#i wanted to torture him to death for the rest of the series i HATED that man with a fucking PASSION i don’t CARE that juliette shot him

[adventuringblind]

Misinterpreted

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: Fluff and Crack

Summary: She couldn't see what everyone else could. Not until it hits her all at one.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, a whole lotta blushing

Notes: Thanks to the requester for this idea!! Sorry it's so short...

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It's not like she meant to hate him. She just couldn't see what everybody else was.

Charles is just another person like the rest of them. Yet people still fawn over him like he's been sent from the god's.

At least, that's what she thought growing up. Going through karting and the feeder series with Charles was torture. She was just there, trying to carve her way into formula 1. He had everyone chanting his name, loved by many, the future golden boy of Ferrari.

She'd made it a point to stay far away from him. Simply because she never saw the point of conversing. Definitely not because she is terrified of speaking to people in general.

"Watcha staring at?" Max sidle's up next to her and wiggles her eyebrows. She squeaks out a noise and lets herself calm down from the startle. Leave it to her teammate to know what she's doing.

"None of your business."

"Really? Because it looks to me like you're staring at Charles."

She violently hushes Max. "Shh! Someone could hear you!"

Max rolls his eyes before smirking at her. He looks pointedly at the Monegasque with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Don't you dare-"

He whistles, successfully grabbing Charles' attention. He smiles and waves him over. "You'll be fine!"

She can feel the blush spreading across her face. Her hand slaps Max's shoulder playfully. She moves to make an escape, like she has to be anywhere else but here.

Max grabs her wrist, looking playful, but there is that look in his eyes that says he will force her if she doesn't comply. Needless to say, she sits back down. Her eyes fall in love with the dirty grey of the cement ground.

"Hello you two!" He sounds so happy for this early in the morning. She briefly looks at her watch.

Correction: He's so happy at two in the afternoon. Why is he even happy at this time? Charles, apparently.

"Charlie! We were just talking about you." Max jabs an elbow into her side.

"All good things, I hope. I know I'm not a favorite to some." She can feel his obnoxiously pretty eyes burning holes into her.

Max barks out a laugh, then looks between the two of them. "Okay, I can feel the tension. Which is saying something, since normally I'm the one creating it."

Charles gives a wary look to the female still sinking into herself. "I wouldn't be opposed to lessening the tension."

"Great! I'll send her your way tonight at eight."

"Sounds like a plan."

Charles leaves the two alone finally and she sobs in relief. "Why are you crying? I though you liked him!"

"I do! That's the problem."

~~~~~

Max drags her to some restaurant, sits her at the table with Charles and threatens to ram her off the line if she tries to leave. He followed through with his last threat. She's not willing to risk Christian's wrath for her pride.

She attempts conversation with Charles. It feels awkward and tense. The regret and insecurity rattles around her mind. Why is he even here? He could be off doing other things with people he actually likes.

"Why do you dislike me? I've been wanting to ask you for years so I could apologize for whatever I did."

And.... what? She stares at him in disbelief. Unsure of how to explain that she didn't have an interest in anything but racing until she got to F1 and finally realized how ethereal he looks?

"Didn't know you thought that way!" Charles is glowing.

"Did I say that aloud?"

"Yeah, but it's nice hearing such a compliment you."

She hides her face behind her menu, only to have Charles take it away from her. He reaches further and gently pulls her gaze towards him-

She's going to combust. This is how it ends. Death by forced and prolonged eye contact.

"So, if I asked you out again, would you say yes this time?"

She nods her head yes. A little too enthusiastically.

[munsons-hellfire]

The Power of Emotions Part 2 | Eris Vanserra

SUMMARY: You’ve been taken and Eris doesn’t know where you are. His father isn’t budging. Eris does the last thing he’d ever expect to do. But he'll do anything to get his mate back.

PAIRINGS: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, mature themes, description of torture, descriptions of death.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here is part 2, I will be back with a part 3. Apparently there is so much I can still do with this so I'm excited to share it. The next chapter will definitely explore what happened during the 4 months. I hope you enjoy this, and if you wish to be added to future taglist for this series please let me know in the comments.

WORD COUNT: 4.0K

Eris made it outside, he stopped where you were supposed to be. The only trace that you were there was your smell. He turned around in a circle looking trying to figure out where you’d gone. Suddenly he was thrown back against the wall with a knife to his throat again.

“Where is she, what did you do with her?” Azriel’s voice was stone cold as he held his blade to Eris’s throat. The rest of the Night Court was now outside looking between the two males.

“Azriel, let go of him.” Rhys commanded.

He struggled but he eventually did pull back from Eris. The male felt his side of the bond, it was glowing and strong, but there was nothing from your side of the bond. He wondered if it was because you and him hadn’t quite accepted the bond in a traditional way.

“What’s wrong?” Feyre asked, taking the look of fear on his face.

“I can’t feel her.” Eris cried out.

“What do you mean?” Rhys proceeded to ask.

“I can’t feel my mate, I can’t feel her through the bond.” Then he paused, he knew what had happened. He collapsed to the ground. “My father. He took Y/N.” The words struck each member of the Night Court. Eris then looked up at Rhys. “I think it’s time I call in for some help.”

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

Four long months had passed, you weren’t in the Autumn Court. That much was clear. You were on land that he owned, you wanted to believe that you were in the human lands. You knew that was a lie. You knew exactly where you were because while you had access to your power you couldn’t do anything else.

You couldn’t feel the bond to Eris, if there even was something you could hold on to. Beron had spent the last four months forcing you to torture people against your own will. If you failed to do so it was a beating, or a burning, or worse. He’d have one of his guards cut your body. That was worse than the burns and the beating.

Currently you were lying on the floor, some of the cuts on your body were fresh and still bleeding. You were in the same outfit you’d been in the day that Beron had taken you away from everyone. The dress had been ripped in certain places but the touch of a knife. The door’s opened and you slowly looked up to see Beron staring down at you.

“Get up, Empath.” His voice was stern. You followed, fearing what might happen today if you didn’t listen to him. You kept your eyes down, your arms to your side as you followed him down the hallway to another room. The door opened and Beron looked at you.

“What do I need to do?” You asked in a quiet voice.

“You're going to find out the same thing you’ve been searching for the last 4 months. I need to find that stone.” Beron told you.

You gave him a nod and walked into the room. Beron had been searching for a stone that would allow him to further gain the power that he was losing. His son was itching to take over his throne; he could feel it. He needed access to that stone, though from what you’d gathered the stone wasn’t for him it was for you.

The stone would allow you to amplify your powers as an Empath. You weren’t sure what it would do to you or for you but you knew it wouldn’t do Beron any good. The door was closed and Beron disappeared leaving to do the thing you hated most right now.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

Azriel landed outside Tamlin’s mansion. The High Lords and Ladies had been here coming up with a game plan trying to figure out where Beron had taken you. Azriel had discovered where you were, and he was going to deliver the news to your sisters and your mate. He as well as Nesta and the others had learned to put what happened aside.

Eris couldn’t sleep much less have the energy to argue with any of the Inner Circle about his almost non existent relationship with you. But the second he had you in his arms he’d take you away from them. He hoped that you wanted to accept the bond, because he was itching to do so. Azriel walked into the mansion and headed towards Tamlin’s war room. Eye’s found him when he opened the doors and stood there searching for Eris.

“I know where Y/N is.” Azriel said, speaking to Eris.

“Where?” Eris asked.

“He’s taken her to Hybern. He’s looking for a stone.” Azriel walked to the edge of the table.

“Why? What stone?” Tarquin asked.

“According to legend there is a stone out there that can heighten any power. Except when we were learning more about Empaths we discovered that this stone is solely for an Empath.” Feyre explained looking around the room.

“So, Y/N can heighten her power?” Lucien asked, looking at his friend.

“Apparently.”

“We won’t let that happen.” Eris said, looking at Feyre. “She won’t touch that stone, I won’t let her.”

“What happens if she gets a hold of the stone?” Helion went on to ask.

“She could kill everyone.” Rhys said calmly.

“Let’s go then, before she finds out where the stone is.” Nesta spoke. Eris was the first to winnow away. The others followed behind him.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

You stood next to Beron in the middle of the horrid wasteland in the human realm. You had located the stone and you were going to dig it up and use it against Beron before he could figure out that he couldn’t use it. Then you were going to find out how to get back to your mate. Four months was too long for you to be away from him.

You were itching to accept the bond now more than ever. The two of you stood in the woods in the dead of night. You could feel the stone calling out to you. Beron had a few members of his guard with him as well just in case someone might attack.

“Come find me my darling Empath.” The voice called out to you. It was such a beautiful voice you wanted to follow it but not with Beron still by your side. He started talking to his guards, sending them off, all except two.

“One goes with you, the other stays here with me. You will find that stone and bring it back.” You didn’t answer him so Beron warmed his hand and grabbed a hold of your bare arm. Pain ran through your body as you looked down at where his hand was.

“Ow.” You cried out, and that only made his grip tighter on your arm. Then another warmed hand reached your other arm. The pain was getting worse and you tried to pull away. You couldn’t handle it anymore, you let everything out. The male fell to the ground along with the others, then you took your chance and ran.

The stone was humming as you ran closer and closer. You were gasping for air, your lungs on fire. The pain from Beron’s touch still hurting and rushing through your body. You were feeling dizzy and needed to get to that stone so you could use it to kill Beron and his men. Suddenly a body collided with yours. You hit your head on a rock when you made an impact with the ground.

A male pushed your shoulders down, reached for a knife and held it to your skin by your chest. A wicked smile brushed his lips as he stared down at you. The moonlight was bright and shining down on the two of you.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do this.” He leaned down closer to you, the blade touched your skin that wasn’t covered by the dress. He started to pull the blade back, cutting into your skin.

“Ah.” You cried out, closing your eyes as tears started to spring free.

“Such pretty cries.” He pulled the blade up to your neck and cut again, blood was falling from the freshly cut wounds. Then he moved to your right arm just above the handprint. The blade touched your skin, you had enough. You reached for something, anything that would help get this male. You mostly felt dirt underneath your hands, but then, a rock.

You weren’t sure if it was the one that you’d fallen on but you grabbed it and swung it into the head of the male. He fell off you with a scream dropping the knife next to your body. With a groan you picked yourself up from the ground reaching for the knife and held it tightly. The male was stopped by a tree. He started to pick himself up so you followed behind picking yourself up and running towards him.

The knife made contact with his chest and he stared straight at you. A groan left his mouth, the last sound he’d make. “Such pretty cries.” You remarked pulling the blade out and stabbing him again. He slumped forward and fell to the ground. You turned from the male and continued running through the woods until you felt a sense of relief.

The stone was glowing bright underneath the ground but you didn’t need to see it to know where it was. Falling to your knees you used your hands to dig the dirt up. As you got closer to the stone the glow started to show. Finally you were looking at it entirely. Your hand reached out for it.

“You’ve found me, Empath.” The voice said, happiness evident.

You could feel your power coursing through you, so strong, so powerful. “Give it here, Empath.” You stood deathly still hearing Beron’s voice. You turned slightly to look back at the High Lord.

“No.” You breathed out softly. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

He grunted, and started to move closer to you. You wanted to panic, you hadn’t trained with Cassian and Azriel, and your sister and friends for four months. You knew everything was still in there but you knew what you needed to do. You stepped forward, and took off running into the male knocking him back slightly.

He smirked at you. “Is that the best you can do, Empath?” He was starting to get on your nerves.

“Stop calling me Empath. I have a name.” You moved closer and punched him in the face. Then you pulled your hand back again and did the same thing over and over dropping the stone in the process. You didn’t know where the energy had come from but it was there. You felt Beron reaching for something, you grabbed a hold of his wrist and snatched what he had gone for.

It was another knife in your hands, you looked up at Beron to see the fear and panic in his eyes as he looked at you. A smirk graced your lips as you pulled your hand back and held it in the air but didn’t make a step to do anything.

“I’ve heard so much about you from my family. The rumors were true considering everything you’ve done to me in the span of four months. But I’ll make this very clear, High Lord. You will never ever harm another soul again, and you will never hurt your wife, or your sons again.”

You brought the knife down into his chest. You didn’t stop, tears streamed down your face, cries leaving your mouth. Suddenly hands wrapped around you, panic covered your body and you screamed at the top of your lungs. You were pulled away from Beron’s lifeless body.

“I’m here my love.” His voice, his handsome voice ran through your ears. You opened your eyes and saw Eris. His amber eyes, his red hair, his beautiful face. His hands were on your face. “It’s okay.” He told you. You could feel the gold bond singing so brightly. You hugged him tightly and cried into his chest.

The others stood around, they watched the scene unfold. Rhysand had seen you kill Beron. He was with Eris when you’d done it. He watched the power transfer over to Eris now that Beron was no longer alive. In just this moment alone, seeing Eris hold onto you in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, he knew that the Mother had blessed you with the right mate. Eris pulled back to look down at you.

“I want to accept the bond.” You whispered, but it was loud enough that not only had he heard it but everyone else that was there had heard it too.

“We will, but right now I want to take you home and clean you up. Can I do that, Little Fox?” He asked. You only nodded. Eris looked up at Rhys, he gave a nod and the two of you disappeared. He took you back to your home, not his.

“Why?” You asked, as you looked around in the familiar room. Your room.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here than at my home. When you’ve healed I will take you, don't worry.” You gave a nod. He walked out of your room and into the bathroom while you sat down on the bed.

It felt uncomfortable to be on the bed so you stood back up and stood in the center of the room. Four months was too long for you, everything felt too comfy for you. A knock on the door indicated that someone was outside. You still stood there, Eris entered your bedroom briefly glancing at you and taking notice of your posture. He opened the door, Rhys and Feyre were there with their healer.

He stepped aside and the three walked in. Madja walked over to you while Rhys and Feyre stood with Eris. They were huddled in a circle while Madja was taking a look over you. Feyre placed her eyes on Eris.

“Has she said anything?” The High Lady questioned, concerned running from her voice.

“No, not really. She was confused why I brought her here and not to Autumn.” Eris explained.

“Do you mind if I go talk to her?” Rhys asked the male that would be his brother-in-law soon enough. Eris gave a nod of his head and Rhys walked away from them. He moved over to Madja who was still examining you. Your eyes found Rhys as he stepped near you.

“Can you show me everything that happened, Y/N?” He asked in your mind.

“Why? I-I can’t.” You whispered back to him, eyes pleading with him.

“I need to know what happened, Y/N. I need to know what Beron did to you.” His voice wasn’t cold but concerned. It had been so long since you’d seen Rhys show this side to you. It was almost like he was angry with what had happened to you. “It’s because I am. I told Feyre that I would keep you safe from that male. That I wouldn’t let him take you away from her again. It broke me to see Feyre cry herself to sleep because you were missing. I failed you, and I can never take that back. But I can learn from what Beron did, and Eris and I can find a way to prevent someone from taking you away from all of us again.”

You looked at him, your mouth gaping as the words came out. So you nodded your head, you let your mental shield down and allowed Rhys to enter. You showed him everything that happened after you had fallen out of the window. Tears fell down your face by the time he left your mind. Madja was almost finished, he walked over to Feyre and Eris and shared everything with them.

You stood still in the middle of the room as Madja left you and walked over to the High Lord and Lady and the newly appointed High Lord. All eyes were on her as she looked around at the three of them.

“I was able to heal the cuts left on her body, the recent ones,” Eris looked at you, a pained look on his face. “I was able to heal the recent burn marks as well. From what I could tell she had no broken bones. However, there is a lot of trauma she will have to work through. I think it's best that she stays here in the Night Court until she’s healed enough from the trauma.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Madja.” Rhys mentioned. The female healer looked at her High Lord. “Eris, will have to go back to his Court eventually, she won’t do good with the separation. She spent four months locked away from Eris.”

“Very well. But she will still need a support system in Autumn. Whoever she’s close with, excluding her mate, she needs them there at least every other day in order to heal.”

Feyre gave a nod of her head. “We’ll set up a schedule. We’ll make sure someone is with her every other day.” Eris gave a nod in agreement. Madja smiled then excused herself. Feyre and Rhys eyed Eris as he stared at you.

“We’ll let you take care of her, if you need anything just let us know.” Rhys said, as he and Feyre walked over to the door. Eris moved over to you, he placed a gentle hand on your elbow. He didn’t miss the way you jumped at the touch.

“It’s just me, I promise you’ll be safe.” His voice echoed through your ears. You forced a smile to your lips but Eris noticed that it wasn’t reaching your eyes. “Do you want me to help you clean up?” He asked tenderly. You only gave a nod of your head, you were finding words hard to speak.

Eris gently walked you into the bathroom. He helped you undress, helped you climb into the tub. Once you were in you pulled your knees to your chest. Eris rolled his sleeves up, he sat on his knees and started to clean your body.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Eris questioned, breaking the silence that had been filling the room.

“When can we go to your home? I mean, is that… Who is taking over his Court?” Finally you had spoken, it was slightly chipped and broken but Eris only wanted you to talk. At least then you wouldn’t be stuck in your head.

“I am.” He had said it with so much pride, and it made your heart beat faster. Without realizing it you had sent a wave of love down the bond. Eris felt it as he brought a brush to your hair to get the knots out.

“How?”

“Rhys and I, we were in the woods. We got there when you killed him, his power transferred over to me. I was shocked, but I didn’t have time to register what had happened because you needed me. I needed you to know that I was here, that I had found you.”

Finally you turned in the tub and stared up at your mate. “I’m sorry you saw that, me killing your father.”

“Don’t be, Little Fox. He was going to die anyway, Rhys and I had been working together the last 6 years to come up with a plan to overthrow the male. While I hate that he’s brought so much trauma to you, I am so beyond grateful that you were able to take a piece from him by killing him.”

A soft smile graced your lips, and this time it reached your eyes. Eris released a small breath, he knew that these next few months were going to be long. When you were finished in the bath Eris helped you out, dried your body and put clothes on. He carried you over to the bed and climbed in with you. Eris held you close to his body, his heat radiating off him and onto you.

At some point you and Eris had fallen asleep, Eris still held tightly on you. Nightmares were plaguing your mind. The pain that Beron had caused you, the pain that his men inflicted when Beron was to bored to torture you himself. You were shaking, sweat falling down your body. But worst of all you couldn’t escape the never ending nightmare.

Eris woke up to your screams echoing the room. He grabbed a hold of your body, warming his hands hoping it might help. That move only made you panic internally, you didn’t know how to control the new strength of your powers. Eris could feel the pain you were inflicting on him. He groaned trying to get past it so he could help you. He pulled his hands back from your skin, moved away from your body.

The pain was still there but the further away he was the better he got. “Rhys.” He called out, hoping the Daemati would hear his call. Moments later the door opened, Feyre and Rhys ran into the room with Azriel right behind him.

“What’s happening?” Feyre asked, walking towards her sister.

“No. Don’t get closer to her.” He whispered as he moved around the room and pulled Feyre back from you.

“What? Why?” The panic was evident in the High Lady’s voice as she looked at Eris.

“I believe that she can push her emotions out and use them as a weapon.” He paused, glancing around the room before his eyes finally landed on your body. You were still shaking, soft echoes of screams leaving your throat. He pulled his amber eyes away from you and looked at Rhys. “She touched that stone and amplified her powers. I tried to wake her up, but she was shielding herself against me and it hurt.”

“Well, that’s new.” Rhys remarked, staring at his sister in-law.

“What are we going to do then?” Azriel questioned.

“You have to go into her mind. I’m starting to wonder if she actually showed you everything that happened.”

“What are you saying?” Rhys asked, concerned in his voice.

“I’m saying that whatever is causing this, it’s worse than what she showed us, which means she didn’t show you everything.���

“I will put her to sleep. In the morning we’ll come up with a plan.”

Everyone agreed with the idea. Rhys moved as close as he could. He slipped into your mind, it was utter chaos and didn’t know where to go. Eris watched as Rhys stood still doing what his power allowed him to do. Finally Rhys pulled back and looked at them.

“She’s asleep. Her mind, it was chaos, all over the place.” Rhys paused, violet eyes landing on Feyre as he said his next words. “It looks like they tortured her with the memories of the Cauldron. All that work we did with her, to help heal her it’s gone. All gone.” Rhys wanted to fall to the ground, he truly felt that he had failed you.

“That’s not possible.” Feyre said.

“Beron, he knew how to break through any trauma and use it against them. That’s probably what he did with her. He somehow made her believe that she’d probably go back into the Cauldron if she failed.”

“This is a lot worse than we thought.” Rhys whispered. He looked to his brother. “Your only mission is to find out what exactly Beron did to Y/N. I will talk to Helion and see if there's anything further that might help. We will figure this out.”

Feyre and Eris gave a nod of their heads, but they had their eyes on you. You were calm now, you looked so peaceful. Eris walked away from them, climbed into the bed and pulled you close to his body. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on top of your head.

“We’re going to figure this out, Little Fox. I promise.” He whispered, not sure if you could truly hear him. The others took that as a sign and stepped out of the room leaving you with your mate. Tomorrow would be another day, and soon enough everything would be figured out.

TAGLIST: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @lo0oserlex @thena101 @glaciuswduo @melsunshine @awkardnerd @glitterypirateduck @mariahoedt @acourtofbatboydreams @fuzzy6306 @impossibelle

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (11)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Authors' Note: Brief mentions of homophobia, bullying, and attempted suicide, as well as suggestive themes ahead. Finally, I wanted to do a shout-out to these underrated RE characters appearing in my fic: let’s hear it for my boys, Patrick (Infinite Darkness) and Kevin Ryman (Outbreak)! 🥰

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 11: Hideous

Given how things had blown up between you and Leon in public, it was only natural that word of your outburst had gotten around. Within a few minutes, you had been accosted by an irate-looking man and his entourage kindly informing the both of you, “If you can’t control yourself on these grounds, then perhaps Elysium is not the place for you.”

Were you always meant to suffer in silence? Why was it so highly lauded? Would you win some sort of prize for not running around, kicking and screaming your lungs out? The one thing you knew, though, was that at least for tonight, you had been humiliated and ungraciously banished from Elysium.

Having to make the journey back home with Leon made your skin crawl, but you survived it, like you always do. It seemed as if every time you took a step forward, something would come around and set you two steps back. Like a Russian doll, opening the closet revealed not just a single skeleton, but countless piles hidden within layers upon layers of boxes. You were tired of this charade, tired of what else might lie beneath the earth, if you dug a little deeper.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you almost didn’t hear him say, “I gave the documents to the Tremere Primogen.” It was quiet and unassuming, without any fanfare. He didn’t expect it to absolve him of his sins, but he just wanted you to know that he hadn’t played God and condemned another this time.

Was it too late? You never liked things being so finite, but you were tempted to end it there and then. However, a question lingered on your mind. “Who is Sherry?”

You were back at his apartment and he had busied himself cleaning the glasses you had drunken out from earlier to avoid addressing the elephant in the room. One of them slipped out of his hands, landing with a thunk at the bottom of the sink as the water continued running from the tap. 

His time with you was up; judgment had finally come for him. He had made a promise to you a few nights ago to always be honest with you, and he was going to keep it, regardless of the consequences. Shutting off the tap, he gripped the sides of the metallic basin. A knot in his chest tightened and he felt like he was suffocating.

“She was one of the vessels,” he admitted, and without further prompting, he revealed the detail that would damn him the most, “I found her when she was eight years old.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he heard your loud gasp as fat tears streaked down his face. Everything he had was lost in a matter of seconds. If by some miracle you hadn’t already hated him before, you would hate him for the rest of his unlife now. Blood pooled in his mouth as he bit down hard on his tongue.

“You’re—”

He turned around, facing you for the first time since you’d gotten back. “A monster? Yes, that’s what I am.”

“Why?” You felt the air escape your lungs with a hiss, as if through a puncture wound.

He didn’t want to make any more excuses. You knew what was implying when he simply replied, “For Ada.”

There was nothing else left to hide. He had laid everything bare before you. You saw him as who he was now, in all his vulnerability. Just a man who had chipped away at his soul to be loved and, along the way, convinced himself that this was all there was to it.

The expression on your face hardened, eyeing him like he would never be redeemed. It was the final straw and whatever shred of empathy you had for him was gone. He would do anything to win you back, going down on his knees, begging and groveling, but you had already made up your mind. He just didn’t want to see you say it.

So, he was back at the sink again, holding the glass that had fallen in earlier with a shaky hand. He mouthed the words as you uttered them, as though he knew it by heart.

“When all of this is over, I’m leaving you for good.”

Minutes ticked away into hours. You had already gone to bed, while he stared down the basin, like a bottomless pit reflecting back into him. He didn’t even wince when the glass crushed in his hand, its shards piercing and embedding into his skins as thick, dark red blood ran in rivulets to his fingertips. He watched as it dripped like black tar heroin into the drain, at the same time, wondering, Is that all there is?

━━━━━━━━━━━

Your mind was all over the place at the cafe. It wasn’t like you to forget the program lineup, as well as the logistics of what needed to go where. You even ended up creating a mess when it came to sorting out the lighting and sound tech for the cabaret show that evening. Your colleagues shot you concerned looks as you walked around in a daze like a zombie.

“Do you think she’s burnt out?”

“Probably having an off night.”

“She’s always been a bit of a workaholic.”

Funny how Auspex just kicked in for you naturally now, and you could hear snippets of conversation from people who thought they were being so secretive.

Feeling a hand on the back of your shoulder and you spun around, coming face-to-face with Patrick. “Hey, why don’t you take it easy tonight?” he suggested. “I could cover for you. Besides, you’re the boss here.”

“One of them,” you corrected, as you stubbornly continued to unwind the equipment cords, plugging them in along the marked out areas on stage.

“Yeah, but er, the rest aren’t as active,” he reasoned.

“So?” You shrugged, heading off to the other end of the stage to check on the mic stands.

Like an obedient puppy, he continued tailing you, following closely behind. “Something’s off with you…” He wrinkled his nose. “Is it Leon?”

Upon hearing his name, you fumbled with the mic, nearly dropping it if not for your Celerity-induced reflexes. “Fuck, shit!” You held onto the stand, stabilizing yourself as you pressed your lips into a thin line.

“Alright, that’s it,” he stated sternly, prying the mic and stand away from your grip. “Head out back and I’ll join you — the usual spot.”

Before you could open your mouth to protest, he already signaled for another employee to take over. “I mean it,” he scolded. “You’re not lifting another finger.”

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair which had begun to stick along the sides of your face in the humidity. Was the ventilation system broken again?

"I can still see you thinking about work," he said, narrowing his eyes and using both hands to shoo you away from the stage.

You made a fuss and grumbled, but did as you were told and went out into the cold alleyway. Sitting alongside a curb, you stretched out your legs and waited for Patrick to arrive.

“Hm, Gauloises,” you heard his voice coming from behind as you fiddled with the cigarette pack. “Fancy.” He plopped down beside you.

There were only two sticks left now, as you’d chain-smoked the rest in the last nights. In fact, you’d gone through a bunch of them on the way to work. You couldn’t get any nicotine high out of it, but the feel and taste of them against your lips comforted you.

“Wanna split the last two?” You extended the pack towards him.

“Sure.” He fished one out, lighting it straight away before helping you with yours. You tried to hold back your flinching. “Where’d ya get them from anyway?”

“Leon’s ex.”

“Oh,” he coughed out, choking on the smoke. “Well, that must’ve been awkward.” Cocking an eyebrow at you, he suggested, “Is this what it’s about then? He’s got his panties in a twist after seeing her?”

Sort of, but not really. “More like, skeletons in the closet, y’know?” You exhaled a long train of smoke, which coiled and entwined like tendrils in the air.

“Right.” He paused, growing unusually silent as if contemplating on something. “And you’re wondering if he’s a good guy.”

You locked eyes with him, probing for answers. How the fuck did you know? you wanted to ask.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t always like this,” he offered.

“You mean, this annoying?” you jested, snickering as he smacked your arm with the back of his hand.

“Hey, fuck you.” He wagged his finger in your face. “And I meant being comfortable with who I am, liking both men and women — that sort of thing.”

Patrick had moved to Raccoon City from a small town in the middle-of-nowhere, and you could only imagine how it must’ve been like living in a place where the community encroached upon everything that you did. Stifling, was the word.

“I’ve done some stuff in the past I’m not proud of,” he continued. “People can really make some fucked up decisions when put in a situation.”

“You don’t say…” you trailed off as your lips curled into a cynical half-smile.

He glanced over at you skeptically and huffed, “What if I told you that I outed a guy I was in love with, because I didn’t want to get caught?”

You frowned, considering his words as you stared at your smoldering cigarette which had disintegrated into a stub.

“That I bullied and ostracized him after we kissed, just so I could cover my tracks?” he added. “It got so bad that he had to move away. And the last I heard, he tried to—”

You saw him clench his jaw as he cleared his throat, wringing his hands uneasily. He didn’t need to complete his sentence for you to know what he was alluding to.

“Am I a good guy, then?” he forced out, his voice tense and paper-thin, like a razor blade slicing through flesh.

You mulled over what he had shared with you as the crisp, icy wind nipped at your cheeks and your breath came out in misty puffs. “You’re a good friend,” you finally determined.

He draped his arm around your shoulders, jostling you a little as you smiled at each other in understanding. “I can’t change what I did back then,” he conceded. “But what matters is what I do next. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”

Bumping his head playfully against yours, he posed a final question, “So, what’s Leon like now?”

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Feign to the right!”

“There you go.”

“Hold your guard up!”

A string of commands were barked out by the beefy brunette man in front of you, while you worked up a sweat, throwing quick jabs at him as he countered them with ease. You kept your feet light and springy, deftly ducking and sidestepping as he aimed a roundhouse kick at your ribs.

“Nice one!” his sister yelled through her cupped hands at the sidelines.

For a brief moment, you got distracted and found Chris’ fist landing squarely on your jaw in a brutal left hook which sent you sprawling to the ground. 

“Ow…” you groaned, rubbing the side of your face sorely as you scrambled to your feet.

Your mentor folded his arms, throwing you a harsh look as he admonished, “What did I say about blind spots?”

“Never have your back to the enemy,” you recited monotonously. “Always be aware of your surroundings.”

“Hey, Chris, lighten up will ya?” the redhead called out. “She’s doing just fine for a start.”

He sucked his teeth in response before spitting sharply at his side onto the dusty ground. “Fine, take five,” he relented. “We’ll work on some drills next.”

“Well, he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t go easy,” you muttered as Claire jogged up towards you.

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a pusher,” she explained, shrugging apologetically. “Used to be in the military.”

“Not surprised.” 

You peered around the vast, minimalistic space you were in. It was an industrial warehouse at the west end of Euston Street that had been converted into a makeshift gym. The bare, unpainted walls and stripped back decor gave it an illicit vibe akin to an underground fight club. Aggressive, punk rock music blared from the stereos, accompanied by the rhythmic clunks of metal hitting the ground as the weightlifters in their muscle tanks did their reps. 

From what you could see, it appeared to be a popular Anarch hangout, with the majority of them likely coming from the Brujah clan. The other Kindred at the corners of the room eyed you suspiciously as they wrapped their hands in strips of cloth for sparring practice. There were talks of you being a Cammy spy, fears that the Redfields tried to allay.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s with us,” they said, pulling you along behind them as they got bombarded with questions, which they took in their stride.

“Yeah, Leon’s childe.”

“Yes, that Leon. The one and only, you idiot.”

“So? He got to her first. Sucks to be you.”

It seemed like Leon’s name carried a certain weight to it. He must’ve been relatively respected within their social circles. You still couldn’t imagine him hanging around areas like this. It seemed too ‘unrefined’ for someone of his standing.

“I showed Leon a few tricks back in the day,” Chris boasted, his eyes twinkling with a faraway look as he recalled fond memories. 

“The same tricks you’re gonna teach me, right?” you prompted, trying your luck.

He threw back his head and laughed. “Gotta say, I like your spunk, kid. But you don’t have any basic training,” he pointed out. “So, learn to walk before you run.”

And that’s how you ended up here, being pushed to your limits as Chris dumped exercise after exercise onto you, and gave you an ass whooping during one of the practice fights. You were exhausted by the end of it, collapsing in a heap on the dirt floor, as you wiped the sweat and grime off your brow.

In fact, you found out that you actually weren’t as strong as you thought you were. The time you ripped off Leon’s bedpost was an anomaly. You’d probably triggered a Blood Surge without knowing, which temporarily buffed your physical strength. Another way was to learn the Potence Discipline, which came naturally to Brujahs and some other clans, but not yours. However, in order to do that, you would need to find the right teacher who possessed those Disciplines and drink from them before your lessons could begin. That was not something you were prepared to do, though Chris had mentioned a third way, and that was by training with the blood to enhance your physical capabilities.

“Rough night, huh?” One of the Kindred who’d been watching you from the start approached, uncapping what looked like a plastic water bottle, but topped up with blood instead.

“Yeah, I’m kinda new to all of this actually,” you replied modestly.

“Well, you got a tough trainer.” She squatted next to you, gulping down the liquid in satisfaction. “But it’ll be good for you in the long run.”

You jerked your chin towards her bottle. “How’d you get one of those?” 

It was an innocent question, but the bewilderment on her face told you that you knew close to nothing about their world, having been sheltered all this while by Leon. Your cheeks grew warm.

“Is that a trick question, or—?” she snorted, only to realize you’d been genuine. “Oh, um, I hunted and drained the victim?”

She followed up with another query, “Didn’t you already have your first kill?”

“What?!” you blurted out, not quite sure if you misunderstood her words.

“Like, the first person you drank from when you turned.” She moved her hands around wildly, as though it would aid in her explanation. “’Cause there’s no way they didn’t end up dead with that kind of hunger frenzy.”

“No, no… it wasn’t like that,” you sputtered, still shocked at what she had divulged. “Le— My sire helped me.”

“Wow, you’re lucky,” she huffed, clearly astounded and simultaneously jealous by the revelation you’d shared. “Some of us didn’t even get anything left for us to eat.”

“You mean, your sires just abandoned you?” you quizzed, baffled by how cruel some Kindred could be. Then again, it shouldn’t have surprised you, seeing as how you’d been treated by the rest of the Camarilla.

She nodded solemnly in response. “Yeah, pretty common among our lot, actually.” 

Waving to another group that had entered into the building, she mentioned, “Caitiffs, over there.”

Caitiff was a catch-all term used for Kindred who didn’t belong to any clan, either because they didn’t know who their sire was, or they had been rejected by their clan as the blood didn’t take. The latter meant that they had no real lineage, including the clane bane and its noticeable features. They were considered to be at the bottom of the social hierarchy, just above the Thin-Bloods.

“Why do you think we’re part of the Anarchs?” she asked rhetorically. “’Cause there was nowhere else for us to go.”

The more you talked with the rest of the group, the more you realized that Leon had been shouldering most of the burdens that should’ve been yours to carry. While other fledglings scrounged around doing someone else’s dirty deeds to be able to survive the next night, you didn’t have to move a muscle. Simply because Leon had taken it upon himself to do it for you. 

What’s Leon like now? Patrick’s question from the previous night echoed in your ears.

Kind, caring, protective — were the words that came up spontaneously. It astonished you that insults like disgusting, vile, revolting didn’t. But he had also been incredibly dense and obtuse at times. You facepalmed and stifled a laugh at the recollection of him dressing you in Ada’s raunchy lingerie set after the night of your Embrace. You’d been outraged at everything then, and when you’d asked him why he had done that, he blushed furiously and stammered, “I-I thought you would feel more comfortable in, uh, um… women’s clothes?”

“What’s so funny?” one of the Anarchs asked, bringing you back to reality.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, shaking your head and shrugging off the residual thoughts that lingered. But like a parasite lodged deep within the crevices of your skull, you couldn’t scrub the image of him abducting a child from your mind. 

That was why you were here, you reminded yourself severely. Not to think about the small pockets of good times with Leon that brought you much-needed joy. Not to make excuses for how he could be redeemed. He wasn’t your little project to work on. You wanted to be free and rid of this man once and for all. You were here to learn how to be independent and self-sufficient, so you would never have to rely on him again.

“How do you usually feed, Claire?” you popped the question out of the blue, so much so that she thought you were joking, just like the younger Anarch.

“What has Leon been weaning you off? Blood bags?” she giggled until she saw the look on your face. “Wait, you’re actually serious?”

An exasperated groan escaped her throat. “He really needs to stop babying you.”

“Tell me about it.” You leaned back against your elbows as you idly watched the others train.

“Well, I shouldn’t be laughing ’cause I’m actually a Bagger myself,” she disclosed. “Working at the charity blood drive at the hospital gives me a couple of privileges when it comes to siphoning off some supplies.”

Raising a finger in front of your face, she preempted your next question, “And no, sorry, I got dibs on that first. You’ll have to find your own way.”

“What other ways are there?” you pondered out loud.

“I dunno, be creative,” she suggested unhelpfully. “My brother’s more the stalk and knock ’em out kind. The Anarch you spoke with earlier prefers sleeping victims…”

She shuffled from her stretched-out position back to sitting on her bum. “Whatever you choose, remember that we’re predators, so think like one. That said, these are just our feeding preferences. In a pinch, you’ll do anything it takes to survive.”

You hummed, contemplating her lengthy exposition on the topic. If there was one thing you’d been good at in life, it was talking with people, getting them excited about an idea, making them feel heard and leaving them wanting more. There were two ways to go about this: either you became a charismatic cult leader or you resorted to the cheesy but tried-and-tested method of picking people up at parties. Naturally, you opted for the latter.

When you told Claire about your plan, she grinned cheekily. “Never took you as the seductive Siren type.”

“I’m not having sex with anyone,” you protested. “Just gonna ask if they’d let me do some weird shit to them.”

“Ooh, like a blood kink sorta thing?” Placing her chin between her fingers, she rubbed her bottom lip in anticipation. “That’s pretty smart, but also on the borderline of a Masquerade breach. You should be careful.”

“It’s kinda what I thought Leon had at first to be honest,” you admitted.

Her hand flew up to her mouth, covering it as she erupted in a burst of raucous cackles. Tears fell from her eyes and her shoulders heaved up and down. Her whole body shook uncontrollably.

“Hah— oh god— jeez,” she wheezed, grabbing onto your shoulder for support. “You’re killin’ me!”

Apparently, it spread like wildfire, since the rest of the crowd reacted similarly, except Chris, whose cheeks were dusted in light pink as he looked away in embarrassment. You never thought you’d be gossiping behind your sire’s back, but it was too late to retract that statement now.

You tried to spend most of these nights away from Leon’s apartment, hoping to get back each time when he had already nodded off to sleep, but you had no such luck. He’d be sitting there either in front of his desk or at the TV waiting for you like a strict parent. Once you got in, he’d glance over at you briefly, his eyes laden with grief, before quietly switching off the lights for bed. 

The change in atmosphere was jarring; you much preferred the liveliness of the cafe and the Anarch hangout, compared to the oppressive heaviness you felt at the apartment. You tossed and turned in bed, unable to find sleep, only to hear the rustling of sheets coming from downstairs, confirming that your companion suffered from the same fate. It was only in the very last moments before sunrise that your body automatically switched off like a clock.

No matter how well you tried to hide the cuts and bruises you returned with from your training sessions with Chris, nothing could elude Leon’s hawk-like scrutiny. He didn’t call you out on it initially, merely giving you perturbed looks, a raised eyebrow here and there, accompanied by a frown. It wasn't until one night, when you returned home with broken knuckles after getting a little over-enthusiastic during a combat fighting session, that he spoke up.

“Are you thrill-seeking, or are you purposely picking fights I don’t know about?” his sharp voice rang out across the room.

You ignored him, heading straight into the bathroom as you loaded a pail with cold water and ice. Plunging your fist into it, you stuffed a towel into your mouth to muffle your whimpers. Then, you roused the blood, focusing your concentration on mending the wound. Within seconds, your mangled hand fixed itself like machine parts slotting into place, becoming brand new again. A pang of hunger arose deep within the bowels of your stomach and you growled reflexively. 

Shit, you needed blood. But you refused to touch the blood bags that Leon had been procuring for you night after night.

At that point, Leon stormed in. “Hey, answer me!” he demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously.

You stood up, facing him as you scoffed, “What’re you, my dad or something?”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With a brazen look on your face, you stripped off in front of him. He stared at you in shock before averting his gaze out of respect for your modesty.

Stepping into the shower, you ran the tap, allowing the spray of water to wash away the dirt and crustied blood from your body. “Feel free to enjoy the show,” you jeered. There was a long pause before you heard his footsteps exit the room in a hurry.

You took your time getting ready, ensuring that not a single strand of hair was out of place and that your makeup was on point. For good measure, you applied a flirty cat eyeliner and chose a brighter, more youthful cherry red for your lips, blotting and smudging it along the edges to create a softer look. 

Pulling out a strappy, ribbed cotton dress from the clothes you’d hung in Leon’s wardrobe, you threw it on. The material accentuated your curves but had a semi-relaxed fit, giving off a casual, sporty vibe — perfect for what you were about to get up to. You favored the warm, earthy tones of its burnt orange hue against your complexion in the mirror. It reminded you of saffron spice and the ember glow of charcoal as the floral taste of shisha filled your mouth in some distant land. Adorning yourself with gold dangle earrings, you completed the look by slipping on a pair of black heeled sandals before making your way out.

However, a hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around as you landed with your back against the door. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Leon gave you a once over as his smoldering eyes swept over your outfit from head to toe. A multitude of conflicting emotions crossed his face, ranging from disapproval to admiration. He seemed to be leaning hard into the overprotective parent role and it was getting on your nerves.

“The night’s still young,” you argued, tempted to provoke his temper even further. Oh, well, YOLO. Giving him a devilish smirk, you added, “I’m heading out to have some fun. So, don’t bother waiting up for me.”

Wresting your wrist free from his grasp, you flipped your hair, turning towards the door as you strutted out of the apartment without looking back.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It was drizzling when you arrived at the front of the queue at one of the more commercial clubs popular with the younger crowd in downtown Raccoon City. The rain had moistened your skin, giving it wet, glistening sheen as the bouncer ushered you into the space.

Kaleidoscopic strobe lights flashed across the dance floor while a tired playlist of the current top chart hits reverberated through the state-of-the-art sound system. You wouldn’t call this place your usual haunt for a party, but it was your best bet at finding people who’d be willing to hook up and more. The latter part being the crucial factor here.

Scanning the room, you picked out a couple of potential targets — mostly singles who were either halfheartedly bobbing along to the music or restlessly standing at the sides, on the lookout for fresh meat, like yourself.

A buzz of eagerness and exhilaration coursed through your body. The Beast in you egged you on, smiling wickedly as you approached a lone man in the middle of the dancefloor. A well-loved banger came on just in time for you to conduct what you and your friends openly ridiculed and coined as the ‘mating call’.

Sashaying over, you made eye contact with the guy and winked, making sure he knew you had his full attention. He smirked, looking as though he had just hit the jackpot. Maybe he’d been here for a while with no luck. Taking a leisurely sip of his drink, he made no attempt to conceal his blatant ogling of your figure. He wasn’t bad looking himself, but something told you that he was a little rough around the edges and probably had a foul mouth.

As you drew closer, you noticed the way his medium-length, dark brown hair fell against his face in a tousled, layered style, complementing his rugged and laid-back appearance. His square jawline was clean-shaven and he had a broader, sturdier frame than Leon. Wait, why were you comparing him to your sire again?

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” He gulped down the rest of his drink for liquid courage before dumping the emptied bottle on the floor. Placing his hands on your hips, the corners of his mouth ticked up into a cocky grin.

Hm, forward, you thought. But at least you could get straight to it then.

You let him twirl you around as you gyrated your hips against his sensually, his chest hugging your back as you made small talk. “What’s your name, handsome?”

He chuckled, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as his gravelly voice dropped an octave lower. “For you, sweetheart, it’s Kevin.”

“Kevin,” you repeated coyly, allowing him to grind even harder against your ass.

“Mmm, that sounds so good on your lips,” he murmured, peppering the side of your neck with kisses. “I’d like to take this someplace else, if y’know what I mean?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” You emitted a breathy giggle, trying to play the part of a ‘seductive siren’ that Claire had mentioned. “Lead the way, Kevin.”

It turned out that his idea of ‘someplace else’ was rather uncreative, but you weren’t here to judge the man, you needed to satiate your hunger. He kissed you roughly against the door of a toilet stall you’d locked yourself into, ignoring the other patrons who were either drunk or high out of their minds. When you heard the metallic clink of his belt unbuckling, you knew it was time.

Pressing your index finger to his lips to stop him momentarily, you asked, “Would you let me do anything to you?” It wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough.

The confusion on his face shifted into a saucy smile, as his imagination began to run wild with interpreting what you wanted. “Didn’t realize I had such a dirty, naughty girl in my hands.”

Kneading your ass, he leered, “Come home with me, baby. I’ll show you a good time.” His hands continued to grope the sides of your body. “Got handcuffs, batons, you name it. Courtesy of the RPD.”

Huh, another police officer. Looks like you had a type apparently, you grimaced internally.

You ran your hands along his muscular chest, grazing your fingertips against his neck, causing him to shiver. “I will, but first, I wanna take a bite.”

“Fuck me, that’s hot,” he gritted. “You can do whatever you want, baby.”

Bingo. Pushing him back onto the toilet seat, you straddled his lap, feeling his hardened erection against your crotch. He let out a hiss at the friction building up between your clothes. Combing his hair away from his neck, you licked a thick stripe along the prominent vein you spotted at its side.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his eyes rolling back in pleasure and you took your chance, plunging your teeth into the vein as you drank from him.

Warm, sweet blood filled your mouth to the brim like a midnight dessert, and you could taste the alcohol and nicotine in it, giving you a double dose of wooziness. So, this was what it was like to get tipsy, you laughed to yourself. All at once, your Beast quietened down, the gnawing feeling at the bottom of your stomach numbed to a point where it was just a tepid throb.

This was where you should end it right? You hoped the man beneath you was still alive. Licking the wound close, you withdrew, quickly grabbing some toilet paper to wipe away the streaks of blood from his neck before chucking it into the bin. Messy drinker. You still needed to get used to feeding.

He was out cold, though his expression was one of pure bliss. I really should get paid for this, you thought, shaking your head as you checked his pulse. Yup, he’ll be fine.

Tugging down the hem of your dress, you smoothed out the creases and stumbled out of the stall. Whoops, you forgot you weren’t entirely sober now, especially in your heels. At the sinks, you peered at yourself in the mirror. Your lipstick was smudged and splotches of bright red decorated your mouth and chin. It was on the borderline — you could’ve just had a lot of makeup on that got ruined in the process.

A partially intoxicated woman at the next sink bumped shoulders with you merrily. “Had fun?”

Trailing a line across your bloodied chin with your finger, you sucked the remnants of Kevin into your mouth, before pulling it out with a ‘pop’. Smiling widely at your reflection, you declared, “Yes.”

Back at the main area of the club, a pair of vivid, crystal-clear blue eyes illuminated in the darkness, stalking your every move. His lips contorted into a vicious snarl, and his fingers wrapped around his sweating glass, gripping it in a chokehold. He looked hideous like this, but he didn’t care. It was only feeding, yet jealousy coiled and wound its way like a rose stem around his heart, its thorns lacerating through flesh and bone, nestling itself deep within its confines.

That guy? Keith— Kevin? Whatever. He was an acquaintance through his brief dalliances with the RPD. As far as Leon was concerned, that sleazeball didn’t deserve you. And neither did he, but he should’ve been the cop you went off with instead.

[thechekhov]

Hello! Just wanted to say I love all your content but I wanted to ask if you had any advice/tips for running curse of strahd? I'm working on getting ready to run it with some friends/my partner and while I've run a fair amount of homebrew stuff this is my real first attempt at a legit module so I was curious if you could share anything since I believe you also are running/had run that module as well?

Thanks for asking! This is a very fun question!

I have indeed run Curse of Strahd. It was my first foray into long-term DMing and my team and I finished that campaign a little under a year ago. It was awesome, and I'm always excited to talk about it. Curse of Strahd had be a great game if everyone is on the same page!

First of all, I'm gonna say

Having Experience with Homebrew will be a huge boon

When I ran CoS, I followed the actual module about... 60% of the time. It was good... as a baseline/blueprint. But the reality is that I changed up a lot of the details. Either because I didn't like the vibes of the story, or because the plot points were antithetical to my team's goals. I changed up an entire floor of Ravenloft. I threw away a whole storyline for a major NPC because I felt it was too boring.

I think most people who run Curse of Strahd do this, actually. I've heard countless tales of how others Homebrewed their own meat onto the skeleton, and still came out of the campaign with an awesome, Strahd flavored experience. So don't worry about that part.

Here's my advice:

1. Everyone should vibe with what Strahd IS as a game.

Strahd can be a lot of things - you can Homebrew your own motivations into him, or make him a her, or change the history of his castle if need be. But if there's one thing Curse of Strahd is... it is DARK.

The Venn Diagram of Parties Who Understand That Suffering Can Be Fun To Roleplay and Parties Who Had A Good Time Doing CoS is probably a circle. You cannot do this adventure with a group of people who just want to hit monsters a whole bunch. It's an inherently 'oh my god this SUCKS' adventure. That's the main theme. Your players need to be able to enjoy that sort of game, otherwise they will just be miserable.

One of my players, upon arriving in Barovia, immediately said 'I hate it here' and then continued to say it for the rest of the campaign. That is kind of the catchphrase of CoS. Your players need to be comfortable with that sort of bleak horror and overall misery. It makes the end and the potential to finally end Strahd worth it.

That being said, Strahd can also just be... a lot. It has death and torture and psychological horror in there. KIDS DIE. Please discuss this stuff with your table, and remove elements if they guarantee a bad experience for everyone!

(Yes, you can trim down some of the viscera if you need to, that's fine. But keep in mind it will still be tragic. It SHOULD still be tragic. I set some boundaries for myself, but I also killed a whole town in an avalanche. It happened to be the only town my players had grown to like. It was a dick move. It was exactly what you would expect to happen.)

2. Read ahead - A LOT AHEAD.

For a self-contained world, Barovia isn't actually that big. It's a very small map, compared to some that span continents. That means you have the ability to flesh it out, as it were.

To add to that... some areas are... severely underdeveloped plot-wise. Sometimes there are places your players will go where it FEELS like it should link up to another point in the game but it just... doesn't. There is room to expand there. Use your Homebrew skills to connect the dots that the module doesn't!

I greatly recommend taking the time to either read through the whole adventure OR listen through some video-essays. There IS some cool stuff that comes in in the later game that you can grab and put down breadcrumbs for from day one. Or add to your own story twists.

My recommended resource for this is the Curse of Strahd DM's Guide video series.

...and to that end...

3. Start living in Ravenloft Castle WAY before your players get there.

Listen..........listen. look.

Look at this, and suffer as all GMs have suffered.

Castle Ravenloft is unarguably the biggest, stupidest, most architecturally ludicrous hurdle when it comes to GMing CoS. And I am here to tell you - IT IS DOABLE.

You can understand the castle, you can grow comfortable with it. But you need to start early. Hell, I think I began to set up Ravenloft maps before my players even knew it existed. Then I stopped, because I was scared.. but then I went back, and I.... roleplayed SOLO on my off-days! I set up little scenes between Strahd and others and imagined him setting traps, and doing other things. It helped me understand which staircase led to where, and what floors were accessible from which angles.

A part of me actually thinks that there should be a mini GMs-only class where a more experienced Strahd GM takes some time with other GMs to guide them through a map of the castle. A CoS Learning Oneshot, if you will.

There's also a LOT of talented mapmakers that create beautiful, digital CoS maps! Here's one:

Even if you are playing analogue, at a physical table, I greatly encourage you to check it out for reference. The official CoS maps are bleak and a little bit more... rustic? Than they are gothic.

Anyway, in order to avoid talking your ear off, I will end it here.

My last bit of advice is... to have fun!

Yes I know I just said that Strahd is an inherently bad-vibes game. But it's actually GOOD to let your players goof off now and then. Don't be afraid to let them do shenanigans. It builds character, and allows them to regain the energy they need to role-play properly heavy elements later.

My group did a whole bunch of funny stuff. They felt so bad about losing Ireena that when they saw Ismark, instead of explaining themselves to him they cast Darkness and tried to scramble away. There was a running joke that the cleric was too good to know about sex, so they used the euphemism 'play cards' around her, much to everyone's amusement. They got kicked by a walking house once and never forgot nor forgave. And finally, they defeated some Flame Skulls by putting them into a bag of holding.

Anyway, the point is... have fun! I wish you and your party the best of luck. :)

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Love me or hate me, both are in my favor (Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader [HS Academic Rivals AU])

Hiii! New day new chapter! Sorry it took so long to get out, my birthday is in Sunday so I’ve been busy. Not proofread, enjoy!

Cursing, slight mentions of wounds.

Word count: 2k

Series Masterlist Series playlist

Chapter 8: No, I don't wanna fall in love with you.

—

Swinging around the city always helped clear Miguel's head, finding it very calming compared to the very chaotic hustle and bustle of Neuva York. From the top of the Empire State, everyone looked like ants, and it gave him the ability to de-mask himself without the possibility of anyone finding him. It was one of the many perks of being Spider-Man, the ability to hide away above the rest of the world.

Although, usually the breathtaking skyline against orange and pink hues that painted the sky was enough to serve as a temporary distraction before he had to return to his usual routine, but it seems that today’s events were too much for his mind to just drop. With a heavy sigh, he ran his gloved hand through his now slightly disheveled brown locks, gripping his mask with his free hand.

God…

As if you hadn't already dug some sort of permanent spot into his life, now you were completely messing with his mind without even knowing it.

He shouldn’t have kissed you back. Not because he didn’t want to, because if he was being completely honest with himself… maybe he did. But, you’ve never liked him, you’ve never liked Miguel. He’s convinced himself his whole life that he disliked you, not just because of your constant battle at attempting to one up each other grade wise, but because you both were far too stubborn and egotistical to be able to sit in a room with each other without squabbling. He’s never been partially nice to you, sure, but neither have you to him. He hated you.

Right?

He wasn’t so sure anymore. But he knew for certain how you felt about him. You loved Spider-Man, not Miguel. And although he knows he’s being a bit selfish, and only going to hurt himself in the process, he was gonna keep it that way. He’d take all the snarky comments and glares you shoot his way, if it meant being able to kiss you again. He’d shatter the entire universe in his bare hands if it meant for you to keep kissing him the way that you did.

—

“O’Hara, hey- are you deaf now or something?” Your hand landing on his shoulder pulls him out from his thoughts, he’s been in them more often than usual lately he glanced over his shoulder to send you a quick glare before turning back down at his notebook. His eyes scan over the words on the page but none of them registered in his mind. He felt your finger tapped on his shoulder. “You can’t keep ignoring me. We have to work on this project, you know.” You huffed quietly, your eyes drifting from the back of his head, to the front of the class to make sure the teacher wasn’t watching and back again. “You’ve been skipping out on practice.” This was the second time today you’ve tried to get him to talk to you, and still he doesn’t give you anything but a glare, the cold shoulder, it was insufferable. The biggest thorn in your side had decided to just remove itself at the worst time, two weeks away from the presentation of the scene project.

With a huff, you sat fully in your seat once more and looked back down at your own book. Just deciding to attempt to catch him after class again, but the more the time ticked away the more your agitation towards him grew. This was somewhat odd behavior for him. He hasn’t flat out ignored you since you had been in the 7th grade, the most you’ve gotten out of him as of recent is his usual glare or scowl. You’d never admit to his face, but him ignoring, it almost felt like torture. You have no idea what you did for him to suddenly give you the cold shoulder, a week ago at the aquarium before your sudden graze with death, you had thought that you both somewhat gotten along for once. Now he goes out of his way to dodge you in the halls or leave your texts on read, you couldn’t help but feel that same small sinking feeling in your chest that you felt when you first tried talking to him in the 6th grade only for him to scoff and turn up his nose at you. If it weren’t for the fact you had to work on this stupid project together, you probably wouldn’t be so persistent.

Or, at least that’s what your telling yourself.

—

8:45pm.

Miguel was currently an hour and 15 minutes late to yours and his study session, not like he showed anymore anyways. At least he could justify the nagging voice in the back of his brain telling him to go to your dorm by telling himself that patrolling was a better use of his time and resources, and way less of a headache then having to deal with you when you’re pissed off.

Thankfully, the streets of Neuva York were relatively calm, no crazy mastermind villains trying to take over the world, just a few pity crimes here and there, not enough for him to actually break a sweat but just enough to not be able to call it a night just yet. Small vandalism, an attempted mugging, helping an elderly lady cross the road, small more simpler tasks. With each one ignoring the small inconsistent yet slightly irritating buzzing that his phone was releasing in his suit pocket.

11 missed calls, and 24 unseen messages. His gloved thumb slowly scrolled through the preview of the messages as he took a small break on top of a random counter rooftop, his free hand pulling his mask up to just above his nose before going to grab the BLT sandwich from the bodega and taking a bite out of it. Each chew and swallow becomes slower the more he nears finishing the sandwich. Telling himself he’d finally suck it up and face the music, the migraine inducing headache that was your scolding.

As he downs the last bite, he clicks on your contact, finger itching to hit the call button.

“Help!”

“Shit…” He mumbled to himself as he quickly pulled himself up on his feet, stashing his phone away once more before his mask was back over his mouth.

He’ll call you afterwards, he tells himself.

—

9:38pm.

He flaked. Again.

“I’m not surprised, still disappointed though.” You mumble to yourself as you go to change out of your school clothes and into a nice pair of sweats and a sleeping shirt, placing your headphones on to listen to some music, it’s still early enough so you decided to get some reading in. Stretching your arms over your head, before going over to your bookshelf, your fingernails tapping the spine of each book until you reach the one you wanted to read.

Setting back into your bed, after turning off your overhead light and turning on your lamp instead, you finally open up on the page that you left off.

“Now you must have a good long holiday!”

“I intend to.”

Something in his resolute tone made Jo look up quickly to find him looking down at her with an expression that assured her the dreaded moment had come, and made her put out her hand with an imploring, “No, Teddy. Please don’t!”

“I will, and you must hear me. It’s no use, Jo, we’ve got to have it out, and the sooner the better for both of us,” he answered, getting flushed and excited all at one.

Tap tap.

“Say what you like then, I’ll listen,” said Jo, with a desperate sort of patience.

Laurie was a young lover but he was in earnest, and meant to ‘have it out’, if he died in the attempt, so he plunged into the subject with characteristic impetuousity, saying in a voice that would get choke now and then, in spite of manful efforts to keep it steady…

Tap tap.

“I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you, Jo, couldn’t help it, you've been so good to me. Now I’m going to make you hear, and give me an answer, for I can’t go on so any longer.”

“I wanted to save you this-“

Tap tap.

“Is someone throwing rocks at my window or something?” You quickly close your book after rebookmarking your page, trying to wave off the idea, your on one of the higher levels of the building. So being able to accurately hit the window over and over would be difficult.

Placing your book on the side of your bed, you get up and go to draw your curtains back, only to be met with a familiar blue and red mask popping up in your window pane. Your brows shot up and biting back the urge to let out a small startled yelp, your hands made quick work to unlock your window and open it up to allow him to climb in, trying his best to not knock over all the trinkets on your bedside table. Trying your best to stifle your laugh as you watch him crawl all over the tiny surface like a cat.

“I didn’t realize we were at that level, Spider-Man.” You joked, letting a small chuckle slip past your lips as he finally stumbled onto his feet and off the counter. Your laughs only increased as you watched the red lines on his mask narrow as he seemingly glared at you.

“Says the one who kissed me.”

“Touché.” You said only you were able to eventually stop laughing, allowing your eyes to finally scan over him. Your face quickly contouring into one of concern when you finally noticed the large tear on the side of his left hip, along with a bleeding bash. You must have not noticed it by the way he was bending over. Your hand flys to cover your mouth as you stare at it, it wasn’t life threatening, but it sure as hell looked painful. “Oh my god, what happened!?”

“Oh this? Pff, it’s nothing” His left hand goes to cover the gash from your view as his right hand goes to wave the question of, his tone nonchalantly as if he had just gotten a paper cut. Now it’s your turn to glare at him.

“Can you let me help you patch it up at least?” You asked, but you were already guiding him to sit on your half done bed. “I’m not a medic or anything, but I can at least clean it up so it doesn’t get infected.” You added, going towards your bathroom to search for your first aid kid that all the dorms had.

Once you found the kit, and didn’t hear any protest from the spider, you made your way down to your knees to his left and began to clean up the wound, murmuring a silent apology when he winced from the rubbing alcohol making context with the wound.

“…You must get tired of having to always clean yourself up and restitch your suit all the time huh?” You finally broke the silence,tossing the blood and alcohol soaked cotton in your small trash can.

“It’s…yeah, sorry about, badgering in and stuff, I wouldn’t have stopped by if I didn’t think I couldn’t make it home.” His admission made your heart sink a bit, but it wasn’t completely true, his building was another few minutes of a swing from yours, and his brother always helped him clean up after a nasty fight.

Miguel just wanted an excuse to see you and talk to you again.

“You’ve saved my life twice, Spider-Man. You are always welcome to stop by if you need help.” You tell him ernstly as you wiped off the last bit of blood off his hip, before going to place wrapping on the area.

“Thank you…” He whispered, his tone just as gentle as it was the first time he spoke to you when he reassured you he wouldn’t let you go.

“Of course.”

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @oharasfilipinawife @mxltifxnd0m @loser-alert @homewreckingwreck @dumb-gemini @cowboylikeevie @thedevax @codenameredkrystalmatrix

[manicrouge]

Episode Three: Maroon

[𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛] || [𝙰𝚄: 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜] || 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 23/01/23

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Tensions in the city raise as an unexpected event leaves Price with his hands tied.

[𝙲𝚠]: gore, murder, torture, gender norms of the time period (1910s), graphic descriptions of violence, blood.

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 9.8k

[𝙰/𝙽]: I wrote some of this while watching a minecraft lets play (for all my stampy cat fans)- such an enlightening experience rlly it was. This is my favourite part in the series so far and I hope you really enjoy it :)) Also I know I said this was going to be out three days ago but I got distracted playing overwatch pls forgive me (but this is also the longest part so far so you can really hate me now can you???

SERIES MASTERLIST

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

Every night, in the deepness of the sky and the swirling constellations nestled amongst the clouds, there was a maroon light from below. It was difficult to see in the haze of the clouds, the stars looking down merely being able to grasp what exactly it was as it appeared as though whatever it was wanted to be hidden.

In fact, it appeared as though, whatever it was hated the very fact they even had to bleed that colour.

It was necessary for survival in the dismal nights, the flickering lanterns in his hand as they traversed through the trenches in hopes that they would be fortunate enough to hear the settle of gunshots for long enough to get even a second of shut-eye.

He never slept though, instead, he busied himself with trekking up and down a fair distance of the trenches, wet squelches following after him as he paced backwards and forwards. It didn't matter if he didn't sleep; his mind was far too busy to even attempt to get some shut-eye- though he'd never admit it to the rest of the lads.

That night in particular left him foggy eyed and dizzy from the continuation of the gunshots from a distance. There was a man down that day (if he could even call him that), he'd been loyal to the brigade since he first stepped foot into it- he'd been all smiles when they had met, honoured to even be in the position to be led by the infamous Captain.

Though, his joy withered with his corpse as he laid in a thick pool of mud, his blood seeping into the ground as he looked at Price with strained eyes, choking out and begging for him to 'not let me go.'

And he didn’t.

He stayed they until he heard the rattle of his chest, saw the strained and tensed muscles of uncertainty melt away into the ground and finally, he saw the peace he deserved. It was just a shame that the only way he got peace was through his death and not through his freedom.

He stepped over the spot where the corpse had been, although he couldn't see any of the blood the boy had leaked onto the ground, the red light from the flame tangled with the sopping wet mud to create the illusion of the blood still being there- or maybe it was still there, he wasn't quite sure.

'Cap'n, that you?' a weary voice called.

He was familiar with the tight tone of the large man, and from the depths of the night he emerged from the void as though he was a fallen angel. Limping slightly, he approached him with weary eyes, the entirety of his body being engulfed by the red flame.

John knew he wasn't going to last much longer in the state he was in.

He'd heard him, the rare few times he did try to sleep. He heard how he screamed and cried, calling for help from someone who wasn't even there. There were countless times where he'd sat by his beside just to be there for him so he had someone there to assure him that he was safe- that he had him when no one else did.

War was taking a toll on all of them, but Blake had it the worst.

'Yeah, Blake,' he confirmed quietly, 'what you doin' up, y' need to get some sleep.'

'Can't, Cap'n,' he confessed quietly, toying with his calloused hands, 'every time I close my eyes I think about 'im.'

John's lips formed a thin like as he looked over his shoulder to the spot he had been stepping over during his patrol. It was a difficult sight to stomach and he found his calmness amidst the storm to be one of an offensive nature.

One of your men died and you acted as though he'd just slept... the fuck kind of leader are you supposed to be, hm?

'He wouldn't want y' to dwell on it,' he refuted, despite the very fact he could escape the sight of a seventeen year-old boy begging for his dad as he bled all over the place.

Looking down at his hand, he took note of the blood beneath his nails. In some twisted way, he felt just as responsible for his death as the enemy was.

'He was so young,' shuddered the man, 'had his whole life ahead of him he did.'

The reminder of all he had caused left his heart burning in his chest and he felt as though it was going to implode. He felt sick to his stomach, and in the blink of an eye, he was away from Blake, back on his knees beside the crying boy.

His hands were soaked with blood, covered in it as he pressed down on his stomach in a pointless fucking attempt to stop the bleeding. But there was just so much and he was conscious of the fact his veins were more than parched after a certain point.

And the poor lad writhed and screamed in pain, acting as a fussy child would while waiting for their bottle of warm milk. He likened it to that to try and deter from the seriousness of the situation, of course he did. It was the only way to keep his mind at ease as he stared the face of all youth in the eyes and it stared right back at him.

He'd never forget the sight of it. Haunting icy blue eyes, his face covered in muck and gunk as fat tears rolled down his face. 

'P- Please, Cap'n, I- I don't wanna die,' he cried through a strangulated cry.

The poor boy was in agony and there was nothing he could do and he was being tortured by being back there again. 

In the midst of his foggy mind, through the cries of guns and the boy on the ground, he'd thought of grabbing his own pistol and putting a bullet in his head just to soothe the suffering- but he was his man. He couldn't have done that. 

He was just a kid.

'Y' not goin' to mate,' he calmly reassured, though his eyes kept drifting to the hole in his stomach. 'Just keep your eyes open f'r me, yeah?’

'I don't... wanna leave my dad,' he cried, 'mums gone- I'm all he has left,' he continued.

The old man was used to grief, that John was sure of.  The death of his son would be coaxed by the training he suffered when his wife had left him too.

'And you'll see 'im, yeah?' John said firmly, his hands wet with his blood. 'You'll get out of 'ere an' go back home where you belong; you don't belong here,' he rambled.

The boy's lip jutted out as he opened his mouth to speak, only, a loud gunshot resonated off of the weak walls of the trench they were taking cover in. Blood covered his face, and when he looked up, he let out a trembling breath at the sight of a shadow holding a smoking gun.

He woke from his sleep in a fit of heaving breaths, a trembling hand raising to wipe his face. 

His face was wet and for a short second, he thought he was back in the trenches. Only, when the smoke clears and he takes a few deep breaths, he realises he's back in his bedroom- back at home. Sitting up, his hand fists at his bedding as he settles into his firm mattress, burying his face in his hands as he exhales deeply. There's a mumbled curse or something that passes his lips as he's sitting with his head in his hands, though, he doesn't hear it over the thudding of his heart.

It takes a moment for him to settle completely, opting to lay back down all to freeze when he hears a thud downstairs followed by an angry call from Kate. It's difficult to hear what she said; it's muffled and brittle, yet, that is all he needs as he pushes himself up and off of the bed, rushing towards the door of his room.

─

In the early morning, she notes a knocking at the door.

With the kettle on the stove boiling and a cigarette in her mouth, she furrows her brows at the sound of the banging on the door. Her mind trails to the bodies upstairs, fast asleep.

Everyone is accounted for as far as she's concerned; she heard the heavy footsteps and the drunken giggles from Kyle as he staggered up the steps in the early hours of the morning and the hushes from John as Johnny ran his mouth. Simon was never a bother, too quiet for his own good is that man, despite such, she recalls his bedroom door at the end of the hall shutting with a gentle click.

Everyone is home, and John hasn't said anything about having any visitors.

The pounding against the door continues and she wraps an arm around her waist, letting out a curse as she disposes of her cigarette in an ashtray beside the stove. While standing, she debates whether or not she should answer the door or if she should just leave it. They'll clear eventually, and the only thing they're really achieving by banging on the door is angering her.

'I know you're in there!' calls a voice, the clink of the metal knocker sounding as she stood idly and allowed the man to beat the holy hell out of the door.

Any harder and she's convinced they're going to wake the entire street or- even worse- one of the boys.

A mumbled curse escapes her lips as she breathes grey smoke, moving out of the kitchen towards the entrance. She clenches her jaw as she finally makes it to the door, placing her hand down on the door handle.

Pulling down the handle, she's winded as the door bursts open.

In the matter of seconds, she goes from standing in front of the door to being pressed against the wall.

It takes a lot for her to be rendered speechless and while in the attackers arms, she finds all the words and curses in her mind clear in such a sudden fashion, it feels as though she has been hypnotised.

All air in her lungs is expelled as her back hits the wall, a hand meeting with her throat almost immediately. It tightens and through bleary eyes, she makes out the face of a man. His nose is crooked, teeth yellow and his breath reeks as he breathes against her face, pressing his forehead against hers.

Writhing in his hold, she whacks his chest with her hands in an attempt to push him off of her. As she struggles, she's greeted by a cooling metal digging into her temple.

'Where is he?' seethes the man through clenched teeth, spit bubbling in either corner of his mouth as he glares at her.

'G- Get your filthy fucking hands off me,' she gasps, pressing her hands against his chest.

He doesn't budge, his grip around her neck growing harsher. 

'Where's Price?' 

John?

Her blows to him grow weaker and weaker as she fights against the spots of darkness encapsulating her vision. She isn't going to go out like this, not in a million years. Though, she's rendered defenceless as he doesn't seem to plan on relenting any time soon.

Opening her mouth, she attempts to force out a response, stumbling over her words as she fights for air. Her eyes remain on the man's with her heartbeat ringing in her ears as she watches the anger in his eyes melt away. 

There's a wet splat as his hold on her feigns, and then the sound of a gun ringing in her ears.

Brains spray out from the opposite side of his temple, the bullet appearing from the other side of his face. It's an eruption of blood and gore as the left side of his face is ripped to shreds from the shot. His hand on her neck falls completely, his blood coating her flushed face adding a morbid rosy aspect to her complexion.

His corpse rocks from side to side before dropping to the ground with a thud, Kate following after the man as she holds her hands against the burning ring around her neck and slides down the wall he was pressing her against, gasping for the air she lost.

From the right of her, there's footsteps rushing down the stairs. A gun hits the ground with a thud as Kyle appears beside her, grabbing the sides of her face. Lifting her head up, he gently takes her hands and pulls them away from her throat.

'Who the fuck was that?' she angrily rasps through breaths, looking at the man in front of her.

'What did he want?' Kyle asks, not bothering to turn his head away as more footsteps sound from upstairs.

Kate turns her head to the side, seeing John rushing down the steps just as Kyle did, eyeing the corpse on the ground. A fire is set alight in his eyes when his eyes fall on her for just a second more, she notes it as his Adams Apple bobs and his tongue trails the inside of his cheek.

Yet, even with his anger, she finds her own anger to prevail. She supposes he wants her to be honoured that she has the watchful eye of a man like that so upset about what has just happened, yet, she's more inclined to be upset that she ever dared to associate with him in that moment.

'He wanted you,' she states sharply, 'what have you done now, John?'

Moving past the pair, he shifts towards the body, blood pooling onto the ground. Narrowing his eyes, she watches as he eyes the body, rubbing his beard with his hands as he exhales thickly, turning to Kyle.

She watches as he leans down, grabbing the man by his shoulder. There's little reaction to the sight of his ripped flesh. Looking over his face, she keeps her eyes glued on John, watching as his brows raise, his hand slipping off of the man's shoulder as he fixes his posture and stands once more.

'You're fuckin' kiddin' me,' he says, 'this is one of Fisher's.'

Immediately, the pair of them are struck with confusion and it's difficult to miss the look of concern forming on Kyles face.

'One of Fisher's?' Kyle asks, 'the fuck have we done to them?'

'Nothing,' John responds briefly, looking at Kate.

Such a statement should put her worries to rest, yet, she can't help the way her lips curve downwards as she looks at John. The thought of the stolen guns sits in the back of her mind, lingering like smoke in the air and pushing through to cloud her eyes as she looks at him. 

He sees it too, she knows he does.

'Kate, I swear to you I have done nothin' to him,' he says firmly, kicking the corpse out of the way of the door, closing it. Fortunately, it's early enough for no one to really be out in the street, the sun barely making a mark on the horizon.

Her disbelief is adamant, unruly at his reassurance, and as he reaches his hand out to help her up off of the ground, she opts to place her hand into Kyle's as he pulls her up.

'We were supposed to meet them today to sort everythin' out; the witch is blessin' the horse today- I wouldn't dare to do something that would cause them to react like this.'

Her eyes linger on him.

'I swear to you I wouldn't,' John repeats, brushing his hand through his hair with a short breath.

Very little makes sense in her mind as she leans on Kyle for support and contemplates what exactly he's done to the men. It's easy for her to point her finger, for her to say that he's lying again; he lied about the guns easily enough and he's still lying to the rest of the boys. 

Yet, she knows that she's guilty of lying to them too.

Kyle's hold on her shifts slightly as he turns his head towards the top of the stairs. She catches Simon standing idly, arms crossed as he narrows his eyes, looking down the steps. It's rare she ever sees him without his mask, so she takes a moment to soak in his appearance.

His hair is messy, resembling that of a rough night- she's surprised he wasn't the first one down the stairs considering the very fact that you only really have to walk into the room for him to wake from his sleep. His nose is crooked, a thick, white scar from the bottom of his chin to just beneath his eyes staring at her.

'Good shot,' he comments, walking down the steps, offering a short nod to Kyle as he moves to assess the state of the body on the ground, standing beside John.

The blood leaking from the dead mans head is soaking into the floorboards and she can't help but worry about how difficult the stain is going to be to get rid of.

'This is a declaration of war on their end,' he says, looking at John, 'somethin' happened for them to change their mind.'

'You know what could have happened?' Kyle asks, with a furrowed brow, 'couldn't be something small; he tried to kill Kate.'

'He was looking for John,' she answers, 'I got in the way of that.'

'Still put his hands ‘round your neck,' Simon jumps in, 'they're not here to be friends anymore, and we're not doin' that fuckin' deal with them,' he refuses, looking at John. 'I'll get rid of the body,' he says simply.

It's odd to see him takin the reigns from John- no one else would dare to do so. Part of her expects John to refute what has just been said; she knows he thinks he knows better (and sometimes he does, unfortunately), yet, he simply nods his head and retracts his hand off of the corpses shoulder.

'Kyle,' he begins, 'me n' you are gonna go search for some answers- I'll go find some of the coppa’s on patrol, you check 'round their usual areas, yeah?' he asks.

Kyle looks to her and she nods her head, gently pulling away from him, managing to stand on her own. In the matter of seconds, he's rushing upstairs to get changed, John beginning to follow suit. Only, she reaches out and grabs his forearm.

'If anyone else comes here and threatens my life or one of the boy's, I'm not keeping your dirty secret anymore,' she spits before letting go of him.

He doesn't stop to look at her, simply moving up the stairs.

─

You're observing art in a gallery, looking at the pretty features of a lady sitting on a bench. Her dress is long, red- something you'd like to wear if you went to a ball or a formal event. Keeping your hands in front of you, holding your purse, you keep your eyes straight ahead when a shadow is cast over the painting before you, the red of her dress shifting into a much deeper maroon.

'You get the job?' Phillip asks from beside you.

'With ease,' you answer, clearing your throat. 'I'll be the best barmaid he's ever had.'

A smirk meets your face at his silence as he shifts on the spot. 

'You spoken to John Price yet?'

'Last night,' you confirm with a short nod, 'there was a man in the pub- he looked like he was sick or something,' you explain, 'never thought I'd see monstrous John Price so caring.'

Thinking back on the entire event that had taken place the night prior, how he held the man firmly, his reassurance of issues- all of it was there, he was able to fix everything that had caused him such panic in the blink of an eye. His care in that moment was captivating- how a man who can make others tremble can simply put the very same men at ease in a touch is bewildering.

'Don't let that fool you,' Graves demands, turning his back to you to eye another painting. You follow after him as he inhales, 'he's a cruel bastard when he wants to be.'

'I don't doubt it- had to have been to make a name for himself,' you utter. 'How's working with the police?'

'Walk in the park, doll,' he chuckles, 'they haven't seen proper order in years, looked as though they were going to shit themselves while I was giving my speech yesterday,' he chuckles, 'we'll find the guns in no time,' he says with a firm nod.

For the first time since he approached you, you turn to look at him with a weary eye.

His confidence could very well be the death of him; his ego is simply so large you're worried his head is going to blow from all the self righteousness swelling in his mind. It's a difficult battle to win and you truly don't think he has ever considered looking at things from a perspective that doesn't concern himself.

Pluck your eyes right out of your head, I would. Breathe on them and clean them like a pair of glasses... maybe then you could see how much of a prick you sound like right now.

Words swish around in your mind, swirling like whiskey in a sophisticated man's hand. You imagine the same thing to be happening in Graves' mind, only, his glass is held by a stumbling drunk, the liquor leaking from the edges of the glass as he runs his mouth.

'I know we will,' you say firmly, not daring to doubt yourself for a second. 'Mr. Churchill would have my head if we don't get these guns back.'

Graves chuckles, 'I wouldn't worry too much about it if it doesn't work out,' he states firmly, 'could always come to the States.'

A shiver runs down your spine and you hope he doesn't see how your face twists at his suggestion. To leave home all to go to a different country seems useless- especially if you do fail at the very thing you've been tasked to do.

'I suppose,' you mumble, not wanting to upset the man.

Instead of arguing with him, you settle to search for something other than the painting before you. Your eyes fall away from the art as you look over your shoulder at the clock. 

Half-eleven. 

'I have to go,' you say, 'my shift starts at twelve.'

'Don't let me keep ya, doll,' states the man sharply, turning to look at you. 'I've got my own business to attend to, anyway.'

Without bidding him farewell, you busy yourself with making your way towards the exit. His eyes don't leave you as you walk out; you can feel them practically burning into your soul. Your hold on your handbag tightens as your legs carry you closer to the exit and further away from Graves.

─

With the mission in mind and all the determination of a soldier walking into war, he walks through the civil streets of the city with his eyes narrowed in determination to find some form of answer for the issues that have arise this morning.

His heart aches as he thinks back to the weariness in Kate's eyes; she never deserved the fury of that stranger- neither did any of them because none of them really know what has happened to warrant such a violent response from them.

As he's walking, he notes the watchful eyes of a police officer. It's strange really; he doesn't recognise him upon a glance and he knows most of the force because, at the end of the day, to keep himself safe from the careful eyes of the law he needs to know who is on his side and who isn't.

Yet, he notes the small patch on the sleeves of his coat- one all of the officers who belong to the Housestead Police Station. 

The ones who work for him- well, the ones who work for John.

His demeaning looks leaves a nausea in his mouth, however, and as he turns to look over his shoulder at the man again, he's caught off guard by the sound of a frail old voice.

'Mr. Garrick,' the voice calls.

Pausing in his tracks, he turns his attention towards a balding old man and a smile immediately meets his face as he approaches him. He walks with his cane, a little wobble in his step as he steps off of the curb to see him.

'Connor,' he acknowledges, 'you okay?'

'Could y' do me a favour?' asks the elderly man, lifting his head to look at him.

There's an urge to refuse him, to tell him that he's too busy to help him, only, he folds as he nods his head. 'Of course,' he says gently, 'what do you need?'

'I went out with a lady last night,' he begins briefly, 'she's the reason I need the cane this morning,' he adds with a short laugh. Kyle laughs a long with him. ’We went to see one of those motion pictures and I left my wallet in there- could y' go an' fetch it for me? We sat in the front row of the cinema on the right,' he requests.

Looking over his shoulder, he looks down the curve of the street where he knows the cinema is located with pursed lips.

'I'd go myself, but I've got t' go the chemist too an─'

'I'll fetch it for you,' he reassures firmly, 'bring it back to your house for you, yeah? It won't take me long to get,' he reassures.

'You're a life saver you are, Mr. Garrick,' grins the man.

'Don't worry about it,' he says, slowly backing away, 'I'll be right back, Sir,' he says, turning his back to the old man as he walks in the direction of the cinema.

Of course, this isn’t what he has been tasked with by Price, though, when he was looking at the man he knew well that he couldn't refuse his request; he might be a murderer, but he certainly isn't above respecting his elders.

As he's walking away, he takes note of the officer who keeps his eyes on him and he stares back this time with narrowed eyes. However, he keeps his mouth shut, not caring to start some form of altercation because, if he does so, then he's more than sure he will never find the answer to solve the mystery behind the man who he shot in the head.

It's a short walk to the cinema, the thought of the nosey police officer nestled firmly at the forefront of his mind as he pushes open the doors and walks in.

The entirety of the interior is bleeding red- maroon, and the man standing in the kiosk doesn't even bat an eye to his appearance; he knows better than to do that. Most people know to keep their eyes diverted elsewhere... that's if they want to keep them.

Pushing open the door to the theatre, he's surprised to see a movie playing on the screen with a very small audience watching it. Making his merry way up to the front of the cinema, he doesn't even bother to duck his head as his eyes scan over the dusty, grimy seats in the hopes of uncovering the wallet the man has misplaced. It's hardly something appealing, running his hands over the wilting fabric of the chairs but he does it anyway.

When he gets to the middle of the row, he grins as he sees the lip of a black leather wallet tucked away down the side of one of the chairs. Leaning down, he places his hand against the arm of the chair beside it.

But he stops.

Something heavy is rested on his shoulder.

Lifting his head up, he surprised to see a hand on his shoulder, turning his head around he catches sight of the same police officer he saw earlier staring down at him. There's a hard look on his fac as he looks Kyle in the eyes, and the man lets out a harsh breath as he snarls at him.

'What the fuck do you─'

A punch is delivered to his gut and he is dragged out of the stands, kicking his legs and wiggling in his hold. Such is pointless as another officer appears out of nowhere and grabs his other hand, and the pair of them dragged him down the aisle and pulled him out of the cinema.

─

It's as though all of the officers have disappeared off of the face of the Earth as he's walking through the streets. He feels as though he's been everywhere; he's even been to Alex's boat yard all to make sure the guns are still secure in the stables. Fortunately, no one has touched them, and as he was walking back towards the main part of the city, he contemplated the idea of going against Kate's word.

If the threat from Fisher's gang is legitimate, he'd much rather use the guns to make sure he stays where he is- if anything, he knows he'd be a fool for not taking advantage of the weaponry that would keep the threat away. It would be like fighting a war with only a knife, refusing the help of any professional artillery. 

There's nothing else on his mind other than revenge as he marches through the streets, unable to shake off the thought of Kate. It's difficult to even begin to contemplate the state of her as she was leaning against Kyle, and he found his throat tightened at the very thought that he was possibly responsible for what happened.

There's no answers, and already he's blaming himself.

It's difficult not to do, he supposes. 

Was difficult to do when one of his men died during the war, and it's difficult even when he's free from the trenches. Sometimes, however, he feels like he's still there- and in a way he is. Still wading through piss, blood, and shit, all in desperate search for some form of achievement. Only this time, it's metaphorical and strangely, he doesn't know whether or not he favours the current situation he's in or if he would rather be back in the trenches.

'Mr. Price,' a firm voice calls, breaking him free from his mind. 

The officers tone is entirely in his nose, and as he looks up, he's greeted by a tall man, slender in stature. His hat is adjusted on his head upon hearing the man's call and he takes a brief look around before approaching him.

'George,' he says promptly, titling his head in the man's direction.

'Need to ask you a few questions,' he says.

Without a second thought, Price digs his hand into his pocket, handing the man a note. He takes it without question, nodding his head as he sighs, 'where were you last night?' he asks.

'The Hindsight; Blake had another episode,' he states, 'why, you think I've done something without letting you boys in on it?' he scoffs.

'Early hours this morning, a whore and her lovely customer found a man lying dead in a puddle of his own blood and piss, his face had been slashed and there was a razor blade next to his body,' he begins, shifting on his foot as he looks the man up and down.

Price begins to laugh, shaking his head as he pulls his hat off. 'Y' really think I'd be that fuckin' sloppy?'

George shakes his head.

'No, but one of your boys─'

'My men aren't fuckin' sloppy,' he snaps, 'now, you gonna keep beating around the bush or are you gonna open your fuckin' trap to tell me something of use?'

'Irving Fisher is dead.'

'What?' Price blurts out.

The officers face shifts and Price feels him dragging his eyes over him. Oddly, he feels his blood run cold as he thinks to the dead man on the floor of their home. While in the moment, he'd dreaded the subsequent consequences of Kyle saving Kate- even though it was necessary; had he not been there, then he would have been there to kill him.

'You don't have any idea of what happened to him?' the officer slowly speaks.

'No, I had a fuckin' deal planned with him- why would I ruin all that by killing him?' Price snaps, rubbing his beard as he looks over his shoulder, 'for fucks sake,' he grumbles, not giving the officer a chance to question him further as he rushes away from him back in the direction of the house.

─

There are two men standing in front of him as he stifles out a tight breath. His mouth is dry, his tongue resembling the texture of a coarse rock. Smacking his lips together, he lifts his head up, flakes of skin on his bottom lip prodding at his upper lip as he does so.

Before him, emerging from the darkness is a man. 

It's difficult to see him through his blurry eyes. Part of him feels inclined to ignore his presence entirely; he's more than sure he is the reason he's sitting in the chair in the first place, therefore, he owes him nothing.

Still, much to his dismay, as the man steps into the light, he notes the light stubble on his chin and his light brown hair. There's a grin on his face as he approaches him, bringing his hands together as he leans down in front of him.

'Good afternoon, sunshine! Happy you could join us!' calls the man.

It's difficult to pin any features as he's a blur. Narrowing his eyes, his head tips to the side as he lets out a small guttural groan. It's as though he's on some form of sick fair ground ride without any sign of stopping, his stomach tightens as nausea plagues him.

A hand reaches forwards out of the void before him, grabbing his face with a harsh grip, mushing his lips as his blunt nails dig into his skin. Another groan escapes him, slurred by the hand holding his face.

Blood smudges against the tips of the man's fingers as he lifts Kyle's head up, forcing him to look at him. Blood is gushing from the wound on his forehead as the man grins, pressing the pad of his thumb under his eye.

'No falling asleep on me now,' he continues in a gentle tone. 

It's a mockery of all he has done in his life, to be forced to submit in the hands of a stranger. He'd never done so while in the trenches and he sure as shit is not going to do it now. 

'Need you to answer some questions for me, junior.'

Kyle stares at him blankly as the man strokes his cheek with his thumb. Anyone else very well might see such to be an act of comfort, yet, he knows exactly what he's doing. Seeking comfort in the arms of an enemy is always sure to lead you into a trap.

An officer standing behind him shifts, and the man standing in front of him pulls away from him, grabbing whatever has been handed to him. Taking a step back, he allows Kyle to have a better look of what exactly he's been given.

In the man's hand is his hat.

He stands idly, using his bloody hand to pull back the hem of the hat, pushing up the razors sewed into the lining. A small scoff passes his lips as he nods his head, slamming the hat down onto a wooden beam above himself, the clink of the razors slicing right into his own heart.

'This your uniform, Garrick?' he asks, holding his hat out towards the man. Kyle clenches his teeth as he looks at the grinning man. 'Branded with the uniform of your Captain even after the war has ended, huh?' he chuckles, 'of course! Just a shame you're loyal to a filthy thief.'

His laughter booms in the small room as Kyle merely manages to hiss out short breaths. 

'He have a gun on him?'

'No sir,' confirms one of the officers, 'only had a blade tucked away in his belt,' he adds.

His heartbeat is thumping in his ears, the dizziness worsening as the man standing before him looks back at him with the same fucking grin on his face. For a moment, he wobbles back and forward on his feet, tilting his head to the side, always making sure to keep Kyle in his line of vision. 

It's as though he's scared he's going to jump out of the chair.

He's a man of facts, however. Tactical and knowing. If he gets up now, he will die; there is nothing he can do against the three men in the state he is in. Nothing.

'Thought you'd be smart enough to carry a gun on you,' says the man, taking a breath as he clenches his fist.

In one quick motion, his head is thrown back as his fist meets his face. His nose crunches upon impact, a tingling fuzziness sitting in the bridge of it as he lets out a choked cough, sucking at his teeth as a dull pain shoots through his neck. Immediately, blood starts pouring from his nostrils, pooling on his upper lips as he clenches his teeth, looking at the man with a furrowed brow. 

Plucking a handkerchief from the front pocket of his blazer, he effortlessly wipes his bloody knuckles, lazily strolling to rest against the wall beside him. Pulling the handkerchief away, he holds his arm out and moves his hand into the small yellow, buzzing light in the room, looking over his knuckles.

'Mr. Garrick,' he begins frankly, 'or should I address you as Price considering the fact that you sold whatever soul you had to that man?'

'Fuck you,' Kyle seethes.

The man laughs.

'I want you to see this as my introduction to you- my name is Detective Graves,' he starts, almost singing his name, 'and you should be fuckin' honoured, kid! I picked you first; you're the best out of a bad bunch- or so I’ve heard.’

Resting his hands on his hips, Graves trails his tongue across his teeth, his shoulders falling as he takes a deep breath. 'And I want you to know somethin’ very important,' he sighs, 'the only thing that matters to me in this world is the truth, so I advise you tell me it,' he chuckles.

In the chair, Kyle shakes as pain floods his senses. His breaths are stifled, tight, and painful as he attempts to suck air through his mouth. His pattern falters as the man crouches down, causing him to inhale through his nose. The back of his throat stings, and in a crude fashion, the muscles in his neck tighten as he harshly inhales, a mixture of blood and mucous sitting in his mouth.

'What do you know about the robbery?' Graves lowly asks.

The tightness in his eyes falters, the foul mixture in his mouth leaving down his throat as he looks at the man with a furrowed brow. HIs forehead aches as the blood continues to weep, the blood on his skin almost sticky as the cold air of the damp room attempts to dry it.

'About the robbery?' he repeats.

Graves begins to laugh again, shaking his head as he readjusts his posture, pulling away from him. A sense of dread twists in his stomach as he attempts to think about what exactly he's talking about; as far as he's concerned, there is no such thing as a robbery. This is hardly the trouble of a rival either, rather, the trouble of a bothersome detective who is too big for his boots.

His arm is grabbed during his train of thought, and Graves has very little issue in pressing down harshly against the index and pointer finger on his right hand. His hot breath fans against his ear as his fingers crunch. Kyle's breaths hiss as he clenches his teeth, a small whimper escaping from his throat.

'I'm going to ask you again,' Graves lowly states, 'what do you know about the stolen guns?'

Moving backwards, he allows him to see his face.

'I swear to God,' begins the man, narrowing his eyes at Graves, 'I don't know what the fuck you're talking about- what fuckin' robbery?' he yells in the hopes it deters the man from harming him much further, while scheming for how exactly he plans to hurt him when he's out of this room.

Releasing his hand, he falls to the side, unable to catch himself. His pointed shoes have little grip against the stone ground, the room doesn't seem to want to sit still, and he's accepting that he may be better off on the ground as at least for a moment, he'll be away from him.

Unfortunately, Graves slips his hand under his waistcoat, pulling him back up with ease. 'After 10 years in this fuckin' field, I only have to sniff the air to know when you're lying, kid,' he states, 'you're his lapdog, ain't ya?'

His heart is thumping in his chest, sweat curling on his brow as he looks at the man. Perhaps he should be smart and keep his mouth shut, fold to what Graves is demanding of him. Subservience to anyone, however, is off the table no matter who it is. Only, the longer he focuses on his accent, the more his blood boils.

'Never bow to any man, ay?' John asked, looking to him while he was greasing his gun. The rag in his hand was branded with muck and congealed dirt from their time in the trenches- the smell was abhorrent. A mixture of the stench from corpses and weeping wounds proved to meld together to create a dastardly smell. 'Even if he's holdin' you at gunpoint.'

He could only liken smell to the smell of milk and rotting meat- yet, even then, it seemed too little.

'When you're in the field- as long as I'm still here, you take no shit from anyone; 'sepcially not the yanks; they like to think they know best, but they don't know shit about the war. We do.'

'That why you went for me, ey?' Kyle blurts, shifting to the side, forcing Graves to release his hold on him, 'real big fuckin' man, yeah? Didn't wanna go for the Cap'n cause you know you won't be able to hold him down?'

Graves seems almost startled at his sudden outburst, his pupils drowning in the sea of the surrounding white as he looks at him. Kyle begins to laugh, mustering up a mouthful of phlegm and blood as he does so. Bringing his lips together, he leans forward towards the man, bringing the mixture to the front of his mouth. It sprays outwards, a crude 'pfft' escaping his lips as it covers Graves.

'I'm tellin' y' I don't know fucking shit about a robbery,' he hisses.

Graves slowly brings his hand up, pulling it over his own face with a grimace of disgust lingering as Kyle's spit invades the small crevices of his hands.

'Oh, I know,' Graves says, 'Captains never been one for telling the truth, has he?'

'Has been one for somethin' else though,' Kyle retorts, ‘and he'll fuckin' kill you for this.'

'I'd like to see him try, Mr. Garrick,' Graves smirks, tugging down the sleeve of his navy blue blazer. 'There's nothin' of worth behind the blood in your eyes,' he states, 'you bleed the same blood as John Price,' he scoffs, moving away from him, back into the darkness of the room. 'I have enough authority here to make sure you and your scum of a family are at the bottom of the canal before this year ends.'

'You'll be there too,' Kyle answers.

'You could drop the act and just help me,' he shrugs, 'but you're making things difficult for yourself by doing this,' he sighs, 'I'm taking your word for it now, but next time, I'm speakin' to your fucking boss,' he huffs, before allowing the shadows to completely swallow him whole, leaving Kyle sat in his chair and heaving for air.

─

It's difficult to carry an empty keg you've found during your fruitful experience at the Hindsight. James seems to want to get rid of you; you're more than sure this is a mans job, yet, here you are, doing it for him. The weather outside is grim, the grey clouds in the sky overall adding to the dreariness of your entire mood.

As you continue to shuffle with the empty metal barrel, huffing and puffing while doing so, you stop in your tracks as you hear a pained hiss, followed by a thud and a grunt. Tilting your head to the side, you crane your head to peer out of the doorway and into the alleyway.

The keg slips out of your hands, landing with a deep thud, as you nearly stumble down the step upon catching sight of one of the men you had seen last night on the ground in the alleyway. Blood stains is white shirt and he's trembling as he attempts to push himself up. His face is covered in blood, some of the streams catching the light of the daytime.

Of course, you could leave him to struggle; if he dies, that's one less Blinder you have to worry about. Yet, when an opportunity is shining so brightly in your eyes- shining so brightly it masks the absence of the sun in the grey sky- you know you would be a fool to not take advantage of such.

As he begins to rise from the ground again, his legs give out and in the matter of seconds, he's back on the ground, wincing. Rushing up beside him, you fall to your knees, resting your hand against his shoulder. All he offers you is a groan, looking through a swollen eye at you.

'You're okay,' you gently say, looking over the damages. 

From what you can see- past the blood and swelling- his nose is most definitely broken.

Mr. Price's fear makes sense in this moment as you observe the state of him.

'I'll help you up,' you say, 'do you think you can make it inside?'

'Don't have a... choice,' he responds with a hoarse croak. 'Probably sitting in piss right now, aren't I?' he asks, his tone clearing slightly. You offer him a sympathetic smile, a small laugh passing your lips as you hold his arm, slowly raising to the ground.

He follow suit, putting a lot of his weight onto you. If you weren't prepared for such, the pair of you very well would be lying in the rotten alleyway. He groans stiffly, stepping forward slightly, staggering as a baby deer would after birth. Only, he hasn't been reborn, rather, he has been beat within an inch of his life.

Only, you hazard a guess at the fact that your assumption may very well be incorrect; whatever anger he possessed prior to the attack has most definitely taken on a new form. No man's ego could survive such a hit.

Neither could his body, clearly.

It's an awkward combination of arms and legs as you fight to keep him up, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as the pair of you make it to the steps of the back side of the pub. Fortunately, he grabs the doorframe, letting go of you as he pulls himself into a stable position.

'Do me a favour,' he begins shortly, 'go an' get John for me, yeah?' he requests. 'He should be back home by now- it's the same road as the pub, door numbers six,' he explains.

Looking at him with a weary gaze, he keeps his head bowed as his arms shake. 

'Are you sure you don't need me to help you?'

'You'll be helping me love,' he begins, 'fuck, by getting him for me,' he states.

'What if he's not home?'

'Get the one in the mask or the man with the mohawk- any of them, yeah?' he requests.

While you know he is the enemy, you can't help but fold to his request, nodding your head as you move past him, back into the alleyway. You take one last look at him before he disappears into the pub, leaving you to go and fetch the family of Blinders to his aid.

─

There's hardly anything containing the information he's received as he walks through the house- only the lack of people to tell. The chain of events that have lead to the passing of the man who was very much a pain in the ass has prompted him to sucking on the inside of his mouth, itching for a drop of nicotine to soothe the blow he's been dealt.

This means war.

He knows all too well that what the man did to Kate was some form of declaration; they believe he killed their leader, of course they're going to be pissed, really, he'd be the stupid one for thinking they would be okay with the death of Irving.

Walking into the room he says, 'Johnny, you bless the horse?'

'Aye Cap'n,' he affirms, 'went swimmingly, made a show out myself for the races next week I did,' he reassures with a bright grin.

John nods his head, settling his hand against his hip with a sigh. It's difficult to know how exactly he should tell them the truth of what he has uncovered, and he finds his tongue is moving before he even has a moment to contemplate the words tumbling out of his mouth.

'Fishers dead,' he says.

What words can't solve, a bullet can.

Simon lifts his head, narrowing his eyes as he looks at the man. Rubbing his hands together, John grabs a cigarette from the packet left on the table. Striking the match, he holds it up to the ciggy in his mouth with ease, exhaling a cloud of grey smoke.

'What?' Kate asks.

'He's dead,' he says, 'police went to a scene in the early hours after a woman stumbled across his body and alerted them,' he explains. 'He was shot dead, though, they're sayin' there was a razor blade found near his body.'

Simon slowly raises from where he's sitting. John watches with caution.

'Someone's tryin' to frame us for something we didn't do,' he says lowly, 'the police think it was us?'

'Yeah,' John answers, 'first thing he said to me was about Fisher.'

'It's the Adams',' Kate states sharply, 'they must have heard about the deal somehow- they got a hold of what you were going to do and because Fisher's on board they shot him dead.'

The three men share a look with one another. The look between himself and Simon is brief enough for him to know exactly what the man is planning- some form of revenge, he supposes, preferably involving blood.

'That makes sense,' John says, 'they've always been looking for a way into the business.'

Banging on the door appears and catches all three of the off guard. He's tempted to just ignore it, although, he catches the look that Kate gives him as the pounding continues.

So he relents and walks out of the room, heading out of the kitchen and through the living room all to see the door thumping as though it has its own heart beat. There's nothing from behind it- no voice conveying aggravation, nothing that alludes to there being a threat being stationed beyond the door.

Pulling the door open, he looks down slightly to see you staring up at him with wild eyes, trembling hands pressed against your side as you swallow hard your chest raising and falling quickly.

'Any reason why you'd trying to knock my door down, love?' he asks, a tight-lipped smirk on his face as he addresses you. Nodding your head, you take a moment to catch your breath. 'Spit it out, I don't have all day.'

'S- Something,' you heave, 'something happened to Kyle,' you explain, 'he got attacked- he's bleeding,' you say, and he watches as you hold your hands out to show him the blots of blood on your skin.

In your eyes, for a moment, he sees the haunting eyes of that boy in the trenches.

'Where is he?' he asks quickly.

'The Hindsight- I helped him in,' you explain.

Looking over his shoulder, he huffs. 'Kate, Simon, Johnny!' he calls, 'get to the Hindsight,' he shouts  in an authoritative tone before stepping out of the house. Looking back at you, he steps out of the house and begins to move quickly down the street. You watch him for a moment before rushing after him.

Much to your surprise, when you walk into the pub, it's completely empty aside from Kyle who's sitting at one of the tables, his arms resting against the side of it as he hisses in pain. His eyes light up when he hears the door open and sees you and Mr. Price walking through the door.

You catch the latter beside you cursing under his breath as he looks at the state of the man sitting before the pair of you. There's a basin of water beside him, and his hands are wet and there are droplets of water on the table.

'Happy you could make it,' Kyle says through a stifled breath. 

Price moves past you and as the doors open again, you're greeted by the sight of the Scot, the masked man, and the blonde-haired woman who you suppose goes by the name of ‘Kate'. She approaches you with a narrowed eye and there's something about her eyes on you that sends a chill down your spine.

'Family business,' she says, looking over to Kyle sitting at the table, 'you don't need to be here,' she adds.

'I trained as a nurse during the war, I could help,' you offer.

The woman rolls her eyes.

'You're not special,' she answers, 'as I said, family business, now out,' she demands, motioning towards the door on the other side of the bar.

In the short time you've spent with her, you realise there's little budging the woman so you nod your head, moving towards the door with your eyes trained on the trio surrounding the man sitting at the table. Pulling open the door, you go through and close it behind you, making sure they hear the click of the lock. You don't move, however, choosing to stand on the opposite side of the door waiting to hear the discussion.

─

Moving from beyond the bar with a stolen bottle of whiskey, he approaches Kyle, unscrewing the lid and giving it to him.

'Let me see him,' John demands while Kate busies herself with grabbing a rag from the basin of water, patting it against the bloody gash on his forehead.

She drops the rag back into the water as Kyle winces while taking a drink from the bottle. Setting it back onto the table, John rinses the blood and water back into the bowl grabbing the bottle and pouring some onto the rag.

Pressing it against the wound on his head, Kyle hisses.

'This the Adams'? Or Fishers men?' Johnny quickly asks, standing back to observe the bloody state of the man sitting in the chair.

Kyle winces, letting out a hiss, his back arching against the chair as John grabs his hand to look at the state of his bent fingers. He's trembling in pain as he does so, his eyes watering as he attempts to pull away from him, only, John doesn’t let go.

'Neither,' he chokes out, 'it was the detective,' he confirms.

Both Kate and Price share a look with one another.

'I thought you said he was here about the fuckin' commies,' Simon states, looking at Kate who huffs. 'Clearly they're fuckin' not- what did he ask you?'

Kyle's hand catches Prices wrist as he narrows his eyes while looking at him.

'He said he's been sent here about some robbery- something to do with some stolen guns,' he explains.

John pauses, his eyes faltering and falling away from Kyles.

Letting go of him, he drops the rag onto the table noting that Kate's eyes haven't left him since the confession. Turning away for a moment, he digs into his blazer for a cigar.

'He said he wants us to help him.'

Johnny barks out a vicious laugh.

'Yeah fuckin' right, as if we're gonna help a fuckin' coppa!'

'He knows about our war records, John,' Kyle says as Kate picks the rag back up, continuing to try and wipe the blood off of his face, 'knew you enough to know that you served as a Captain.'

Lighting the cigar, he places it between his lips and takes a long drag from it.

'We don't help coppa's,' Simon say, affirming Johnny's statement.

'I was thinkin' it over an' maybe we should,' Kyle says, 'we help the police, and they can help us against whatever Fisher is planning.'

'Gaz,' Price begins, 'Fisher is dead.'

The man's eyes widen as he looks to the other two for confirmation. Simon doesn't budge while Johnny nods his head.

'What?'

'Police found him dead this morning, someone's tryin' to frame us for the crime- reckon it's the Adams'.'

'Fuck,' breathes the man, 't- then we need there help now, don't we? Especially if we have both gangs on our backs.'

John doesn't say anything, instead, he busies himself with taking a drag from his cigar, turning away from the sight of the battered man entirely.

'Right?' Kyle repeats, yet, Price doesn't turn back to him. A mumbled curse escapes Kyle’s mouth as Kate presses her fingers along his nose. 'What the fuck is wrong with him?' he snaps, his eyes burning into the back of John's head.

'If I knew,' Kate cooly responds, 'I'd buy him a cure from the chemist.'

Rubbing his face, he exhales a mouthful of grey smoke and while standing and shielding himself away from the sight of the bleeding man, he attempts to chase off the thought of that boy in the trenches.Yet, all he manages to do is abandon one troubling thought for another. 

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old @iizx7y @phantomreadsandreblogs @talooolaaloolla @guiltgoreglory @corpsebasil @ferns-fics @racheldoyle

[aftgficrec]

Can't believe I caught this open. I love your page. Was just wondering about fics centered around medicated Andrew. Like the foxes realizing that the drugs were more harmful than helpful. Thanks!

Medicated Andrew is an AFTG hot button theme with a good amount of fandom meta, discussion, and umbrage to be found. Some fic writers go the fix-it route with time travel aus or canon divergent stories with different or zero meds (here's the ao3 unmedicated Andrew tag). When Andrew is on the problematic medication it’s usually Neil who wants it gone, but sometimes other foxes see it too. We also found aus with unexpected people wanting Andrew off the meds…can you say Tetsuji Moriyama or Fox!Harry Potter? We have a good amount of Andrew’s pov, and fanart that’s like whoa. What I’m saying is, buckle up for a wild ride, rabbits. -A 

previous recs:

Andrew’s meds here

‘They All Burn the Same’ here (updated)

‘take two’ here

‘Deals With Devils’ and ‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (both updated) 

‘The Sphynx and the Hare’ here (completed)

‘Hope Was A Dangerous, Disquieting Thing’ here (updated)

‘i'd die for you (that's easy to say)’ here

‘California Drifting’ here (updated)

‘Of Ocean Tides’ series here

‘This Is What Hollows’ here  (completed)

andrew pov:

‘The Court-Hole Fox’ (completed), ‘Fuck the Game’ series, and ‘oh be cautious, do not stand too near’ series, plus ‘Monster’ and ‘Monster 2.0’ (both updated) here

‘Fold me in your palms’ here

‘Therapy session’ here

‘Odd Eye’ here

‘Stranger To Stay’ here (updated)

‘The Real Thing’ here

‘And we’ll be running’ here

‘One More Time (With Feeling)’ here (updated)

‘we destroy everything we need’ here

you may also like:

post easthaven andreil reunion here

foxes revise opinion of Andrew here

‘Live Once More (This Time Will Be Better)’ here

‘Inked Truths’ series (parts 1 and 2) here

‘The Unkindness of Ravens’ here (updated)

I hate your smile by PateticabutBunny [Not Rated, 2066 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

One day on the relationship between Andrew and Neil And the drugs

tw: vomit, tw: addiction, tw: mania, tw: medication side effects

Another Raven in the Nest by 0bsessednerd [Rated M, 4051 Words, Complete, 2024]

“Minyard will cooperate, I’ll find a way.” Kevin ensured them. and Riko gave him a dangerous look. “If you don’t I will.” Riko said coldly, and everyone knew he would. Kevin better keep his promise, thought Neil, or Minyard was going to not have a good time. No one spoke for the rest of the flight. ~~~ Neil has a nightmare of Andrew being in the nest and part of the perfect court. As imagined it doesn’t go well

tw: nightmares, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: abuse, tw: torture, tw: ptsd

I would choose to live all this a thousand times, if in the end, I had you by FayeS2 [Not Rated, 42517 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

After almost a decade together, Neil and Andrew travel back in time to Neil's first year at Palmetto. Now, they must relive demons from the past. But at least they still have each other.

tw: drug use, tw: homophobia, tw: violence, tw: blood

Good Men Lie Too by heybabyricecake [Rated M, 100678 Words, Complete, 2024]

Me: Andrew and Neil are perfect for each other <3 their love story is iconic and they are otp and it's a crime to ship them with anyone else!!!!! Also me: Anyways here's a KevNeil fic :) Canon reimagined as if it were Kevin and Neil falling in love!! I take some of the story line from the original series but there's also very different plot points for Kevin and Neil for obvious reasons! Not Kandriel sorry. This fic answers the question: What happens when two Exy obsessed idiots fall in love???

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: vomit, tw: canonical character death, tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: homophobia, tw: involuntary outing, tw: assault, tw: blood, tw: attempted rape/noncon, tw: kidnapping, tw: alcohol abuse/alcoholism

Glow In The Dark by Anonymous [Rated M, 20984 Words, Complete, 2024]

If Riko Moriyama is Exy's number 1, Kevin Day is number 2. But, if Riko Moriyama is King of Exy, Andrew Minyard is the opposing pawn who’s crossed the board to become Queen. Andrew has spent far too long denying Riko what he wants and Riko has spent far too long fantasising about the day Andrew finally breaks to leave things as they are. And if you want a job done right, you really do have to do it yourself it seems. So RIko invites Andrew to Evermore for the holidays.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced medical abuse, tw: threatened rape, tw: abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: emotional abuse, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: nonconsensual restraint, tw: nonconsensual nudity and photography, tw: internalized homophobia

Vivid by Anonymous [Rated M, 6884 Words, Incomplete, Updated Feb 2024]

Andrew returns to Palmetto State after his spending his winter break at Edgar Allan. And he's fine. Totally fine. Obviously. Hello. Welcome or welcome back. Vivid is finally here and got longer than I expected. So technically, this is a sequel to Glow In The Dark but you don't need to have read it to understand. Everything important is either there in the summary or will be explained in the fic.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced medical abuse

A collection of Andreil one-shots by Auviic [Rated E, Collection, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2024]

Chapter 1: Andrew Minyard's mistakes [6567 Words] Andrew and Neil find themselves amidst a zombie-apocalypse.

tw: graphic descriptions of violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced suicide, tw: gun violence, tw: drug addiction

Chapter 3: Tongue tied [5125 Words] Nathaniel Wesninski is paired with a new partner.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: torture, tw: blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Sunrise by DeeLeBee [Rated E, 26499 Words, Complete, 2023]

Part 1 of Sunrise, Abram, Death 

Listen. All fans of All For The Game hate this fucking series just as much as they love it and I am no exception. Nora's writing doesn't make sense in so many parts, there are plot holes, WHAT ARE ANDREW'S MEDS ABOUT, and Nora was a coward because she planned to make Kandriel a thing but chickened out. (Love you , Nora.) Anyway, I am here to remedy all these ailments.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: recreational drug use, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: nonconsensual kissing, tw: canonical character death, tw: self harm

We work well with crazy. by MBlack93 [Rated E, 45145 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2024]

Neil is on the run for his serial killer father and apparently a Yakuza family with delusions of grandeur. Harry is on the run for the Dark Lord, the Light Lord, and practically the whole Wizarding World, except for the Goblins. Because Goblins are awesome.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced food withholding, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced human trafficking, tw: nonconsensual drug use

Andrew pov:

A Monster, A Defender, A Psychopath (You Maniac) by Lytta323 [Not Rated, 1953 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

Andrew has a bad psychotic episode due to his medication and gets the help he deserved sooner.

tw: self harm, tw: blood/gore, tw: mania

What if I’m the Monster? by 0bsessednerd [Not Rated, ​​1130 Words, Complete, 2024]

The pills sat on the counter taunting him. He really didn’t want to take these. But when had Andrew ever gotten anything he wanted in his life? It was his fault he had to take them. That’s what everyone told him. If he hadn’t gone too far, if he hadn’t been a problem he wouldn’t have to be on these. He wouldn’t have to be high out of his mind every fucking day. He wouldn’t have to give in to the addiction. He wouldn’t have to go to therapy. He wouldn’t have to be reminded he could never be free. He wouldn’t be a monster. ~~~ Andrew taking his medication for the first time and how he felt doing it. And how he felt after the effects kicked in.

tw: implied/referenced hate crime, tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: negative self image

a foxhole collection: on possibilities and digressions by vicariously kingly (pelted) [Rated T, Collection, Last Updated 2016] 

Chapter 21: andrew minyard in wonderland [734 Words]

for the prompt: pre-andreil snippet. in summary: andrew on drugs.

Feet Don't Fail Me Now by freefromenvy [Rated E, 56824 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2024]

Neil was an exceptional runner until his past caught up with him. After years on the run, he was taken back to the Nest where he had to learn how to survive all over again. After Neil helps Kevin and Jean escape the Nest, Riko sends Neil to Palmetto to inform the rest of the Foxes that he will keep attacking their team, just like what happened to Jamie Smalls, unless Kevin and Jean return to the Nest. If Neil fails in his task, the Moriyamas will giftwrap, and hand deliver Neil to his father after he is released from prison. Neil has always known he has lived on borrowed time. He lived Alex's life, Stephen's life, James's life, and many more. Now all he wants to do is to be able to die as Neil and not as Nathaniel Wesninski.

tw: violence, tw: abuse, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced human trafficking, tw: blood/gore, tw: mutilated dead animal

Apathy by Marquee [Rated G, 144 Words, Complete, 2023]

Andrew thinking about people in his past. Including but not limited to awful foster homes, people who him on the drugs, people calling him crazy, just yucking people in general

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

Love Bites, Hate Bleeds by kongruenz [Rated M, 6286 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2024]

Andrew's at juvie with nothing to look forward to, no life, no passion, just the constant need to be numb and bury what happened, to forget. Until Coach Wymack, Kevin Day and Neil Josten appear in his locker room to recruit him to the Palmetto Foxes. _ An AU in which Neil joined the Foxes before Andrew, and Andrew looks at Neil for protection instead.

tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: violence

I don't want to by The_7th_Void [Not Rated, 3017 Words, Complete. 2024]

Andrew runs late night errands with Neil and tries to fight his drugs. Neil is confused but helps him anyway. Or Neil lies. Andrew is honest.

tw: vomit, tw: addiction

I took the pills for these empty nights by All_for_the_andreil [Rated T, 6013 Words, Complete, 2022]

He gazes at Neil and thinks about all the questions he’s too afraid to ask. Would you still want me when I’ll be a mess? Would you stay even after you see how fucked I am? Would you hate me if I stopped playing exy for good? And perhaps the most important one: Will they kill you if we fail this season because of me? -or- Andrew gets diagnosed with bipolar disorder and is prescribed medication. Given his history with that, he has some issues.

Träumerei by Sashe [Rated E, 12038 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2024]

Andrew never planned on joining the Ravens, not when Riko and Kevin demanded it, but Coach Moriyama is willing to bargain. And he sees right through Andrew in a way no one ever has before. He’s offering Andrew a home, people who believe him, a family who will never abandon him, and a chance at something to build his life around – something to live for. All he has to do is play Exy for him for five years.  or Just another Raven!Andreil AU

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: emotional/psychological abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

We will survive to live by Whyreme [Rated M, 20663 Words, Incomplete, Updated April 2024]

Andrew had been a Spear since the age of thirteen. He endured a lot, but he had a mother, a father and a home. Until it all fell into ashes and his world was turned upside down. He fought back and lost everything, earning himself mandatory medication in return. So when Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day offered him a tempting deal, he couldn't refuse. He'd be a Raven, but that was a bigger cage than his alternative, right? or AU where Andrew never met Aaron and Nicky, was adopted by the Spear and has a very good reason to be a Perfect Court member. (Raven!Andrew and Raven!Neil AU)

tw: dark, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: hallucinations, tw: horror, tw: blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced child abuse and neglect, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: medication addiction, tw: torture, tw: murder, tw: vomit

The Avarice Never Ends by stuntinf8 [Not Rated, 1341 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew liked Neil Josten in the way that a cat might like a mouse: easy to tousle by the tail, quick to fuss, simple enough to rattle. The meds made it even easier. (OR A medicated Andrew reflects on the anomaly that is Neil Josten.)

fandom thoughts and meta:

Dependence and Addiction in All for the Game meta by @the-greater-grief [Tumblr, 2022]

I need to talk about Andrew's medication meta by @deadliestpieceontheboard [Tumblr, 2021]

if Andrew wasn't on anti-psychotics, what was he on? meta by @amiandthechaos, @sinistercacophony [Tumblr, 2021]

why abby was so vehemently against committing andrew to rehab early? discussion by @bookmarkmyword, @deadliestpieceontheboard [Tumblr, 2022]

Andrew -Medication or Incarceration ? meta by @lemonboyjosten [Tumblr, 2021]

thoughts about Andrew…his mental issues and medication? by @palmettomonsters [Tumblr, 2017]

Andrew’s meds make me so fucking angry by @kazzyboy [Tumblr, 2021]

Happy Pills by Weathers song analysis by @meanie-boy-minyard [Tumblr, 2019]

Art

Alien Blues art by @fortheloveofexy, on ao3 here

“It’s a cruel world” art by @swarenar

Put on a happy face :) art by @allfortheslay25

bloody smiles art by @rhyva

meds art by @/rhyvva on twitter

I'm not okay art by @creekgods

apathy is a tragedy art by @doesephs

medicated Andrew art by @yolkylemon

sober vs medicated Andrew cosplay by @/csplyxeva on tiktok

aftg-tober day 4 art by @i-did

[bonitanightmxres]

Haunted (Part III) || SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

MINI SERIES SYNOPSIS: It was hard trying to move past Simon's death, but it’s even harder when the third anniversary is looming and the nightmares are back.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: After the revelation from your therapy session, you confront the man responsible for it all... only, it doesn't go according to plan.

WARNINGS:  angst, some fluffy moments

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

a/n: in honor of early access day, here y'all go! [no spoilers]

–THEN–

It’d been only a couple weeks since they brought his body home. They were torturous weeks of living in an empty home, and you were ridden with denial. It really wasn’t true… was it? This was all some horribly messed up dream that you couldn’t wake up from. But you remembered the day that John Price knocked on your door. Confused when you answered it to find that Johnny and Kyle stood back behind John. They were all dressed in proper uniforms, like they took their time with their appearance. You’d never seen them look so prim, and it brought a small, teasing grin to your face.

“Where’s Simon and his little uniform?” You joked, knowing that he’d do anything to get out of looking so sharp and clean. Peering around the door, and the sides of the house, you look for him. Obviously, he would be hiding from you, but none of the men laughed—not even Johnny. Price barely looked you in the eyes. Every time he opened his mouth, it seemed like he couldn’t put a sentence together. Kyle seemed to avoid your gaze too, finding more interest in looking at his boots than at you. Your smile faded when you realized that you’d never seen any of them at such a loss for words. When it was obvious that Simon wasn’t hiding in the bushes, your stomach dropped… 

“What’s wrong?” 

John cleared his throat, “Simon Riley was killed in action…”

To this day, you don’t even remember the rest of what John told you. You had zoned out, your ears ringing, and your head spun so much that you almost fainted. Or maybe you did. You didn’t even really know. Despite your lack of memory, Johnny, Kyle, and Price remember it all. The way you collapsed to the ground, and Price catching you; the way the other two rushed to your aid. And the way they’d never heard such a blood-curdling wail. Johnny remembers it loud and clear; Kyle shivers just thinking about it. And Price wanted nothing more than to forget the permanent stain your tears left on his heart. 

So, now, weeks since then, it was the first night you were going to have to accept the fact that you were alone for good. You’d just come home from his funeral services, finally putting him to rest. Everything seemed to go by in a blur–the drive there with Price, the whole hours-long service, handshakes and condolences from random soldiers and superiors who you’d never met… and the drive back. Today you hadn’t shed a single tear, you assumed because your body’s production couldn’t keep up with the pace you were letting them flow. Johnny and Kyle were already at your house when you and Price pulled into the driveway. They stood awkwardly around quiet as can be, as if noise would somehow bother you. It was funny, really; the way they rivaled statues. 

“I-uh… I think I’m just gonna go lay down. Take a nap, maybe.” Your voice was hoarse and raspy, and your eyes nearly went blind from the brightness of the house when you took off your dark sunglasses. As you set them down on the counter, you give each of them a quick hug, thanking them for their support, and disappear into your bedroom. You hated it now, in all honesty. You hated the way Simon’s bedside table would always be neater than yours, the way his shoes still sat on the rack in the closet, or how his clothes would forever stay folded in the drawers next to yours. You wondered if leaving them untouched would preserve their smell. With the curtains closed, you kick off your shoes, and don’t even bother to change before you lay down. You lay on your side of the bed, out of habit, and bring your knees to your chest. 

It would be okay, right? Tomorrow you’d wake up, and everything would be fine… 

Though your eyes were shut from sleep, you could feel the tears burn and the sobs escape your throat. The sudden feeling of two strong hands grasping your arms and trying to shake you awake.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” the voice says softly. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“S-Simon?” You bolt up, sitting against the headboard of your bed, rubbing your eyes.

“N-no, it’s me… It’s John, sweetheart.” It hurts him to tell you, you can tell by the look in his eyes and how they’re full of sorrow. “You were havin’ a nightmare.”

You’re still dressed in your black dress and matching cardigan. From a quick glance to the mirror hanging on your wall, you can see the mascara painting a psychotic look underneath your eyes.

It kind of looked like Simon’s face paint… 

“From the looks of it, I still haven’t woken up,” you trudge to the bathroom, washing away the ruined makeup before looking for comfortable clothes. John turns his head respectfully while you change. “It’s nearly four in the morning, John, what are you still doing here?”

“I planned on spending the night on the sofa.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you insist, “You’ve been spending a lot of time here, lately. I’ll be fine, trust me, and–and the girls–I–”

He offers a comforting smile accompanied by a small chuckle, “Sweetheart, you know I’d do anything for my girls, right?”

“Yeah…I-I know…” 

How could anyone not know that? John was always a good dad, a great one at that. The look of pride he had whenever he talked about his daughters or the way he always looked at his wife like there was no woman more beautiful. His little family was picture-perfect, and nothing made you happier than seeing them all together.

“And you know that when my girls get scared in the middle of the night, I stay with them until they fall back asleep? Until they don’t need me anymore?”

“Yeah…” 

“So that’s what I’m doing,” he kicked his shoes off and sat in your bed. With a pillow lying against his lap, he tapped it with his hand, gesturing for you to go and lay down. “I’m staying until you don’t need me anymore.”

Arguing with him would have been pointless, and to be honest, you didn’t want to. John Price might not have been your father, but he was the next best thing. As you lie down, he takes a hand and gently rakes it through your hair. How had he known to do that? Something so small and comforting. Laying there, you felt like a little girl again. His daughters were each aged 7, 5, and the youngest was nearing her first birthday; and you wondered if he comforted them in the same way. 

He stayed every night for nearly three weeks.

Kyle and Johnny rotated shifts during the day, keeping you company while John went home and tended to his family. During the night though, John came back to ensure someone was with you especially while you slept. Guilt ate away at you for all the attention they gave you, putting their lives on pause just because you’d had a few nightmares. You’d apologized profusely–to John especially, since he was the one with a wife and kids; surely Mrs. Price was growing tired of taking care of the girls on her own. Still, John had reassured you by saying that he “made it up to her every day” and winked. It was really no wonder why they had three daughters, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they ended the year pregnant again.   

–NOW–

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as the cold evening wind nipped at your cheeks and blew your hair into your face. As you walked toward the cafe around the corner, you open the message: 

JOHN PRICE: I’m here. Hope you don’t mind I brought the little devil with me. 

JOHN PRICE: [Attachment: 1 Image]

The youngest of the Price clan sat in his father’s lap, smiling widely with a cup of hot chocolate—the evidence all over his top lip. He looked like a cherubic angel, with his rosy cheeks from the cold. The little boy took after his mother in looks, but he had John’s eyes. 

YOU: How cuuuuuuute!! I’m almost there :) 

When you walk in, you’re greeted with the sweet aroma of pastries and savory breakfast items served at the tables around you. John smiled as you approached the table he saved, getting up to give you a hug and kiss on the forehead. Immediately, the boy reached his arms out to you, wanting to be sat in your lap instead of his own father’s. You took the little two year old without a second thought, having always loved to babysit and play with John’s kids whenever the couple needed. 

“You should have told me you were walking here,” John says, sliding a cup of freshly brewed coffee toward you. “Could have given you a ride.”

“It would’ve been the shortest ride ever. I don’t live very far,” you argue. “Besides, the weather’s nice.”

John agrees, watching you happily stir the cloud of sugar and cream in your mug with his son mimicking your actions with an empty spoon in his hot chocolate. “I already ordered for us. I hope that’s alright, they should be coming out with them soon.” 

“Thank God you did,” you laugh. “Everything smells good, I think I’d have trouble making a decision.” 

John chuckles, and you spend the beginning of your cafe date catching up and filling each other in on the news. You thought it was cute, the way John’s life seemed to be filled with events and his childrens’ firsts— first falling of baby teeth, first straight-A report card, first concert—you wondered what that felt like. To be a parent hiding money under the pillow, buying a treat as a reward, or applauding the loudest and buying flowers. While you loved the Price family, and accompanied them to important events, you couldn’t help but feel like you were on the outside looking in… When it came to your life, there wasn’t much that he didn’t already know. Part of you didn’t think you’d ever find out what it would feel like to be the one with the busy family schedule.

Before you can get too lost in thought, a waiter comes by with your plates, and before you can take a bite of your own, John is scolding his son lightly for grabbing off your plate, “That’s not yours, lad. You have yours in front of you.”  

“Let him be, John, it’s okay,” your eyes might as well have been shaped like hearts with the way you treated his son as he sat contentedly on your leg. You fed him small bites from your food and helped him slurp hot chocolate by bringing the mug to his little mouth. The smile he gave you once he licked the remaining whipped cream off his lips was enough to make you melt right there. 

“I swear you spoil these kids more than they deserve.” He chuckles, shaking his head. 

“That’s my job.”

“So,” John began, cutting up the food on his son’s plate into bite-sized pieces before digging into his own breakfast. “Not that I’m complaining, but we usually plan our little cafe get-togethers with more time in advance… so y’know, we can talk without interruptions. Something on your mind that can’t wait?”

“It was John Price.”

Dr. Fernández’s words replayed on loop in your head over the next few days, wondering how and why he thought it was a good idea to go to some therapist when you knew perfectly fine why and how your nightmares started. It wasn’t like they’d come out of nowhere. Plus, you’d always spared John the details. But Soap was the only one who really knew the gritty details, and only because he’d coerced them out of you. 

“I saw Dr. Fernández the other day.”

“And how did it go?”

You shrug, “About as good as a therapy session can get, I guess. But she did have something interesting to say.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, raising a brow while taking a sip of coffee. “And what’s that?”

“She said that you’re the one who set up the meetings between us in the first place. That you’re the one told her about the nightmares starting again, which is impossible because I hadn’t told you about them yet. Now, MacTavish has a tendency to open his mouth and—”

John laughs abruptly, catching you off guard. Your blank stare makes him laugh even more, which only sends you further into confusion. “I don’t need Soap to report back to me with intel about you, sweetheart. I’m a father of four. A father of three girls. I know when you’re not being truthful.” 

You can feel your cheeks turn red from embarrassment. If Johnny ever found out that you’d wrongly accused him of spilling your secrets, you’d never hear the end of it. Having someone as caring and thoughtful as John, who clearly was concerned enough to set you up with a therapist made you feel lucky. Of course Soap had been concerned and loving enough too, but that was besides the point. 

As the three of you finish your meal, you use wipes that you carry in your purse to wipe the hands and mouth of the littlest Price who looked like he was ready for a nap. An elderly woman approached, smiling warmly, “Your son is just the most adorable thing I’ve laid eyes on,” she tells you. 

Her poor observation makes your cheeks flush red, and you stutter, laughing nervously, “Oh! I–uh, no–I-I’m not–”

“He’s actually my son.” John intervenes, noticing the way you’re caught off guard. “Oh, I knew you were too young to be a grandfather!” She laughs, patting him on the shoulder, then turns to you, “ Do you have any children?”

Your cheeks turn redder by the second, “I–no.”

“That’s too bad,” she says. “You’d make a great mother, I can tell.”

With that, she walks out of the cafe, waving. 

Waiting for John to pay the bill (since he swore he could never just let you do a nice thing for him), you wonder if the old lady was only one of many who thought that John’s children were your own. It wouldn’t have been far-fetched either; you could often be spotted out and about with them… maybe people had passed by and thought they’d simply be laying eyes on a mother with her kids. You didn’t want to admit how much that made you feel a kind of warmth inside that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Fatherhood on John had looked like a longer and grayer beard and defined little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Four kids would do that to you, you guessed. You wondered what motherhood would have done to you. Premature gray hair? Lots of wrinkles? No no, you definitely would have been a MILF. Simon would have been the one with premature gray hair and wrinkles, you knew that for a fact. With the way he stressed over things? Yeah, he’d need regular hair appointments to keep the gray in check. Then again, graying hair on a man… oof. Especially on Simon?? Maybe you would have been those hot parents whose teenage kids had friends that always wanted to come over because they had a crush on either of you. The thought made you giggle to yourself.

“Want me to take him?” John asks, as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket and reaches out for his son. He’s nervous about how the interaction with the lady settled with you. This could only go one of two ways… and your emotionless face is making him believe you’re gonna react that way. 

But you smile and say, “It’s okay, I’ve got him.”

And John lets out a little sigh of relief. He hadn’t known the extent to which Simon had ever talked about kids with you, but it was something he wouldn’t shut up about when they talked about families.

“One day, when she’s ready…” Simon had said. But that didn’t stop him from running baby names by John whenever he thought of one. 

John had just laughed, telling him that he needed to run it by you. 

The lady from the cafe was right though, he thought. You’d make a terrific mother one day; and as he watched you carry his son in your arms like he was your own, he couldn’t help but start to feel a little guilty inside…   

a/n: i have a feeling of where i want this story to go, but i’m conflicted😭😂

tag list!

@angelic-dreams13

@ilovehyperfixating

@titaniasfairy

@ghostlythots

[checkthebox]

Some old MTL doodles (w/ some descriptions if I feel like it) and sorry if I've already posted some of them already, I don't remember which ones I did and didn't

Made this one back when that Toki-Cube was going on. When I think of cubes I think of hypercubes and Cube (1997). It's funny to me but I don't think anyone else would find amusement in it, especially now because the trend is basically fossil age.

I don't have much to say about the majority of these. I'm still bothered that they put Toki on stage immediately after months of basement torture, and they did not treat it well at all in AOTD. Might as well have executed him.

About the birds versions of Tok&Skwis; aside from the plain storks mean life and vultures mean death symbolism, I also just think it fits because storks have a tendency to kill their least favorite children. Thinking about it now, this characterization might lean more into an AU category. Whatever.

'Made a small post a few months ago about Toki's death curse thingy and I wanted to talk about it more. I don't like the idea the rest of the band gets to live even though they're being radiated by love because they're immune to it somehow (prolly 'cuz of prophecy stuff idk). I liked the idea that he was more ambivalent towards them, sometimes maybe even hating them on occasion (points at the faked kidnapping trope they did for fertilityklok). This is probably super out of character for him maybe but ehhhh. I might've mentioned this a million times but I love S1 Toki. I like the idea that he deteriorates throughout the series but like I said, could've done it so much better. I don't knowww, whenever I think about him I think of him behaving & talking like S1 Toks, but more catatonic I guess.

[xxsycamore]

𝙔𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙮 𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 ( SEBASTIAN X READER )

↬ 🍜 Putting food in your stomach makes your cramps flare up, and you refuse to eat. Sebastian can't have that.

Sebastian x Reader• rating: G • tags: Menstruation; Period Cramps; Fluff; Blankets; Food; Cooking • wordcount:  995 • masterlist

a/n: This one goes to the fellow period-sufferers who can eat little to nothing the first two days 😭 If you happen to suffer from cramps and you want your favorite ikevamp suitor comforting you in their own unique way, may I also offer: Napoleon, Comte, Mozart, Theo, Leonardo💕(All fics in this series share the same opening scene!)

It’s another beautiful day at the mansion, and the sun is continuing to shine brightly outside as afternoon settles in. Your list of chores is more than half-way done now, the morning was a productive one and you pat yourself on the back for pushing through at your usual pace, even if your period surprised you early this morning. Sleeves rolled up and armed with a feather duster, you march towards the lounge room to take care of another chore.

Specks of dust dance in the afternoon sun, windows wide open, as you complete your task little by little. Soon the sections left to dust decrease and you start to tire - a minor pain in your tummy appearing as well, as if to persuade you into taking a short break. You throw a look at the grandfather clock. You’ve been a busy bee; not even the distraction of dusting off some of Comte’s highly intriguing antiques couldn’t get you late on your own schedule.

You sit down at the spacious couch area, grab a throw pillow to hug, and fall on your side - shoe-covered feet juust hanging off the couch because it won’t be worth the effort of taking them off for just a minute or two of rest.

Uh-oh! The pain doesn’t go away and only gets worse instead. Suddenly moving as much as a millimeter equals signing a death warrant.

“Help” You whisper to yourself, clutching onto the throw pillow.

"I need you to eat something. Please."

You shake your head, curling up further onto yourself in silent protest of standing up to eat. You hate refusing Sebastian of all people. One reason is that you're familiar with his caring, warm side - you recognize that tone as he asks you to at least try the warm soup he's holding out to you.

A whiff of the delicious broth and your stomach waves the white flag, putting an end to the silent protest as it audibly announces it's hunger, by growling. Loudly. And you speak up before Sebastian does… Or before he resorts to something worse. You protectively place the pillow over your forehead, just to be cautious.

"I caaaan't, Sebas! Stop torturing me by waving your yummy soup in my face, it's not that I don't want to eat, it's that I can't!"

Sebastian lets out a low hum, straightening up again and placing the lid back on the tray.

"I understand now. Your period is upsetting your stomach."

You groan, dragging the pillow down so that it covers your face. He's ever so perceptive. A bit too much, even.

"Putting food in it makes my cramps flare up."

"Even if it's in little quantities?"

"…No. But I never know when to stop. Especially now that I'm hungry."

Another humming noise of calculation comes from the butler, and you prefer to warn him before his diamond mind comes up with a 'solution'.

"It's futile. I'll wait out the worst of it and then I'll eat. I promise?"

"I was actually thinking about how you said you feel guilty for not being able to finish your chores. Would you mind helping me with something small that I believe won't be a problem in your state?"

This blanket smells like Sebastian. Getting all cozied up in the chair by the kitchen counter, wrapped up in a blanket by no one other than Sebastian, you can't help but cheer up a little. It feels like being sick, but less sickness and more being taken care of. You were worried about the task you'll be presented with, but you doubt it can be that hard if he gets you all seated and comfy beforehand.

"I'm trying a set of new dishes for today's lunch. As you know, I hold our Masters' opinion in high regard and the food presented on their plates has to be impeccable."

And today of all days he has to cook by himself… you frown, raising your head from where it was nested in the blanket to offer your help. But Sebastian holds up a hand to signal letting him finish before you speak.

"I want you to do a round of taste-testing for me, nothing more, nothing less. Can you do that?"

You pause, understanding only just now your role. "I can, but… is my palate refined enough?"

"It is. Now, without further ado, open up."

With no room for complaints, the spoon is brought in front of your lips and you part them to let it in.

You've no idea what that's supposed to be, but it's delicious.

"They'll LOVE it."

"Are you sure? I think it has a bit too strong of a spicy aftertaste. Here, hold this and try the whole spoonful, I will bring you a drink."

You do as told, concentrating on the information registered by your taste buds. By the time Sebastian is back with a glass of water, you're done with your answer.

"Try adding a little more salt and it would be perfect."

"Right away." Like a magician doing a trick, Sebastian moves his hand over the pot and a pinch of salt is added. "Try again now."

"Mhm, that's better. What about the side dish?"

"It's here. Make sure to try all three garnishes. Then try this and this together. And then we'll decide on one of the two sauces I prepared, depending on which one compliments the dish best. Afterward, we'll proceed with the palate-cleansing salad from the five-course meal."

Your head spins with Sebastian's presentation as he brings multiple plates into your vision. He's so serious about this. It's impressive.

"They all look absolutely delicious already, Sebastian…okay, bring it on!"

Sebastian smiles, content with having a good helper like you.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @violettduchess @namine-somebodies-nobody Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

As you lift another spoonful towards your mouth, you fail to notice just how content he is, attributing it all to his efforts to fill the mansions' stomachs with yummy food. This is what all of this is about…right?

[purplemninja]

A depressing revelation about Six's ending

2 months ago on the LN subreddit, I made a theory post where I say how Six may have had powers all along and didn't use them until the end, similar to Mono, and this wasn't the main focus of the post but in it I also mentioned a new way to interpret Six's ending and I compared it to a scene in Avatar: The last Airbender where Iroh teaches Zuko how to redirect lightning, the important thing being that lightning is a metaphor for abuse.

A person named Skrappo made a fandom wiki blog that goes into full detail on this new way to interpret the ending of LN1 (crediting me) and I will copy and paste it here for more people to see (I'll divide it between his blog and my comment with "---------" as a border, so to avoid people being confused between his info and mine)

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

Credit goes to PurpleMNinja for the original idea.

In an interview, Little Nightmares' "Senior Narrative Designer" Dave Mervik said that he believes that both Six and Mono got equally bleak and hopeless endings. This has confused many fans ever since LN2's release. How could Six's fate be just as bad as Mono's? Mono is trapped forever in an infinite times-loop of betrayal, torture, and depression; while Six has become extremely powerful and has escaped the Maw, taking out anyone who stood in her path. I think I have realised why he believes this.

Let's take a look at Mono's story. He is a small child who has a bag over his head to hide from the world, to try to forget that it hates him. Throughout LN2, he continues to lie to himself, pretending that the world doesn't hate him, he is constantly hiding. But when Six is taken and he is confronted by Thin Man, he has had enough. He accepts that the world he lives in hates him and accepts who he truly is, using his newfound powers to defeat Thin Man and take control of the Pale City. I think we can all agree that this is his most badass moment. But it all amounts to nothing, as he is betrayed and left to sit and rot for the rest of his life in that little room. Until he is stripped of his humanity and turned into the Signal Tower's slave.

Now let's look at Six's story. Like Mono, she is a small child who is in a world that hates her and wants her dead. Unlike Mono however, she doesn't try to pretend that it doesn't. Instead she chooses to be a survivor. Her greatest fear is death, and she will do anything to avoid it (and really, can you blame a 9-year old child for wanting to live?). However, despite living in a world that is kill or be killed, Six still tries to cling on to her childish innocence, she tries not to give in to darkness. Throughout the series, we see her doing many good things; trying to save Raincoat Girl, befriending Mono, hugging the Nomes, etc. But every time she tries to show kindness it backfires. She fails to save Raincoat Girl, she is betrayed by Mono (from her perspective), and she is forced to choose between committing cannibalism by eating a sausage or eating a little Nome like all the other ones she had befriended previously. She ultimately decided that eating the Nome was a better alternative to cannibalism (not realising that the Nome was another child). However the eating of the Nome pushed Six close to her breaking point. She has tried so hard to remain pure, to stay innocent, but every time she is given nothing but heartbreak and guilt in return. I believe that Dark Six is a representation of her inner darkness, her shadow, the animalistic sinful part of her that will do as many immoral actions as it needs (and maybe more for fun) to survive. When Six has her final hunger bout, she realises that truth. She realises that if she wants to live, she has to give in to her shadow, she has no other choice. She eats the Lady, and gives up the last bit of innocence she had left. And now, with the Lady's power, she can finally take revenge and fight back against the horrible monsters that had been treating her like an animal. She walks down the dining halls, massacres the Guests along the way, she is finally able to fight back against the world, to rise above the world. She walks up into the sunlight, finally out of the Maw... and she is met with an endless ocean. We hear a boat horn in the distance, but it is likely nothing more than the Guests' ship leaving. She has spent her whole life being ruthlessly attacked by the world around her, and now that she has finally gained the ability to fight back, it holds back... it leaves her alone. After going through living hell, being forced to do things she didn't want to, and giving up her innocence, she is met with a dead end. It has all been for nothing. She is still stranded, and all she can do is stand there, and look out into the sea, knowing that there is no way for her to escape...

This is why I think that Dave Mervik believes both endings to be equally bleak. Both characters go through so much trauma, leading up to them finally breaking and rising above the world that hates them, becoming able to fight back, and then they are both met with a dead end. In reality, Raincoat Girl and Runaway Kid had it the best. They both died and were able to escape the nightmare, but Six and Mono are forever trapped, alone and hopeless...

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

TL;DR - I compare Six's ending to Zuko being taught how to redirect lightning because both characters have been most notoriously abused by the worlds they live in, and after much struggle they eventually are able to fight back, but their worlds leave them there with nothing to fight (Six gets a few guests, but that's it). Making them suffer so much and not grant them any sort of payoff when they're finally able to dish it back out. (I know how the rest of ATLA goes)

I slightly imagine the world wanted Six to either die, or suffer so much but be left stranded when she's able to fight back so that her struggles, sacrifices and losses don't end up with some sort of payoff or reward, making her go through so much to avoid death just to be met with a dead end when she manages to plow through it all. Either way, the cruel world wins.

If that's not a massive middle finger, I don't know what is.

And this new realisation on the ending of LN1 only adds to the tragedy of Six's story, which I've gone into full detail here.

And since I've probably made you very sad, here's some music I think is best when thinking about this interpretation of Six's ending:

[cursedvibes]

Do you mind if I ask why you dislike Getou, Yuuta and Choso...?

Sure. So for Geto it's mostly that I don't like villains with a bigoted ideology and he's too incompetent to even fall in the "love to hate" category. Really, the worst thing a villain can be is incompetent and Geto in Vol 0 is barely better than your average disney villain. Doesn't help that he never gets pushback on his ideals. Gojo tells him in Premature Death that killing people is bad, but that's it. He spouts his bullshit about how genocide is totally necessary and Yuuta stands there like "idk you might be right, but you want to kill people I care about and that's the real crime here". Nobody really engages with his ideology except Yuki I guess, but that was before he became an antagonist. I could forgive that to a degree if he was at least a real threat, but he isn't. Take the Major from Hellsing for example. I hate his guts, when Integra fought him I wanted to reach through the screen and strangle him myself and when he died it was incredibly satisfying. You don't get any of that with Geto, he's not even fun to hate because he barely provides any pushback. He's a bad villain and I dislike him as a person as well. His descent into embracing the superiority of sorcerers and resolving to kill all non-sorcerers was well written, but I don't feel for him at all. Good riddance to the guy, I'm glad he's now dead both in body and mind.

My main issue with Yuuta is that he barely gets challenged for anything he does. He never lost a fight, he pulls powers out of his ass (like doing RCT when we never even heard of it, who knows where he learned that probably just gifted by God), he's always right and can do no wrong. Seems like Takako's words about what it means to be truly strong did reach him to some extend, but we'll see if that will lead to anything for him. He builds his entire identity around other people, doesn't recognize how toxic that is (he kinda did at the end of Vol 0, but regressed again when entering the main series) and then has the audacity to preach at others with far more experience than him who face real challenges and then concludes that it must be the others fault, he only tried his best to get along after all. Why is Takako getting mad at him? So irrational. He's also not really done anything in the main series besides get points in the Culling Game. He killed Yuuji, but Kenjaku already took care of the higher-ups and the death sentence anyway. He beheaded Kenjaku, but anyone else could've done that. If Maki had been in his stead, Kenjaku probably wouldn't have noticed her at all until their head is falling off. He hasn't even fulfilled his promise to Gojo because when he killed "Geto", Gojo was already dead and wouldn't have needed to do it anyway. That's like I'm vowing to buy groceries for my old neighbor, but never get around to it. They die and I'm like "I'll buy more groceries in their memory", but those groceries won't help that old person anymore now. So any slither of anything interesting coming out of that Kenjaku-Yuuta encounter is gone. And that's it. That's all he has done so far. What's the point? I hope he dies like all the other special grades and makes room for Hakari. He's the same as Gojo with being a symptom of an old system, he's just less aware of it.

Choso is mainly too loud and annoying for my taste, but I also don't like his hypocritical view on family and how he treats his siblings. Eso really hated Yuuji for what he did to him and Kechizu, he saw Kechizu being tortured and didn't seem like he was likely to forgive that when he was about to die. Yet Choso comes along and is like "yeah no problem, water under the bridge, Eso would agree". Would he? Given how Eso looks in Choso's hallucinations, I don't think he knows his brother very well. I get that's the point and Choso needs to think like that to hang onto that semblance of family he still has and needs (and is ready to let Yuuji kill the rest of his family members if it means no more internal fighting), but I still don't like that character trait of his. Not to mention that he's very selective and mostly only talks about Yuuji, Eso and Kechizu when talking about the family he wants to protect, forgetting the remaining six Death Paintings. What is also very aggravating is that he barely develops over the story or does anything meaningful. He has a second chance to challenge Kenjaku and all he does is say the exact same thing he already did in Shibuya with of course leading to no change in attitude from Kenjaku. He even talks about his mother's curse beforehand, but then doesn't bring her up in front of Kenjaku, the person who suffered the most at their hands. He's also too weak to do anything against Kenjaku or Sukuna, so he mostly just hangs out in the background, not doing anything. The "onii-chan" bit can be funny I guess (even if not to me), but he hasn't really gotten anything beyond that in around 100 chapters. Turn his dialogue into "oniichanoniichanoniichan" and not much of value would be lost. Also, this isn't really his fault, but I hate that a majority of Yuki's character got turned into salivating over Choso's sweaty body in their big fight against Kenjaku instead of giving us more insight into why decides to fight for Tengen, her status as Star Plasma Vessel, her vision for the future that directly contradicts Kenjaku's and how she planned to achieve it (or if she even had a concrete plan). I don't dislike Choso as much as the other two, but he's getting pretty bothersome lately. Hopefully, when we officially find out that Yuuji ate the Death Paintings or when Kenjaku's "will" comes into effect he'll get to do something useful for once.

[lopsicle]

I’m going to rant about this because I need someone to rant about this too.

The Fnaf movie did Cassidy so dirty.

First of all, they decided to turn her into a boy for seemingly no reason other then it’s easier to understand who possesses who, but I think it would still be clear to have a girl possessing a male animatronic, audiences are gonna get that. It also helps prove that Fnaf really cannot write female characters, Charlie was fucked over in the book series, Vanessa’s entire character revolves around breaking free from Glitchtrap which is a plot point we were somehow still on in Help Wanted 2, and Cassidy is criminally underutilised. Elizabeth and Baby are the only solid written characters, and even then Baby is fucked over by the books. They do have some okay characters, like Cassie, Abby and Movie Vanessa but even then, they’re either under-utilised and we don’t know much about them, or their stories aren’t finished yet so it’s hard to comment on them.

Second of all, adding onto the point of characters being under-utilised, where was Cassidy for the whole film? She is the one of the most important spirits of the entire franchise and in the film, he is the one to communicate with Mike but he’s never part of the group. Same with Fritz honestly, those two are excluded for seemingly no reason but Cassidy wasn’t even there for William’s death. Sure, he stood in the doorway in the movie but in the games, she was directly responsible for springlocking him and they couldn’t even let her have that, they gave it to the cupcake.

And third of all, why the fuck did she try to kill Abby? I get that the movie had the whole plot point of the spirits not knowing William had killed them but even then, Cassidy is an incredibly vengeful spirit. She knows what’s it like to have her life ripped away from her so carelessly and cruelly and she’s yet a-fucking-okay with trying to springlock Abby. Just comparing movie Cassidy to game Cassidy shows just how awful movie Cassidy’s character writing is.

Cassidy shows up, he talks with Mike and says he’s going to kill his sister, shows up at Abby’s house, kills her aunt, lures her to the restaurant, attempts to springlock her which is just an agonising death, isn’t there for killing William and just stares at him.

Now if we compare this to the Cassidy in the games, she was most likely killed via springlock failure caused by William, yet still tried to help his family. She actively spoke with the Crying Child and Michael, showing she’s not just blinded by revenge, she was a genuinely kind person. Her being the one to springlock William makes so much sense narratively because it was the same way he killed her, and makes the moment so much more impactful. From then, she helps to put the Crying Child to rest and presumably the rest of the Missing Children, in some theories about the lore, she even communicated with Henry and helped him. And of course, she is the one who sets up UCN to torture her killer, making him live through every mistake of his life. But this doesn’t allow her to rest, or anyone else and we can interpret that she let him go due to the story, ‘The Man in Room 1280,’ where William’s corpse explodes, implying he was set free and the cutscene where Cassidy faded into the dark. AND EVEN THEN, the Princess from Princess Quest is called ‘Cassidy’ in the files, showing that she is still here and trying to help Vanessa because she is a good person.

Movie Cassidy is none of these things and only served to make Cassidy even more unknown as a character. She is so misused by the games, by the franchise and deserves better because she is my favourite and deserves a proper character after everything she has done.

Also obviously, don’t send hate to the actor of movie Cassidy, he’s like nine

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (3)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Authors' Note: Suggestive themes, violence and mild gore ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 3: Fires of Rebellion

“So, talk,” you demanded, crossing your arms as you kept yourself at a suitable distance from Leon. 

Both of you were currently walking up north along Good Street towards the City College. The plan had been to take a left at some point and head over to the park by Warren Street, where hopefully there would be some benches for you to relax on. It was still early enough in the night for your surroundings to be relatively bustling with people, so you weren’t too worried that the man beside you would try anything risky or stupid. In any case, you knew where you kept your pepper spray at hand if things went south.

“You’d already sensed it from the beginning,” he stated, swallowing thickly. How was it this hard to tell you who he really was? If he could sweat blood, he’d fill a whole bucket’s worth. Pig’s blood. A cop in pig’s blood. He knew plenty of people who’d pay to see him drenched in the vermillion fluid. “That I’m not exactly normal.” That was what he settled with.

“What, you mean like a serial killer or something?” you scoffed, shaking your head in mild vexation.

“No.” His voice was solemn but firm as he glanced at you briefly, making eye contact. “I didn’t… assault you, not in the way you think.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line. “I just— I do things… that aren’t exactly normal.”

Great, Leon. You just made yourself sound like a fucking magician. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and paused his footsteps. “This is going well.”

You almost felt sorry for the guy. He seemed to be having such a difficult time articulating what he wanted to say. Was it some sort of kink he was talking about? The logical part of your mind berated you, insisting that this could go down far worse than you imagined, but you pushed it aside.

“Like what?” you asked, your morbid curiosity getting the better of you.

His jaw tightened as he shifted his weight uncomfortably from side to side.

Before he could respond, you took the initiative, positioning yourself in front of him as a form of challenge. “Show me,” you requested.

His head darted in every direction, scanning the area with an animalistic instinctiveness and you thought you saw his eyes illuminate in a different color. However, when you blinked a second later, it had returned to its original pale shade of blue. “Too many people,” he muttered. “I’ll do as you ask, but we need to head somewhere quieter.”

You should’ve ran off after he said that, but your legs stayed rooted to the ground. Your lack of self-preservation was alarming. “The park, then?” you suggested.

He nodded in compromise. “I could work with that.”

The rest of the walk there took place in awkward silence, as you dwelled on what he would do and whether you were walking into one big, fat trap. Well, at least Patrick had his business card. And P.I.s, they had a registered license, didn’t they? It was too late to back out now, you’d gone this far and you wanted to see it through.

When you had found a secluded bench at one of the shaded corners of the park, he spoke up again. “Do you remember the first night we met? When—”

“You offered me cigarettes in exchange for coffee,” you finished the sentence for him.

“Yes,” he said with a wistful smile, as if reminiscing about a day he’d cherished but had long since passed. “You felt it, didn’t you? Compelled to stay, but with no reason why.”

Despite your reluctance, you had to agree with him. That moment between standing by his table and sitting with him to share in a smoke had been like entering the twilight zone. You were you, but yet, at the same time, weren’t.

“I can do it again here, if you want,” he murmured, his eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to bore right into you.

It wasn’t the first time you had leaped before looking. You’d always been known to be a little more reckless than your peers, but it seemed like you never really learnt your lesson well. “Be my guest,” you gestured melodramatically, as your hand swept across in one grand motion.

“Now, you’re just mocking me,” he chided, though a ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips.

This time, there was a tingling sensation in your body, like an invisible warm light gradually enveloping you, except it seemed to exude from him. You were entranced by his stature, the minute details of his face, everything about what he was, to the point where you couldn’t tear yourself away from his gaze.

“Sit,” he directed gently, placing his hand along the back of the wooden bench.

You felt nothing but desire. Desire to do anything he wanted you to. Without a word, you sank onto the bench like a doll, still giving him that doe-eyed expression one would normally reserve for a celebrity they were starstruck by.

Taking his seat beside you, he urged, “Come closer.”

Obediently, you shuffled up along the bench towards him, except it wasn’t out of fear of punishment, but a strange, radiant love that emanated from within you. When you were just inches away from his face, he slowly revealed the tips of his canine teeth, which were pointier than usual, and seemed to grow with each passing minute. As his features eased up, you could feel the uncanny warmth dissipate from your core, and though you were still captivated by him, his face seemed to lack the same lustrous sheen it held moments ago. Like a wandering spirit, you had arrived back into your own body. You were you again.

His eyes latched onto you, waiting, watching, biding his time, to see what you would do. Though he remained poised and composed, the unsteadiness of his breathing and the flicker of trepidation across his irises gave him away. He was afraid that you would leave him, for good. And after what he had given to have the right to Embrace you, he wouldn’t know how he would live with himself if he were rejected.

It felt like hours had gone by until one of you spoke up. “Do you hate what you see?”

“No,” you answered, almost too quickly, cupping his cold cheek in the palm of your hand. He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully into it, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It felt moist and heated against your skin.

You surprised yourself with how well you were taking all of this in. This shouldn’t have been possible and nothing about what he had shown you made sense. You blamed your tolerance on the late, sleepless nights and hanging around with the offbeat characters who frequented your cafe. 

What if monsters did exist? you humored. Maybe not in the literal sense of vampires, but someone who relished the flavor of blood, and who’d learnt a few tricks of hypnotism. You tried to rationalize it as much as you could, but there were still so many missing pieces you did not fully understand.

“How many times?” you asked. “Did you force me… each night?”

He lowered his gaze, marred by shame, while looking to his hands nestled in his lap. “It was just that once,” he whispered. “I wanted you to stay with me.” 

He pursed his lips. “The rest, later on… was you.”

“Did you—”

“Yes.” 

You didn’t even need to continue your sentence for him to know what you meant. Yes, he tasted your blood. Yes, he enjoyed it. Yes, he came back for more. And more.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked.

You didn’t acknowledge his apology, allowing even more time to slip through your fingers. A while later, you ran them along his cheek towards his lips, where his teeth which now looked more like fangs lurked. Right, how would you explain that away?

He didn’t stop you when you traced one of their edges, as if trying to figure out if they were real. He let you press the tip of your finger against its peak, purposely pricking yourself in some kind of deluded masochistic fantasy. The rush you felt from it was indescribable, like a spike of venom flowing into your veins, though it wasn’t as intense as the previous times to truly immobilize you. Grasping onto the back of the bench, you steadied yourself from the dizzying sensation.

A dark, ruby bead blossomed at the site of the puncture. His mouth lay open as he inhaled sharply, gripping the trousers on his thighs, and there was a wild look in his bloodshot eyes. However, he remained motionless, restraining himself somehow, as if awaiting your instruction.

“You like this?” A mixture of bewilderment and arousal seeped into your tone, as you brought your bleeding finger to rest just at the entrance of his mouth.

All at once, his veneer of calmness shattered. He swirled his tongue against your fingertip, causing you to gasp as it made hot laps around the miniscule droplet of blood you had to offer him. Dipping his head, he took the rest of your digit into his mouth, eventually sucking on it whole as he emitted a low groan in pleasure. When he finally let it go, a slick string of saliva connected to it from his lips, wet and hungry with need.

“I, um—” you shuddered, at a loss for words, as you retracted your finger, folding it into your hand.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he straightened up in his seat, adjusting his attire and hair, as if he had come back to his senses once again. “You don’t have to decide on this right now,” he assured you.

“Okay.” You nodded shakily, your mind spinning from all the events that had just transpired. “Could we take another short walk before I head home?” 

It would probably help to cool off a little, you thought.

“Anything you need,” he asserted, getting up as he took another glance around the park, before extending his hand to you.

You stared at it, contemplating further. “Just don’t—” you hesitated, pausing to rephrase your words. “I want to trust you, Leon.”

“I’ll earn it back,” he promised. “However long it takes.”

That was all you needed to hear from him. Perhaps you were naive to a fault, but you took his hand anyway, allowing him to lead you out of the park, and to whatever else fate had in store for you that night.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Over the course of the evening, a thin fog had developed, shrouding the sky and enveloping the moon and stars in a blurry veil, casting a muted light over the city. You and Leon had taken a short detour towards the more touristy part of town, where the landmark Saint Michael Clock Tower overlooked the grand waterway.

The ornate, Gothic structure loomed intimidatingly ahead, its roof cloaked in a wispy gray mist, though you could still make out the time on its huge clock face. Ten minutes past midnight. It was getting late, and although you were accustomed to working until the wee hours of the morning, you preferred to get some sleep on your nights off when possible. However, right now, a part of you wished that the night would last longer. 

There wasn’t such a wide distance between you and Leon as before. In fact, your fingers were nearly touching, but neither of you had taken it further to close the final gap. Even in complete silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the city’s buzzing nightlife, both of you had somehow agreed on which pathways to take, falling in sync with each other’s footsteps, pauses and turns, like an unspoken dance. It was nice like this, having no expectations of the other person, just walking and feeling the thread of connection that bound the two of you.

Every now and then, he peered at you inquisitively, and you wondered if he had something to say, but when you looked his way, he turned his gaze back to the street in front of him. Coming to the entrance of a tunnel arbor near the clocktower, you paused to admire the sight of the vines and flowers that were wound around the metallic arches, interspersed with marigold fairy lights. There were still a decent number of stragglers in the vicinity. Probably the remaining tourists for the day who didn’t quite want to wrap up yet, some of whom were posing for pictures near the picaresque arbors.

“Cat caught your tongue?” Always the instigator and taking the confrontational approach. That was what you were known for.

“Hm?” he deflected, yet smiled at you knowingly.

“Just looked like you had something to say.” You shrugged, placing your hands on your hips.

“Nothing escapes you, huh?”

He was teasing you again; you were certain of it. Though this appeared to be twofold, where the second part was meant as a misdirection to hide a secret from you. 

“It should be obvious that I like you,” he stated plainly.

Obvious to the point where he couldn’t afford to have one of those obnoxious Anarchs stake their claim over you, just for a bit of territory. You were worth so much more to him than that. Surely, it would be the lesser of two evils for him to be the one to Embrace you? It was all he could think about when he made that deal with Ada. Always justifying and compromising. That was what he was known for.

You couldn't fathom the sheer astonishment and joy that overcame him when Ada returned with the news a few weeks later:

“The Prince granted your wish,” she mentioned with an indifferent wave of her hand.

“How?” he choked in disbelief. “It usually takes years!”

“You underestimate me,” she scoffed. “Have you forgotten that I’m the voice of society?”

“No, of course not.” He hung his head in disgrace, as if he had just been told off by a parent.

“Anyway, I don’t have to tell you twice that you should thank him in person.” 

Lifting a bejeweled chalice to her lips, she tasted its contents, allowing it to linger on the palate before letting it wash down her throat. “And by ‘thank’, I mean ‘grovel’.”

“Yes, sire.” He bent down on his knee and kissed the back of her hand in respect.

A shadow of annoyance flickered across her face, morphing into a frown. “You do know this makes you look weak?” she questioned rhetorically. “Being unable to convince the Prince yourself?”

He knew better than to respond when Ada was in such a mood.

“Don’t embarrass me.” 

Her warning rang loud and clear in his ears.

“Who is it obvious to?” you challenged, pulling him out of his reverie. Maybe you had an undeniable urge to see him lose control over you again.

At this, he drew closer towards you, his eyes ablaze like a blue flame, as he snaked his arms around your waist. That was it — the thrill, the feeling you missed. It rippled through your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But before he could go any further, a sudden force tore him from his hold on you, hauling him violently backwards. He was flung in the air across a couple of yards, landing against the wall of a building with a sickening crack.

In the background, you heard screams coming from all directions, alongside whooshing sounds, followed by loud thuds. One soon popped up behind you and in an instant you found yourself smacked to the ground. There was a shrill ringing in your ears, your eyes watered, and your vision blurred as you started seeing double in front of you. You felt the back of your head. Wet. Sticky. Flowing. Your fingers were red and the concussion you suffered induced a dizzying spell.

A grizzly face appeared before you, but you couldn’t quite make out any distinguishable features, except for the familiar shape of long fangs that glistened under the arbor lights. There was no time to put up a fight or even cry out for help, as you began to sink deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

Leon had watched the entire scene unfurl before him like a twisted snuff film coming to life. The attack had taken him by surprise, but he quickly got up from his fall, resetting his bones and shaking it off like nothing had happened. The whole place was awash in scarlet. Blood streaked the city streets, trickling into every gap and crack, as the victims were messily drained of their lifesource. Whoever was behind this wanted the world to know. And that was when he witnessed the first of them turn.

A Mass Embrace? These Kindred definitely reeked of the Sabbat, and if not, they weren’t anyone who had been presented before the Prince; he would know. There wasn’t a second left to spare — he had to find you immediately. In his line of sight, he saw one of the culprits feeding on you greedily, and the primal rage he felt within him almost caused his Beast to take over. He hunched over and growled ferociously. His features transformed into something monstrous and his eyes were crazed as globs of saliva dribbled down his mouth.

It was fanning the flames of a Frenzy, one where he would slaughter every being in his path regardless of who they were, tearing them from limb to limb, and eviscerating their carcasses for what they had done to you. But his concern for your well-being won him over. Mustering up his willpower, he resisted the Beast as much as he could, and though he was still enraged, he needed to think straight and prioritize getting you to safety. That was all that mattered.

In the bat of an eye, he zipped across, yanking the other vampire away from your limp body, as they traded rapid blows. Another aggressor joined in the fight, as Leon dodged their swift counterattacks with deceptive ease, before connecting his right fist to one of their jaws and dealing a precise uppercut with his left to the other’s ribs, catching both of them off-guard. 

Everything seemed to pass by in quicktime as he moved with an unnatural grace, spinning mid-air over one of their backs, only to grab the other from behind and slam him to the ground savagely. Gathering the rest of his strength, he took advantage of the momentum to stomp on the vampire’s head with the heel of his shoe. There was a nauseating crunch as his skull caved in from the blunt force trauma, splintering and sending blood splashing across the pavement, driving him straight into torpor. One down, one more to go.

The brutality of the violence he had displayed unnerved him, yet fuelled his excitement as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He attributed it to being partially influenced by the Beast the moment those bastards had put your life in danger. At least he had not fully succumbed to it. That was what he tried to tell himself while putting a lid on his unquenchable thirst for more. More violence. More bloodshed. They deserve it…

A cacophony of ghastly howls erupted from a distance, bringing him back to reality. Jill, it had to be, Leon realized. The Sheriff was coming to subdue this severe breach of the Masquerade. As the other vampire lunged at him, Leon’s reflexes took over, timing it such that he skirted the edge of the assault unscathed. Instead, he circled around, placing the attacker in an unyielding headlock. The vampire struggled vigorously, attempting to kick and claw his way out of Leon’s grip.

It was then that he heard Jill’s gruff yells in the vicinity, as the pack of dogs under her control barked and gnashed their teeth viciously at the remaining offenders, clamping down on their legs to prevent them from escaping. The Hound, a group of Kindred who reported to her, had arrived in tow, twirling wooden shafts in their hands, each sharpened at one end. Grinning menacingly, they struck at the assailants, staking them immobile before dragging them away.

“You need this one?” Leon called out. He might as well play by their rules where he got the chance, even if the Prince himself had decreed a perpetual Blood Hunt on the Sabbat. Anything to be in the former’s good graces. It was all for show, anyway.

Jill turned sharply, her mouth contorting into a wicked smirk, as she stalked towards him. “Leon… always at the right place, right time, huh?” Her voice was more akin to brutish snarl, but he knew when she meant her threats and when she didn’t. At this point, she was on his side.

“We have our hands full of the rebellious trash.” She jerked her thumb back to her crew, who were skulking around in the dark with their catch. “Kill this motherfucker.”

Without hesitation, Leon snapped the vampire’s neck clean, ripping his head off in the process as his lifeless body fell to the ground in a heap. Letting out a huff from the effort, he tossed the head aside, feeling nothing for the wretched being that lay at his feet. Or did he? He chose not to dwell on it any further, finding something else to distract himself with as he glanced down at his clothes, frowning when he noticed they were smeared with all sorts of fluids and innards. Dry cleaning was gonna be a bitch.

Jill signaled towards your body with her chin. “This one’s barely alive.”

“She’s mine.” A deep-seated possessiveness surged through him as he stepped between you and Jill, unwilling to let you be snatched away from his grasp again. Swooping down, he lifted you into his arms, ready to cart you off from this gruesome site. “Please, I don’t have much time.”

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head and a low rumble reverberated from her chest. “Alright, pretty boy. You’re answerable to the Prince though,” she warned.

“Understood,” he replied snippily, cringing at the nickname she often used to wind him up.

Directing her attention once again to her Hound, she commanded, “Torch the rest!”

The poor, newly created vampires never stood a chance, dealing with both the life-changing alterations to their bodies and the molotov cocktails now lobbed at them. They had no idea what was happening as they were set aflame in the towering bonfire, screeching and wailing until they were reduced to nothing but ashes. The smell of singed skin and flesh hung in the air.

Tightening his grip on you, Leon recoiled involuntarily in fear as he fled from the raging inferno. “Hang in there for me,” he whispered, praying to a long-forgotten god that he wouldn’t be too late this time. 

Racing like his life depended on it, he kept to the shadows, using the cover of darkness to navigate through the maze of Raccoon City towards his haven.

[princesssarcastia]

the season 1 finale of Madam Secretary is so rich on so many levels. obviously blockbuster congressional hearings are fun, but all the flashback stuff just has emotional teeth in a way that's hypnotizing.

it is the one moment in the series where i feel a keen hatred for henry mccord. you, mr.-fighter-pilot, want to kick up a fuss about your wife going away to a war zone for a year and change for her job? her very important job, for which she was hand-picked, which would have helped her implement a massive policy shift THAT SHE DESIGNED to eliminate the CIA's use of torture? are you kidding me? hypocrite much! gah! i really just want to whack him over the head.

because really, we see elizabeth sacrifice her whole career for her husband, in that moment. her husband throws a fit about her taking exactly the kind of job he used to have, and she caves. she quits. obviously i hate the CIA and everything it stands for, but from a character perspective, through a feminist lens, it is galling.

on the other end of the flashback zone, we have that final scene where they have juliet reminiscing about a time when they were all friends. it is just picture perfect. the camera spins around the table, and you see juliet, who will spend the rest of her life in prison; and munsey, who will blow his own brains out; and george, who will be murdered by the former two; and elizabeth, who will unravel it all and be emotionally destroyed by it.

all this horror and intrigue and death you've spent watching all season, in perfect tension with the real joy and friendship they're all experiencing. it's the best kind of dramatic irony. helped, of course, by a tonally excellent soundtrack, which somehow manages to sound exactly like what you'd imagine ironic nostalgia sounds like.

"i guess there was a time when we were all friends," Juliet says, looking lost instead of righteous for the very first time. not because she regrets what she's done—not because she regrets murdering george, a man who was once her friend. but because she's honestly forgotten. hmm. fantastic. love it.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

HIS

《 CHAPTER 4/4 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

Jason has been beaten half to death with a crowbar, shredded by barbed wire, strung up for so long his shoulders ripped from their sockets, shocked, starved, branded… It's only a wooden paddle, it can’t hurt more than any of the Clown’s other toys… right?

《RATING》 🔞 Explicit 《WORDS》 2,399

《CHARACTERS》 Jason Todd/Robin, Joker

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Whump, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

《WARNINGS》 Humiliation, Forced Nudity, Non-Consensual Spanking, Paddling, Genital Torture, Ownership, Master/Pet, Blood and Injury, Non-Consensual Touching, Scars

《SERIES》 Part 2 of My Arkhamverse, Part 2 of Ruined

《TAGLIST》 @aaliyah-wayne @ladytauria @betty-1880 @hlg8 @plantixst

《NOTES》

This fic is dark so please be aware of the tags

Kudos & comments on AO3, as well as reblogs here, are greatly appreciated 💛

《 READ ON AO3 》 (excerpt below the cut)

“And one to grow on!”

Several minutes passed before Jason realized the beating had stopped. His mind was still consumed by the dull throbbing in his abused genitals. He didn’t know how many times the Clown hit him with that paddle. He remembered the beating ending at 207, but was that the second 207 or the first?

“C’mon kiddo. Ease up. You can let go now. That’s it.” Joker soothed, prying his white-knuckled fingers from the edge of the desk.

He moaned as his limp body slid off the desk and collapsed into a quivering, piss-stinking heap of bloody meat. His tailbone was broken and his backside was bruised and burning from the small of his back to the hollows of his knees. But the agony in his testicles eclipsed all other pain, reaving through his head, dominating his awareness. He clasped trembling hands around them and curled his body in on itself. 

“Thank you for paddling me, sir,” he said softly, his jaw working against the grimy floorboards that reeked of piss and shit, blood and vomit. Joker had taught him to be grateful for his punishments, if he didn’t want to be punished further.

The paddle tapped against his ass again and he wailed: “THANK YOU SIR!” as loud as his ravaged voice would allow.

The taps only grew harder. “I heard you the first time, kiddo.”

Fear clutched at his raw throat as shivers raced up and down his spine. He had no idea what he was supposed to do or say. “Please,” he whimpered. “What do you want me to say?” he asked in a small, reedy voice.

“Did I give you permission to move your hands?”

“No sir, p-please. I’m sorry,” he pleaded as he rethreaded his crooked fingers behind his head, praying that his obedience would spare him further punishment. It never does, you fool.

Joker squatted in front of him, placing the paddle across his knees and resting his elbows on the blade. Jason’s shriveled cock and balls drew up tight again, fearing further abuse. He couldn’t take his wide eyes off that paddle. He was terrified of getting hit with it again.

“Aww. Bet those are pretty sore right now, aren’t they, little guy?” Joker asked in that faux-gentle tone of his that sent invisible spiders skittering across his naked skin.

Jason swallowed hard as dread bloomed inside him. “Yes s-sir.”

Joker suddenly leapt to his feet, and Jason recoiled from the man. “Let’s play another game then, shall we? You’ll like this one, yessiree. It’ll cheer you right up, get your mind off that painful nonsense down there.” The rounded end of the paddle prodded at Jason, causing him to draw his fleshless legs to his chest and press his forehead against his bony knees—a futile attempt to shield his balls from more agony. “We’re gonna roleplay, you and me. It’ll be just like old times, like when the Bat and his Bird pretended to be superheroes. But this time will be more fun, I can promise you that. This time I’m gonna play the—ugh, are you paying attention?” Joker huffed indignantly, prodding at Jason again.

“Yes sir,” Jason answered wearily. He hated these games, mostly because he always found a way to lose.

“As I was saying, I’m gonna play the veterinarian, and you’re gonna be my adorable puppy patient. Okay? Now,” Joker whistled twice then clicked his tongue, “up boy!”

Jason slowly unfurled, not quick enough for the Clown’s liking, which earned him a hard kick to the gut. He yelped, struggling not to move his hands from the back of his head as fresh pain surged through him. Then slender fingers twisted in his matted nest of black hair, tearing at his scalp as he was dragged upright. “I said ‘up’ ya dumb mutt,” Joker growled before shoving him back down to the floor. Jason grunted as he landed on a chest full of broken ribs. “Hands and knees, kid,” Joker motioned upward with the paddle. “You know, doggy-style,” he chuckled.

Jason cringed at the creep’s sexual innuendo but dutifully obeyed. Joker crouched beside him, then a fist tightened in his sweat-soaked hair again, wrenching his head back so blood red lips could brush against his ear. “You know Uncle Joker doesn’t like when his little birdy doesn’t play along,” he warned, his voice suddenly low and sinister, his rotten breath hot and humid against Jason’s cheek. 

The unspoken threat chilled him to the bone. “I-I know. I’m sorry sir.”

Joker shoved his head back down then flamboyantly whacked the back of it with his hand. “Nuh-uh-uh! That’s not what puppies are supposed to say, silly. Now, what do puppies say?”