncharacteristically. “What makes them a them?”

Yugi blinked. That had not been the turn of conversation that he had been expecting.

“Ryou is just a them,” Yugi explained, a bit defensively. “They are non-binary, so they don’t identify with either gender.”

Katakuri nodded, his eyes betraying that he was having a hard time processing the information. “Do you need... any specific parts to be a them? I’m supposed to be a he according to my family but…”

Yugi smiled widely, suddenly realizing why Katakuri was asking. “You don’t need to be born any specific way to be a them, no,” he explained. “Would you want to talk to Ryou about this? They might be able to give you better information.”

Katakuri seemed to swallow, the scarf around their neck moving up and down. “I … don’t know. I don’t have a lot of time to keep talking about it.”

Yugi nodded in response. “Well, you can be a they over here, if that helps, even if you can’t wherever you are right now,” he suggested, and Katakuri’s eyes widened. “Or a she,” Yugi continued. “Experiment here, and figure it out, see what makes you happiest.”

Katakuri nodded, looking thoughtful. “Do ‘theys’ still have to be big brothers?” he asked, voice quiet.

Yugi picked up on a lot of pain in that statement, and he wondered exactly what kind of world Katakuri came from, to elicit such a response. “Your gender doesn’t make you have to be anything. You’re a big sibling if you choose to take care of your family,” Yugi replied, trying to be helpful. “But you don’t have to be called a brother if you don’t want to. I bet your siblings will understand.”

Katakuri’s eyes looked pained, like he wanted to believe Yugi, but couldn’t.

“Did your mom like the candy?” Yugi asked, trying to change the subject, thinking the conversation would be more light hearted.

Worry crossed Katakuri’s face instead, plain as day. Then he nodded. “Yes, she liked it a lot.” His eyes looked like they were trying to smile, but it was forced, and Yugi wondered once more about the man’s strange situation.

“That’s good to hear,” Yugi replied uncertainly. Maybe it was better to stick to the topic Katakuri had breached. “If you have more time later, maybe I can work out a time for Ryou to talk to you?”

Katakuri nodded, but the action was distracted, like he was listening to something else. “Sure. But I have to go now. Could you do me a favor, and get some more of those dragon-shaped cookies? Maybe… five dozen? Bring them to the mirror as quickly as possible, it’s a bit of an emergency.”

Yugi nodded, eyes clouding with confusion, but willing to help anyway. What would make cookies an emergency?

“Sure! Should I charge Pegasus for these ones too?” he teased, hoping to get more information about where he was supposed to get the money for the cookies. But, Katakuri’s head had already started to slip back into the mirror, and disappeared by the time he was done with the phrase.

Yugi exhaled, confused, slumping against the desk chair. If this mirror had come to him for a reason, he sure hoped he’d find it out quick.

[starstruck-thirst]

She Wants Revenge

Part 4

Pariston Hill: True Romance

Series title is after the band of the same name. The chapter is named after this song by the band She Wants Revenge.

Part 1 of series is here.

Warnings: PTSD flashbacks, attempt rape of reader character, date rape drug description of reader character, non consensual sexual touching of reader character, NSFW, mental manipulation

______________________

Phones, keyboards, clicking pens, the smell of coffee and whatever crazy dish a gourmet hunter had brought to work that day. It was all so familiar, but in the way of a distant memory. The feeling was akin to that sensation one got when a specific cinnamon, peppermint, and paper smell-cocktail hit their nose and suddenly they find themselves transported back to when they were five on a holiday morning that had almost been completely forgotten until that moment. Something so close to you and yet no longer apart of who you are now.

The association office was exactly like that.

Normally the office was kept at a temperature that most people could tolerate including you, but for your first week back you had to bring a light sweater with you every day to hide the goosebumps that were almost a permanent installment on your flesh. Your nerves were on high alert, screaming in the back of your mind that this area was DANGER. But no matter how loudly your body rebelled, you pushed past it and hit the copy button on the machine again and again.

Somehow you had been assigned as an office assistant upon applying. They hadn’t even interviewed you, merely emailed the offer. And somehow you were placed on the floor Pariston frequented. Not the floor his office was on, but the floor below where he had to make constant visits to oversee many different projects. It was this very floor where you had met him for the first time.

As you picked up the papers from the out tray the hairs on the back of your neck raised noticeably and the realization about how in the presence of the literal Phantom Troupe you hadn’t been as on edge as you were in a fucking office almost made you laugh.

But you knew why. All too well you knew why.

Pariston hadn’t made his presence known to you yet.

You had been here an entire week and never even spotted so much as a cufflink of the vice-chairman. It was unnatural.

The signs of his presence were around. You came back from getting yourself coffee and someone asked you to make copies of a form that Pariston had just signed and dropped off. Another time you could still smell his cologne in the conference room you had to set up for the next meeting. His chuckle flowed down the hallway to your ears, but by the time you arrived he was gone.

He was doing this all on purpose. Playing with you indirectly and keeping you on your toes. You hated that it was working, hated more that you had to let it be a little visible. The appearance of being both ‘healthy’ and ‘slightly broken’ at the same time was exhausting. The light sweater was a dead giveaway to the man that you were uncomfortable. And the second week you left it at home, telling coworkers that you had adjusted to the climate-controlled environment again.

To make matters worse, there was no one readily around to play with. Chrollo had left shortly after the deal was stuck and Hisoka left a day later, leaving behind half teasing promises of more playtime in the future. You weren’t stupid- anymore- and you were fully aware that you might never seen Hisoka again. But, you had been surprised before.

Sadly, this meant that when you got home, life returning to you and the lust that had built throughout the day at the hints of Pariston finally blooming into a full need, you didn’t have a way to fix it. Playing with anyone that didn’t have a guarantee of silence meant that it could get back to Pariston. And there was no way in hell you were going to jeopardize your revenge just to get off.

But you thought about it.

Sitting at a bar not far from your apartment, you thought about it. A hunter you recognized sat at a table nearby laughing loudly with two associates. He was tall and broad, unlike your recent conquests in almost every way. Perhaps that was part of the appeal. The thought of turning this loud, cocksure, strong man onto his back and making him beg you made you a little excited immediately. And even though you reminded yourself it would be a bad idea the little fantasy grew on its own as you watched him move, and soon you were so enamored that you had forgotten you were looking at him until he noticed you and winked.

You turned back to face your drink on the bar, taking in a fresh swallow of the cold liquid to calm the heat inside of you. Shifting on the stool you could feel that familiar sensation of need between your legs. A tingling, tight feeling. It was uncomfortable.

A strong arm slithered over your shoulder with careful precision. Fingertips brushing softly as the palm dug in hard enough to force the weight of a promise into your muscles. After a week and a half in the association office, this sleazy move didn't make even one bump rise on your skin. "Hey, sexy. I saw you eyeing me across the room. What are you drinking?"

You tried to lean away, but his arm over your shoulder held you still. A nice upper cut into his nose would have freed you, he didn't seem to consider you a threat so it'd be easy to do. But remembering your situation you held off. Maybe it would get back to the vice-president. And you still needed as much illusion of a soft spoken female hunter as you could get.

But it was unbearably difficult in this moment.

Visibly you swallowed and looked up at the man through your lashes. "I didn't mean to. I just… zoned out. It was a long day."

He smiled and leaned his hip into your side. Truly your lust was the cause of this punishment. "Now, now. None of that. It’s Thirsty Thursday after all!" He lifted two fingers at the bartender and pointed to the two of you. The bartender nodded and got to work on your next drink. You kept an eye on the drink in progress- unsure of this bartender’s alignment in this silent struggle- until the man leaned onto the bar and obscured your view.

Fuck.

"Haven't I seen you around before?" He asked.

"Maybe… I mean I work in the city," you muttered before drinking your original drink to completion.

"Oh really? Where?" 

Leave it to a beef headed hunter to not recognize another hunter. Or he was playing stupid for some reason. “Well… where do you work?”

He laughed, “I work everywhere! I’m a hunter.” He said in that voice tone that suggested you should be impressed. Which only confirmed that he had no idea that you too were a hunter. With a practiced movement he took out his hunter ID and flashed it in front of your face, literally. He sure was a rude man. He hadn’t even noticed you dodging his question since it gave him an opportunity to show off. “See? Not everyone can get one of these,” he boasted. You memorized his ID number to look up later and see if he just got lucky that year.

All kinds passed the exam though, you supposed.

You did.

“Impressive,” you said pushing your glass away and trying to stand, “I should go. I have work tomorrow.”

“What? But your drink is here,” he pointed out as the fresh glass as it was placed on the bar, the old whisked away in a flash.

The condensation on the glass gathered in large droplets that collected onto the bar top, pooling to create an inviting highlight of water around the base. You didn’t trust this glass. While you were shopping at the same grocery store and getting coffee at the same cafe, this was a new bar. The security blanket of knowing a bartender wasn’t something you had just yet. “Really… I shouldn’t. So no thank you,” you muttered, dodging out from under his arm successfully.

But he had been prepared for this maneuver and with two quick steps he was in front of you with his glass in one hand and the one intended for you in the other. “Come on. The night is still young!” His determination was evident, and no matter how you tried to dodge him it was obvious he was going to follow you like a sick puppy. “I’m just being nice!”

Those words made you silently rage as other people in the bar looked at the two of you. He was intentionally making it seem as if you were the rude one for ignoring him. It was causing a scene, which was exactly what you hadn’t wanted.

Maybe just a sip wouldn’t hurt, depending on what was in it. Maybe you could power through it.

These of course are foolish thoughts. But as you took the drink in hand he cheered to you, and you brought the glass to his automatically. His grin seemed too wide, unnaturally so, as you brought the glass to your lips. The bright whites of his teeth made you pause as he drank and suddenly you felt like gravity had shifted. No longer was it pulling you down, as was normal, but it felt as if you were being pulled sideways.

The drink hadn’t even made it to your lips yet. What had he done? Had he spiked your first one while you were paying attention to the bartender? You had taken this muscle-head too lightly.

But even as these thoughts flashed in a blurry haze across your mind you realized more liquid was pouring into your mouth. As if on an autopilot your arm had moved and now you were drinking what could quite possibly be a second spiked drink.

Everything happened so fast, but also slowly. The man asked you something, and you felt like you understood it because you nodded and he laughed. Though your glass wasn’t empty yet he took it from you and placed it upon the bar with more care than you felt like you could have acted with in this moment.

A blink and his arm was around you, helping you to dance to the song that was too quiet to hear from the bar speakers. Hadn’t it been loud enough to mask the conversations that were only ten feet from you before? 

Heavily you leaned into his chest, feet moving now that gravity had somewhat righted itself again. Everything about this felt so wrong, but you couldn’t dredge up the motivation to do anything about it.

A hand gripped the sides of your head and your gaze was lifted up and his mouth smashed against yours. The kiss was sloppy and not at all enjoyable, but your limbs didn’t feel like they belonged to you as they rested on his shoulders completely useless. Groggily you remembered the feeling of Hisoka’s hungry lips against yours and you sighed in want, which the man took as a sign of your enjoyment and kissed you again.

A blink and the sounds of the city surrounded you. The wind was moving just enough that you could feel its touch on your face as you looked around, trying to recognize where you were. But it was impossible. The lights were a blurry mess, a painting in the museum where you had seen Pariston.

Pariston.

Fingers dug into your side as you started to lift to one side and you only then realized the man was walking next to you, arm wrapped around your waist to support you and keep you moving. His face shifted to the smiling Pariston and adrenaline pounded through you. “No,” you said firmly, although a bit mushy, pushing against his side to free yourself. Unlike the bar you were using your strength now. Focusing your nen into your hands as you shoved.

For just a moment you were free and stumbled into a nearby mailbox, gripping both sides of the object for stability as you shook your head. You tried to imagine sand on a beach, running hands over it to clear away the writing and make a clean slate, but nothing changed. Your head still felt swimming and the colors of the city both too bright and too dim at the same time. It was as if you were surrounded by suns of every color, but their brilliance couldn’t penetrate the encroaching darkness. Nothing came into focus no matter how hard you tried.

A blink as your ass slid over a stone wall, exposed thighs scraping painfully against the amalgamation of minerals. The man’s nails bit into your legs as he pressed himself against you. “static you’re so static just listen static Don’t worry. I’ll treat you right. static” Listening to him talk was like trying to tune into a radio station you were too far away from. But the meaning of the words was clear. Behave, or I’ll hurt you.

“No!” you screamed it this time, the word was clear and rang in the air as you pushed with all of your strength.

A blink and your head fell backwards, gravity reversing again. You were falling backwards in darkness, the smell of city streets blurring into the smell of water.

The deep black reminded you of Chrollo’s eyes as they watched you. Unreadable and full of secrets that you wanted to push your fingers into and dig around for treasure.

You had felt so powerful as those eyes watched your every move, waiting.

It felt like you fell for several minutes, and when you stopped a soft bed cupped you gently.

At last you were beginning to feel more grounded. The world didn’t seem to be changing as fast as it had been. The feeling in your head was more akin to being drunk now. Everything was somewhat blurry, but understandable, and you felt cold. Were your clothes sticking to you with dampness?

An unconscious groan rumbled out of your chest. With harsh persistence your clit was being worked causing little waves of pleasure to wash over you as your head rolled on the pillow underneath it. Things still didn’t make sense you realized. Things were still wrong.

With effort you managed to lift your head to look down the length of your body. Your clothes were a mess, ripped open with a crazed haste, and the man was between your legs. A scream was working up your throat as you watched him stroke himself as he also worked you, trying to get you wet enough.

A guttural scream of rage ripped through the room causing the man to jump. Finally able to move with more direct grace you sat up and brought your fist against his face.

You felt the flesh against your knuckles, a sense of success flashed through your mind, but in the next moment you were on your back again. Each breath was labored, and it took time to settle in that his hand was around your throat. You tried to focus but couldn’t. His face. Pariston’s face. His face. Pariston’s face.

A tear fell down your cheek, letting itself be known to your brain only because of the feeling of warmth that was quickly followed by cold that was so telling of tears. “Paris-ton,” you muttered, like a prayer in a dying man’s throat.

You squeezed your eyes closed.

“Pariston,” you said again. Feeling the revenge you were working so hard for slipping from your fingers. You could almost see it. Gold strands of hope sliding over your palm and into the darkness once more.

“I have you,” a warm, strong voice said in the dark.

The smell of lilac and musk. So familiar. A scent that made you feel at ease, even as part of your mind screamed. But you were too tired to hear it scream. Too tired to listen to that voice. You just wanted to be comforted and live in that bright feeling the smell brought. Silken sheets, eggshell walls, and white marble showers. So warm and inviting.

Your eyes opened.

The room was familiar and yet completely new. The walls were not eggshell, but basic rental creme, and the smell of lilac and musk was faint and quickly fading.

It was your apartment. You were home.

As realization hit you like a literal brick, your hands scrambled over your body. Did you still have your phone? Were you tied up or shackled to the bed? Where you wearing clothes? 

No, no, and somewhat. While your outfit from the previous night was gone, you were wearing underwear. Slipping a hand into them you felt yourself, unsure what exactly would tell you what you feared to know. But there was no normal soreness that happened after sex. You sighed, relaxing your shoulders into your bed for a moment while you took in a slow breath.

The front door clicked closed in the next room and you jumped from the bed, ready to fight someone off if you had to. And unlike in the bar, you were fully prepared to use all of your powers. No fucking around this time.

But, no other noises came from the small apartment other than the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Dead air hung with a physical weight while you patiently waited for something to happen. Unwilling to wait for danger to find you first, slowly and quietly you made way to the door to look into the half kitchen half living room beyond the frame and saw no movement. There was no one by the front door either. Your heart wasn’t convinced though, it was working so hard in your chest it physically hurt.

You pushed your hand into your hair, trying to steady your mind with a physical touch as you looked around the room for any sign of what had happened. After a second glance you saw it.

Sitting on the kitchen island was a note.

It didn’t have any nen radiating from it but still you approached with caution until the neat writing was completely readable.

“I suggest you be more careful from here on out. I won’t always be able to save you.

-Pariston”

He had been here. In your home. He knew where you lived.

You expected he would know where you lived, but having it disclosed to you in this manner made your blood turn to ice in your veins and you snatched the note from the cold countertop. It took everything inside of you not to rip it to shreds, burn it in the kitchen sink, flush the ash down the toilet. But you wanted control. Control over your reactions, especially now.

The corner rumpled in your harsh grip as your hand shook with rage and fear. Why? Why had you let this happen? You could have used your nen on that man. At least enough to save you. Enough so that Pariston wouldn’t have had the chance to save you.

But wait. How? How could Pariston have ‘saved’ you? It was all a blur and becoming even more so as the seconds ticked by, but you vividly remembered another bedroom. The very real moment of that man stroking you and preparing to take you.

How would Pariston have known… unless he had organized it?

In disgust you dropped the note, cupping your face in your hands. He had made a move. You knew he would. You had been sloppy. So confident that you had already rigged the chess board for the game to start, that you didn’t notice him move a pawn into place.

Feeling nauseous you turned back to find the note, deciding to rip it up after all, but stopped seeing another message on the back.

“Keep my gift”

The memory of your shredded clothes around you as you lay upon the strangers bed flashed in your head as you rushed to the full length mirror you kept in your bedroom.

The silver surface in sight you rushed to it, putting hands against the wall on either side as your chest heaved. Through the mess of hair that had flown into your face you could clearly see the white undergarment set. White straps hugging your hips and crossing at the sides in a delicate pattern. A matching bra with a ribbon connecting each strap to form a choker at the throat. It was wrapped so gently around your neck you hadn’t even noticed it at first, but now staring at yourself you felt oddly… collared.

It was very Pariston.

It was very much a statement.

~*~*~

If waking up to Pariston's gift wasn't enough, you also had to work that same day, luckily it was Friday. How did you used to have an office job five- sometimes six- days a week? Even when there was hunter work to be done, it was boring and exhausting.

Only two weeks had passed and you still had two more before Chrollo said he'd be available to assist with your plan. Now was the time to keep moving pawns while your big pieces were in standby, but some part of you had lost motivation. Pariston's bold statement was a hard to swallow pill that you kept choking on.

Somewhat literally.

Even though it was maddening in several ways, you wore the lingerie set to work. It required you to wear a light weight turtle neck top, without sleeves as you had ditched the sweater, to hide the soft choker ribbon. When you stood the ribbon pulled against the back of your neck. In your head it felt heavier than you knew it was since the standard bra straps took most of the weight of your breasts.

But you knew. 

You knew Pariston's ego would be in need of a nice stroking today. After all, he had saved you. He'd want gratitude.

Throughout the entire day you waited, uncertain when but your faith in the perceived event never wavering.

And finally around 3 in the afternoon it happened.

As was fifty percent or more of your job, you were at the copy machine. While you had been on alert all day this was naturally the one time it slipped a little and the slight jump and tensing of your shoulders when you sensed Pariston behind you was genuine.

"I'm glad you made it to work," he said in a low, pleased tone. It didn't go over your head that he was alluding to your previous "sickness" as well as what had happened last night, but you knew it best not to bring that up.

Not yet.

You shuffled your feet, pushing the copy button as you stared intently at the digital screen. "I don't know what you mean," you said it plainly, but the air of embarrassment in your voice was painfully evident.

The door to the copy room closed with a soft snap and you concentrated on every muscle to keep from shaking. Against your will you could feel yourself getting wet already. Even after a year you couldn’t stop a deep part of you from reacting to him, even though you were trying so damn hard.

Carefully you looked over one shoulder to see Pariston at last. For the first time in his territory.

His hair was still brushing his shoulders in a golden shine, today's suit was white with silver pinstripes, undershirt a light blue to make the silver pop, and his tie was a complimentary creme. An outfit that on any other person would be gaudy, or somewhat tasteless, but as always it looked completely natural on him.

He looked… perfect.

He smiled, seeing your eyes peeking back at him.

You could feel your heart clench in your chest and you couldn't breathe.

"How are you feeling?"

"Just fine," you lied, thinking to yourself that you'd never tell him otherwise. With a purposeful snap of attention you looked back to the copy machine and lifted the lid to take the original out and replace it with the next page. "Thank you."

There was a pause. Pariston had expected something else. Maybe for you to wobble and fall to your knees and praise him like a worshiper that wanted just a single drop of holy water to keep death at bay for one more day. And whatever Gods did exist knew, that thought had crossed your mind for a solid second. Or maybe he had been looking for more hesitation, signs of the struggle that existed inside of you even as you imagined punching him in the gut.

But you hadn't given him that. You had offered… nothing.

Pariston wasn't one to quit. One long step brought him to your back and his presence was inescapable. You tried to ignore it as you pushed the button for the millionth time, but his hands cupping your shoulders and rubbing them made you gasp.

Other intimate touches you had been ready for, but not something so tame. His long fingers worked into your muscles and slowly your shoulders sank. Without meaning to your eyes had closed, a small groan escaped.

Fuck.

He snickered. "Seems I still know you."

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. There were too many meanings in that simple sentence. But only one of the possibilities bothered you: did he know of your plan?

Pariston's left hand held your shoulder as his right moved from the other side to your neck and you froze in place. The tips of his fingers ran over your throat before dipping down into soft fabric of your blouse. A throaty, dark chuckle came from behind you as his fingers found the "collar" to the bra he had gifted you. "I know you," he reaffirmed.

Your own fingers dug into the sides of the copy machine as you half prayed for strength. 'Adraste, please don't let me crumble here!'

"I knew you'd wear my gift. Do you like it?” As if petting a well behaving cat, he ran his fingers around the collar.

The action made you shiver and that horrible feeling of being unbearably turned on was only growing. But you tried to keep it in check. You cycled through the memories of pain to ground you. Thinking about crying in the shower, the feelings of being used, how you had collapsed at the gallery. “I admit, it is a nice piece,” you said with a level tone of confidence laced with a sexual energy. Your left hand met his at your neck. “You’ll have to tell me what you think if you ever get to see me in it.” With the touch you gave him a taste of your desires, the ones you wanted to crush into dust but served a purpose for the moment. ‘Touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Need me,’ you told him with that touch and his fingers tensed around your throat the slightest amount.

For a second time Pariston was caught off guard. You were rarely this forward before, and when you had managed it there had still been a noticeable thread of nervousness. There wasn’t a sign of it now, and he didn’t seem to know how to react to that.

“Thank you for the gift,” you continued since he had chosen silence. With the words you moved your hips just enough to brush against him as the machine stopped and you gathered your copies, his hand falling from your neck.

Purposefully, you didn’t look at him while you did this, but after you had gathered all your items you looked at him with a pleasant smile for just the briefest of moments as you made to leave. He looked almost angry. Almost, because he was still hiding it under a mask. A mask constructed of ego and poise. He smiled and suddenly you felt sick. “You’re welcome,” he said with restrained heat.

He stepped back graciously, opening up your path out of the copy room. You didn’t look directly at him again, but from the corner of your eye you could see him keep up the smile as you walked by. Unfortunately, you had no idea what kind of face he made once you left him behind in the room to stew. You would have given almost anything to know what he was thinking. To know if he was seething with rage.

But you couldn’t know yet.

~*~*~

When you started at the association, you were still fresh from the exam. The job was yours already, but they wanted every person that worked in the building to have at least attempted to gain a hunter’s license. “If you are going to work here, you have to know what kind of people you are working for.” That was the reasoning you had been given. Passing had been hell. The kind of hell you were hoping to leave behind by having a nice office job.

The easiest way to advance- even in the office side of things- was to be a hunter. You hadn’t expected to pass though, and now a world of opportunity was open before you. If you trained up no job could be out of your reach.

Or so you thought until Pariston Hill had targeted you.

You were merely running an errand to the upper floor, but that single small task on a long to-do list put you on a crash course that would completely devour your life.

“Fresh from the hunter exam huh?” He had known you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself yet. “Welcome to the office. You’re a rare gem, you know that? Most people that work on your floor didn’t pass the test.” The knowledge that you could learn nen and be manipulated into using it for him and his dealings if you were groomed correctly was his strongest weapon. “I’m Pariston Hill, the vice president. I look forward to working with you.”

In a week you were moved to the floor below his office.

His smile, the warmth of his hand, the buzz of the new office.

It all meshed into a strange child’s version of a collage. Pieces of what perceived life would be like as an adult pasted onto poster board with too much glue. The pictures bubbling in places even as they moved at different speeds.

A picture of Pariston giving you the water test. Seeing the leaf spin in circles had excited you so much that in the moment Pariston’s calculating face as he watched your joy hadn’t even registered.

A picture of working incredibly late.

Another picture of drinking with office friends. So many picture memories crammed into one space it was hard to make sense of it all.

However, one picture seemed brighter than the others.

Towards the center left was a slow moving picture of Pariston kissing you for the first time. It was the magazine picture of first kisses. A dark park, the city lights blinking through the trees as they rustled in a slight breeze while he cupped your face and leaned in. Your heart beat so heavily in your chest that it made you feel sick. For the first time you had understood the phrase of ‘butterflies in your stomach’.

A chime rang in the distance and some latent part of you realized it wasn’t how that night had gone. There had been no noise like that on the slightly chilly night of your date.

Your eyes opened and blinked several times, the strange dream of memories falling back into your subconscious as the wheels in your mind slowly turned to comprehend reality again.

Why were dreams always so damn weird?

Your phone blinked a blue light next to you letting you know that the chime that had interrupted your dreams was a new message. Luckily the device had made it home with you from your horrible night out, probably thanks to Pariston somehow.

A tiny flame of hope sparked inside of you at the idea it could be Hisoka or -to a less realistic possibility- Chrollo. With a half awake haste you snatched the phone and fumbled a few times before successfully unlocking it to reveal the message:

[I request that you join me for dinner. Around 7:30pm?]

The number wasn’t programmed into your phone. But it stank of Pariston’s way of speaking. It had to be him.

[I accept. Where should I meet you?] Typing out the reply had taken nearly ten minutes of backspacing and groaning, but it was acceptable you determined.

[No need to worry about that. I’ll pick you up. I look forward to seeing you tonight.]

You left it on read for several minutes before replying: [As do I.]

[Oh and

Please do remember my gift.]

~*~*~

A little under a year ago you stood in front of your hallway mirror, touching up your lipstick as you waited for Pariston to take you on your first date. It was the same image you had seen the first night with Hisoka. And now, history repeated itself as you turned your head in several directions to view your lips, being sure that not a smudge of the carefully applied color was out of line.

You weren’t stupid. The knowledge of the mirroring events burned in your heart, eating away any other emotion you could possibly be feeling in the moment as you corrected a collection of hairs back into place behind your ear. “This is part of the plan,” you said in a sigh. It was, and wasn’t. Both a lie, and the truth.

Pariston’s attention was required, but even with your careful planning and observations you couldn’t predict everything he would do. But some things…

Somethings you could.

The strap around your neck rubbed noticeably as you straightened your posture. ‘I know you’ he had said. But you knew him too.

Your phone buzzed in your clutch and you knew without looking it would be Pariston. With a glance back over your shoulder you took the small collection of hairs back out from where you had tucked it, creating the appearance of having missed it.

It would drive him insane.

Pariston stood outside of the slick black car, holding the door open for you while sporting his iconic warm, broad smile. If you hadn’t been staring directly into his eyes as you approached, a painfully pleased smile plastered onto your own face, you would have missed the fraction of a second that the corner of his lip fell. He had no doubt noticed the stray hairs.

“Thank you,” you said, brushing the hand holding the door open as you slid in with a grace you previously had only dreamed of maintaining naturally. When the car door shut a little sliver of pride was blooming inside of you as the realization of how you had finally, finally managed to be elegant in Pariston’s presence.

The bloom made you smile so sincerely that when Pariston got into the car he took notice, a chuckle of question as the car took off which made you look at him. Immediately his hand brushed the stray hairs behind your ear, taking extra care to caress the sensitive outer ear with his thumb as he did so. “You seem to be having a good night,” he pointed out with great pleasure.

“I guess it just feels so… normal,” you said looking away as the slightest blush crossed your cheeks.

A long ‘hm’ came from Pariston as he moved a few inches closer to you on the seat. “It does, doesn’t it? Even your demur blushes are the same.”

The blush deepened and his pleasure only grew. “Look at me.” It was an order, but the kind he had started the relationship with. It was warm, inviting, maybe a little playful. But now you knew the dark center that honey hid, and your breath caught as you slid your gaze to his. “You look beautiful,” he complimented before kissing you.

It was chaste, but you started to melt immediately. Naturally you leaned into the kiss, feeling the layer of gunk that still remained from Thursday night start to dissipate at the familiar contact. Delicately you touched the side of his face, the movement a trained reaction to simple kisses.

Without meaning to, you took in his desire. A warm, deep red vine wrapped up your wrist, and it felt tangible- which it had never been before. Even Hisoka, the pleasure demon, hadn’t had such a strong desire like this. It burned your skin as it grew around and around your arm to your neck and you let out a long breath as your body filled with complicated feelings.

But one stood out as you felt your body cry for air once more. The indisputable desire for ownership.

He called your name, snapping you out of the illusion of being strangled to death by the red, thorny ivy of Pariston’s desire. “There you are,” he said seeing your eyes focus on him again as you blinked and tried to inaudibly resume breathing. “Where did you go?”

“I guess I got lost in the moment,” you said with a small, awkward laugh. Trying to resume your cool you sat back into your seat and ran a hand through the hair next to your ear, appearing to accidentally free the strand he had just fixed. “I apologize I didn’t even ask where we were going. I hope I dressed appropriately.”

He frowned, if it was due to the hair or your pulling away it wasn’t clear. But you could feel his disappointment in the air as you crossed your hands over your lap and tried to clear your head. It was unbelievably hard. Is this what addicts felt like? That just being near the vice that almost destroyed them still could call to every part of their being like a need? The drubbing in their heads of ‘just one more time’ as their nervous system shook with such immense power that you couldn’t recall a time when you didn’t feel this way. A time when you were calm, and your head was clear.

Was it like that for them?

Because it was like that for you.

A warm hand covered both of yours in your lap as you were staring at your ghostly reflection in the window, attempting to focus on some visible reminder of who you were and what you were doing. As he took your hand closest to him into his and pulled it to the seat between you he spoke softly, “Your attire is perfect, as far as I can see.”

Without thought you swallowed, picking up the hidden meaning in his words. He wanted to know if you were wearing his gift or not. “Good. I think it is a bit late to turn around and change,” you attempted to joke, still looking at the window and hoping he couldn’t see your pulse pounding.

‘You can do this. Don’t forget what you’re doing here. This is just to make him keep his guard down. If you avoided him he’d be too defensive. Remember what you’ve done to get here,’ you thought to yourself, forcing thoughts of Haven’s Arena. The blood you had poured onto the floor- some of it yours, some of it not- and the harsh lessons of combat you had to relearn in the forms of bruises and points.

Just as you were forcefully summoning the image of Chrollo laying on your living room floor, remembering that you had straddled the leader of The Phantom Troupe and controlled him for those brief moments, Pariston squeezed your hand hard enough that you looked at him out of reflex. It hurt, he had meant for it to. An unspoken warning of not giving him what he felt he deserved of your attention. “No need to change again.”

Everything he said had double meanings, or they did to you. Had he always spoken in this way?

Before you could think more on it, he pulled you into him and kissed you with force. If anyone had been watching it would have appeared passionate, a kiss full of lust and love in equal measure.

But next to him on the seat you knew it was teeming of possession.

And you fell into it.

His mouth moved against yours. Biting down on your lower lip just as you took in a breath made your lungs completely freeze. The world was hazy again, but not like when you had been drugged. Not the feeling of an oil painting that had been blurred expertly to create a starry sky. It was watercolor out of focus. The colors bled uncontrolled, red running over the corners of the page in a mess. It was impossible to see where one color began and another ended.

“We’re here,” he mumbled against your lips, keeping your face steady with a firm hand as you started for another kiss.

In the haze you had ended up on his lap, straddling him in the somewhat cramped back seat of the car. Some part of you was mortified. Completely aghast at how fast you had fallen onto his lap and drank up his kisses. But something inside of you was too strong now and you smiled at Pariston from your place above him.

‘Soon, you will look up at me just like you are now and in your eyes I’ll see the moment you realize you lost.’

“You’ve become quite brazen haven’t you?” he asked, sliding a hand up your thigh. The tips of his fingers reached out to touch your underwear and you grabbed the hand with a smile.

“No cheating now,” you told him as you shifted from his lap to the seat once more. He returned the smile, but it was forced. “Good things come to those who wait.”

The door opened next to you before Pariston could reply and you exited with the last word for the second time.

But the feeling of triumph wasn’t to last. As your feet hit the concrete, a part of your mind kept you from standing up. Instinct had again kicked in but as was par for the course when it came to Pariston, even your instinct was a bit too late to help you now.

Pariston’s upscale apartment building loomed before you, casting a shadow that was so cold you felt frost forming in your chest. 

That son of a bitch had really upped the game quickly. The chess board was a mess.

“Madam?” he asked with an offered hand to you. The look on his face devoid of outward smile, but you could feel the aura of superiority radiating off of him. You took it, not hiding the look of complex emotion on your face as he helped you to stand. Somehow with the world under your feet, you didn’t feel better. “What’s wrong?”

“I just thought we were going out,” you replied, still holding his hand.

“My initial plan was to do that but, well,” he drifted off and you looked at him as he feigned innocence, going as far as to rub his neck as if discomforted. “I thought something more intimate would be appropriate.”

“Appropriate?”

He chuckled at your uplifted eyebrow, taking your other hand into his. “Just a little apology dinner.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Or speak.

“An attempt to fix things up between us,” he continued since you hadn’t replied. “Come on,” he said kissing the back of your hands, “I’m cooking tonight.”

~*~*~

How did you allow this to happen? How had you ended up in the place you visited in your nightmares until only a few months ago?

You had been confident that anything Pariston threw at you wouldn’t be enough to shake you more than he himself did. But he had known that, hadn’t he?

Alone in the dining room of the high end apartment, you checked your cell phone over and over again for a text from Chrollo or Hisoka. When absolutely positive Pariston wasn’t coming in soon to check on you, you even braved a peak at the text conversations you had saved from Hisoka.

You had meant to delete them. Keep the trail as thin as possible. But you looked at them as confidence boosters when you felt yourself slipping back into your old ways. And nothing made you feel like you were backsliding more than sitting in Pariston’s apartment, preparing to eat a dinner he made you, knowing he would expect payment for his hospitality and thoughtfulness.

[Yes, ma'am~♡]

You read it again and again, remembering the feeling of Hisoka’s desires filling you that first time. It had happened so fast and you had felt full to the point of bursting. Confident, reckless, unafraid.

Footsteps approaching alerted you to Pariston’s imminent arrival, and you locked your phone before dropping it into your purse in a flash.

“I hope you are hungry,” his voice greeted as he entered into the dining room.

Even the callused part of you had to admit he looked extra attractive. He was without his suit jacket, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves unbuttoned, and rolled up. Seeing him outside of his normal presentation was special, a treat that you had come to appreciate during your time together. You dug your fingernails into your palm to help you focus as he laid down two covered trays, one in front of you, and one in front of his own place directly across from you.

The smell of warm protein over wrote your paranoia somewhat and your stomach pained. “It smells wonderful,” you said truthfully. “What did you make?”

Pariston snatched the lids off of the trays with a flourish, that was indeed impressive, revealing a warm plate of food. “Pomegranate duck with Greek salad and a side of gravy-stuffed duchess potatoes.”

The plate was colorful from the brown of the roasted duck to the bright red tomatoes in the salad. The potatoes were beautifully yellow and when you put your fork into the artfully raised mash gravy seeped out. “Pariston… this is impressive,” you complimented sincerely as you tasted the duck. It had a slight sweet taste due to the pomegranate juice.

He laughed as he took his seat. “Don’t forget your napkin,” he reminded you.

Automatically you placed your napkin into your lap and Pariston seemed pleased that you listened so readily.

The food was delicious, and at no point did you feel anything like when you had been drugged at the bar. Maybe he hadn’t arranged that entire mess. Perhaps you had just been too paranoid.

Pariston provided amicable conversation and somehow you both started talking about art. His recent dive into becoming an art patron provided a lot to talk about, and when he mentioned seeing you at the gallery your throat didn’t close up around the potato you had just swallowed. Everything was comfortable. You sipped some of the white wine, washing down the duck with a with something that was probably worth more than your rent.

As his hand reached out and covered yours he said your name in a quiet tone which made you hesitate before looking up at him. “Do you hate me?” he asked, looking so deeply into your eyes that you could practically feel him trying to pick your brain from across the table. 

You had become so swept up in the evening- the food, the wine, how sweet he was being, good conversation- that you didn’t even hesitate when you whispered, “No. Of course not.”

The grip on your hand increased and you winced as Pariston stood. He moved around the table and pulled you out of your seat by the hand, with very little thought to if it would hurt your arm to do so. Like a practiced dance he turned on you, making you back up into the dining room wall like a retreating animal. “Par-”

“Look me in the eyes,” he commanded as his free hand grabbed your shoulder, thumb pushing into the soft muscle under the clavicle, “tell me if you hate me.” His voice had a softness to it, even as he pinned your right hand to the wall next to your head. The tone made your breath catch as his deep brown eyes stared you down, not looking away from your face for even a second. Spite the position something about it was comforting in its familiarity and a familiar feeling of sinking into a prickly warmth swam through your mind.

It took a conscious effort to raise your left hand to his exposed forearm, gripping it with the right amount of force that he wouldn’t think it was a challenge. You had to steady your mind, focus. Things were escalating too quickly to use your power with the care you would have liked, so you drew from him his desire in a rush. 

Red, thorny vines covered you from head to toe. His desire entangling you literally. Each wrist was wrapped tightly, as were your ankles and throat. Though they weren’t physical they felt it on every level as Pariston’s strongest desire burned into your skin: destroy.

The rush of it was a hard slap in the face. You had started to slip back into your old pattern with him, letting him lead you through the familiar motions and succumbing to him so easily. He was determining the pace of the evening, the conversation flow, even this physical altercation you had just allowed to happen. You even had started feeling something for this monster again. Undeniably, you felt like an idiot standing there realizing that over dinner he had so easily lured you back into him. Even this more aggressive movement would have been exciting to you once upon a time. A sign of Pariston having strong enough feelings in some way that he was acting out from his norm.

And if it hadn’t been for your power, even now you might have been stuck in that cycle. Thinking this drastic move was just an act of his passion for you. That somewhere in that evil heart he loved you.

But his desires told the truth. He wanted you to break into pieces and hate him. What he wanted the most in the world was for you to be consumed with hate, because then he’d truly own you. Once you allowed yourself to truly hate him, he’d own part of you more permanently than love ever could.

People fall out of love all the time. But true hate?

True hate resisted everything. Hate would be buried with you.

You smiled, like the love sick puppy you once were. “Of course I don’t hate you, Pariston.” What made it all the sweeter was, it was true. That part of yourself you had been fighting for a year, and more intensely tonight than ever before, loved this monster.

With your hand still on his arm you drove your desire in Pariston with a push, sure that in the heat of this moment he wouldn’t notice any influence on his own desires as you told him to kiss you. Take you into his arms and make you his again.

And he did.

Just that easily Pariston kissed you and commanded you to undress right there in the dining room, dinner growing cold on the table behind him. And happily you complied. Though you had gotten accustomed to telling other people what to do, the facade of the person he had groomed easily slid out as he unzipped the back of the dress and you pulled it off to reveal the white bra and panty set he had gifted you. Now you had practice in heels, so as he rubbed your pussy through the white underwear you didn’t even wobble as you gasped his name.

Even as you let your outward self revert back to the toy he had once broken, some part of the new you was a pillar inside. It kept you steady against his movements mentally and physically. And even as you whispered his name, it was nothing like how your tiny voice pled before. It had a strength and substance to it. He watched you moan and move against the dining room wall and he noticed this change- as he noticed all things with utmost scrutiny. “You’ve become quite the dirty slut haven’t you?” he asked, fingers moving the fabric to the side so that he could touch your wet skin.

“Yes. Will you punish me for being a dirty slut, Pariston?” You looked at him through your eyelashes, wanting him to kiss you again.

“You’ve gotten too bold, perhaps,” his voice was low, guttural and deep. Some of the softness slipping off as his excitement grew.

“Forgive me.”

“Earn it,” he responded before kissing you and releasing your face to grab a fist full of your hair.

In a fluid movement Pariston stood back, whipped you toward the table, and pushed you face down with a loud thud onto the table clothed surface. Fortunately he had a large table so your face didn’t go into the pomegranate duck, but a slight stabbing on your stomach said perhaps a fork still found its way under you.

His hand left your head, but you didn’t try to sit up as the sound of Pariston’s belt being undone behind you sent shivers through your body. “Did you think that I wouldn’t notice you coming back to the city exactly a year since you left?”

“No. I didn’t think you’d pay any attention to me,” you replied and received a punishing whip of the belt across the back of your thighs. It stung, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as you knew he was capable of making it. He was still holding back. Still playing the early game again to lure you into his grasp. The darkest part of him waiting for you to slip up and completely trust him just like last time.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Pariston asked, voice stern and somewhat distant. Just a taste of how it sounded when he was planning on being particularly cruel.

‘I hope so,’ you thought. “No,” you said.

He whipped you again and you clenched the table cloth into your hands. You had pumped enough desire into him that you knew he wouldn’t be able to torture you too long before the need to take you took over him. “What did you say you wanted from me?” he rubbed a hand down your exposed back to your ass.

“Forgive me.”

A slap with his hand this time on to your ass, but it was just as hard as the belt somehow. “For?”

You swallowed, doing your best to keep your legs from shaking, your control over the muscles was being pushed to its limit by this point. “Forgive me for being a dirty slut.”

“You’re already wet. What else can you expect from a slut?”

You knew this wasn’t a question to be answered, but he gave your ass another slap anyway. He leaned over you, crushing you into the table as he did just so he could put his mouth close to your ear. “You may have gotten bolder, but you’re still the same in one way.” You looked at him out the corner of your eye, his wide lipped smile the only thing you could see. “You still get wet for me the same as you did back then. You’re still mine.”

He sat up and there was a pause before he shoved himself into you as hard as he could. Your hips slammed into the side of the table and a year long itch that had been frozen inside of you thawed all at once and diffused into you. It was like warm massage oil dripping into every crevice of every muscle. It felt better than a hot shower. And even as Pariston moved against you with a force so strong it caused pain with each push- there was no way you wouldn’t be bruised tomorrow- it was still exactly what you wanted. Even the fork podding your side just added to the feeling of bliss.

The heels didn’t offer much traction, but you kept your feet steady through the slight conscious will you had managed to retain even as Pariston gripped your shoulder to help bring you back into his hips over and over again.

There was no way to know how long this went on, every nerve that he had groomed was on fire. Pariston was either lost in chasing the instilled need or feeling kind because you orgasmed as he roughly moved against you, giving you a high to ride out as he continued to use you for his own pleasure until he came inside of you.

When he pulled out, you felt the warmth of the last of his cum slide down your inner thigh and you sighed in contentment.

You hated to admit it, even though it was just to yourself, but you felt as if something inside of you had been deeply satisfied. The heavy pain that you had carried from who you were before was at long last dissipating while simultaneously the person you had been building up for an entire year was more fired up than ever before. Because now you knew something you hadn’t previously.

The thing you thought was your greatest weakness against Pariston, that feeling of love, was your greatest strength against him. As long as you still held that horrible feeling inside of you, he couldn’t truly claim victory.

Pariston probably felt like he had already won the chess game, but you knew that now your queen was moving into place for checkmate. It was only a few more moves away.

[pennyinheaven]

Chapter 28: Hirata and Kageyama, ftw

I have to admit, I kinda got confused with the timeline from Hirata’s flashback but I got it eventually. Anyway….

Uhm…Who was that?! I had to back read and I got nothing. Was he a part of the info Yashiro got from Inami? Or the information he got from the detective he was thanking to “yesterday” (chapter 26)?

What could he be thanking for, btw? Yashiro found the drugs (the Amaguri and co. did as per Yashiro’s instructions). So was it Nanahara’s whereabouts?

If so, then yesterday is supposed to be Chapter 19.

Meaning the car chase, Nanahara’s rescue and the car sex happened all in one night (1). Yashiro got knocked out probably for 30 minutes to 2 hours. Drama started happening at dawn. Doumeki feeding Yashiro was probably their breakfast. Ch25 happened in the morning (till noon, maybe) and they slept till the afternoon. Yashiro woke up and left, prepared for Ryuuzaki’s rescue the rest of the afternoon till night (2). Doumeki woke up at dusk. Yashiro whacked a guy and also went at Kageyama’s, later that same night. In two consecutive nights, Yashiro saved Nanahara and Ryuuzaki. In one whole day, Yashiro’s core was shaken TWICE. Wow, our baby’s a hero but I don’t want to be in Yashiro’s shoes. The only time Yashiro and Doumeki had a proper sleep and meal (hopefully) was after they slept together, woke up and parted.

Oh, Hirata. Is it jealousy or greed, or both? If it’s jealousy, what drives it? Does he love Misumi, romantically, or he desires an exclusive parental love from Misumi? Why does he long so much for a father figure? Or just a strong jealousy and greed for the position of being the right hand of Doushinkai’s second-in-command?

The way he looked when Misumi was interacting with Kurobane was that of jealousy but of course, Kurobane being Misumi’s right hand, it’s easy to think Hirata simply wanted the position but Amou, too? Amou was still in middle school (Gakuran’s for middle school, right? Gakuran in a funeral instead of black mourning suit?) and Misumi’s adoptive son, through his marriage with Amou’s mother, and Hirata looked like he wanted to cut Misumi’s wrist or Amou’s head from simply comforting the kid. 

Even a student who is still far from getting involved in the yakuza is already in Hirata’s list of people he needs to get rid of. So, is it really just for the position and the power it holds? Isn’t there anything else? Well, maybe there isn’t anything more than that. After all, he could’ve planned getting blamed for stealing something just to get into Misumi’s group, since he was originally from Someya’s.

I wonder what happened to the guy he framed that time. Oh wait, he did the same thing to Ryuuzaki! He also didn’t change his habit of stashing illegal stuff with his woman. Why does he trust his women? He shouldn't trust anyone to begin with, unless by doing so he's setting up his women into damnation, if those stuff get discovered, yet those may still be traced back to him. So why? Is that really a smart move or not? And that’s why he’s predictable. Hirata, apparently, is also a good kouhai. Who would’ve thought? When sempai says something, he does them immediately.

He took the advice, too quickly. Hirata’s quite the committed fellow, isn’t he? When he is focused on a goal, he would do anything for it. He didn’t even develop any care for Kurobane’s niece after taking care of her a couple of times and didn’t consider her for killing Kurobane.

He just did what he had to do to prove his innocence by flaunting his stab wound, and prove his loyalty and dedication by taking the blame and even offer to be imprisoned, just to win Misumi over. Great, Hirata. You are awesome……..

Please elaborate. Rather, what kind of love is that, Kurobane? Maybe I’m just not used to associating love outside family, friendship and an intimate partner. Kurobane may have loved Misumi from the bottom of his heart but not in the sense that he wanted to hold him/make love to him. I hope we get more about Kurobane and maybe an update about Tomo, his niece. The striking resemblance between Kurobane and Doumeki (x), is it only a foreshadowing/red herring or Misumi saw Kurobane in Doumeki, foresaw the future and wanted to protect Yashiro from getting hurt, the way he did from Kurobane’s demise?

Sugimoto and Nanahara are darlings. They are oblivious about the drama but they sure are perceptive of Yashiro’s behavior. 

Kageyama got pissed. Yashiro is spouting the same self-demeaning and sexist statements about sex, relationships and rape/abuse. 

Kageyama’s eyes are obscured throughout the scene up until page 31 and we see Yashiro’s surprised and pained at the same time expressions, getting his second shock and emotional torture for the day. 

Obscuring the eyes is a classic device to portray a “hidden” feeling or motive. (Not sure why the angle was always on Kage’s right side, though.) Kage got pissed, embarrassed and got sad. Embarrassed to have figured out that Yashiro just had sex with Doumeki, a sex he thought was nothing Yashiro has experienced before since he even forgot his sling back at Doumeki’s place. Sad because Kage might have remembered a feeling he long forgotten and buried for 10 years. 

But weren’t you in love with him?

Of all people, you’re the one asking me about it.

Indeed. Why of all people? In contrast to what I have predicted, instead of Yashiro seeking out the answer, rather the closure he needed to accept Doumeki, Kageyama just handed it to him unexpectedly. Yashiro was not prepared to even face the issue yet here comes Kage dropping the bomb. I suddenly found myself cutting onions, tbh. Kage, to me, is the hardest character to figure out but thanks to this, his character just made more sense. Obscuring his eyes and him confronting Yashiro makes sense. Burying his feelings for Yashiro until its almost non-existent, setting their relationship as friends and pushing him to Doumeki because he thinks he is “too dirty” and unworthy for Yashiro are probably the reasons why nothing ever happened between them.

Lastly, Yashiro made his own conclusion about what Doumeki feels about him, since it’s the most convenient way to explain things for himself. To keep himself from falling completely for Doumeki, Yashiro has already created his safety net. Ironically, this could also be the exact conclusion Kageyama made way back in high school to keep himself for falling for Yashiro but still keep him close just as friends. So, it’s actually Yashiro who is more like Kageyama than is Doumeki. 

Just thinking about the next chapter is already emotionally exhausting. On Misumi and Hirata, when will the truth be ever revealed? Unless there was a witness to Hirata killing Kurobane, the truth may never come out, which is a bummer since killing a brother/member is definitely a deadly sin in the yakuza. 

Yashiro and Doumeki, though Yashiro doesn’t want to see Doumeki, with the safety net he established, Yashiro might be able to face Doumeki again. He’s just asking some time to breathe from the emotional turmoil he had earlier that day. Unfortunately, being able to meet Doumeki is Yashiro dismissing Doumeki and his feelings entirely. Depending how long it takes for Doumeki to find Yashiro, Doumeki might still have a chance to keep Yashiro’s heart from completely closing. Yashiro is still vulnerable, from their head on confrontation to Kage’s second assault, Yashiro is still shaken, his resolve is still torn down. Given an ample amount of time, he can build it up again, so Doumeki must hurry up before the walls get thicker.

[anendlessdelirium]

Severed, part 1

He knew it was over without even turning to see. It began with an uneasy feeling, one that slowly enveloped him as the night wore on. But a moment ago, something changed. It came as a strange sensation in his chest, a certain snap unlike anything he had ever felt before. It seemed as if something inside, something indefinable but undeniable, had ceased to exist. He suddenly felt disconnected from the world around, one which at once became alien and unfamiliar. This was no longer the home he had known all his life. It had become something entirely different. 

A few moments later came the sounds of feet shuffling over wooden floorboards and muted voices obscured by the walls behind. He knew what the rustling inside the cabin meant, yet still he could not bear to move, let alone turn and peer inside. Instead his eyes remained fixed, unblinking, on the darkness beyond. 

A lantern burned above him on the porch, its dim light casting long shadows out over the field. The flickering of the flame inside caused the shadows to move and twist, creating a bizarre and unpredictable dance of shadows. He found himself helplessly drawn into the hypnotic spectacle. Inside, the feeling he experienced earlier continued to spread. He felt unmoored, a boat adrift on a restless ocean, slowly losing sight of the shore. The ties binding him to this world had been severed, and he let himself become lost in the fog. 

A hand on his shoulder broke his trance. He nearly jumped out his skin as he spun his head to identify its origin. Towering above him was the slender silhouette of the Elven priestess who had arrived hours before. Her face was pained, scrunched up in a way that made him twist under her grip. The hand loosened but did not let go. 

“Saris…” she said, peering down at the boy. She hesitated, noticing the orange flame sparkle in the bulging eyes of the young half-elf, almost as if the fire burned within him. It was just a trick of light, but it had still given her pause. With her other hand she reached for the lantern and twisted the knob until the flow of oil had been stopped. The flames and the dancing shadows disappeared into darkness.

“You don’t need that,” she said, breaking the silence again. She made a slow, sweeping gesture over her head, “The moon is nearly full. Trust its light, little one.” 

Indeed, the moon sat high in the night sky, casting a pure silver glow onto the land below. The haunting shadows had disappeared, and now Saris could see the full shape of the landscape surrounding him. The canopy of the forest drew an uneven black line across the horizon. Far in the distance he could even make out a mountain’s distinctive jagged peak. There was an otherworldliness to it he had never noticed before- like a bizarre mirror image to the waking world of the sun.

The two stood in silence for a while, quietly gazing out at the land beyond.

At long last, the priestess told him what he already knew. His mother was dead. 

                                                  *          *          *

He should have been prepared; been expecting it, but truth be told he didn’t even think it possible. True, she had been sickly for most of his life, but she had always radiated a special kind of unflappable strength. It seemed she was unfazed by her condition, and when Saris would look at her with concern, she was always the one to comfort and reassure. So until the courier had arrived two days ago, Saris thought his mother was invincible.  

The courier had come at dawn, thundering down the dirt road as if chased by an army of demons. He brought ill news- His father, Knight-Commander Harkannin, had been imprisoned by a former ally, and lay chained in the regional lord’s dungeon, awaiting judgement. Upon hearing the news, his mother had outright fainted. The courier and Saris helped her into bed, where she had rested, in and out of unconsciousness, ever since. 

Later, after the courier departed to continue his mission, another man arrived. It was Orik, his father’s master-of-arms. Orik was a trusted family friend and the closest thing to a grandfather Saris had. The old knight was so exhausted he nearly fallen off his horse when Saris ran out to greet him. There was a crude bandage on his head, covering a wound which had likely taken an eye. Saris replaced the dressings the best he could, the way he had seen his mother do many times to injured villagers. As he worked, Orik recounted the night of his father’s capture, and his own narrow escape. 

Baron Rothbayn had offered his father’s band of knights accommodation in his walled city, Rothford, in preparation for their travels. But it appeared the Baron had more devious motivations for sheltering the men. Under cover of darkness, Rothbayn’s men systematically cut the throats of as many as possible, and capturing those important enough to let live. The Harkannin force, a modest contingent of about a two dozen loyal knights, had been decimated. Saris had managed to hold his own for a while, but was eventually overwhelmed and taken prisoner. The commotion had stirred a few Harkannin men from their beds in time for them to turn their own swords on the attackers, but it was far too late to turn the tide. Only a handful of knights, including Orik, had escaped, and they had scattered, hoping to spread word of the betrayal to their remaining allies. Once he had finished his story, Orik looked around the property.

“Where is your mother, boy?” he asked, looking worried. Saris took him to her room and told him about her condition. 

“There is only one person who might be able to help her now,” he said, re-saddling his horse. “See to your mother, boy. I will return as soon as I can.”

He returned at nightfall with a mysterious elven priestess, an ancient slender woman with simple gray robes and a stern expression. She had gone directly to his mother’s room and locked the door without a word, leaving the young boy in a daze. 

“She is the head of your mother’s order boy, an ancient and wise elf.” There’s not much the two of us can do, but if she can be saved, she will know what to do.” Orik said, standing in the doorway behind Saris. He walked slowly into the living room, removing his armor as he went. 

“What order?” Saris asked, he knew very little of his mother’s past other than that she knew the healing arts. 

“Followers of Naralis Analor, an elven god of healing.” Orik replied. He had his armor off now, and was tossing a few logs into the fireplace. “Your mother left the order when she married your father. Devotees aren’t supposed to marry, so they didn’t approve. Luckily for us your mother still has a few friends among them.”

Orik sighed with relief as the fire roared to life. The grizzled old knight stretched out in a wooden chair and closed his eyes, his sword cradled in his arms. After no more than a few breaths, he was fast asleep.

Saris stared at the door to his mother’s room, and listened. The soft sound of the priestess’s voice could be heard through the thick wooden door. He recognized the words as elvish but couldn’t make them out. After a while of anxious pacing, he wandered onto the porch, and waited the rest of the night in silence.

It hardly seemed real, the events of the past few days. Most of Saris’s life was spent on this very land, happily wasting away an afternoon while his mother cooked some fragrant elvish recipe in the kitchen. His father was often gone, seeing to matters in the village or campaigning on behalf of the king. The Knight-Commander took his responsibilities seriously, but Saris couldn’t help but feel forgotten. Each time his father left, he made Saris promise to protect his mother. Saris took his responsibilities seriously too. He fought off countless imaginary goblins and orcs, slashing through the woods with wooden sword, always managing landing the decisive blow just before dinner was served.

So when he considered the words of the elven priestess, his mind simply couldn't understand her words. She couldn’t possibly be gone. He couldn’t imagine not seeing his mother’s smiling face or hearing her chide him for tracking dirt into the house, a stretched across her face. It just couldn’t happen. 

“Don’t worry my son, she walks with Naralis now. He looks after us in life and in death.” She spoke to comfort, but Saris only grew more confused. If this god protected her, how could he let her die? She had been fine only days before. Questions began to spring from every chasm of his head, bouncing around until he could not help but cry out.

“I thought Naralis was a god of healing? How can he let her die?” he barked, suddenly flaring with anger. “She never did anything bad, she only helped people!”

The priestess opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself. After a moment of thought she bent down to face him, one hand lightly stroking his pointed ears. She looked over his shoulder, as if focusing on something far behind him. Finally, she spoke.

“Some time before you were born, your mother was a devoted member of our order. She was a talented healer, but had been shunned by some of our people because she was not a full-blooded elf.” She traced a finger over his ears, which were noticeably shorter than her own. 

“But I saw she was talented, and Naralis saw it too. She served him well, and together we healed many sick and wounded. But one day, your mother came upon an injury she did not have the skill to heal. There had been a great battle, and one knight had taken a fatal blow. Yet he clung to life, against all odds, and refused to pass on. Your mother admired that tenacity, and vowed to save him. She came to me, asking for any ancient techniques I might know. There was only one thing I could think which might save him. An ancient ritual to commune with Naralis himself, to channel his power directly. But I was not thinking clearly, and I forgot she was half-human. The ritual taps into one’s life-force itself, and is very costly for non-elves. She carried out the ritual and the knight was able to recover, but her body was permanently weakened as a result.”

By the time the story was finished, Saris’s rage had subsided. 

“The Knight was my father, wasn’t he?” he asked softly. 

She nodded, and stood up to her full height. Saris took the time to really look at her now, the moon enveloping her body in silver. Her long hair was pure white, held in a disciplined single braid which hung behind the way his mother sometimes wore it. Her pale skin reminded him of his mother too, but the priestesses eyes were what stood her apart. They were bright, and shone with an unmistakable power that seemed to warm the very air. Saris could not help but be in awe for a moment, feeling the power radiate from her as she stood before him. There was an air of authority he hadn’t noticed before, and suddenly he felt shame for not showing her the deference she deserved. 

As he stood with mouth agape, she stepped past him back into the house.

“I will see she is readied for burial, and perform the rituals.” She said, looking back at the stunned boy. “Wake up the knight, I need to speak with him.”

[trendingnewsb]

6 Famous People Who Hilariously Trolled Their Own Fans

Some celebrities see fame as tremendous burden and distraction from their craft, whereas others treat it as a golden opportunity to screw with thousands of strangers for no logical reason save “shits and giggles.” We’re talking about such famous rascals as …

6

Chris Pratt Trolls His Fans With Bad Jennifer Lawrence Photos

Hollywood certainly made a weird choice when it needed a hot new action star and decided to pick that zaftig fellow from Parks And Rec. During the press tour for the 2016 science fiction thriller Passengers, which starred Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence, fans got overly enthusiastic about the pairing and started “shipping” them. (For those who aren’t up to speed on the internet lingo, that means they want the two to hook up and mash their bits together and make babies.) Followers of Pratt’s Instagram account started demanding that he take more photos of himself hanging out with Lawrence so that they could satisfy their vicarious need to imagine these two millionaires spending time with each other.

And so Pratt proceeded to do what the fans were demanding:

Chris Pratt/Instagram

Over the next few days, Pratt went on to post a number of Instagram selfies featuring himself and Lawrence together. Technically.

Chris Pratt/Instagram

Chris Pratt/Instagram

You can’t argue that he didn’t give the fans exactly what they’d asked for. Still, a bunch of them didn’t seem to appreciate the photos, leaving comments like “Why isn’t she ever full in the pic” or “Why you cut Jennifer out?” Some people are simply impossible to please.

5

Nirvana Would Fuck Up Their Live Shows In Delightfully Stupid Ways

Nirvana are much better-known for their catchy grunge tunes than for Kurt Cobain’s primal screaming, but it’s not like he was intentionally trying to ruin the songs. Unless he was playing live, that is. Here’s a compilation of clips of Cobain mumbling into the microphone, or putting on a fake stupid accent, or sometimes replacing his lyrics with caveman grunts:

It’s more or less the Charlie Brown teacher voice.

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6 Famous Writers Who Secretly Wrote Insane Pieces Of Trash

Sometimes, his reasons for messing with the audience were almost admirable. In 1992, for instance, Nirvana was booked to play a show in a packed stadium in Buenos Aires. The opening act, an all-girl band called Calamity Jane, had an extremely negative reception, getting pelted with mud and bottles from the audience. This pissed Cobain off, and he considered cancelling the performance, but bassist Krist Novoselic talked him into a compromise — they’d take the stage and do an incredibly shitty job. And so, rather than play any of their hits, the band began the opening riffs for songs like “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Come As You Are,” and then broke into renditions of their least-known songs, predominantly from their worst-rated album, Incesticide. As a finale, they did wind up finally playing a track from Nevermind — the hidden instrumental one at the end that you hear if you accidentally forget to stop the CD after ten minutes. The audience was furious. Cobain called it “one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had.”

That wasn’t Nirvana’s first foray into deliberately messing up their shows. A year earlier, they were invited to perform on the British show Top Of The Pops, but after agreeing, they found out that the show had a policy of playing the music pre-recorded and only the singer’s voice live. As a response, Cobain sang “Smells Like Teen Spirit” like Christopher Walken with his mouth full of marshmallows, the whole time pretending to play his guitar with an open hand like a robotic Disneyland attraction.

On top of all that, there’s the band’s remarkable disdain for their most famous song, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” — which was intended as a joke, a mockingly generic pop song full of nonsense lyrics and a guitar riff openly stolen from Boston’s “More Than A Feeling.” They hated that it became popular and resented playing it so much that, fairly often, they would rile up the crowd by playing the opening riff, and then instead launch into … a bad cover of “More Than A Feeling”.

4

Kiefer Sutherland Started Saying “Dammit!” More Often In 24 To Mess With Fans Playing A Drinking Game

24 may have been massively successful and popular, but nobody, from the fans to the producers to the stars, was ever under the impression that it was anything but a TV show based on a gimmick and starring one-note characters and cheap dialogue. It’s entertainment in the same way that Pringles is food — they don’t have to pretend it’s wholesome.

So when fans of the series endearingly mocked its hacky writing, the creators weren’t too proud to play along. Fans put together a drinking game in which you take a shot whenever Jack Bauer repeats one of his ten or so go-to lines, like demanding to know who someone is working for, saying the word “protocols,” or yelling “Dammit!” whenever something irked him:

In a 2006 interview with Rolling Stone, Sutherland revealed that he’d caught wind of the game and decided to have some fun with it. So in one episode, he made it a mission to say “Dammit!” as many times as he possibly could, even sneaking three into the same scene. In his words: “Boom, boom, boom. And that was just one scene. By the end, there had to be fourteen ‘Damn its.’ And I could just see all these college kids going, ‘Oh, fuck!'” (Which, incidentally, is what Jack would say if this show aired on cable.)

Now, this is the internet, so of course there’s a Wiki page cataloging every single “dammit” uttered on the show. Sutherland’s claim appears to be an exaggeration (his record was four d-bombs in one episode), but it’s true that the show got more liberal with the word as it went along — the penultimate season has 47 “dammits” between Jack and company, compared to the measly 30 in the first.

3

Mythbusters‘ Adam Savage Is Always Flamboyantly Lurking At Comic-Con

It’s probably not shocking to point out that Adam Savage, the non-walrus-stache half of Mythbusters, is kind of a nerd. What is shocking is that if you’re a dedicated nerd yourself, you might have met him without even knowing it.

Savage attends the San Diego Comic-Con every year, always wearing an elaborate costume which completely obscures his identity and prevents myth-busting enthusiasts from showering him with questions. He started in 2013 with an Admiral Ackbar costume (including an original mask from Return Of The Jedi), then topped that the next year with an exact replica of the original Alien spacesuit, complete with a facehugger model to cover his face. It was so hot that it required him to wear an ice vest to keep from passing out from heat exhaustion.

In 2015, he attended in a bespoke Judge Dredd costume, though he made himself somewhat easier to recognize by refusing to shave his trademark blonde goatee. On the next year, he went as the main character of the Oscar-winning Leonardo-DiCaprio-mauled-by-a-bear movie The Revenant — that’s right, he dressed up as the bear.

And finally, in 2017, he went as King Arthur, in armor made by the actual costume designer from the 1981 movie Excalibur, with chain mail made for the Lord Of The Rings series underneath. He could have gone as Arthur from the Guy Ritchie movie that came out two months earlier, but everyone had already forgotten that.

Every year, Savage challenges fans to figure out which of the Comic-Con attendees is secretly him, and rewards them with bonuses like free tickets to his panel. And every year, at least one person figures it out, probably by whittling down the number of identity-obscuring cosplayers whose costume could only be put together if someone was earning Mythbusters dollars.

2

The Dallas Stars Wouldn’t Stop Playing Nickelback

Americans don’t care about ice hockey nearly as much as Canadians do, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own league. You can catch up on what’s going on with the NHL late at night on Fox Sports on a slow day. Well, if you’re not a fan, you might have missed the 2015 home game between the Dallas Stars and the Vancouver Canucks, during which the Stars decided that instead of playing “We Will Rock You” or “Seven Nation Army” to hype up the audience, they would only play Nickelback. Again and again. For the entire game.

Presumably, the intention was to troll Vancouver’s visiting fans. Nickelback is, after all, a (perhaps inexplicably) widely despised band from Vancouver. Unfortunately, there were as many if not more Dallas fans in attendance, who were just as annoyed by the sonic assault as the Vancouver visitors.

Toward the end of the game, the scoreboard displayed a graphic asking fans to text which artist they’d prefer never to hear again at a hockey game, providing three “options:” A) Nickelback, B) Nickelback, or C) Nickelback. It didn’t matter that the number was fake, because one answer was the clear winner (B, obviously). And in case you were wondering, yeah, Dallas won.

1

Guardians Of The Galaxy‘s Michael Rooker Showed Up On The Set Of Avengers: Infinity War Just To Mess With Marvel Fans

If you haven’t seen the second Guardians Of The Galaxy movie yet but intend to, then first of all, what are you waiting for? Secondly, this entry is going to have spoilers for that film. So either stop reading or see the damn movie already.

In early 2017, Marvel Studios started shooting Avengers: Infinity War, the long-awaited film that will see the 200 or so characters from the Marvel Cinematic Universe come together. At the same time, Guardians Of The Galaxy actor Michael Rooker started posting images on his Instagram account of himself visiting various locations in Georgia, where parts of the movie are being filmed, while wearing a cap emblazoned with the Infinity War logo. Hmm, what could he possibly be doing there?

Here’s the thing, though: Rooker’s character Yondu, the blue guy with the whistle-powered arrow thing, dies at the end of Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 2. It’s not one of those implied deaths that happens off-screen, either — he slowly freezes to death before our eyes in deep space while Chris Pratt screams “NO!” at him. The film later shows them holding a funeral and turning his corpse into fireworks. He’s definitely dead. And yet Rooker kept posting selfies from the Infinity War makeup trailer, with tape stuck over the logo on his cap that he’d previously “forgotten” to hide.

The obvious implication is that Yondu somehow survived his death and is going to show up to help kick Thanos’ ass in Infinity War. However, Guardians director James Gunn threw cold water on that suggestion when he was asked about it and answered bluntly that “Yondu is dead” and will remain like that “so long as I am involved with Marvel.”

So why the hell was Rooker on the set of Infinity War? According to Gunn, it was all a misdirection. Before the Guardians sequel hit theaters, fans started noticing that Rooker wasn’t on the Infinity War cast list and came close to guessing he was about to kick the bucket, so Marvel had him visit the set and Instagram himself in a branded hat to keep people guessing. Because dreams are meant to be smashed.

S. Peter Davis is the creator of the Three Minute Philosophy YouTube series, and is the author of the book Occam’s Nightmare.

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Or sign up for our Subscription Service for exclusive content, an ad-free experience, and more.

For more, check out 4 Legendary Pranks Pulled Off by Celebrities and 7 Celebrity Pranks That Backfired Horrifically.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out Why Every Prank Eventually Goes Wrong, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook. No foolin’.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2y8O590

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2zTMaKb via Viral News HQ

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6 Famous People Who Hilariously Trolled Their Own Fans

Some celebrities see fame as tremendous burden and distraction from their craft, whereas others treat it as a golden opportunity to screw with thousands of strangers for no logical reason save “shits and giggles.” We’re talking about such famous rascals as …

6

Chris Pratt Trolls His Fans With Bad Jennifer Lawrence Photos

Hollywood certainly made a weird choice when it needed a hot new action star and decided to pick that zaftig fellow from Parks And Rec. During the press tour for the 2016 science fiction thriller Passengers, which starred Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence, fans got overly enthusiastic about the pairing and started “shipping” them. (For those who aren’t up to speed on the internet lingo, that means they want the two to hook up and mash their bits together and make babies.) Followers of Pratt’s Instagram account started demanding that he take more photos of himself hanging out with Lawrence so that they could satisfy their vicarious need to imagine these two millionaires spending time with each other.

And so Pratt proceeded to do what the fans were demanding:

Chris Pratt/Instagram

Over the next few days, Pratt went on to post a number of Instagram selfies featuring himself and Lawrence together. Technically.

Chris Pratt/Instagram

Chris Pratt/Instagram

You can’t argue that he didn’t give the fans exactly what they’d asked for. Still, a bunch of them didn’t seem to appreciate the photos, leaving comments like “Why isn’t she ever full in the pic” or “Why you cut Jennifer out?” Some people are simply impossible to please.

5

Nirvana Would Fuck Up Their Live Shows In Delightfully Stupid Ways

Nirvana are much better-known for their catchy grunge tunes than for Kurt Cobain’s primal screaming, but it’s not like he was intentionally trying to ruin the songs. Unless he was playing live, that is. Here’s a compilation of clips of Cobain mumbling into the microphone, or putting on a fake stupid accent, or sometimes replacing his lyrics with caveman grunts:

It’s more or less the Charlie Brown teacher voice.

Read Next

6 Famous Writers Who Secretly Wrote Insane Pieces Of Trash

Sometimes, his reasons for messing with the audience were almost admirable. In 1992, for instance, Nirvana was booked to play a show in a packed stadium in Buenos Aires. The opening act, an all-girl band called Calamity Jane, had an extremely negative reception, getting pelted with mud and bottles from the audience. This pissed Cobain off, and he considered cancelling the performance, but bassist Krist Novoselic talked him into a compromise — they’d take the stage and do an incredibly shitty job. And so, rather than play any of their hits, the band began the opening riffs for songs like “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Come As You Are,” and then broke into renditions of their least-known songs, predominantly from their worst-rated album, Incesticide. As a finale, they did wind up finally playing a track from Nevermind — the hidden instrumental one at the end that you hear if you accidentally forget to stop the CD after ten minutes. The audience was furious. Cobain called it “one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had.”

That wasn’t Nirvana’s first foray into deliberately messing up their shows. A year earlier, they were invited to perform on the British show Top Of The Pops, but after agreeing, they found out that the show had a policy of playing the music pre-recorded and only the singer’s voice live. As a response, Cobain sang “Smells Like Teen Spirit” like Christopher Walken with his mouth full of marshmallows, the whole time pretending to play his guitar with an open hand like a robotic Disneyland attraction.

On top of all that, there’s the band’s remarkable disdain for their most famous song, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” — which was intended as a joke, a mockingly generic pop song full of nonsense lyrics and a guitar riff openly stolen from Boston’s “More Than A Feeling.” They hated that it became popular and resented playing it so much that, fairly often, they would rile up the crowd by playing the opening riff, and then instead launch into … a bad cover of “More Than A Feeling”.

4

Kiefer Sutherland Started Saying “Dammit!” More Often In 24 To Mess With Fans Playing A Drinking Game

24 may have been massively successful and popular, but nobody, from the fans to the producers to the stars, was ever under the impression that it was anything but a TV show based on a gimmick and starring one-note characters and cheap dialogue. It’s entertainment in the same way that Pringles is food — they don’t have to pretend it’s wholesome.

So when fans of the series endearingly mocked its hacky writing, the creators weren’t too proud to play along. Fans put together a drinking game in which you take a shot whenever Jack Bauer repeats one of his ten or so go-to lines, like demanding to know who someone is working for, saying the word “protocols,” or yelling “Dammit!” whenever something irked him:

In a 2006 interview with Rolling Stone, Sutherland revealed that he’d caught wind of the game and decided to have some fun with it. So in one episode, he made it a mission to say “Dammit!” as many times as he possibly could, even sneaking three into the same scene. In his words: “Boom, boom, boom. And that was just one scene. By the end, there had to be fourteen ‘Damn its.’ And I could just see all these college kids going, ‘Oh, fuck!'” (Which, incidentally, is what Jack would say if this show aired on cable.)

Now, this is the internet, so of course there’s a Wiki page cataloging every single “dammit” uttered on the show. Sutherland’s claim appears to be an exaggeration (his record was four d-bombs in one episode), but it’s true that the show got more liberal with the word as it went along — the penultimate season has 47 “dammits” between Jack and company, compared to the measly 30 in the first.

3

Mythbusters‘ Adam Savage Is Always Flamboyantly Lurking At Comic-Con

It’s probably not shocking to point out that Adam Savage, the non-walrus-stache half of Mythbusters, is kind of a nerd. What is shocking is that if you’re a dedicated nerd yourself, you might have met him without even knowing it.

Savage attends the San Diego Comic-Con every year, always wearing an elaborate costume which completely obscures his identity and prevents myth-busting enthusiasts from showering him with questions. He started in 2013 with an Admiral Ackbar costume (including an original mask from Return Of The Jedi), then topped that the next year with an exact replica of the original Alien spacesuit, complete with a facehugger model to cover his face. It was so hot that it required him to wear an ice vest to keep from passing out from heat exhaustion.

In 2015, he attended in a bespoke Judge Dredd costume, though he made himself somewhat easier to recognize by refusing to shave his trademark blonde goatee. On the next year, he went as the main character of the Oscar-winning Leonardo-DiCaprio-mauled-by-a-bear movie The Revenant — that’s right, he dressed up as the bear.

And finally, in 2017, he went as King Arthur, in armor made by the actual costume designer from the 1981 movie Excalibur, with chain mail made for the Lord Of The Rings series underneath. He could have gone as Arthur from the Guy Ritchie movie that came out two months earlier, but everyone had already forgotten that.

Every year, Savage challenges fans to figure out which of the Comic-Con attendees is secretly him, and rewards them with bonuses like free tickets to his panel. And every year, at least one person figures it out, probably by whittling down the number of identity-obscuring cosplayers whose costume could only be put together if someone was earning Mythbusters dollars.

2

The Dallas Stars Wouldn’t Stop Playing Nickelback

Americans don’t care about ice hockey nearly as much as Canadians do, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own league. You can catch up on what’s going on with the NHL late at night on Fox Sports on a slow day. Well, if you’re not a fan, you might have missed the 2015 home game between the Dallas Stars and the Vancouver Canucks, during which the Stars decided that instead of playing “We Will Rock You” or “Seven Nation Army” to hype up the audience, they would only play Nickelback. Again and again. For the entire game.

Presumably, the intention was to troll Vancouver’s visiting fans. Nickelback is, after all, a (perhaps inexplicably) widely despised band from Vancouver. Unfortunately, there were as many if not more Dallas fans in attendance, who were just as annoyed by the sonic assault as the Vancouver visitors.

Toward the end of the game, the scoreboard displayed a graphic asking fans to text which artist they’d prefer never to hear again at a hockey game, providing three “options:” A) Nickelback, B) Nickelback, or C) Nickelback. It didn’t matter that the number was fake, because one answer was the clear winner (B, obviously). And in case you were wondering, yeah, Dallas won.

1

Guardians Of The Galaxy‘s Michael Rooker Showed Up On The Set Of Avengers: Infinity War Just To Mess With Marvel Fans

If you haven’t seen the second Guardians Of The Galaxy movie yet but intend to, then first of all, what are you waiting for? Secondly, this entry is going to have spoilers for that film. So either stop reading or see the damn movie already.

In early 2017, Marvel Studios started shooting Avengers: Infinity War, the long-awaited film that will see the 200 or so characters from the Marvel Cinematic Universe come together. At the same time, Guardians Of The Galaxy actor Michael Rooker started posting images on his Instagram account of himself visiting various locations in Georgia, where parts of the movie are being filmed, while wearing a cap emblazoned with the Infinity War logo. Hmm, what could he possibly be doing there?

Here’s the thing, though: Rooker’s character Yondu, the blue guy with the whistle-powered arrow thing, dies at the end of Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 2. It’s not one of those implied deaths that happens off-screen, either — he slowly freezes to death before our eyes in deep space while Chris Pratt screams “NO!” at him. The film later shows them holding a funeral and turning his corpse into fireworks. He’s definitely dead. And yet Rooker kept posting selfies from the Infinity War makeup trailer, with tape stuck over the logo on his cap that he’d previously “forgotten” to hide.

The obvious implication is that Yondu somehow survived his death and is going to show up to help kick Thanos’ ass in Infinity War. However, Guardians director James Gunn threw cold water on that suggestion when he was asked about it and answered bluntly that “Yondu is dead” and will remain like that “so long as I am involved with Marvel.”

So why the hell was Rooker on the set of Infinity War? According to Gunn, it was all a misdirection. Before the Guardians sequel hit theaters, fans started noticing that Rooker wasn’t on the Infinity War cast list and came close to guessing he was about to kick the bucket, so Marvel had him visit the set and Instagram himself in a branded hat to keep people guessing. Because dreams are meant to be smashed.

S. Peter Davis is the creator of the Three Minute Philosophy YouTube series, and is the author of the book Occam’s Nightmare.

If you loved this article and want more content like this, support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page. Or sign up for our Subscription Service for exclusive content, an ad-free experience, and more.

For more, check out 4 Legendary Pranks Pulled Off by Celebrities and 7 Celebrity Pranks That Backfired Horrifically.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out Why Every Prank Eventually Goes Wrong, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook. No foolin’.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2y8O590

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2zTMaKb via Viral News HQ