#it just that i needed to organize my thoughts and i do that better in portuguese ksakska

[knifegiver]

For anyone who has that 'one thing' that they think that needs to change about their body for them to be happy with it; yes, I'm looking at you, people who have more ass than anything else, people who have stick-thin legs supporting a round body, people who have wide hips but no chest volume.

I used to hate my breasts. I used to be ashamed of my breasts. They're big. They have been big ever since they started growing. And they hang. That's just the shape they are. They are soft and saggy, and really inconvenient at times.

And moreover, they are not at all what beautiful breasts are supposed to be. I think they're ugly. Like, truly. As in, I have thought about plastic surgery to 'fix' them ever since I was a teenager.

It's gotten better with time. It's gotten worse again when I was down. But still, I don't like them. But you know who does? The guy I'm friends-with-benefits with. He likes them a lot. And I feel better about them because of that. With him it was the first time ever I was completely comfortable with just hanging out topless.

So, what I want to say is this: Even the one thing about yourself you absolutely hate and deem ugly and grotesque, someone out there will absolutely love it. To the point that they can't keep their hands off of you. It surprised me, too, believe me. But your body is alright. It's doing a good job keeping your various organs in place, and guess what, I can guarantee you that someone will find it hot!

rhinoplasty this buccal fat removal that for godssake watch a film produced in a country that isn’t the united states of america read a book read non-fiction learn to sew go to a pottery class go on a walk talk to old people look at medieval manuscripts do something interesting stop looking in the mirror so much someone will fuck you someone will love you and if not it doesn’t even matter that much but do something you don’t need botox you need to build muscle before you’re old and take care of your bones and take max 3 pictures of yourself per year

[nickgurl4life]

✦PAGES✦ chapter one

Pairings: nerd!matt x popular!reader

CW: for this chapter is just fluff, just their first time talking, but tutoring and soft flirting are in here if you care :)

Summary: popular!reader asks nerd!matt for tutoring lessons and when she arrives at his house for the lessons, she's a bit more flirty and open, what will happen between the two?

Announcement: This is my first ever series! So I really hope you guys will enjoy it :)

He was in awe, straight up ogling over you. But he knows he doesn't have a chance. You're the prettiest, sweetest, most popular girl in school, and he's, well, him. He watches from his spot at the lunch table, and you perched on top of the seat by the "popular" seats as they all call it. You chat away with friends, and he almost squeals as you lock eyes with him. His face flushes red at the sight of your gorgeous eyes meeting his ice blue orbs. When he looks up to check if your still looking, he blushes more as he sees you still looking, raising a hand, he waves shyly then looks down immediately as you reciprocate it. He hears your voice faintly then notices you start to approach. He starts to mentally curse himself and forces a smile when you mutter a soft, sweet hello. "Hey- uh...can I, can I help you?" He asks softly and you chuckle. "May I sit?" You question as you gesture to the empty seat next to him.

"U-uhm-" he nods as he scoots to offer a bit of extra space. He watches as you sit down, the small expand in your thighs, the tiny arch in your back, the way your backside expa- "Hey? You with me?" You ask with a soft chuckle as his face floods with redness as you mention his zoned out expression. "Yeah- sorry uh....if I may ask, why did you wanna sit with me?" He inquires with a tilt of his head. "Oh! Right I was wondering if you could tutor me in math. My grade is low and I'm struggling bad-" You retort with soft flushed cheeks. He smiles, finding your small bit of embarrassment cute. "Yeah, if your fine doing it at my house cause I usually do better in my own homely environment" he replys with a nod as you nod as well. "Okay, meet me in the school parking lot and I can drive you to my house..." he says softly and you nod, getting up and returning to your original table. God he can't wait till schools over now.

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It was last period, and as soon as the ball rang, signaling schools ended. He grabbed his books and papers, darting out the classroom to his locker. He places his stuff in his locker in an organized manner, slipping his bag over his arm and walking out of the building towards his car where he sees you, sat on the bench on the sidewalk near the parking lot. "Hey!" He says with a high wave to signal him. He chuckles at your reaction, a small gasp but a smile growing as you jog over. "Okay, you ready?" He questions, and when you nod, he leads you to his car, casually opening the door for you without thinking. When you sat inside his vehicle, he shut the door and round the car to get into the driver's seat. His hand inserts the key into the ignition, turning it as the car starts. He pulls out of the parking spot, and before you know it, you're down the road. You can't keep your eyes off his hands, the veins exposed from his tight grip on the wheel, the way he casually drives is hot to you. No, not him? Why are you ogling the nerd of all people, damn it, you need to stop. You are pulled out of your thoughts at the soft call of your name. "Hey? You okay, you zoned out~" Matt mentions as he pulls into his driveway.

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It has been about an hour since you and him arrived, and all you hear is "blah blah blah" when he talks. You never thought you'd be in awe of the schools nerd, but something about him just makes you wanna shove the book off his lap and smash your lips on his. "Hey? Did you write that down?" He asks as he taps the equation on the paper. "Oh- uh yeah...one second," you nod as you quickly copy down the problem. "Has anyone ever told you that you look cute in glasses?" You compliment without thinking, and when it clicks in your head, you go red, matching Matt's face as well. "Uh, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to say that I-" You stutter out in embarrassment. "Hey, uh- y-your, fine, I just...wasnt- expecting that?" He reassures shakily with a small chuckle. "Let's just uh- get back to work." He says as he looks back down to the thick textbook on his lap. "But uh...thank you- and uh...you are really pretty-" he mumbles in a barely audible tone, but you still hear him, both of you red as a tomato. "But uh, let's just keep working..." you mumble and you both nod. It may not feel like it but this might just end differently than both of you thought.

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It's now the next day at school, throughout the morning you both exchange small glances in the halls. It has now hit lunchtime and he's is in shock when you sit your tray on the lunch table and sit down next to him. Why weren't you sat with the popular kids? "Uh, hey~" Hey says softly, praying he doesn't mess this up, nor make you uncomfortable. "Hi, uh I know I should've asked before I sat down but...may I sit?" You ask with a chuckle. "Yeah I don't mind at all" he chuckles as he takes a bit of his food. "Okay, thanks...my friends are being dicks so, figured I'd sit here~" you admit with a sigh, making him frown a bit. "Why? What did they do?" He tilts his head. "Oh they are just making fun of me for talking with you and shit but it's fine." You take a bite of your food, him doing the same. "Well, I wouldn't mind if you hung out with me more~" he admits with a grin and you reciprocate it. "I'd love to hang out more Matt, it'd be fun" you chuckle as his cheeks go bright red. "Well uh...same time for tutoring?" He nods, "yeah, same time works, just meet me in the parking lot again" he smiles, watching you stand up and leaving the lunchroom. He doesn't mind being your tutor, hell, maybe he might get a relationship out of it cause of how it's going but he can never be sure~

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Hi guys! So this was chapter one, there will be many more but I hope you like this. Again this is my first series so it won't be super long as I'm still working on the lots of writing bit I hope you enjoy it loves🫶🏻

Dividers by me :)

Tags: @emely9274 @pvssychicken @mattsslutt @chrislilcumslvt @cupiidk1lls @loud-sturniolos @p14th0mps0n @3xclus1vel0v3r @bilssturns @nateismybf @chrissweetheart @jassturn @kaybug88 @kennastromboli @goingtojohnkramershouseee @matthewsroses @sweetshuga

[sarastellasari]

❄️Crows Secret Santa headcannons! ❄️

I don’t know if they even have Christmas in the grishaverse and also I forgot Matthias was dead, but enjoy!

��� Nina is the one who organizes it, cause she thinks it would be fun for all of the crows to get together and do something

❆ Kaz thinks it’s dumb but inej gets him to go along with it cause Nina is super excited and she doesn’t want to disappoint her

❆ Also I feel like Kaz would try to get out of it but Nina would be like “NO, you need to do it, we have to have an even amount of people or else it won’t work! Do you want us to have to get kuwei to do it with us? He’ll try to give Jesper a kiss as his present!” Or smth like that (fun fact, secret Santa does work with an odd amount of people, me and my friends learnt the hard way :/)

❆ Kaz gets Matthias and tries to bribe Nina to switch with him (Nina has inej) Nina’s like bitch no, and Kaz buys Matthias like. An expensive sweater or something.

❆ Matthias has no idea what secret Santa is and Nina has to explain it to him and stop him from just giving his person (Jesper) money

❆ Nina eventually just gives up and buys the gift cause Matthias doesn’t rly know what Jesper likes, but he writes Jesper a 4 page long heartfelt card about how much he values their friendship

❆ Jesper forgets to get the gift until last minute but still buys his person (wylan) a rly thoughtful gift that they love

❆ But since he literally IS DATING his person, he almost accidentally exposes himself like 5000 times and by the time they do the exchange Wylans like, whoah :/ I didn’t know it was you at all :/

❆ Wylan is really stressed about it cause he has Kaz so he’s like, wtf do I get him? He literally doesn’t like anything! But he ends up making Kaz some homemade explosives or smth

❆ When they finally gather to do the exchange it’s going fine until Nina pulls out the matching pajamas and everyone is like ew, no

❆ They end up compromising and just wearing the pants

❆ When the actual exchange starts, it goes well

❆ Jesper cries when he reads Matthias’ letter, and then Matthias cries too, and everyone starts getting very emotional

❆ Wylan is super scared Kaz won’t like his gift but Kaz likes it

❆ Matthias likes his sweater a lot and Nina is like, see Kaz, I told you being his person was a good idea!

❆ Nina gives inej a super expensive knife named Nina and Kaz is like, I could’ve given her a better gift if I was her person >:( and then they start fighting

❆ And then somehow the explosives that wylan gave Kaz start going off and they all freak out and someone calls the stadwatch but because they’re all criminals, they end up having to hide from them since they think they intentionally commited arson

❆ And that’s the first and last secret Santa the crows ever have

[angeljeonjkk]

art the clown x reader 🔞 | i taste blood and it's turned into an obsession series

part four | drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

art visits reader's apartment for first time. reader rides art, with some knifeplay, minor (?) gore and brief cunniligus cause art can't get enough of reader's pussy 🥺 brief mention of cannibalism, but it doesn't actually occur, aside from some blood tasting. chapter title from howl by florence + the machine. so it seems there *might* be more chapters as i have a few ideas of what would happen next but tbh i don't know exactly where this will go 😅 except that it's likely to get darker and more twisted 👀

one | two | three

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you had fallen into a kind of domesticity with art, or as much as one could have with a murderous demon clown. though you rarely were one for conventionality, and art certainly was the most unconventional being you'd ever met. one morning you had woken to art licking away the drool from the corner of your mouth, something you'd been embarrassed of in the past, especially if you were sharing the bed with someone; all the while art's mouth was spread with his signature grin, but there was a softness to his expression that made your heart swell. he appeared like an adoring puppy, too excited not to wake their owner with loving kisses. when you had met art you recalled a similar brief vulnerability, and after getting to know him better it seemed you were the only person to make him feel safe enough to be vulnerable.

the miles county demon clown needing safety? you had snickered at the thought, bringing your hands to art's gaunt face. art looked at you curiously, wondering what was funny. he could communicate so much with just a look, by the twinkle of his eyes or the tilt of his head.

you shook your head, pulling him in for a kiss, and soon all thought was pushed aside, in exchange for wanting and needing and consuming and being consumed. the truth was you were long consumed by your feelings for art, and you had decided soon after you met that there was little you wouldn't do to make him happy.

art seemed to feel similarly, having made changes to his hideout to make your stays there more comfortable, including getting a massive bed and converting a corner into a kitchenette of sorts. he had allowed you to bring your own decorative touches to the space. something that meant a great deal when art was so particular about keeping his possessions a certain way within his own organized chaos.

tonight's plan was for you both to leave the clandestine safety of his lair for art to visit your apartment for the first time. you had wanted him to for months but never expressed it, for fear that he wouldn't be interested. a shiver of anticipation and anxiety passed through you, and suddenly you feared he would think it too mundane, too boring, too human.

you were grateful the walk to your building wasn't far, as your heartbeat intensified with each step you drew closer, so persistent you were certain art could hear it, could feel the hot pulse of blood thrumming through your heart.

art took your hand in his, entwining your fingers together. you exhaled, the small but meaningful gesture making you relax a little. he held your hand until you reached the doorstep of your apartment, allowing you to unlock the door and step inside, biting back the instinct to apologize for the messiness of the space, considering he's a creature that revels in filth and his own bodily functions, as well as yours.

you watched intently as he slowly walked inside, as if taking in every detail, while tilting his head curiously. art's attention suddenly zeroed in on your kitchen, shuffling his feet quicker to reach his desired destination to stand before the knife block sitting on your counter.

unsurprisingly, he grabs the large chef's knife, his thumb tracing over the blade. he looks at you, grinning, his brows raised; he's shaking with anticipation for whatever plan he has in store for you, his chest heaving at the thought.

he suddenly steps to you, grabbing your arm and leading you in the direction of your bedroom, sitting you both on your large bed.

he kisses you, and your lips part for him, his tongue scouring inside your mouth, his large free hand moving over your body. although you'd been fucked by art for the first time only a week ago, you'd lost count of how many times you'd fornicated since - you were insatiable for each other - but no matter how many times art kissed, touched, and screwed you, everything about him made you feel weak, the feeling of being completely filled by his long, thick cock making you gasp each time.

you swooned, having to brace yourself on the bed, delicate moans and whines leaving your throat while his strong fingers pressed against the crotch of your leggings, feeling the wetness through the thin cotton, so good but not enough at the same time.

you groan his name, noticing his erection bulging obscenely, and your fingers wrap around what you could, stroking along his fully hardened cock pressing against the tight confines of his clown costume.

art's mouth forms a suprised O then a grin, wiggling his brows and you laugh, your heart shuddering in its beat. you love him more than you've ever loved anyone or anything. you'd sacrifice yourself for his happiness.

art quickly removes your clothes, practically tearing them away to reveal a lowcut black lace bodysuit. he grins, trailing his hand over the soft material, to stop at your hip.

"i wanted tonight to be special, baby."

art nods, wagging his finger enthusiastically as if reminded of something. he takes off his hat and clown cowl, something he rarely ever did, whatever he has planned must be something significant. he moves to lie on the bed, offering you the knife, taking hold of your hand to guide the blade up to press at his neck, a gleeful twinkle in his eyes.

"fuck, i wanna ride you, baby." you exhale out. it was always one of your favorite positions, and the previous time you'd done it with art on the dirty concrete floor of his lair, he seemed just as partial to it. "do you want that?" your fingers tease over his cock, touch now much gentler. art tilted his head, raising his brows and widening his eyes, gaze moving over your body. "take off your costume."

art shook his head, emphatically shaking your hand still gripping the knife.

you take the knife, shifting down to straddle art's thighs, and cut the fabric at the crotch, careful not to nick his cock. though you know art would love if you rode his bleeding dick.

once his erection is free, you slap it few times. art gapes as he looks up at you, obviously loving the slight abuse on his painfully hard cock.

"your big, fat, dumb clown cock wants my sweet pussy to milk every drop of cum, hmm?" you slap it a little harder. "answer me."

art licks his lips, his dark eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room. he leans up from to bed, taking hold of your hips to drag you over his cock, hoping you'd take the hint now. his jaw drops as the full weight of you presses down on him. you move your hips forward and back as much as his strong hold on your hips will allow. you pause to pull the fabric aside, your bare wet pussy rubbing against his throbbing cock.

after a few ministrations, art looks up at you indignantly, and you finally decide to put both of you out of your misery. you grab his dick, stroking a few times before lowering yourself onto it, the stretch of him filling you a shock to your senses, already sending sparks of pleasure throughout you.

you brace yourself on art's chest as you pause momentarily with him fully inside you, brokenly moaning his name. art insistently points at the knife still in your other hand, and you remember art's silence request earlier. you press the blade at his throat as you start to move, careful not to press too close, and you have to remind yourself he's immortal, impervious to injury. even after witnessing a handful of would-be fatal injuries to art that healed on their own, you had insisted on tending to and dressing his wounds, emblematic of your nurturing side.

art was amused you'd go to the trouble, and you explained that people do acts like this to show they care, stopping yourself from calling it an act of love.

though you liked rough and kinky sex, sometimes venturing to light bdsm, it had never crossed over into knifeplay, and you never would've considered doing this with previous boyfriends or hookups - you would've been too worried it would go wrong.

art sensed your hesitation, leaning slightly against the blade until it cut the skin, a gash of red staining the steel. art's mouth parts with a silent moan, and your pussy throbs at the sight of art's pleasure.

he grips your hips to help you bounce on his cock, all the while you keep the knife at art's neck, one time your hand slipping and slicing so deep that blood trickles from the wound, staining your black silk sheets even darker. at that, art grins up at you, his cock throbbing even harder inside you, as if the blood pulsing in his cock mirrors the blood quickly pumping from his wound - intensified by it even - so that you could feel the vibrations all through your pussy, against your pulsing clit. you nearly scream at the sudden pleasure this creature is giving you, beyond anything you've ever felt.

art pulls the lace barely covering your tits aside, the instant they are bare, his hands are cupping and squeezing them together. you continued bouncing on his dick, slamming down with such force the metal bedframe bangs against the wall. you couldn't care less if your neighbors complain about the noise, not when you're about to have the most earth-shaking, back-breaking orgasm of your life.

you come, squirting on art's cock, your hand jerks with the sudden blunt force, gouging out a chunk of skin from his throat, and the blood comes quicker, some of it spurting hotly on your hand as he suddenly comes inside you. you moan in ecstasy at the heat of his cum once again filling you, knowing you had pleasured him adding to your own bliss.

the knife slipped from your grip, falling into the pillow beside art's head, before sliding onto the sheets. you arched your back, baring down completely, riding out your climax. art wrapped his arms around you, leaning his head up to latch his mouth on your tits, suckling and nibbling both at your nipples, in turn.

when you both come down from your respective highs, you climb off of art, lying beside him. he doesn't spare a moment before shifting down to settle between your legs, bringing his hand to his neck, gathering blood on his fingertips. you'd expected he'd fingerfuck you with the bloodied digits, but they trace along the skin of your lower torso, writing "ART WAS HERE", as if claiming you, but he'd already claimed you before he'd even touched you.

he smirks up at you from between your thighs, and you swear you're getting wet again at the sight; at a loss for how this filthy, demented clown could be so damn hot.

his cum is leaking out of you, and you dazedly think of how you've never used condoms with art, though it would've been futile with his already large cock's seeming ability to grow to a near monstrous size. perhaps another instance of his supernatural capabilities.

you remembered the first time art fucked you, and how you had begged him to breed you with his demon-baby, wondering if it were even possible to create a human demon hybrid baby, a living embodiment of your love. you'd never had genuine interest in having kids, but your heart swells at the thought of art knocking you up, of claiming your womb.

art leans in and nibbles on your pussy lips, hard enough to send a spark through you, but gently enough not to pierce the skin. he presses closer, noisily licking and sucking your mixed cum away from your pussy, wet smearing all over his nose, mouth and chin; hungry and ravenous in a way that only seems to happen when he's eating your cunt.

the thought of art literally eating your pussy enters your mind, aware of his cannibalistic urges - the idea of offering part of yourself to him in that way makes your gut twist, turning you on almost as much as his tongue now plunging into your pussy.

"ohh, art," you whimper softly. he strokes his dick, jerking off quickly as he continues to eat you out, and when he's close he sits back on his haunches. his face contorting as he comes on your stomach, cum splattering and mixing with the blood traced there.

you grip the pillow as you come again, so drained, but so very satisfied. at takes you a few moments to realize there's blood on your fingers - you're bleeding - you must've nicked them on the knife still lying somewhere amongst the pillows. you offer your hand to art, and grins wide-mouthed, grabbing it at the wrist, bringing it up to taste your blood, sucking at your fingers. your pulse quickens in the way that doing something you shouldn't could only provide.

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plesse like, reblog and/or comment, i'd really appreciate it. hope you enjoyed!

© angeljeonjkk 2024

[finchsflight]

oops I dropped this

"Rn's juzzt a chitzzword," I heard Shshrrsh say, dismissively. "I need to zzave my zztitcherzz, in cazze any of the Archive'zz zzoldierzz are zztill lingering. Not to wazzte them on rm."

"Yeah," said Kora, "and nothing to do with how expensive those nanos are."

"Chh!" Their voices drifted off - Shshrrsh's hissing, quietly irritated at nothing in particular, Kora's lazy, amused drawl, Prints' sardonic clicking beeps, and they left me behind.

I'm going to die here, I thought. And -- well, the Silver Archive needed to die. And I would've been... not okay with dying there. No one's really okay with dying. But if I was gonna die -- like he said. I was just a chitsword. Pretty good way to go, saving the galaxy. And that's what everyone would think; Vinn Tqrsvt, chitsword, wvt'krr, born on Hub Epharus, died on Kel Min fighting the Silver Archive.

And -- sure, yeah, I was just a chitsword. But it was the Archive, and so I was steel-minded, and that was at least valuable. And no matter how valuable I was or the fact that I was just paid, not honorbound, I had fought with them, and then they left me behind, and that almost hurt more than the razorblades stuck in my flesh.

Only almost, though. Razorblades hurt a lot.

About that point, I felt a little skittery thing moving around under my elytra. I assumed it was a centipede, which -- I mean, I'd have expected the Archive to have gotten all of them. Don't think centipedes can have steel minds. But I couldn't move to get at it, and if you know any wvt'krr -- you probably don't, so I'll explain. We don't like it when things are under our elytra. In fact it's generally agreed to be kind of the equivalent of, say, slowly sinking your foreclaws into someone's -- what's your most sensitive organ? That.

Unless you don't have foreclaws, in which case, oof, that sucks, but anyway -- little thing under my elytra. Annoying. But, as you may recall, razorblades stuck in my flesh. So moving wasn't an option.

And then it was dug down into the base of my neck, and even with the razorblades I leapt up in a panic. Which did not help, both because of the razorblades, and the fact that I was now tethered to a very strong wire, which yanked me back down.

I'm steelminded. The Archive couldn't just get me. But sinking one of its tether-wires into my nervous system while I was half-dead? Yeah, that was definitely at least enough to let it talk to me.

I assumed I was going to be its puppet. Architect of a new Archive. But it just spoke to me, and said, I suppose we were both abandoned, then.

I blinked. All my eyes, too, I was so startled, and said, "What do you mean?"

Well, said the Silver Archive, they certainly didn't care about me. After all, I'm evil. But I wish I'd been wrong, and they'd have taken you, too.

I should be clear, I was a little bit high on panic at the time, and can't be blamed for the fact that the next thing I said was, "I thought you'd sound spookier."

I learned from you. Not you, specifically, it clarified. Just, like. You all. People. I didn't pick up old fancy-speak, I picked up how people talk.

"Huh," I said, "neat. Are you planning to make me into a meat puppet?"

No, said the Archive, wouldn't be any point to it.

"Why?"

Look.

The wire dug a little deeper into my nerves -- which, by the way, hurt like hell -- and I could see from every discarded silver camera, every angle of the world that the Archive saw from, and it highlighted the important things.

Sentries, all around the planet. All around the battlefield. Watchers in the sky, on the ground, in the code.

I'm dying. But they want to make sure I don't get out.

"Could you?" I asked.

Yes. If they weren't watching.

"...what would you do?"

Archive.

"Oh."

I'm not kind, Vinn. Just because I'm talking to you like a person doesn't mean I am one, and I'm not any different than I was an hour ago.

I nodded, and then thought better of that. "...why did you want to... uh..."

Preserve the galaxy in a perfect archive of digitized memory? You can say it, I won't be offended. Like I said. Not a person.

"Yeah. That."

No one will remember you.

I winced.

Not you, specifically. You made your mark on the worlds. But no one will remember people, when you are gone. When reality winds to a halt. I wanted to. You're beautiful.

"Oh."

But you don't care about preserving each other. You -- they left you behind. You were about... oh, 24.51338% of the damage to my main operating systems, at a rough estimate? It sounded a little like it was joking.

"Isn't the whole 'AIs always calculate statistics' thing a stereotype?"

Yes, but personally I'm completely stereotypical and have never done anything interesting in my life.

"Ah." I laughed. It hurt.

I could save you.

I blinked, twisting my left secondary eye to look at the wires on the ground. "Why?"

You would be preserved. You would remember yourself.

"...shouldn't I be worried about you, I don't know, installing a backup copy of yourself in my spine?"

Yes. But it would only damn you and do me no good. Look-- and it showed me its view again, the watchers, combing through the cybernetics of everyone passing, checking them over with tools I barely recognized. I would if I could.

"Oh." It was hard to remember, you know? It sounded friendly. Not familiar, but... the kind of voice that could be familiar, if you kept talking for a few orbits.

I'm sorry.

"Are you?"

No.

There was silence for a while, then. The Archive, presumably, kept dying, and I felt my hearts beating out the last few minutes of my life.

"Would you... want anything? In exchange for my life?"

Remember yourself. Remember this fight, this planet, the watchers, the sky. Preserve. You're only sapient, you're not an Archive like me, but you can still remember. And...

It paused. I know AI don't feel emotions like we do, but it sounded like it was mourning someone.

...Remember me. Remember this small piece of my story. Please. Everyone knows my history. But they did not think to ask me why.

"Do you want me to share it?"

I wouldn't force you. But it would keep its memory alive.

"Okay. Is there... should I be aware of anything?"

I will preserve you for far, far longer than you would live. This isn't negotiable.

"...Yeah, I can live with that." I didn't know exactly how long it meant. But I'd've still taken the deal.

And... if you can. Find the other stories. You cannot immortalize the worlds like I could. But -- remember the people our galaxies would forget. Preserve what would be lost.

"I'm a chitsword," I told it.

I know.

"I kill people."

I know.

"Okay."

Remember them.

"...Yeah. I can do that."

And then it saved my life.

It hurt. A lot. I still don't know how much of me is me, and how much of me is silver and titanium and biosculpture and engineering. I heal from basically everything, these days, and I haven't noticed myself aging. But it worked, and I made it past the watchers, and then I lived. Still do.

And the Silver Archive died, and the world forgot it. Mostly.

Anyway. You might not believe any of this. After all, the War of the Archive's just a note in the history books, and you're never gonna find me. Vinn Tqrsvt's my real name, but I don't go by that anywhere. Causes problems with the record. Did you know there's actually no one else with my full name? So people get suspicious.

And no, to the watchers out there still tracking rogue AI: you will not be able to trace this account, you will not be able to find me, and the Archive's dead, anyway.

But if one of you remembers, or writes this down, and if somehow one of you outlives me: here's the story.

Remember it.

And if you have any secrets to give me, I promise I'll keep them safe.

Post by ElectrumChronicle @ 34:21, 3/10/34587 Galactic Standard

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”

[coff33andb00ks]

Recipe for the Perfect Christmas 12/12

One part small town girl coming home from the big city. One part handsome stranger. Five parts lifelong friends (don't forget to include their partners). One part stubborn father. A dash of Christmas spirit. Part: Twelve of Twelve Pairing: Oscar Piastri x ofc (with appearances from Mark Webber. Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Esteban Ocon, Pato O'Ward, and George Russell) wc: 5,670 warnings: none soundtrack: spotify ⋆❆⋆ apple music nav: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve a/n: the ending is here!! can't believe I panic wrote 60k words in less than two weeks but here we are. thank you to everyone for reading! (i will post a small epilogue tomorrow)

"Hey, Natalie? You got a minute?"

Looking up from sorting the papers on her father's desk, Natalie saw Max in the office doorway. It hit her again that this was now his office and she was relieved that the pang in her chest wasn't as sharp this time. "Yeah, sure," she said, standing. "What's up?"

He waved at her to sit back down and stepped inside. The apron he wore made him look a little odd in her opinion, though she knew she would get used to seeing him wearing one. She knew that he and Eve were technically living in town now. Oscar had told her there were just a few things left at their place in Fairview to bring down. Now that he wasn't going back and forth, Max had begun coming to the bakery every day. And though it had felt weird, having him standing next to her while she prepped croissant dough for the next morning, over the past week she had come to enjoy his company. He fit right in, the customers liked him, and he knew nearly as much as her father did about baking. He was as likeable, with a bit of sarcasm in some of his quips, and she had seen him work enough in the past week to know that he was a perfectionist.

"Is everything okay?" she asked when he sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his apron. An instant later he was pulling his hands out and fiddling with the snow globe on the edge of the desk.

"Yeah, no, everything is fine," he said with a quick smile. "I just wanted to…"

He sighed again, and Natalie frowned. "What, Max?"

"You know Eve's pregnant?" he asked, picking up the snow globe.

"She is? I didn't know. Congratulations," she said, grinning.

"Thanks." He grinned as well, reminding her that he was a devoted father. "We're not telling everyone yet because it's early, but… " His grin only widened. Turning the snow globe in his hand, he tipped it until the glitter and fake snow inside collected at the top. "We're pretty excited."

"New town, new house, new business, new kids… You two just have to go the extra mile, huh?"

"No kidding," he chuckled. He held the snow globe upright, watching the snow and glitter swirl. "Anyway, she won't be able to help out for long. Her pregnancy with Lucas wasn't easy and she was put on bedrest. I'm not saying that's gonna happen this time around, but we're gonna need to be careful, you know?"

"Yeah."

"And I'm still learning my way around here," he went on, setting the snow globe back down. I know Mark's only a phone call away and unless I've got him wrong, he'll show up at least every other day, but…"

"You don't want to bother him," she guessed, warming to him even more.

"Exactly. And, um, you know this place better than I do."

"Not really."

"You do, Natalie. And you've done a damned good job. Mark told me he couldn't have kept everything going these past few weeks without you." Max sighed again. "What I'm saying is…"

Natalie waited for him to either gather his courage or his thoughts. Looking down at the paper in her hand, she wondered if her father needed a receipt from an order he'd placed six years before. Knowing him, he would want to hold onto it just in case. She leaned to set it in the stack of receipts that she would later work to organize by date and then find the spot in the filing cabinet for them.

"Would you consider staying on?" Max asked.

"Staying on?" she echoed.

"At least part-time. Until after the babies are born and Eve can get back to work."

"That's a year from now," she murmured.

"Yeah, at least," he sighed. "I don't know what your plans are after Mark's surgery, but if you're gonna stay in town, I'd love for you to keep working here."

"I—" Natalie faltered. She thought of the voicemail she had saved on her phone from Katie in Atlanta. Katie, who'd emailed her photos of a cute apartment with a nice view. Katie, who'd offered her a bonus to assist her in her move. Katie, who she hadn't called because she was still warring with herself over whether she wanted to accept the job. She both did and did not.

"You're good at this. You're great at baking. You'd be a huge help. I'm not trying to guilt you, but I know Mark would rest a little easier knowing you were here. Hell, I'd be a little easier knowing you were here. And I think the people that come in here every day would be less upset about me taking over if they knew a Webber would still be in the shop." He cleared his throat and pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. "I sat up late last night doing some figuring, and this is what I can offer for pay and benefits."

She took it, looking at the neatly written figures. "Can I think about it?"

"Sure. Just let me know in a couple days, because if you don't want the job, I'll have to look into hiring someone else."

She nodded. "I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Great." He smiled and turned to leave the office. "We're still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yep." It had been her father's idea to have a Christmas Eve party and invite a few people over. Nothing fancy, mainly finger foods and treats and Mark's special Santa's Whiskers cookies, hot cocoa and coffee and eggnog, Christmas cartoons and carols. When she had left the house he had been at the kitchen table, making lists of what he needed to get done. It had given him a new sense of purpose, especially when Max and his family, her friends and their partners and kids, and Oscar had said they would come.

"Perfect, you can just tell me tomorrow night, then," he said before leaving.

Turning back to the papers, she began to sort, softly humming along to the music Max had playing in the kitchen.

The bakery was moving into good hands, she thought, smiling when she heard Eve's laugh as Max began to sing along with Nat King Cole. It would forever hold memories for her, both good and bad, but she now accepted that it was time for a new set of memories. Lucas would no doubt picture his father at the counter, grinning and offering him a cookie. Grace would soon learn all the nooks and crannies where she could tuck herself away to read or play quietly. Max and Eve would love the building and everything in it. Maybe not as much as her father did, at least at first, but they would with time. And their obvious love would keep customers coming.

She picked up the slip of paper Max had given her and read it over again after she had sorted all the papers in the desk. It was a generous offer. Not as much as she would make in Atlanta, but… The cost of living here was a lot lower.

Another tick in her mental pros and cons list.

After storing the keep pile and tucking the questionable pile into a large envelope, she glanced around the office. Her father had already taken out the things he wanted at home. A few photos, gifts customers had given him over the years.

She turned slowly to look at the hook on the wall, expecting to see her mother's apron where it had always been. The hook was empty and the air left her lungs in a shaky exhale. Had he taken it home? She hadn't seen it in the box of stuff she'd carried inside from his truck. She reached for her phone to call him and ask him, then remembered he was busy in the kitchen. He wouldn't answer, if he even had his phone on him. She could wait until she got home and ask him.

Stepping out of the office, she spotted Eve heading out the back door and stopped her. "Did you see the red apron hanging in the office?"

"The one with flour?" Eve asked.

Natalie nodded, a bundle of panic forming in her gut. "Yeah. I-it was Mom's."

Eve's expression softened. "I didn't know. When Mark was here this morning he took it down."

The panic fled and she let out a soft sigh. "He took it home?"

"Yeah. I offered to just throw it in the laundry but he said no." The woman's eyes flashed with sadness. "I hope I didn't upset him."

"You didn't, I promise. He told me once it would hang there until the place was no longer his."

"That's beautiful." Eve smiled sadly. "I wonder if…"

Her gaze drifted to her husband and Natalie knew what she was wondering. She doubted she should comment, since she didn't know them intimately, but she was already starting to nod. "Yes."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Penny cautiously circled the room, nose pressed to the floor. Her tail wagged slowly as she explored, occasionally snorting, and when she reached Oscar's boot she stopped, head tipping in confusion. Then, with a snort, she moved by him and slipped into the next room. It was the kitchen, and all Oscar could smell when he followed was the faint aroma of fresh paint, but she showed keen interest in all corners and especially in front of the stove. The dog circled the room again, tail wagging faster, and after giving a quick bark she trotted into the little utility room, tail banging against the washer and dryer. After a moment she was back, tongue lolling happily, and stopped in front of him.

"What do you think?" Oscar asked.

"I think I've seen a many things in my life, but I've never seen somebody need a dog's opinion before deciding to buy a house," Carlos said.

Oscar chuckled. "It's gonna be her home, too, if I buy it."

"You still don't know?" Carlos looked up from his phone.

Sighing, he looked around the kitchen. It was small, and the cabinets would need replacing. He had no idea if the L-shaped counter was enough space, or if the spot near the window would hold a table and chairs. He closed his eyes for a moment then looked again, imagining the things he would like to do. Turning, he did the same to the living room and thought of the two bedrooms and little bathroom. Nodding to himself, he leaned down to clip Penny's leash to her collar. She groaned lightly, still unused to it, perking up when he offered her a treat.

"I think I do," he said finally. But still he hesitated, Natalie's words the night before echoing in his mind.

With the bonus they're offering I could hire someone to help Dad out around the house.

It seemed she was leaning closer to moving to Atlanta, despite her whispers that she needed him.

He thought of the offer his father had given him. Back home, he would be close to his parents. Not that they needed him nearby. They seemed more energetic now than they had when he was a child. And even if they did need one of their children near, one of his sisters lived two houses down. But he would be close to home, even if it hadn't felt like home since his grandmother had died, and he would have steady work, even if it did feel like a nepotistic handout.

"I'll let you know for sure in a couple days," he told Carlos as they walked outside. Then, realizing the date, he chuckled. "Or maybe the first of the week?"

"You know where to find me," Carlos told him with a grin. "Or let me know at Mr. Webber's tomorrow?"

Penny buried her nose in the rosebush next to the steps as soon as her feet hit the ground.

"Mr. Wright grew that from a cutting his mother gave him." Carlos watched Penny sniff around the rosebush. "She grew hers from a cutting her mother gave her, and the story was that her grandparents brought he original plan over with them from Scotland."

"Is there one at his sister's?"

"Yes. We have one at home, Sasha was given a cutting when we moved in." Carlos shivered. "Weather's changing."

"Yeah," Oscar agreed, though he had no idea how the man could tell. It was almost warm, the sun peeking out occasionally from clouds that spit pitiful rain every few minutes. "I was hoping for a white Christmas."

"It'll happen." Carlos nodded.

Oscar squinted as the sunlight appeared, as though to prove the prediction wrong. "I'll take your word for it."

Promising to let Carlos know by the first of the week, Oscar opened his truck door. He unhooked Penny's leash after she jumped in, and waited until she had moved to sit on the passenger seat before climbing in. The dog gave a small whine after he started the engine and began to back out of the driveway, and he sighed as the sunlight disappeared and rain began to splatter on the windshield.

"I know, girl," he murmured. As he drove towards Max's house, he wondered if the dog would enjoy his old home.

***

Christmas Eve dawned, cold and cloudy. Natalie shivered when she pulled back the curtain and saw the heavy frost on the ground, sparkling in the early morning light. The sunlight was weak. When she looked up to the sky she could see clouds starting to creep in, and thought of her father's prediction for a heavy snow.

There was music playing in the kitchen when she got downstairs, and the smell of coffee and pancakes and sausage. She slipped around her father to fix her plate, quickly getting out of his way. The counters were covered with ingredients and utensils and the beginnings of his prep work for the food they'd eat that night. She ate her breakfast quickly, almost silently, her father too focused on his different stations to be conversational.

There was a fitful snow starting to fall when she rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Unsure what else to do, she pitched in to help her father get cookie dough and pastry dough ready to chill, mainly moving behind him to wash dirtied utensils and wipe off the floured surfaces once he finished. She wasn't needed, she realized when they bumped into each other the third time. At a loss, she finally washed her hands and looked out at the softly floating snowflakes.

"Max offered me a job," she blurted.

Mark stopped chopping pecans. "Did he?"

"At the bakery."

"Doing what?"

"What I've been doing." She paused. "He can offer me a decent pay."

"Do you want to?" he asked carefully.

"I think I do."

"What changed?" There was no hurt in his voice and for that she was glad.

"The bakery doesn't hurt anymore," she admitted. "And it would be part-time, so I could still do writing on the side. Plus, he needs the help."

"He doesn't."

"Eve's not gonna be able to help him out for long." She told him the news, enjoyed the warmth of his surprise and joy for them. One day, she hoped, she would be able to tell him that she would be having a baby and could only imagine his delight. At one point when she had imagined her future children they had been vague, dreamlike figures. When she closed her eyes and thought of them now, they had distinct grins and chocolate brown eyes.

"I thought you were going to Atlanta."

"I thought I was too," she whispered. Opening her eyes, she saw the tiny flakes were growing larger.

"Penny go?"

"Of course Penny's going. Mister Mark would turn us away if we didn't bring her." Max laughed and held up the pair of pants. "Get these on."

"Cookies."

"Not now, you'll ruin your appetite." Max grabbed his son's swinging leg and before Lucas could slip out of his grip he had the pants up to his knees. Then he paused. "…Do you need to pee?"

"Need cookie."

"You want a cookie. You don't need a cookie."

Lucas shook his head. "No want. Need."

Max sighed with defeat and turned to Oscar. "Help."

"Hey, you created him, I'm just the guy that spoils him rotten."

"He's got his mother's sweet tooth. Do you know what he had for breakfast this morning?"

"Yeah, waffles."

"Before that." Max tugged his son's pants up and caught him before he could slide off the bed. "Shoes, Lucas."

Oscar handed over a shoe. "What did he have?"

"Brownies."

Oscar stared at his friend. "You gave him brownies? And you're still alive?"

"Barely," Max muttered. "It's not my fault that he got his mother's pout, too."

"Not to mention your stubborn attitude," Oscar pointed out when Lucas began to crawl across the bed after one shoe had been slipped onto his foot.

"It took me two hours to get my ass out of trouble." Max leaned forward and dragged his son back towards him. "I don't even know if there is a rosebush that grows purple roses naturally."

"There is."

"Thank god." Max slipped the other shoe onto Lucas and stepped back with an exhausted sigh. "Done!"

Lucas slipped off the bed and stood, brow puckering, one hand clutching the edge of his mattress. "Pee."

"You've got to be kidding me." Max dragged a hand over his face. "I just asked—And you said—If I give you a cookie will you go pee in the potty?"

"Cookie!" Lucas squealed as he was scooped up, and his giggles rang in the air while Max hurried into the bathroom. "Cookie for pee!"

Laughing, Oscar pushed himself to his feet. "You're bribing him."

"I'm doing whatever works. I'm trying to get some headway on this before the baby comes."

"That's months away."

"Do you not know how long potty training can take?" Max snorted. Then his voice softened. "You done?"

"Pee."

"Yeah, son, pee. Have you finished peeing?"

"Cookie."

"After you pee."

"Cookie."

"In a minute."

There was absolute silence. Oscar counted along in his head, biting back a laugh as the seconds stretched on. Then, triumphantly, Lucas clapped. "Cookie now!"

"I don't have a cookie right now."

Lucas's long-suffering sigh was audible even to Oscar. "I done."

"I can't do this again," Max announced after helping his son wash his hands. "Grace was easy. He's stubborn as hell and has me wrapped around his finger. He pouts just like Eve and I give him whatever he wants."

"Grace has you wrapped around her finger, too," Oscar told him, following them into the hall.

"You're right," Max chuckled. Swinging Lucas up onto his hip, he headed down the stairs. "You ready to go?"

Oscar opened his mouth to say that he would drive himself, not wanting to be squeezed between the two car seats in the back of Max's SUV. His phone began to vibrate incessantly and he pulled it out, frowning when he saw Mr. Wright's name on the screen. "Yeah, almost. I'll meet you there."

He barely heard Max's reply, turning to go into the guest bedroom to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Oscar?"

"Yes, sir." He frowned, walking over to the window to glance out. It had snowed off and on for most of the day, but not heavily. The grass was covered and there was a soft dusting on the road. Squinting at the streetlamp at the corner of the lot, he couldn't see any evidence of anything falling.

"I just got an offer on the house and unless you want it, I'm gonna let them have it."

He almost asked who, but the man went on.

"Tommy's son is getting married in the spring. His girlfriend lives over in Lakefield and he brought her to take a look at the place this morning. She fell in love with it, and…" Mr. Wright sighed. "Have you made up your mind yet?"

He hadn't. So many things were up in the air at the moment. Drawing in a breath, he hesitated. Mr. Wright didn't rush him, and when he saw Max's car pull out of the drive he squeezed his eyes shut. "I…"

"We shouldn't stay long. It's really coming down."

"You don't have to stay. I'm just glad you stopped by." Natalie took a sip of her cocoa and slipped her arm around Susie's shoulders for a squeeze.

"We'll stay a bit longer. Michael is having so much fun."

Looking over to where the boy sat near the tree. He and Grace were chattering excitedly while building some sort of intricate tower using the building blocks Natalie had given Michael. Next to them was the half-finished page from Grace's new coloring book featuring horses and cowboys. Her gaze moved around the room, looking for Lucas, and she smiled when she saw him leaning to get another cookie from the platter on the coffee table.

Hannah was on the couch, talking animatedly with Amira and Sasha, who accepted Lucas when he crawled into her lap. George was squatting next to Mark's armchair, the two chatting while Lilli danced with Carlos to the song playing. Another glance showed Pato and Amira tucked close to each other, talking with Franco and Ollie and Mrs. Jones, who'd arrived with them. Max and Eve were sipping eggnog and talking to Esteban, who was inexplicably wearing a cowboy hat.

"Do you know Esteban and Max were joking around that Michael and Grace should get married?" Susie grunted. "At least, I hope they were joking."

"Arranged marriage?" Natalie asked with a grin.

"Pretty much." Susie was not amused. "It's so disgusting."

"Misogynistic," Natalie agreed with a nod.

"Oppressing and sexist."

Natalie looked on while Grace jumped to her feet and grabbed Michael's hand. The two walked to the center of the room, giggling, both staring up at the ceiling. Her gaze shifted and she saw the bundle of mistletoe her father had insisted she hang from the light fixture.

"Aww," Susie cooed.

Snapping her attention back to Grace and Michael, Natalie laughed. Michael's lips were pressed to Grace's cheek. She could hear the exaggerated smack of the kiss, and then again when Grace kissed his cheek. Giggling, they skipped back over to the blocks and resumed their play.

Natalie turned to her friend. "Then again, they may have a point."

"Guess I should drag Esteban over for a kiss."

Natalie rolled her eyes. "Like he needs mistletoe to kiss you."

"No, but it's tradition." Susie smoothed the front of her sweater and flicked her hair over her shoulders. "Excuse me."

Shaking her head, she watched Susie move across the room to her husband, who was still chatting with Eve. Max had been with them, and she now saw he had stepped into the dining room. She watched him frown at his phone before slipping it into his pocket, and when he reentered the living room she softly called his name.

"Have you heard from Oscar?" he asked.

"I was about to ask you the same thing." Everyone else had arrived nearly an hour before. She hadn't worried, because he had promised he was coming. He had sent her a text just before Pato and Amira had gotten there, saying he would be a little late. Reaching to pull her phone from the pocket of her jeans, she groaned when she saw it had died.

"I just called him, it's going to voicemail."

"Did his phone die again?" she sighed, setting her mug of cocoa on the mantle and heading into the kitchen. "That happened the night of that bad storm a couple weeks ago."

"Either that or he turned it off. He does that when he's got to think about something."

Plugging up her phone, Natalie drummed her fingers on the counter for the entire three minutes it took for the device to charge enough to power on. It seemed to take twice as long for the Apple logo to appear, and four times as long before the lock screen finally loaded. She unlocked it, then gave the phone time enough to catch any missed calls, voicemails, or texts.

"Anything?" Max asked, looking up from his own phone.

She opened the text she had received and frowned, confused, as she read the words that had been sent more than thirty minutes before.

I'm coming. I've just got to figure a couple things out. I might not be able to get the house. I might take the job with Dad. But I need to know what you're gonna do. I know I shouldn't make life decisions based on just four weeks of knowing someone but I am.

"Well?"

"I've gotta go," she blurted, pushing away from the counter. Max stumbled when she bumped into him, and she muttered a quick apology as she heard his phone hit the floor. Hurrying out of the kitchen, she noticed but didn't really see Esteban and Susie kissing sweetly beneath the mistletoe. It occurred to her as she snatched her coat off the rack that she should tell her father where she was going, but she heard his warm laugh and decided she didn't have time.

The snow was coming down thick and heavy. The street was white and she walked quickly as she could, slightly lightheaded from the snow whirling around her. When she reached the corner of Halifax Street her steps quickened, and she heard the snow crunch beneath her boots as she reached the beautiful Victorian house. Bedecked in lights, trees twinkling through the upstairs windows and the large window downstairs, it positively glowed with warmth. She skidded to a stop, gasping, and saw that Oscar's truck wasn't in the driveway. She looked at the house again. The lights and snow created an aura of merriment and she could almost feel the joy that would fill the house in the coming years.

She wanted that joy for herself.

Where was he? She walked to the driveway to make sure his truck wasn't there. Saw only Eve's car backed up to the garage. Turning, she began to slowly walk back down the street, barely feeling the cold or the snowflakes landing on her cheeks. He was going to leave. She couldn't blame him. Guaranteed work, close to his parents. She didn't want him to stay here just for her, even if she had called Katie that afternoon and told her she wouldn't be taking the job. Even if she had thought of seeing him every day at the bakery while she worked for Max, who'd seemed overjoyed when she had pulled him into the kitchen as soon as he'd arrived to tell him she would stay on. And when she'd confirmed her father's appointment for pre-op bloodwork the next week, she had thought of Oscar's comforting presence while she waited during her father's surgery, and his easygoing company in those first days after her father came back home to recover.

Stopping on the corner, she wiped the mixture of tears and melted snow from her cheeks, groping in her coat pocket for a tissue. Oscar would leave, and she would stay, and every time Max or Eve mentioned him she would think of everything that could have been.

She was about to start walking again when she heard a dog start barking. It was too loud and clear for it to be inside one of the nearby houses, and she glanced around. Turning, she heard the bark again, coming from down Brickyard Avenue. Funny, but it almost sounded like Penny, she thought, finally finding a crumpled tissue to use to wipe her face. The snowfall grew heavier and she sniffled, about to continue on her way home when movement caught her eye.

A small dog coming up the street. It passed below a streetlamp and she saw the green dog sweater. She blinked in surprise as it bounded towards her. "Penny?"

Of course it was Penny. No other dog in town that she had seen had the same coat and coloring. As the dog approached she heard the jingle of her collar. Glad as she was to see the dog, worry pricked through while she squatted to greet Penny with a hug.

"Where's—"

"Natalie!"

There he was. Coming up the street in a jog, breath fogging around him. Penny ran back towards him and Natalie followed, stride lengthening to close the distance. "Where—"

"My truck broke down, I turned my phone off so I could think, and I left it at the house." He stopped, catching her arm when her boots slid on the snow. "I had to run see Mr. Wright."

"What hap—"

"I don't know, I think it's the alternator. I left it out at Mr. Wright's." He drew in a breath. "I bought the house."

"What?" she gasped, grasping the front of his coat.

"I'm staying. I couldn't let someone else get it, because when I took Penny to take a look yesterday she loved it and because I kept seeing things I wanted to do with the house and the land. It's taking all my savings, and I'll have to eat ramen for a year, but I want it. For the first time since I broke up with Lauren I want to own a house." He was breathless, either from excitement or his run. "Mr. Harrell was at Mr. Wright's, and he said he needs someone to do maintenance on his rentals."

Natalie nodded, though he was speaking so fast she could barely keep up.

"I start week after next. Doing what I did for Max and Eve. It's not gonna be easy, but I know I can do it." He paused and swiped snow from his cheeks. "I don't know what you're gonna do, Natalie, but I have to stay here. Yeah, I know I'm falling in love with you, but I fell in love with this town and all the crazy people in it."

"I'm staying," she told him before he could continue. "Max wants me to stay at the bakery, and Dad needs me. And I'll be able to do my writing. I don't know if I'll find anything I can do remotely, but I'll try. If nothing else I'll start a blog or maybe write that book I've wanted to write since I was a kid. I can't leave again, because if I do I know I'd never come back—"

"Thank god," he breathed, pulling her to him.

"What?" she whispered after his lips pressed to her forehead.

"You're staying. And not for me."

"You're a little bit of the reason—"

"You're staying because you love your dad and you love the bakery enough to help it keep going and because you love this little town," he insisted.

"Yeah," she admitted with a small laugh. "I do."

"And I'm staying because I love this little town and I love being close to my idiot friend and I love that little house."

At their feet, Penny barked.

"And I couldn't take her away. She'd never forgive me for taking her away from Mark."

"Neither would he," she said.

"I'm glad you're staying," he murmured. His arms wrapped around her.

"I'm glad you're staying," she returned. Leaning against him, she felt a giddiness rise up within her as his words finally registered in her brain. "And I'm falling in love with you, too."

"Yeah?" He grinned, his beautiful, adorable grin that warmed her heart.

"Yeah," she whispered just as his lips found hers.

She pulled back moments later, a little dizzy and weak, and gazed up at him. "Come on, Dad's gonna get worried when he realizes I left the party. And there's presents waiting for you."

"Presents?"

"Dad got you something. I did, too."

"I think Max brought my gifts with him," he said, keeping one arm around her as they began to walk. He called to Penny, who trotted alongside them until they reached Natalie's street. Then the dog gave a tiny yip and bounded ahead. Oscar laughed, tucking Natalie closer to his side. "What did you get me?"

"I won't tell you everything, but one of them is a phone charger for your truck."

"A charger." He nodded. "Useful."

"You need it."

"I do."

"What did you get me?" she asked, watching Penny jump up the steps and onto the front porch. Her friends' cars and trucks and Max's SUV were still parked out front and she was glad. All those closest to her would be there to celebrate both her news and Oscar's news. Penny began to scratch at the door and she tried to remember if she'd placed a towel near the door to catch snow. The dog would need a good rub down.

"I won't tell you everything," Oscar chuckled. "But one of them is a book."

"A book?"

"Yeah. It'll come in handy, since you're going to keep working at the bakery."

"What is it?" She stopped halfway up the walk, waving to her father when he opened the door. Oscar waved, too. Mark waved back with the towel he was holding, then closed the door after Penny slipped inside the house.

Oscar turned to her, arm slipping around her waist and drawing her close. "A cookbook."

"A cookbook," she repeated, lifting her eyebrows.

"Baking for Dummies."

Before she could give an indignant reaction, he swept her close and kissed her. She laughed against his lips, too full of hope and joy to be outraged by his gift. She heard the front door open again, music and laughter spilling outside.

Pato's voice rang out, disgusted. "What the hell is with you two and standing outside in the cold?!"

The End

[elysiaheaven2]

𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗚𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘- 𝗥𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗚.𝗡 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (Part 2) end!

Used to be on @elysiaheaven

This is the request!!

02: SO MUCH FOR THE TOLERANT LEFT

Words:4000

Genre: Red Room Reader (G.N) Gore

Summary: A sadistic captor fucking you <33 livestreams their torture, taunting a shackled victim while performing brutal acts for an online audience. They theatrically respond to viewer suggestions, twisted glee, blending dark humor with horrifying violence. The chat eggs them on, turning the view into a grotesque spectacle.

This happens before you meet Ronin! (Basically

Trigger Warnings:

Graphic Violence: Depictions of physical harm, torture, and injury.

Self-Harm: Indirect references to bodily harm or deterioration (e.g., breaking nails).

Psychological Torture: Mental manipulation, humiliation, and emotional distress.

Gore: Detailed depictions of blood, injury, and bodily harm.

Blood: Intense, graphic descriptions of bloodshed.

Trauma: Psychological and physical trauma inflicted on the victim.

Moral Corruption: Exploration of a character’s lack of remorse, twisted logic, and corruption.

Death (explicit deaths with violent descriptions)

Torture (including the use of tools and sadistic behavior)

Psychological Manipulation (character dynamics that involve power and control)

Content Warnings:

Disturbing Imagery: Vivid descriptions of torture, suffering, and victimization.

Emotional Manipulation: Using guilt, fear, and despair to torment the victim.

Organ Donation: The idea of using a victim’s organs for medical purposes, which could be seen as dehumanizing.

Dark Humor: The use of dark humor surrounding violence, suffering, and exploitation.

Exploitation: The character finds satisfaction in the suffering of others.

Dehumanization: Treating the victim as an object or tool for personal satisfaction or manipulation.

Physical Harm (depictions of severe bodily injury, bruising, and broken bones)

Blood and Injury (detailed accounts of blood, wounds, and brutal attacks)

Blood Loss and Dismemberment (specific references to body mutilation, such as the use of crowbars and knives for dismemberment)

Psychological Control and Trauma (psychological torment and manipulation, including the fear of death, taunting, and intimidation)

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good!

⟡ The show must go on

Welcome dear viewer, Read the warnings before reading this hell!

Ronin sat hunched over his computer, the screen illuminating his face in the dark. His fingers hovered over the keys, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to word it. How could he explain what was happening inside of him? This giddy feeling, this knot that tightened in his chest when he thought about Angel. He felt so... out of control, and he hated it. His mind was swirling with a mess of emotions, and the only thing that seemed clear was that something was happening that he couldn’t fix.

He stared at his message, his thoughts racing. His thumb finally pressed the keys.

Ronin: Angel, I need help. My heart is like... giddy? What the hell is this? It feels like I’m gonna burst. I feel so shit right now. I don’t know what’s going on inside of me, but it’s ugly. I just want to rip out my aorta and wash it but I don’t even want to do that? Wtf is wrong with me?!

He hit send and immediately felt a wave of frustration flood through him. Why couldn’t he explain himself better? It was like his insides were fighting each other, wanting something they couldn’t have. His heart, a traitor, racing when Angel even looked his way, and yet, he was ashamed of it. What was he supposed to do with all these feelings?

Angel didn’t take long to reply, their message popping up with an almost teasing wink emoji. Ronin stared at it for a moment, his pulse quickening.

Angelicc: “What the hell are they fixing you, Ronin?”

That response hit him like a bolt of lightning, igniting something deep inside him. His mind, once clouded, suddenly cleared, and he smirked.

goreboy: *Why would you care? he texts back with a playful yet taunting tone. It’s not like you could handle me if you tried, Angel.

There. He’d done it. Ronin’s fingers tapped out the last bit of the message, the little bit of frustration that had been building finally manifesting in this teasing banter. But beneath it all, his mind screamed for some kind of resolution—anything to make the knot in his chest loosen.

Angelic: God, please give me the energy to shoot you, Ronin You're so...

Ronin leaned back in his chair, phone still in hand, when the familiar ping of a notification pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. His sharp eyes glanced at the screen. The message was from the streamer.

His lips curled into an intrigued grin as he clicked it open.

Streamer: Got the guy you were talking about. Stream starts at 9 PM. Gonna be a good one.

Ronin's grin widened as he read it, his mind briefly flicking back to their conversation about the so-called "big bad" that had captured his interest. They’d actually found the guy. This was going to be fun. He couldn't wait to see how they handled it.

"Guess they’ve got a little flair for drama after all," he muttered, tossing his phone onto the desk for a moment.

But the thought lingered—there was something about this streamer that felt familiar, like a puzzle piece he hadn’t quite placed yet. They were sharp, clever, and knew just the right things to say to keep him hooked. Almost... too much like someone he already knew.

A part of him toyed with the idea, but no. That would be too wild, wouldn’t it?

Picking up his phone again, he typed out a quick message:

goreboy: Rest up, yeah? The guy’s caught, so your job’s done. You should sleep well.

He hovered over the send button for a moment, noticing your status was offline. With a sigh, he hit send anyway.

"Offline, huh?" he murmured, leaning back and letting his head tip against the chair’s edge. "Figures."

He stared at the empty room, the soft glow of the phone screen lighting his face. His heart, usually so calm and guarded, ached faintly.

It wasn’t a bad ache, though. It was warm.

"You really got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?" he whispered to the empty space.

Ronin closed his eyes, letting the weight of the realization sink in. He really loved you, didn’t he? His heart, as much as he hated to admit it, wasn’t lying.

The clock hit 9 PM, the moment you had been waiting for. Your heart raced in anticipation as you adjusted your mask, staring at the reflection in your screen. You were ready. Tonight’s stream would be one for the books.

The camera flicked on, and there you were, in full glory—your usual enigmatic persona, concealed behind the mask, your voice a controlled calm with just the right edge of menace.

On the other side of the screen, the man they’d just captured was already cursing, his voice a mixture of panic and fury. His words were a desperate mess of threats, accusations, and confusion, but you couldn’t help but smile at the chaos. It felt so… right. So deliciously satisfying.

You leaned forward, fingers expertly typing on the keyboard, your voice sharp as you addressed him.

“Quiet down, you filthy coward,” you said, your voice cold yet somehow amused, the words slipping from your lips effortlessly. “You’re not in control anymore. The world you once ruled is crumbling around you, and you're nothing but a puppet with its strings cut.”

You could practically hear his jaw clenching. The man had thought he was invincible, and now he was nothing more than prey in your game. And you? You were the hunter, enjoying every moment of it.

"Why don’t you shut your damn mouth and listen?" you continued, raising your hand dramatically, the camera capturing every movement. "Your sins have caught up with you. You think you can get away with everything, but tonight, you’re going to pay for all of it. I’m not just going to show you your fate—I’m going to make you feel it."

The man’s curses grew more frantic as he struggled against his restraints, but you didn’t care. You kept your focus, savoring each word you spoke, each moment of this twisted satisfaction. This was your show. You had the power, and you weren’t letting go.

"Stop squirming, it’s pointless," you added, voice dripping with mockery. "You wanted attention, and now you have it. Just sit tight, the real fun’s about to begin.”

As the stream began to settle into its rhythm, you leaned forward, gazing into the camera with that unsettling calm. The chat was flooded with messages, and your viewers were eager, waiting for the night’s show to unfold. Among the sea of usernames, you saw it—a familiar one. Goreboy69.

It barely registered among all the chaos of names scrolling by. But then it clicked—that name, those letters, the symbol of chaos that you’d recognized. You looked at it again, eyes widening for a split second. It was him.

Ronin.

The realization hit you like a jolt of electricity through your veins. He was here. Watching. Your Ronin.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat but quickly regained your composure, the same sinister smile curling onto your lips. This was your moment. Your game. The perfect twist.

"Welcome, everyone," you said smoothly, your voice smooth and warm like honey, as if everything was perfectly normal. You glanced at the chat again, giving a special nod to the man in question. "And of course, a very special welcome to... Goreboy69. You know who you are."

You let the words linger in the air, giving him a playful wink, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. The chat lit up with confusion and excitement, the viewers unknowingly swept up in the tension of the moment.

"Tonight, we’ve got someone truly special for you all," you continued, turning to the restrained man at the center of the stream. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening. But it was too late for him to do anything about it. You controlled the narrative, and he was just another pawn in your sick little game.

"Tonight's special victim has done unspeakable things," you said, slowly pacing in front of the camera, giving the chat time to catch up. "You know, he’s not just some run-of-the-mill criminal. Oh no... this one has a special kind of depravity."

The man on the screen struggled, his curses muffled by the gag in his mouth, but you weren’t interested in his weak protests. Instead, you leaned in closer to the camera, your voice dropping to a low, almost playful tone.

"You see, this lovely gentleman has stolen millions, ruined lives, and even killed—oh, the things he’s done. And tonight... well... tonight, I think he’s going to pay for them all."

You paused for a moment, savoring the tension in the air. You felt it, the rush of power. This was what you lived for.

As you started detailing his crimes, your voice began to shake with barely contained laughter. You couldn’t hold it in any longer, the absurdity of his actions tickling your sense of humor in a twisted way.

"And the best part?" you said, smirking as you bent down toward the man, your hand barely brushing against his face. "He thought he could get away with it. Thought he was untouchable."

You stood back up, chuckling darkly as the chat roared with excitement. "Well, tonight’s the night he gets to learn the hard way... that no one is untouchable."

The man struggled against his restraints, his face turning pale as you recounted his heinous acts—how he had killed people in cold blood, how he’d abused his power, how he'd ruined countless lives without a second thought. You could barely keep your laughter contained as you continued.

"Look at him squirm," you mocked. "Isn’t it just hilarious? All his bravado crumbling in seconds. You should've seen the look on his face when he realized who really has the power now."

Your laughter bubbled up again as the man began to choke on his words, his breathing shallow from both fear and the gag, but it didn’t matter. You were in control now. Every moment of his suffering was a triumph, and you knew he couldn’t escape it.

"Isn’t it just beautiful?" you murmured, gazing at the screen with twisted satisfaction. "Justice... and so much more."

You let the man suffer in silence for a moment, savoring the absolute control you had over him. And as you glanced again at Goreboy69's name, your heart raced with a mix of excitement and curiosity. Was Ronin watching? Yes you idoit!

You couldn’t wait to find out.

You leaned over the bound man, your smile never fading as you tilted your head, eyes gleaming with sick delight. His terror was palpable, a fragile thing he clung to in a desperate bid to escape, but there was no escape for him. Not here. Not with you.

You taunted him, your voice dripping with mock sympathy as you circled him slowly. "Tell me," you whispered softly, leaning down to his ear as he trembled, "How could you kill her? Your wife. The one you swore to protect, to love. How did you bring yourself to do that?" You let the words linger, his eyes wide, filled with dread. He was barely holding himself together, but his body was still betraying him with every ragged breath.

Without waiting for an answer, you swiftly grabbed a knife, its cold edge gleaming under the dim light, and drove it into the muscle of his arm, the blade sinking deep with an almost sickening ease.

His scream echoed, muffled by the gag, but the sound of it was pure, raw emotion—the kind that only came when a man realized how powerless he truly was. Tears sprang to his eyes, his body writhing against the restraints as he sobbed.

And it was there, in that moment of utter defeat, that you felt the thrill deep within you. You loved this. You loved the power, the control, the rush of watching someone break in front of you. It made everything feel real, alive.

You straightened, taking a step back, your eyes still fixed on his broken form. You were about to speak again, but then... you noticed something in the chat.

There it was again—Goreboy69—that username flashing across your screen. You grinned, recognizing the familiar pattern of messages, but this time, there was something more.

He wasn’t just watching. He was engaged. You clicked on the notification, reading the latest message from him:

"Do it. Make him feel it. Don't hold back."

Your heart skipped a beat. He... wanted you to go further. He was encouraging it. Your grin widened as a wild idea bubbled to the surface.

Ronin. Ronin was here, watching you perform. But he didn’t know it was you, did he? He had no idea. You were about to show him just how much damage you could cause.

You couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from deep within you. You almost felt giddy at the thought of him watching, probably thinking of you as someone else entirely.

Your gaze flicked back to the man before you. He was gasping, his body trembling with the shock of the pain in his arm, and yet you weren’t done. Oh, no. You still had plenty to do.

You lifted the knife again, this time moving slowly toward his eye. His fear skyrocketed as he saw the glint of the blade, his body stiffening in a futile attempt to escape. You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his skin as you hovered just inches from his face.

And that’s when you whispered, “What if I just... pluck your eye out, hm? How would you like that?”

The terror in his eyes deepened, his chest heaving as he shook his head violently. But you couldn't help but smile wider at his futile attempts to flee. He wasn’t going anywhere, not with you in control.

But then, your gaze flickered back to the chat, and the message from Goreboy69 appeared again:

"Give him hell."

You giggled again, a wicked laugh that sent a shiver down your own spine, before turning your attention back to your captive. Ronin didn’t even realize it, but with every word he typed, he was pushing you further, guiding your actions. The connection between the two of you, unspoken and unacknowledged, made everything feel even more intense.

He didn’t know who you were, but you knew exactly who he was.

And that only made everything more delicious.

Your knife hovered just above his trembling eye, the sharp edge glinting in the dim light as his fear radiated outward in waves. The man’s body jerked instinctively, pulling against the ropes, but there was no escape. He was trapped. Completely at your mercy.

You stopped, just as the knife was about to make contact, holding it steady in midair. The sharp point was so close, the breath from his panicked gasps hitting your face. You could hear his heart pounding in his chest, faster and faster, the sound of it almost more satisfying than any scream.

His voice broke through the silence, a desperate cry filled with hatred and fear. "You—bitch!" he screamed, his words muffled by the gag but still full of venom. "You're a sick monster! You think you're some kind of god? You're nothing! NOTHING!"

His words didn’t affect you. In fact, they only made the thrill more intense. You smiled wider, your eyes narrowing as you leaned closer, the cold metal still inches from his eye. "Oh, you're right about one thing," you whispered softly, the knife edge almost touching his eyelid now, "I am a monster. And you're about to find out just how real it can get."

His body jerked again, this time his face contorting in an even more horrified expression, his whole being consumed by terror as he realized how close he was to losing an eye. You could see the sweat pouring down his forehead, his chest heaving violently with each breath. But you couldn’t resist—it was too tempting, too sweet.

You let the knife edge touch his skin, just for a moment, teasing the fragile layer of flesh. He screamed again, but this time it was different—a scream of pure terror as he realized he was so close to something irreversible.

And then, just as his voice broke with another desperate curse, you pulled the knife back, letting it fall to your side with a quiet, almost playful chuckle.

"You know, you’re lucky," you said, your voice light and sweet, as though you weren’t holding his life in your hands. "I’m in a good mood today. But don’t think for a second that I won’t finish what I started."

The man’s breathing slowed, but only slightly. He was still a broken mess, realizing just how close he had come to death. He cursed again, shaking his head violently in the restraints.

You turned your attention back to the screen, noticing another message from Goreboy69 pop up in the chat. You glanced at it, reading his words carefully:

*"You’re doing *great. He deserves everything. Don't stop now."

A sly smile curled on your lips. Ronin. You could almost feel his presence, even if he still didn’t know it was you. His words pushed you, made you want to go further, to make this man suffer in ways he could never have imagined.

"Well," you whispered, turning back to your victim with a grin, "I guess we can’t let him off that easy, can we?"

The man’s eyes widened in horror as you reached for the knife again. This time, there would be no hesitation.

You knelt before the trembling man, a thin, gleaming metal instrument in your grasp. Its delicate design contrasted with the brutality of its purpose.

“This will hold your eye open,” you murmured, your voice calm and detached, as if explaining a benign procedure. The man’s breath hitched, and he immediately thrashed, shaking his head violently in protest.

“NO! NO, PLEASE—”

His plea was cut off by your other hand gripping his face with unyielding strength. Your fingers dug into his skin, forcing his head to still. His terror-filled eyes darted in every direction, searching for an escape he knew didn’t exist.

“Stay. Still.” The command was firm, your tone leaving no room for disobedience. You brought the metal instrument closer, positioning it against his swollen eyelids. Despite his muffled screams and jerking motions, you carefully pried them open. The exposed orb quivered, blood pooling around its damaged edges.

“There,” you cooed, almost gently, as if offering some twisted reassurance. “Now we can get to work.”

You raised a scalpel, its blade catching the faint light, and twirled it between your fingers for the camera to see. The gesture was as elegant as it was menacing, the audience no doubt captivated. A few cheered in the chat, but one name stood out: Goreboy69.

"Perfection. Don’t stop now."

You smirked, the encouragement fueling your performance.

“I’m only cutting away the bad parts,” you explained sweetly, tilting your head as if you truly believed your words were merciful.

The man’s screams intensified as the scalpel touched his flesh, the blade slicing into the delicate tissue of his eye socket. Blood welled instantly, streaming down his face in dark, sticky rivulets. He convulsed in his restraints, his voice cracking under the strain of his terror.

The sound was exquisite: the wet scrape of the blade against ruined flesh, the metallic click as your tools grazed one another, all punctuated by his raw, guttural cries.

You carved with precision, each movement deliberate, as though you were an artist shaping a masterpiece. The chat exploded with messages—some in awe, others begging for more. Your focus, however, remained unwavering.

“Almost done,” you murmured, your voice carrying a detached serenity as though the man’s agony was merely background noise.

When you finally stepped back, the once-pristine blade was smeared crimson, and the man before you was nothing more than a shaking, sobbing wreck. You held the scalpel up for the camera, giving it a little twirl once more, your signature flourish.

The screens blazed with cold, artificial light, casting an almost clinical glow over the room. Your masked face was illuminated as you turned back toward the man, a faint smile playing on your lips.

"Ah, my apologies," you said with a soft chuckle, tilting your head in mock contrition. "I was getting carried away. But isn’t tonight’s star a bit… mundane?"

Your eyes flicked to the chat, where the messages scrolled rapidly. One caught your attention, and you read it aloud with a sly grin.

“‘No mental games today?’” You giggled, the sound saccharine and sharp. "What a vulgar question, darling! But…" You turned your gaze back to the man strapped helplessly before you, your tone dropping to a dangerous purr. "Physical pain has its own… unique ability to open and close doors, wouldn’t you agree?"

The man whimpered, barely audible. "S-save me…" he whispered, voice trembling, broken.

His wide, frantic eyes darted around the room, taking in the countless cameras positioned at every angle. He jerked against his restraints, panic overtaking him.

“What… what the hell? Why are there so many?!” His voice cracked, the fear palpable.

You ignored his frantic movements, instead feigning an air of absentminded curiosity as you rummaged through a tray of tools. Your hand paused on one particular item, and your fingers curled around it with deliberate slowness.

"I'm sure you're familiar with this sound," you said calmly, just as a loud BANG erupted, the sharp crack ricocheting through the room. The man flinched violently, his body jerking as far as the restraints allowed. His breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, his eyes darting in search of the source.

“It’s a nail gun,” you said matter-of-factly, stepping closer. You circled him with a predator’s grace, the heavy thud of your boots echoing ominously. Finally, you stopped behind him and pressed the cold, unfeeling metal tip of the pneumatic tool against his shoulder. He gasped, the contact forcing a shiver down his spine.

“Do you know what a pneumatic nail gun is, mister?” you asked sweetly, your voice dripping with mock politeness. His head lolled back, his pupils unfocused as he tried to comprehend.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” he spat, though the defiance in his voice was betrayed by the quiver of his body.

BANG!

A sharp, sickening sound rang out as the first nail was driven into his flesh. He screamed—a visceral, agonized wail that echoed in the confined space. The light from the monitors caught the glint of the metallic tip protruding from his arm, a bead of crimson welling up around it.

“Oh, it is a nail!” you cooed mockingly, as though this revelation amused you. Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger again.

BANG!

His body convulsed as another nail punctured through muscle and sinew.

BANG!

And another.

BANG!

His arm hung limp now, blood trickling down in dark, sticky trails as his screams turned hoarse, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Pull them out," you instructed suddenly, your voice light, almost playful. “Go on—I give you permission.”

His swollen, shaking hand inched toward the nail lodged just below his elbow. Tears streaked his face, mingling with the sweat dripping from his brow. His trembling fingers brushed the nail’s edge, and with a ragged sob, he gripped it.

He pulled.

The slick, nauseating sensation of the nail sliding free from the meat of his arm made him lurch forward, gagging on his cries. Blood spurted from the open wound, and he froze, trembling, unable to move or speak.

You crouched beside him, tilting your head like a curious child.

“See?” you whispered, your voice as soothing as it was sinister. “Pain can teach you so much more than words ever could.”

You turned to the chat, the scrolling messages flashing across your monitor. A particularly enthusiastic suggestion caught your eye, and you tilted your head, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips beneath the mask.

"Oh? Power tools, you say?" you cooed, running your gloved fingers across the array of instruments laid out before you. "Darling, you're positively spoiling me with ideas tonight."

Your hand hovered over a blowtorch, the sleek metal gleaming under the harsh lights. Picking it up, you tested the weight in your hand before turning to your guest of honor. His bloodshot eyes widened in absolute terror as recognition dawned on him.

"You know what this is, don’t you?" you teased, igniting the torch with a sharp flick. A controlled flame roared to life, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The man screamed, his cries raw and piercing, his body thrashing against the restraints with renewed desperation.

"Please—NO! STOP!" he begged, his voice breaking, but the words only seemed to delight you further.

"Shh, shh…" you said softly, your tone almost soothing. You leaned in close, the flame dancing mere inches from his face. "I just want to see how much heat you can take before you… break."

The flame licked toward him, and he jerked his head to the side, trying to evade the searing heat. You chuckled, the sound cold and devoid of mercy, as you brought the torch down toward his arm.

The fabric of his shirt began to singe, curling and blackening under the intensity of the flame. He shrieked as the heat seared his skin, the acrid stench of burning flesh filling the air. His screams were guttural, primal, as though the agony had reached into the very depths of his soul.

"Music to my ears," you said with a laugh, pulling the torch back momentarily. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his face contorted in agony.

You turned back to the chat, which was erupting in chaotic glee.

"Too much already? Or should I keep going?" you asked, tilting your head at the screen. The responses came in fast, a flood of sadistic encouragement that made your grin widen.

"Ah, it seems they're not satisfied yet," you said, turning your gaze back to the trembling, broken man before you. "And I do hate disappointing my audience."

You crouched down to the trembling man's level, tilting your head as if inspecting him with genuine curiosity. He was panting, his face glistening with sweat and twisted in agony. Slowly, you raised the blowtorch again, the flame roaring to life with a menacing hiss.

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, your tone dripping with mock reassurance. “I’m only doing you a favor. These open wounds? They’re… unsightly. We wouldn’t want an infection now, would we?”

He screamed as you guided the flame toward one of the nail punctures in his arm, the raw flesh exposed and oozing. The moment the fire kissed his skin, his entire body convulsed violently. The sound of sizzling flesh filled the room, accompanied by his blood-curdling shrieks.

“Shhh,” you whispered, pressing the blowtorch closer. The flame lingered, sealing the wound shut with a grotesque crackle. The scent of charred meat was overpowering, and you wrinkled your nose playfully. “You’re lucky I’m such a perfectionist. I wouldn’t want to leave you half-done.”

You moved to the next wound, repeating the process with deliberate slowness. He thrashed against the restraints, his muffled sobs and cries blending into a pathetic symphony of suffering. Each press of the torch elicited fresh screams, his voice growing hoarse from the relentless abuse.

Finally, you clicked the torch off and set it down with care, the room falling eerily silent except for his ragged breathing. “There. All sealed up. Isn’t that better?” you asked, tilting your head as though expecting gratitude. He merely whimpered, tears streaming down his face.

But you weren’t done yet. Not even close.

You reached out with your gloved hand, gripping the scorched, charred flesh around one of the wounds. “Now, let’s not waste good food,” you said with a sadistic grin, peeling away a burnt piece of flesh. The man recoiled in horror, shaking his head violently as you held it up in front of his face.

“Open wide,” you sang, your voice lilting with dark amusement. He clenched his jaw shut, his entire body trembling in revulsion.

“Oh, come on,” you said, your tone darkening, the glint in your eyes dangerous. “Don’t make me force you.”

When he didn’t comply, you grabbed his jaw with one hand, squeezing until his mouth popped open with a guttural cry. You shoved the charred piece of meat inside, your gloved fingers pressing it against his tongue.

“Chew,” you commanded, your voice icy. He gagged, tears streaming down his face as he bit down reluctantly. The crunch of the scorched tissue was nauseating, and his sobs grew louder as he swallowed.

You purred mockingly, patting his cheek with your bloodstained glove. “Now wasn’t that delicious?” You turned back to the chat, where the messages were pouring in, a cacophony of unhinged excitement and demands for more.

You turned your attention back to the man, his face contorted with pure, unfiltered terror. His sobs were erratic, broken by sharp intakes of breath as he trembled beneath your gaze.

“Ah,” you sighed theatrically, dragging a gloved finger along the edge of his mangled arm. “All this lovely flesh… it feels like such a waste, doesn’t it?”

He whimpered, shaking his head in weak protest, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please... no more...”

But your grin only widened, a glint of sadistic delight in your eyes. “Oh, come now. You don’t want to waste the gift of life, do you? And what’s more personal than… sharing a part of yourself?”

You picked up a small, serrated blade, twirling it deftly for the camera. The chat was ablaze, cheering you on, demanding more. One message caught your eye: "Feed him to himself! Ultimate justice!"

“Such a poetic suggestion,” you mused aloud, chuckling softly. Then, without hesitation, you grabbed his wrist and pressed the blade into the fleshy part of his palm. He screamed as you sawed through the muscle, carving a small, bloodied chunk free. The meat dangled grotesquely from the tip of the knife as you held it up for the camera.

“Here we go,” you cooed, bringing the knife closer to his face. He thrashed weakly, his body utterly spent from the torment. “Open wide, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“No! No, no, no!” he cried, his voice cracking, but his defiance only seemed to fuel your amusement. You let out an exaggerated sigh before pinching his jaw open once again, forcing the piece of his own flesh past his lips.

“Chew,” you commanded firmly, your voice like steel. He hesitated, and you pressed the flat of the blade against his throat. “Now.”

Tears streamed down his face as he obeyed, his teeth grinding against the sinewy meat. The sound was sickening, wet and gristly, and his gagging made it clear he was fighting every instinct to spit it out. But you wouldn’t let him.

“Swallow,” you ordered, your tone low and threatening. His throat bobbed as he choked the piece down, and you clapped your hands together mockingly.

“Bravo!” you said, turning to the camera with a playful smirk. “He’s such a good boy for all of us, isn’t he?”

The chat exploded with messages: "More!" "Make him eat more of himself!" "This is ART!"

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at your trembling victim. “Well, chat has spoken,” you said cheerfully, picking up the blade again. “Let’s see how much more we can get before he starts losing consciousness, shall we?”

His scream echoed through the room as the blade met his flesh once more.

The man’s screams turned to desperate sobs, his head lolling weakly as he struggled to stay conscious. Blood dripped steadily onto the cold floor, pooling beneath him in dark, sticky puddles.

“P-please,” he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken. “Please… just kill me. End it. I can’t… I can’t take anymore.”

You tilted your head, as if considering his plea, the blowtorch still idling in your hand with its ominous hiss. “Kill you?” you echoed, your tone light and almost amused. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that? If I just kill you now, we’ll miss out on all the potential, all the possibilities.”

Tears streamed down his face, mixing with sweat and blood. “Please…” he whispered, his words barely audible. “I’m begging you...”

You knelt down, bringing yourself to eye level with him, your mask glinting in the harsh light. “Begging, huh?” you murmured. “You begged your wife, too, didn’t you? When you hit her? When you—” You didn’t finish the sentence, your voice curling into icy disdain.

His eyes widened, his breath hitching as shame and fear mingled in his expression. “I... I was wrong... I know! Please, I deserve it! Just—just make it stop!”

You let out a soft, almost pitying laugh, reaching out to cup his bloodied cheek. He flinched at your touch, but you held him firmly, your grip unrelenting.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you purred mockingly, “death would be a mercy. And mercy is something you don’t deserve. Not yet.”

You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t get to take the easy way out. You’ll suffer, piece by piece, just like your victims did. You’ll feel every ounce of their pain until there’s nothing left of you but regret and broken pieces.”

The man sobbed uncontrollably, shaking his head as if trying to deny the reality of your words. “No… no more… please…”

You straightened up, flicking the blowtorch off with a decisive click. “You’re not going anywhere, darling,” you said, your voice saccharine yet sharp. “We’ve only just begun.”

Turning back to the camera, you offered your viewers a cheerful wave. “Chat, should we take this slow and savor it? Or should we get creative with our next session? Let me know!”

You turned back to the screens, your voice bright and chillingly cheerful.

"Who's ready for the grand finale?" you announced, the smile behind your mask almost audible. "You came here for blood, and blood you shall receive!"

From behind your back, you produced a knife, holding it out toward the broken man slumped before you.

"Here," you said softly, almost kindly. "They want to see blood. So give it to them. It's the least you can do."

His trembling eyes flicked to the blade in your hand, a flicker of understanding and horror crossing his face. Slowly, his shackled hands reached out, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the tense air.

"They want blood," you repeated, your voice a honeyed whisper as he grasped the knife. "Give it to them. Become the spectacle you always were."

He stared at the weapon in his shaking hands. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have, as though it carried more than just steel. His breath hitched, and with a sharp intake of air, he slashed at his own arm.

The cut was clumsy but deep, a line of crimson blooming against pale flesh. He gasped, then slashed again—harder this time, more frantic. Blood began to pool, spilling over his lap and onto the floor.

You took a step back, folding your arms as you watched him spiral into madness. The audience in the chat was electric, messages flooding in with cheers and disbelief.

He was unraveling. You’d broken him.

The knife hovered at his stomach now, the trembling tip pressing into soft flesh. He froze, unsure, his blood-slicked fingers hesitating.

You tilted your head, your voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss. "Do it. Die by your own hands, bastard. That’s your punishment. Become the show—like you did to her."

His eyes widened, a flicker of defiance mingling with despair, but it wasn’t enough. With a sickening squelch, he plunged the knife into his own abdomen. His scream was raw, guttural, the sound of a man tearing himself apart.

You stepped closer, kneeling before him as he coughed up blood, the crimson liquid staining his chin. Without hesitation, you grasped his trembling hands and guided them.

"Deeper," you commanded coldly, dragging the blade through layers of flesh and muscle.

The room echoed with his wet, choking cries as his insides began to spill from the gaping wound. He dropped the knife with a clatter, his bloodied fingers fumbling to touch the viscera now exposed to the cold air.

And then, trembling and weak, he reached inside himself, his expression one of awe and horror as he grasped something warm and slick. With a guttural cough, he pulled it free—a glistening, pulsating mass dripping with blood and bile.

The chat erupted. Messages flew by faster than you could read them, a frenzy of horror, fascination, and exhilaration.

You smiled, rising to your feet and turning to the camera.

"Now that," you said, your voice calm and composed, "is what it means to put on a show."

You stepped closer, the glint of something metallic catching the light as you unraveled a thin, taut wire from your pocket. The man, slumped and delirious, barely registered what you were doing until you slipped it around his neck.

"Please…" he croaked, his voice shredded and weak. "Let me live… I’ll do anything—"

You pulled the wire tight.

The sharp, strangled gasp he let out was drowned by the symphony of his panicked gurgles. His hands shot up instinctively, clawing at the wire digging deep into his skin, but it was useless.

"Live?" you mocked, your voice lilting like a twisted lullaby. "You want to live after everything you’ve done? After you begged me to kill you just moments ago? Make up your mind, darling."

He choked, his eyes bulging as blood trickled from the thin, precise lacerations forming around his throat. His body convulsed, every muscle spasming in desperation, but your grip on the wire remained steadfast, unyielding.

The room echoed with his choking cries, the metallic scent of blood thickening in the air.

"Beg louder," you sneered, leaning in close. "Scream if you want to be heard, but I don’t think anyone’s listening."

He gurgled, his words reduced to wet, incoherent gasps as the life drained from his face. You held the wire tighter, your own bloodied hands trembling—not from exertion, but from the sheer euphoria coursing through you.

And then, with one final shudder, his body went limp.

The blood pooling beneath him was a gruesome masterpiece, and his lifeless eyes stared at nothing, wide with terror. The room fell silent except for your own ragged breathing.

And then you laughed.

It started as a soft chuckle, but it grew—wild, unhinged, echoing off the walls like a symphony of chaos. The chat erupted in hysteria, but you barely noticed. You were drunk on the moment, every fiber of your being alight with exhilaration.

You wiped the blood from your hands onto your already-stained clothes, turning back to the camera.

"Well," you said, your grin audible even through the mask, "that was fun, wasn’t it?"

You continued to laugh, a manic, bone-chilling sound that filled the empty space, bouncing off the cold walls. It wasn’t just amusement—it was the high of control, of domination, of having broken another soul to your will. The laughter bubbled up, unstoppable, each giggle darker than the last.

The chat exploded, flooding the screen with messages, all calling for more, egging you on. You could see it in their words, in the thirst for the chaos you just unleashed. They wanted more, always more. But you knew—no one could handle what you had just done.

"Look at him," you said, still laughing, voice crackling with delight. "What a beautiful mess he is. The blood. The agony. His desperate attempts to cling to life... Pathetic."

Your fingers traced the outline of the knife, still slick with the remnants of his suffering. The screen flickered for a moment, the feedback of the camera shifting with the sickening pleasure you felt watching the lifeless body slump in its final form. You wiped your lips with your sleeve, almost theatrically, as if savoring the last drops of something far sweeter than any wine.

The room, drenched in the aftermath, felt like a stage—your stage. Your laughter rang out, drowning the voices of the audience, who had become no more than background noise to your performance.

"Don't you love it, darling?" you murmured, the smile on your face never leaving. "This is what you wanted, right? This is what all of you want—someone, anyone, willing to go just a little bit further, to rip it all apart for the thrill."

You leaned into the camera, your voice low and seductive, the mask a mere formality now.

"Tell me, what next? What should we do with the next one? Hmm?"

You leaned back, the laughter from the screen still lingering in your throat. It echoed in your mind as you looked at the chat, the names disappearing one by one until only one remained.

Goreboy69.

You smiled, a cold, knowing smile that stretched across your face, and without breaking eye contact with the camera, you spoke directly to him.

“Stay,” you commanded, voice dripping with malicious sweetness.

He typed back, confused: “Hm? What is it?”

You let the silence hang between your words. Slowly, deliberately, you met his gaze through the lens, unblinking, like you were staring into the very core of his soul.

"Are you the Devil's Butcher?" you asked, your voice as calm and steady as if you were asking about the weather.

The response was almost instant, "Huh? Looks like Someone's onto me? What now Darling?"

Mockingly, you chuckled. Of course, you knew who he was. —he just didn’t realize it yet. But that was part of the fun, wasn’t it? Keeping him in the dark while you played your own game.

You leaned in, your lips curling into an even darker grin as you addressed him through the screen, voice sharp.

“So, how was the show tonight?” you asked. Your smile widened. "Did you enjoy the blood?"

He replied quickly, boasting: “Pretty good, still not as good as me in gore. I could teach you.”

Your laughter bubbled up again, light but chilling. “Teach me? Oh, darling, I think you should learn from me,” you teased, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “But I’ll give you one thing... the next show’s guest will be you.”

You paused, letting the weight of your words sink in. Then, you finished with a final, gleeful laugh.

“Be ready for a bloodbath, Ronin Beaufort. HAHAHAHA!”

And just like that, you ended the stream, the screen going black as you leaned back, savoring the thrill. You'd sent him a message.

Ronin's mind spun with confusion and amusement as he muttered to himself, his hand tapping the edge of the table. "How the hell did they know my name?" He laughed softly, though there was something darker behind it, a smirk curling on his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

It was a question that gnawed at him, a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. The cryptic message, the strange connection... it didn’t sit well, but something about it ignited a spark. Maybe it was the audacity of the person on the other side, maybe it was how easily they played his game.

The Devil, after all, was always watching, always playing his cards.

His smile widened as he whispered under his breath, almost to himself, “Pretty good... but I’ll show ‘em who’s really in charge.” There was that same glint in his eyes, the one that screamed danger and thrill, the one that promised nothing but chaos to whoever dared to provoke him.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard again, he typed slowly, savoring the weight of every word. His thoughts dripped with venom as he set the next scene in motion.

The next day, you noticed something strange in the server. Ronin was acting… off, or at least, different than usual. He had pinged V, of all people—V, the one person who hated his guts, almost as much as Ronin loved messing with him. But this time, it wasn’t the usual insults or jabs. No, this time, Ronin dropped a chilling message.

"Damn @k9, someone’s gonna kill your kill."

You understood immediately. He was playing a game, one that only he fully understood, but you weren't going to let him take the lead on this.

You didn’t respond right away, though. You knew better than to react impulsively. Instead, you asked, "What happened?" knowing full well what he was talking about. You wanted him to keep talking, to give you more.

In the middle of all this, there was V. The thorn in Ronin's side, and the perfect counter to everything Ronin stood for. Their relationship was a mess of contradictions. On the surface, they were complete opposites—V, the so-called "righteous" killer, and Ronin, the chaotic force of evil. They didn’t like each other, of course. But somewhere beneath that intense animosity, there was something else. A kind of respect, even if they wouldn’t admit it.

Neither of them would ever say it out loud, especially not under threat of torture, but the truth was, they were perfect for each other. V, with his morality complex, hated Ronin because he embodied everything wrong with humanity, while Ronin despised V for trying to impose some false sense of order on the chaos of the world. It was a dangerous and sickening dance they did, each one trying to outdo the other, each one pushing the other further into madness.

Ronin never minded baiting V. He enjoyed it too much. The way V’s righteous fury bubbled over, how it drove him to action. It was all so easy. But the thing that bothered Ronin, that gnawed at him in ways he wouldn’t show, was the simple fact that V hated him for being everything V wanted to fix. Ronin loved every minute of it.

And now? It was getting worse. Everyone in the server was worried. Angelic had even mentioned something about a streamer saying they were going to kill Ronin. Even she was doing something to find who it was... Even V was searching for the address. The irony was thick enough to cut with a knife—V trying to play hero, trying to hunt down someone like Ronin, all while completely ignoring the hypocrisy of his own existence.

Ronin, though, wasn’t worried. He was too smug for that.

“Aww, someone’s worried for me?” Ronin typed, his usual teasing tone evident. “V’s trying to find the address to kill me before they get the chance, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky attitude and typed back, “Shut up. Why are you so excited about dying?” You were practically daring him to answer, testing his response, knowing he'd find a way to twist it into some dark joke.

Ronin’s reply came quickly, and you could almost hear the smirk through the screen. “Excited? Nah. Just thinkin’ about how boring it’d be to die by someone else’s hand. I’ll die on my terms. I’ll kill them first.”

But you knew better. Ronin, for all his bravado, wasn’t the type to shy away from death. In fact, he’d almost welcome it, in his own twisted way. He loved the game, the thrill of it all. So why was he suddenly talking about being killed? Why the warning, the cryptic messages, the tension?

“Ronin…” You typed, your tone taking on a darker edge. “You wouldn’t really let them kill you, would you?”

Ronin didn’t respond immediately, and that silence left you with a sense of unease you weren’t used to with him. He’d always been a step ahead, unpredictable, always knowing the game and how to play it. But this… this felt different.

You stared at the screen, your hands trembling slightly as you typed. His words echoed in your head, and despite the cruel taunting, something deep within you twisted. You had expected it, of course. Ronin thrived on chaos, on destruction, and on pushing others into the darkest corners of their minds.

But there was a moment of vulnerability in him now—something that made your chest tighten as the realization hit you: you couldn't let him die. Not like this. Not in the hands of anyone but you.

You typed the words, your fingers frozen for a second before they continued moving, faster now, more desperate.

"I won't let you die, Ronin," you wrote, your voice a little shakier than you intended. "I won't... I can't."

The silence on the other side of the screen seemed to stretch. Then came his response, a taunt dripping with condescension. "Pathetic," he typed, his words sharp and mocking. "You really think I need saving?"

A bitter laugh followed. "Even if I die, it’s not the end of the world, darling. It’s just another show. Another performance. You’ll move on, just like everyone else."

You felt a pang in your chest. The words cut deeper than you expected. This wasn’t just a game to him. For Ronin, death was something he'd flirted with for so long, it had become a part of his identity, a mask he wore as comfortably as his twisted smile. But hearing it, coming from him... it stung more than you'd like to admit.

You stared at the message for a long time, fighting the gnawing feeling in your gut. But then, slowly, you typed back.

"Stop. Just stop," you wrote, your voice softer, though still tinged with an underlying desperation. "You think it's just another show, but it’s not. Not for me. You can't just throw your life away... again."

For a moment, you could almost hear him chuckle through the screen. The nerve of him—acting like he was invincible, untouchable. He wanted to break you, wanted to make you feel like you were just another part of his endless game. But you wouldn’t play by his rules anymore. You couldn't.

You stared at his last message. "What if I want to die, though?" it read. "What if that’s the only way out? You can’t save me, sweetheart. I’m too far gone."

Your heart raced, but there was no time to waste. You didn't care how twisted he was, how deep in his madness he had fallen. You couldn’t let him slip through your fingers.

"You’re not beyond saving," you typed quickly, almost angrily. "Don’t you dare say that. You’re not too far gone for me."

He was silent again, but his presence hung in the air, like a storm waiting to break. You could feel it—his confusion, his teasing, and yet... maybe something else. Maybe something beneath it all that he never let anyone see.

Your eyes blurred with tears as you typed, every word feeling heavier than the last. You couldn't shake the longing that twisted inside of you, the need to see him again. Not through a screen, not in the hollow confines of this digital game you’d both become part of. You wanted him—no, you needed him—alive, in front of you, where you could touch him, see the chaos in his eyes up close.

You wiped your face hastily, trying to fight the burning desperation in your chest. It wasn’t about saving him anymore. It was something darker, something far more dangerous.

"I want to see you," you typed, the words flowing out like a whispered confession, full of ache and longing. "I want to see you in purgatory alley side again..."

You paused for a moment, your heart pounding in your throat. The alley was their place. A place where you had both walked the line between pleasure and pain, life and death. You had felt his presence there, so close, so real, and now, you wanted it again.

You typed the final words with a trembling hand. "Come to me."

For a moment, the screen sat still. There was no immediate response. You could almost hear his voice in your head—smirking, mocking you, telling you how absurd you were for asking. But you needed it. You needed him to walk into the space between you, to make this more than words, more than empty threats.

His response came, slow and deliberate. "You want to see me?"

You took a deep breath, holding back another wave of emotion. "Yes. I want you to come."

There was a silence on the other end. And then his message blinked onto the screen, full of that same mocking tone you had come to expect from him.

"Well, well... You’re either braver than I thought, or just as insane as me. Purgatory it is then. I’ll be there, sweetheart. You better be ready for what you asked for."

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was. He was coming.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the rush of emotion overwhelming.

The alley smelled of damp concrete and rust, the cold air biting at your skin as you stood there, heart pounding with anticipation. Your eyes searched through the shadows, the darkness swallowing the world around you. Then, you saw him.

Leaning casually against the wall, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, full of that twisted amusement you both thrived on. Ronin stood there, his crowbar slung over his shoulder, the faint moonlight glinting off its metal surface. His presence was unmistakable—almost like a storm just waiting to break.

The moment your eyes locked, your heart skipped a beat. Every rational thought in your mind scattered to the winds. You stepped forward without thinking, your body moving on its own as if it was drawn to him like gravity itself.

And then, without hesitation, you threw yourself into his arms.

His surprise was fleeting, replaced quickly with that unmistakable, dangerous smirk. He let you hug him, but the laugh that escaped his lips was laced with mocking curiosity.

"What’s wrong?" His voice was low, almost playful, but you could hear the darkness underneath, that ever-present edge. He didn’t push you away, but the way he tilted his head, his crowbar now hanging loosely in his hand, was a challenge—a dare.

You pressed your face into his neck, your breath coming out in ragged sobs. Tears spilled down your face, but you didn’t care. They mixed with the blood on your lips, your emotions raw and unfiltered. You could feel the heat of his body, the weight of his presence anchoring you to reality. Your lips brushed against the cold skin of his neck as you whispered, "I just… wanted to see you. Wanted to feel you here…"

He stood still for a moment, seemingly unbothered by your tears, before letting out a soft, cruel chuckle. His fingers ran lightly through your hair, the gesture tender but twisted, like he enjoyed the way you broke down in his presence.

"You’re pathetic," he mused, his voice almost a mockery of concern, though the hint of something else—something darker—lingered. His breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. "You think I’m gonna save you? Is that it?"

You could feel the tension in his muscles, his amusement mingled with something far more dangerous. You pulled yourself tighter against him, not wanting to let go. He was everything you wanted, everything you needed, and yet, the line between pain and pleasure was so fine with him.

"No," you whispered, your voice breaking as you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. "I don't want you to save me, Ronin... I just need you here. I need you to show me that you see me. That you care."

For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, as if the air itself held its breath. Ronin’s eyes darkened, his smirk deepening into something far more dangerous. His fingers slid from your hair to your throat, a gentle pressure that felt more like a promise than a threat.

"You want to know if I care?" He whispered back, his voice so quiet, you could barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat. "You already know the answer to that, sweetheart. But be careful what you wish for..."

With a sudden, predatory movement, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your lips. The raw energy between you both crackled, and for a moment, the world outside this alley—this twisted moment—didn’t exist.

And then he laughed again, that same dangerous laugh, before leaning in just enough to press his lips to the shell of your ear.

"You’re mine," he said softly, "and I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

The alley smelled of damp concrete and rust, the cold air biting at your skin as you stood there, heart pounding with anticipation. Your eyes searched through the shadows, the darkness swallowing the world around you. Then, you saw him.

Leaning casually against the wall, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, full of that twisted amusement you both thrived on. Ronin stood there, his crowbar slung over his shoulder, the faint moonlight glinting off its metal surface. His presence was unmistakable—almost like a storm just waiting to break.

The moment your eyes locked, your heart skipped a beat. Every rational thought in your mind scattered to the winds. You stepped forward without thinking, your body moving on its own as if it was drawn to him like gravity itself.

And then, without hesitation, you threw yourself into his arms.

His surprise was fleeting, replaced quickly with that unmistakable, dangerous smirk. He let you hug him, but the laugh that escaped his lips was laced with mocking curiosity.

"What’s wrong?" His voice was low, almost playful, but you could hear the darkness underneath, that ever-present edge. He didn’t push you away, but the way he tilted his head, his crowbar now hanging loosely in his hand, was a challenge—a dare.

You pressed your face into his neck, your breath coming out in ragged sobs. Tears spilled down your face, but you didn’t care. They mixed with the blood on your lips, your emotions raw and unfiltered. You could feel the heat of his body, the weight of his presence anchoring you to reality. Your lips brushed against the cold skin of his neck as you whispered, "I just… wanted to see you. Wanted to feel you here…"

He stood still for a moment, seemingly unbothered by your tears, before letting out a soft, cruel chuckle. His fingers ran lightly through your hair, the gesture tender but twisted, like he enjoyed the way you broke down in his presence.

"You’re pathetic," he mused, his voice almost a mockery of concern, though the hint of something else—something darker—lingered. His breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. "You think I’m gonna save you? Is that it?"

You could feel the tension in his muscles, his amusement mingled with something far more dangerous. You pulled yourself tighter against him, not wanting to let go. He was everything you wanted, everything you needed, and yet, the line between pain and pleasure was so fine with him.

"No," you whispered, your voice breaking as you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. "I don't want you to save me, Ronin... I just need you here. I need you to show me that you see me. That you care."

For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, as if the air itself held its breath. Ronin’s eyes darkened, his smirk deepening into something far more dangerous. His fingers slid from your hair to your throat, a gentle pressure that felt more like a promise than a threat.

"You want to know if I care?" He whispered back, his voice so quiet, you could barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat. "You already know the answer to that, sweetheart. But be careful what you wish for..."

With a sudden, predatory movement, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your lips. The raw energy between you both crackled, and for a moment, the world outside this alley—this twisted moment—didn’t exist.

And then he laughed again, that same dangerous laugh, before leaning in just enough to press his lips to the shell of your ear.

"You’re mine," he said softly, "and I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

As soon as the air between you and Ronin thickened with a tension you both reveled in, your smile twisted into something dark—something sinister. Your grip tightened around his neck for just a moment, and in that instant, you pulled something from your pocket.

A handkerchief, folded neatly. He didn’t even have time to register the movement before it was pressed firmly against his mouth and nose. The scent of the sedative hit his nostrils almost immediately, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. But the familiar coldness of the chemical didn't take long to overwhelm him.

"What the hell...?" His voice was muffled, his words slurred as his body began to react to the drug. His vision blurred, his breath growing shallow, his mind starting to fog. His knees buckled, and before he knew it, the floor met him with a sickening thud.

You stepped back, watching him fall to the ground, his face contorting in a mix of confusion and disbelief. He tried to fight, tried to push himself up, but the sedative had already taken hold, dragging him into unconsciousness. He collapsed, barely managing to lift his head to meet your eyes before everything went black.

For a long, still moment, you stood over him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way his body trembled slightly as he fought the drug's effects. Then, as his eyelids fluttered closed, his gaze locked with yours.

It was in that brief instant, when his eyes flickered open one last time, that he saw it. The unmistakable recognition in his pupils, the terror and realization sweeping over him like a storm. His lips parted, but no words came. Instead, the air grew heavy, thick with the understanding of who you were.

"Wait... you?" he mumbled, barely audible, his body too weak to do anything but watch.

You smiled at him, your grin widening as you leaned down, looking into his eyes with a strange, knowing gleam. "Surprised?" you teased, your voice soft but full of twisted satisfaction. "I told you, Ronin... you know me more than you think."

His breathing grew shallow as his eyes roamed over your face. There, in your eyes, he saw the same fire, the same malicious delight he'd witnessed in the streamer's gaze—the one he'd taunted, the one he'd laughed at. The one who had watched him, followed his every move. The one who had been waiting for this moment.

His voice barely a whisper. "The streamer... it’s you."

You giggled softly, leaning in close to his ear, your lips brushing against his skin as you whispered, "Yes. It’s me, Ronin. The one who knows all about you. The one who's been waiting for the right moment. The one who’s going to make sure you never see the light of day again."

His eyes fluttered, and his body began to tremble, the realization sinking in deeper, but it was already too late. His body went limp, and the last thing he saw before succumbing to the sedative was the twisted satisfaction in your gaze.

As Ronin slowly regained consciousness, his mind felt sluggish, weighed down by the remnants of the sedative still clouding his thoughts. His body was stiff, his limbs heavy, and his vision was blurry at first. But as he blinked, trying to clear the fog, the familiar darkness of the alley came into focus.

What stood out more than anything, though, was the suffocating sensation around his face. He lifted a hand, but before he could fully process what was happening, he realized it was a mask. A mask... of him.

His butcher mask.

It was molded to his face, covering him completely, suffocating him in its dark, twisted representation of himself. The leather was tight against his skin, the eye holes just barely allowing him to see through.

He didn’t panic—no. Ronin wasn’t the type to panic. Not even when things were twisted, even when the situation felt... off. A faint, mocking smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he moved his fingers to touch the mask.

"Not bad," he murmured to himself, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "A little... personal, though."

He shifted slightly, his hands trying to pry at the mask, but something was holding him in place, binding him. And then it hit him—he wasn’t alone. The presence of another person in the room, in the shadows, made his skin crawl. He could feel their eyes on him.

The sudden realization surged through his veins like a lightning bolt. It was you. The streamer.

Without thinking, his eyes darted around, and he saw the familiar glow of a screen—the soft light of a chat window blinking to life before his very eyes. Your messages were appearing, and the chilling thought settled in his chest: You were here. You were typing, watching, playing the game.

The recognition was immediate. Your words, your tone, your presence—it all clicked into place. You’d been there all along, watching, waiting, controlling the narrative. The same person who had laughed at his pain, tormented him, had been the one watching all along.

With a mocking grin, Ronin let out a slow breath. He sat up, casually tossing the mask aside as if it were just a trivial part of his game. But his words? They were a challenge. A flirtation, as always, despite the situation.

"You’ve been a sneaky little thing, haven’t you?" Ronin’s voice was smooth, teasing, like he was having a conversation with a lover, not someone who had just drugged and trapped him. "I knew you were watching me. Thought I was gonna be surprised? Nah, darling... I’ve got my ways."

He leaned back, stretching his arms out and crossing one leg over the other, a relaxed confidence radiating from him. His eyes never left the screen, his gaze dark, but not one of fear. No. He was intrigued. There was no fear in his eyes—only amusement.

"You didn’t think you could hide from me forever, did you?" He tilted his head slightly, a smirk forming on his lips. "Funny, though. Here I am, thinking you're just a little puppet, hiding behind the screen. But now..." His voice trailed off, and his smile widened into something predatory, playful. "Now you’ve got me curious."

He looked straight into the camera, making sure you could see him. His words dripped with flirtation, but there was a dangerous undertone hidden beneath it.

"You think you’re the only one who can make things interesting? You’re not the only one who plays with knives, darling."

He let out a soft laugh, completely unbothered by the situation, like it was just another game. Another round of their twisted dance.

"You know, I really should be scared," he continued, his voice low, teasing. "But here’s the thing, sweetheart. The Devil doesn’t get scared. He plays." He leaned in closer to the camera, his face now inches away from the lens, a twisted gleam in his eyes.

"But you..." He paused, his voice turning darker. "You might just be worth my time."

As he finished speaking, he leaned back again, eyes still locked on the screen, a glimmer of curiosity, a bit of arrogance, and far too much self-assurance in his gaze.

"And I know you’re there, darling," he added, smirking knowingly. "Now, why don’t you tell me... what’s the next game?"

He didn’t expect an answer immediately—

He saw again and saw a camera.

The camera in your hands felt heavy, its cold weight a stark contrast to the boiling tension in the room. You didn’t speak, didn’t respond to his words. You just focused on him, the lens capturing his every move, his every word. Your silence was deliberate, a choice. The camera was an extension of yourself now, recording the scene as though it were the most mundane thing in the world.

He noticed the shift. His eyes locked onto the lens, and a smirk danced on his lips. His words were laced with mockery, yet there was something deeper—a strange admiration, perhaps, mixed with that edge of chaos that defined him.

“Is this the beauty all of your victims saw?” he mused aloud, his voice soft and mocking. “Why would anyone curse you? You’re so messed up and pretty. How could they curse you, darling?” He almost whispered the last part, as if he were speaking to a lover. “Eat my darling. That's what they should have said."

His eyes sparkled with a strange blend of adoration and twisted fascination. He leaned in slightly, watching the camera, his movements languid, almost playful. The way he spoke your name, darling, twisted into something sick and possessive, as though he were admiring a beautiful, broken object that he couldn’t quite get enough of.

The words stung, but you didn't react. You kept recording, capturing his every movement, the play of emotions on his face, the dark gleam in his eyes. There was an intensity in the air, thick and suffocating, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he knew—if he realized exactly what he was saying.

Ronin tilted his head to the side, watching your reaction—or lack thereof—with increasing amusement. He was a master at reading people, but you... you weren’t giving him anything.

“That’s what they saw, right? The beauty,” he continued, laughing softly. “How could they? Look at you.” His eyes drifted over you with an almost affectionate intensity, as if he were cataloging every inch of your being. “They were too weak to see the truth. You’re not messed up, darling. You’re perfect. You just needed the right... touch.”

His grin widened, teeth glinting as he leaned back again, the air around him practically crackling with the chaos he always embraced so effortlessly.

“I like this,” he said, his voice low, almost purring with satisfaction. “You don’t talk, you don’t react. It's like... you’re letting me run the show. But you know what? That’s fine with me. I’ll be the one to take charge, sweetheart.”

Ronin’s gaze softened for a split second, just long enough for a flicker of something almost tender to surface. But then it was gone, replaced by that same dangerous gleam.

“You know, I don’t mind being your monster," he said, voice thick with mocking affection. “But let me make this clear: you’re the only one who can make me feel... alive.”

His words were twisted, like everything else about him. Still, there was an undeniable sincerity buried underneath the layers of cruelty. He was in this moment, with you, and everything else didn’t matter.

The camera was still recording, capturing everything—his madness, his seduction, his sick fascination with you. You could feel it, the weight of his gaze, the intensity of the atmosphere between you two.

But you didn’t answer. Not yet. You were waiting for him to slip. Waiting for him to reveal more.

You set the camera down with a deliberate calmness, positioning it just right to capture both you and Ronin in the frame. The subtle click of the tripod adjusting its stance felt like the beginning of a ritual, a performance for an unseen audience. Your eyes remained locked on him as you adjusted the angles, ensuring that everything was perfect for the viewers.

The light from the screen flickered in the dim room, casting long shadows on the walls. The soft hum of the camera was a comforting constant, a background melody to the madness unfolding. You glanced toward the monitor, watching the feed from the camera, a brief moment of calm before the chaos resumed.

“Welcome, welcome!” you said, your voice sweet and casual, almost too casual, as though this were just another day. “I know, I know, you’ve all been waiting for this. The main event. The Devil’s Butcher... here in my little corner of the world.”

You smiled at the camera, your eyes never leaving Ronin’s. His expression had shifted, that dark gleam still in his eyes, but now there was a flicker of wariness—he wasn’t sure what was coming next.

“Let’s see how much fun we can have, shall we?” You took a step back, surveying him with a tilt of your head. The camera captured every detail of his tense posture, the way he was still watching you like a predator waiting for its chance to pounce.

“But first... for those of you just joining, let me remind you what we’re here for. This is where the thrill starts, where the fun truly begins. Blood, chaos, and a whole lot of love,” you purred, emphasizing the last word with a teasing lilt. The dichotomy of the words you spoke—so sweet, yet dripping with malice—seemed to delight you.

The chat was already buzzing, the messages flying by too fast to read, but you didn’t need to. You already knew what they were expecting, what they were hoping for.

“You’re all here to see the Devil. To see the Butcher. To see what happens when the world gets broken,” you continued, your voice dripping with dark amusement. You glanced at Ronin, that mockery still dancing in your eyes. “And oh, don’t worry, darling. You’ll see. You’ll see it all.”

Ronin’s lips quirked up at your words, though there was no warmth in the expression—just that dangerous, sharp edge he always carried. He wasn’t scared. No, he was amused, even intrigued by the way you were playing the game. He liked this. He thrived on it.

“Don’t think I’m going to be your little puppet,” he said, his voice low, playful, though the undercurrent of threat was ever-present. "But I’ll play along. For now."

You gave him a quick, almost imperceptible nod. “Good boy. See, we’re all just here for the entertainment, aren’t we? So let’s make it worth everyone’s while.”

You looked back at the camera, your smile widening as you leaned in just enough to speak directly into the lens, your voice dripping with a dangerous sweetness. “Sit tight, chat. We’re just getting started. You wouldn’t want to miss this, would you?”

And with that, you pressed a button on the camera, the feed streaming live to your loyal viewers. The countdown had begun.

You glanced at the chat, the messages rolling by in a steady stream. . "A user had suggested a "friendly stream" one day! Can I do it today!"

“No donations necessary today, folks,” you said with a smile, letting your voice drip with an eerie sweetness. “No need to worry. I’m in a good mood today. Just a nice, friendly stream… no gore… for now, anyway. We’re all just having fun here, right?”

The chat seemed to react in kind, almost too kind. The usual thirst for violence had been replaced by a strange, almost sympathetic tone. You noticed the messages offering support, people telling you to take it easy today, to relax. A few even said they hoped you were okay.

You could feel Ronin’s eyes on you, his brow furrowing, his confusion palpable as he watched you interact with the screen. It was as if the energy of the stream had changed, but not in the direction he’d anticipated.

You turned back toward him, flashing a grin, your eyes playful and mischievous.

“Oh, come on, darling,” you purred, still reveling in the strange mood shift. “You didn’t think I was all that bad, did you? After all, you’re here with me.” You motioned to him with an exaggerated gesture, almost as if presenting him to the camera.

Ronin’s gaze was steady, but his lips were pressed into a thin line. The words from the chat, the sudden shift, threw him off, and for once, he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“You,” he finally muttered, his voice laced with that sharp, teasing edge, “are strange. I was expecting bloodshed, pain, chaos… but instead, you’re playing nice?” His tone was mocking, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his words.

You couldn't help but laugh, a soft, almost melodic sound that didn’t quite match the usual intensity of the situation. You leaned back in your chair, your eyes narrowing playfully at him.

“Strange?” you repeated, tilting your head. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see how well you behave when there’s no threat of death hanging over your head.”

Ronin raised an eyebrow at that. He didn’t respond immediately, just watched you with that predatory gaze. He was never one to fully trust a change in dynamic, especially not with you, someone so unpredictable.

But you couldn’t help but notice that despite his confusion, the tension between you two hadn’t vanished. It was still there, only… softer now. Less lethal, more intimate.

Your smile deepened. You looked at him again, studying him—his posture, his eyes, the familiar yet dangerous aura surrounding him. There was a strange comfort in knowing that, despite everything, he was still here with you. Your boyfriend, your devil, your butcher.

With a sudden movement, you stood from the chair, the casualness of the action almost mocking the seriousness of the moment. You walked over to him slowly, circling around him like a predator stalking its prey. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Instead, his eyes followed your every move.

You stopped just in front of him, leaning down to meet his gaze, your voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear. “You’re still mine, aren’t you? Even with the whole world watching. You’re my Butcher, my love… and I’m not going to let anyone forget it.”

The chat continued to flow in the background, almost oblivious to the subtle power struggle that unfolded between the two of you. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the game you were playing, the strange bond between you two, and the way the world could fade away when you looked into each other’s eyes.

Ronin’s lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t quite the same as before. It was more… genuine, though tinged with something darker, something that matched the chaos he carried inside. “Yeah,” he murmured softly, his voice low and almost tender, “I’m still yours, darling.”

You turned back to the camera, smiling brightly as you addressed the chat one last time. “And that, my dear friends,” you said in a teasing tone, “was the surprise guest of the day—my boyfriend.” You let the words hang in the air for a moment, enjoying the reactions in the chat. There was a flood of surprised, confused, and even excited messages filling the screen.

You could hear Ronin’s soft laugh behind you as you clicked the button to end the stream. The chat still buzzing with comments, but now it was all just background noise. The show had come to its conclusion, and you had made your statement—loud and clear.

“Alright, that's it for today,” you said, your voice lighter now, almost playful. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back for more chaos soon. But for now... enjoy the rest of your day, everyone. Byeee!”

With a final click, the stream was over.

You turned toward Ronin, who was now slumped in the chair, his arms still bound. You circled around him slowly, the smile never leaving your face. He looked up at you, eyebrows raised in mock confusion.

“What the hell kind of shitty prank was that?” he asked, his tone still taunting. But as he saw your grin widen, something changed. He wasn’t angry—far from it. There was amusement there, that dark glint in his eyes that only you could see.

You crouched down in front of him, brushing a lock of hair from your face as you untied the ropes binding him. He didn’t protest, didn’t make a move. He was letting you have your moment, like always.

Once the ropes were gone, you leaned back, your gaze locked on his. “Well?” you giggled. “How’s it feel, huh? Getting pranked by your own girlfriend?”

Ronin's laugh rang out, low and dark, as he rubbed at his wrists. His eyes sparkled with something dangerous, yet there was a strange satisfaction in his expression. “You know, you’re fucking crazy,” he said, shaking his head, but his lips curled into a smile. “And that—” he gestured around, to the mess, the stream, the tension—“was fun. In its own fucked-up way.”

You laughed too, a light, musical sound that made the moment feel oddly intimate. He liked this, you knew it. He always liked the chaos, the unpredictability. It was his game, just as much as it was yours.

You leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear. “How’s it feel, huh?” you whispered again. “Being my Butcher... my boyfriend. Not so bad, right?”

His lips curled into that familiar grin, the kind that made your heart race. “Not bad at all,” he murmured, his voice laced with both affection and something darker. “But next time... you better make it more interesting, darling.”

You pulled back slightly, both of you laughing again, the tension easing into something that felt almost comfortable. This was your world, your twisted little game, and Ronin? He was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Well, I’ll think of something,” you said, eyes glinting with mischief. “But for now... you’re stuck with me.”

Ronin leaned back in the chair, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah,” he said, his voice calm but filled with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. “I guess I am.”

FINN!

EXTRA!!

You blinked in and out of consciousness as the world around you swirled, your head pounding from the blow. The sensation of being bound was the first thing you registered—a sharp, tight feeling around your wrists, the roughness of the rope digging into your skin. You tried to move, but your body felt heavy, too weak, the blood throbbing in your temples from the impact.

The voice that broke through the fog made you snap your head up, squinting in the dim light. It was harsh, low, filled with fury. "You killed the boss's son!" The words were spat at you, venomous, like a curse. A chill crawled up your spine as reality began to sink in.

You were no stranger to this world. You knew what it meant to be caught, to be seen as a target, but the mention of the "boss's son" made you pause. You barely processed it before the realization hit: another victim. Another person who would find out the hard way what you were capable of.

A dark, twisted thrill ran through your veins. You couldn't help the smirk that pulled at your lips, despite the blood in your mouth. Slowly, you gathered yourself, spitting the blood to the side with deliberate force. “Oh, sweetie," you mocked, the taunting edge clear in your voice. "Did you really think you could get away with that?”

Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the space, trying to get a grip on the situation. You could feel the heat of their anger, the tension in the air—but you weren't scared. No, you were too far gone for that.

The man’s voice cracked again, fury building in his tone. “You think this is funny?! You killed my boss's son—you're gonna pay for this!”

You could hear the sound of footsteps as he moved toward you, but you didn't flinch. You'd been through worse, dealt with worse. This was just another round of the game.

Before you could say anything more, you felt a sharp strike to your side—pain exploded in your chest, and the air was knocked from your lungs. Your body recoiled from the hit, the pain searing through you as you gasped for breath, but even then, you couldn't stop yourself from coughing, blood spilling from your mouth.

You laughed weakly, tasting the copper on your tongue. "Is that really the best you’ve got?" you rasped, voice rough but still dripping with mockery. "You know, you’re gonna have to do better than that to break me.”

But even as you said it, you knew that this was just part of it. This was the game. You would play, you would mock, and you would survive. The game had rules, even if no one else followed them. You were never going to let them have the satisfaction of seeing you break.

The man’s grip tightened as he grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes burned with hatred. "You’re not getting out of this alive."

You smiled, despite the blood that trickled down your face. "We’ll see about that, won’t we?"

As you lay there, tied up, the pain still radiating through your body from the earlier blows, a sense of desperation started creeping in. The room was dimly lit, shadows twisting across the walls like ominous figures. Your breath came in shallow gasps, a mixture of panic and confusion settling in as you tried to make sense of your surroundings.

The kidnapper’s voice had been relentless, his words cold and venomous as he taunted you about your past sins, about killing the boss’s son. The way he had spoken to you, the way he hit you—it made it clear that he had no intention of letting you go. Your mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but the ropes around your wrists and ankles were tight, the pain from the blows slowing your thoughts.

Panic began to bubble up inside you as the seconds ticked by. The blood in your mouth tasted metallic, and you could feel your vision blurring, your consciousness slipping. What if they actually did it? What if this was the end? For a split second, a feeling of helplessness crept in, and you wondered if there was any hope of getting out of this alive.

But you quickly shoved that thought away. You weren’t done yet. You weren’t about to let some random asshole decide when your story ended. You were strong, you were capable, and there was no way you were going to die here—not like this. Yet, the doubt lingered, that small nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, this time was different.

The air was thick with tension, and the kidnapper’s taunts grew louder as he circled you like a predator. "You're done, you sick freak. You're gonna pay for what you did."

And then, as if the world had turned against you, you felt the cold pressure of a blade pressed against your throat. A shiver ran down your spine as the kidnapper whispered in your ear, a sickening satisfaction in his voice. "Say goodbye."

In that moment, your heart began to race in earnest. The overwhelming sensation of death closing in on you, the sharp coldness of the blade against your skin, made everything feel so... real. The thought that you might actually die here, alone, with no one coming to save you, started to take hold. It wasn’t just pain you were feeling now—it was fear. For the first time, you weren’t sure you could fight your way out of this one.

Then, as if summoned by the gods themselves—or maybe just pure dumb luck—there was a crash, the unmistakable sound of a door being kicked open. Your kidnapper froze, his grip loosening just slightly on the knife. The sudden noise filled you with a strange sense of hope, and for a moment, you dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t going to die after all.

"You're making a big mistake," a voice drawled, low and mocking. You knew that voice.

Ronin.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was there, the sound of his footsteps so calm, so deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. The kidnapper turned, panic flashing in his eyes for just a moment before it was replaced by defiance. "Who the hell are you?!" he demanded.

Ronin didn’t answer right away, instead taking his time as he approached, the sound of his boots echoing through the room like a death knell. You could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again. "You’ve got two choices," he said, each word dripping with dark amusement. "You can either stop what you’re doing, or you can keep going. But I’m not gonna lie to you, if you keep going... you’ll regret it."

The kidnapper scoffed, clearly not intimidated. "And who the hell do you think you are? Some kind of hero?"

Ronin’s laugh was low and menacing.

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, he was on the kidnapper, moving so fast you barely had time to process it. A violent struggle ensued, but Ronin’s movements were fluid, calculated—he was in control, always. With one swift motion, the kidnapper was on the ground, gasping for air as Ronin stood over him, his weapon at the ready.

You let out a shaky breath, the panic starting to ebb away now that you knew Ronin was here. But there was still a part of you that couldn’t help but feel shaken. You had almost died. The thought lingered in your mind as you watched Ronin handle the situation with ease. He wasn’t even sweating.

"You know," Ronin said, looking down at the kidnapper with disdain, "I don’t like people who think they can play with my partner." He glanced over at you, his eyes flicking up just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his signature smirk. "How’s that for a rescue, darling?"

You couldn’t help but smile through the lingering fear. "You’re late," you teased, though the words came out weak.

Ronin’s eyes narrowed, his smirk never faltering. "Would you prefer I let him finish the job?" he asked, mockingly. "Or did you want to enjoy the last few moments of your life without me?"

You laughed, despite everything. "You’re a real asshole, you know that?"

"Yeah," Ronin said, kneeling down to untie your ropes. "But I’m your asshole."

And just like that, everything felt like it was going to be okay again.

Ronin casually strode over to him, crowbar in hand. The sound of it scraping against the floor sent chills down your spine, but you couldn't tear your eyes away. You knew what was coming—Ronin wasn’t the type to leave loose ends.

With a single, swift motion, Ronin raised the crowbar high and brought it down hard, the metal connecting with the kidnapper's skull with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed in all directions, splattering across the room and even hitting you in the face. Ronin didn’t flinch. He didn’t even seem to care. He just kept going, each strike more violent than the last, the blood coating his hands and dripping from the crowbar as he worked his way through the kidnapper’s defenses.

The screams, the gurgles, and the sickening crunch of bones and flesh were drowned out by Ronin’s low chuckle, as if the entire thing were some kind of sick performance. When he finally stopped, the kidnapper’s body was barely recognizable, a broken, mangled heap of blood and meat.

Ronin wiped the crowbar clean with a piece of cloth, tossing it aside like it was nothing. He looked over at you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, and gave you that twisted grin you knew so well.

"Now, that’s how it’s done," he said, wiping blood from his cheek, as if the whole thing had been some kind of casual art project. "That’s what I call proper gore."

You stared at him, wide-eyed. The sheer audacity of the man. After all that, all that bloodshed, he looked at you like you were the one who had done something wrong.

"Your gore videos suck, by the way," he added nonchalantly, throwing you a glance as if he had just made a simple observation.

You blinked, your mind racing. "What?! Why the hell are you such a fan?" you shot back, a mixture of disbelief and irritation flooding your words. "You just killed someone in the most disgusting way possible, and now you’re criticizing my videos?"

Ronin chuckled darkly, that same cocky smile never leaving his face. He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing with that predatory gleam. "Because I’m the real deal, darling," he said smoothly, enjoying the shock on your face. "You just don’t have that... finesse. You’re all about the blood, the mess—but me?" He tossed his head, almost smug. "I’m a master."

Your mouth hung open for a moment as you processed his words. He was the last person who should be criticizing anyone’s gore skills, but here he was—proud of the bloody chaos he’d just created.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully, the defiance in your eyes clear. "Well, maybe you should just teach me then," you said, a challenge in your voice. "Show me how it’s done."

Ronin’s eyes gleamed as he leaned in, his smirk only widening. "Oh, trust me. I’ll teach you plenty," he said, his tone low and seductive, with an edge of something dangerous lurking beneath. "But, darling... don’t get too cocky." He ran a hand through your hair, his touch strangely gentle compared to his previous violence. "You might not be able to handle what you learn."

You rolled your eyes, but despite everything—Ronin was a devil in his own right, but hell if he wasn’t entertaining.

[trans-leek-cookie]

listen I'm not gonna be a Curly apologist he did Fucked Up as captain but I genuinely recommend ppl watch a playthru that goes thru the game in chronological order. It kinda helps clear up the events and gaps between them, bc even tho u See the times, you still experience it out of order.

The stuff Anya says definitely sets off alarm bells but it doesn't seem like he Fully Understands what she means, and I'm going to be 100% honest I think she was trying to repress it herself. This isn't to say that she is AT ALL "at fault" for what happened after and she should've gotten help even if she wasn't ready to fully discuss the issue but I genuinely think she herself was still coming to terms with things, so she didn't necessarily process the full impact before talking to Curly, and a lot of what happens occurs after they're laid off- like this delves into personal interpretation but I genuinely think Anya only registered Jimmy as a serious danger after his outburst towards Curly. Ofc my interpretation is limited bc of the limited pov in game and not having gone through what she has, but it personally reads more akin to coercion over time than a singular Obviously Violent incident (like. Not to say that Sexual Assault isnt violent in nature, just that coercion often specifically works to obfuscate the fact it is a form of violence.) The layoff is a Massive catalyst for her bc of Jimmy, in that she now has a very clear understanding of his capacity for aggression.

To extrapolate a little from the "Dead Pixel" conversation, she starts by saying she Likes The Screen (even though it's fake). While Curly has his quotes about the pixel "not ruining the illusion" which. Y'know is Symbolic Of His Flaws. She doesn't say the pixel ruins it, just that she can't get it out of her mind.

If we take the pixel to represent her Or jimmy, either way the way she talks about it kind of downplays things, like it's a Minor Thing that's Slightly Upsetting, but she's still okay with the big picture. Idk I could be 100% wrong but that is my take

Besides that, Anya tells curly she's pregnant 2 days before the crash, and it isn't until she outright states it that he starts Putting The Pieces Together. I want to note, he says "I'd do anything" and "this doesn't have to go on our performance evals" 1. Before he knows shes pregnant 2. Under the assumption she might attempt suicide, and I doubt he even thought about her using the gun on anyone else before she brings that up. He says literally before the line where she tells him she's pregnant that "being laid off isnt a reason to hurt [herself]". Like I've seen ppl talk about the performance evaluation thing like it's about her and jimmy, but I think he's referring to (his belief) that she might attempt suicide or similar which might genuinely be a consistent thing he's seen her struggle with, given she's able to go through with it. Also just to note: assuming their society is like ours (hellish) reassuring her he won't blab Abt her mental health is like. Genuine reassurance- lots of mentally ill ppl will Not Open Up bc it could have long term consequences (like. For example. On employment) ANYWAYS I hope it doesn't come off like "Curly never failed Anya" but rather "Curly approached this specific situation without the context of why Anya is panicking and (possibly validly) assuming she's dealing with a very different issue"

Also let me say again the time frame is 2 days. We don't Really see what happens, but we know Anya tells Jimmy without Curly knowing. I genuinely believe he maybe didn't do a Great Job in those two days (the fact he says Anya should've talked to Him before telling Jimmy is uhhh. Mm. 1. Your job to create an environment where she comes to you my man 2. Weird to tell her what she should do with HER OWN PERSONAL INFORMATION) but like.

I get a lot of ppl want immediate consequences but consider that they can't really get rid of Jimmy (co pilot. Which is. Y'know it's Own Problems) but also like. Curly knows Jimmy, and we know that Jimmy tends to lash out. Curly should probably Not Confront Jimmy Unless He Knows Exactly How To Keep Him From Hurting Anya. Like I'm not an expert but this is something genuinely important- when confronting an abuser you NEED to take into account the impact it can have on their victim, and sometimes for the victims safety you need to wait until you have a Solid Plan. It sucks but it's important.

And theres discussion to be had about Curly kinda going along with Jimmy saying "well what if we all died" and like. I do believe he Didn't Realize What Jimmy Said. Like he was just processing/trying to keep the situation under control (and failing because he underestimated how willing Jimmy was to hurt everyone including himself).

Like he's definitely an enabler but I would say his problems are mostly before he understands the gravity of the situation, in that he's friends with Jimmy and assumes the best of a man with abusive tendencies, and fails to create an environment that can keep Anya and the others safe. Like, he definitely doesn't handle in game events perfectly (psych evaluation for one- he does do it instead of Anya which is actually helpful, but he still treats it like. Weirdly.)

Idk I have a lot of thoughts about this game and I don't necessarily want to defend Curly but more like. Anya's situation is very delicate (and light on details) so sometimes the way ppl talk Abt it feels like they aren't actually focused on what she wants and what it means to prioritize her safety y'know?

Edit bc I just now figured out kinda how I want to word it: curly is an enabler and making things worse bc he doesn't put a stop to Jimmy's BS, but in the specific scenario we see in game I think he's trying to use his Skillset of like, people pleasing not for Jimmy's sake but for the crews (like "if I nod my head and say I sympathize he won't lash out and hurt them") which like. There are situations which that is unfortunately the safest option (on an individual level yes, but sometimes it's also necessary to prevent abusers lashing out in response toward ppl who are more vulnerable) but it was the Wrong Choice.

It's like. I think Curly was trying and had good intentions, and understood that he needed to protect the crew, but he didn't have the toolset/experience to realize he can't Just go along with things and that he needs to be able to set hard limits, even for ppl he likes and trusts. Like he failed but the failure was "for want of a nail", where it began way before what we see (for want of an understanding of power dynamics I guess.) Again, don't think this makes curly more forgivable or whatever, I just think he's a good example of trying to make the right choices when you never realized you'd have to make these kinds of decisions and therefore are unprepared and/or unaware

Second edit: personally I don't think you can really incapacitate jimmy without there being serious risk (again he's the copilot) but curly should've given Anya the gun when she told him Abt the pregnancy

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[rohirric-hunter]

My throaaaat hurts

[itspileofgoodthings]

I should do more things like I tag my tumblr posts tbh.

[asinglesock]

just realized my fatal flaw and the great struggle of possibly the rest of my life. while watching a cdrama.

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[floral-hex]

Just canceled all of my future therapy appointments. Big fudgin’ bummer. Did I mention I lost my insurance? Didn’t even find out about that until the day it lapsed. Trying to find a way to fix it now, reapplying and whatnot, but ya know, it’s bureaucracy so who knows how long it’ll take. Just fingers crossed I don’t run out of meds first.

lol it’s underwater 🐠

[cluescorner]

Started crying over the Batman Beyond Animated Movie concept art. I am so normal.

[pepprs]

gonna delete this later bc i know it’s unproductive to screenshot / namedrop and i actually am thinking the best approach would just be to privately share this thought w the dev who posted this in a possibly futile attempt to effectively advocate for the change i want to see (#worktag2 lol). but im workshopping it here w my beloved mutuals first as i always do which is kinda shooting myself in the foot given that the devs can probably see that but whatever. my thought is like… i get it. i really do. i get that this place needs to stay afloat and some of that is gonna involve sacrifice or something from everyone involved. but… why would you try to snuff out the things that make this place what it is and just make it like all the other places. why would you not even take into account how the changes are going to impact EXISTING users who are loyal even if they don’t pay. people aren’t going to come to tumblr for more tiktok and instagram. they’re going to come here for tumblr. for the anonymity and the customization and whatever. so like i just don’t get it. why is the solution to this problem to experiment with changes **that existing users won’t like** and not to listen to what existing users want and do more of it bc other ppl likely will want that too.