#it was meticulous and clearly targeted

[msnihilist]

"you guys are celebrating a murder" yes, I am aware?? 🤨 that's literally The Whole Point

[dungeon-strugglers]

✨New item!✨ Chain Devil’s Embrace  Armor (chain mail or chain shirt), very rare (requires attunement by a lawful creature)  This mass of chains slithers with sinister sentience, threatening to constrict anyone in reach. Each chain ends in a rusty hook or wicked blade, perfect for snaring and lacerating victims. Donning the chains as a suit of armor is an unpleasantly confining experience, but the living metal adjusts to provide ample protection and mobility to its wearer. You can choose to don it as a suit of chain mail or a chain shirt. You have a +1 bonus to AC while wearing this armor.

Infernal Oath. In order to attune to this armor, you must declare an oath that will bind you together. The oath can be any goal, set of rules, or moral tenet that you choose, however it must be clearly defined and actionable. If the oath is of sufficient clarity and importance, it appears in written form and must be signed in blood before it burns away. 

Grasping Chains. The armor has 7 charges, and it regains 1d4 + 3 expended charges daily at dawn. As an action while wearing it you can expend 1 charge to shoot out hook-tipped chains to ensnare a creature that you can see within 10 feet of you. Make an attack roll against the target with a +8 bonus. On a hit, the target takes 2d6 slashing damage and, if it is Huge or smaller, it is grappled (escape DC 16). Until this grapple ends, the target is restrained, takes 1d6 piercing damage at the start of each of its turns, and you can’t use Grasping Chains. 

Devilish Form. While wearing the armor, as a bonus action you can invoke its infernal essence for 1 minute. For the duration, you gain the following effects:

Your skin turns blood red, your eyes glow like coals, and chains writhe across your body. 

Grasping Chains’ range increases to 60 feet. It deals an extra 2d8 fire damage when it hits a target.

You are immune to fire damage.

As a reaction when a creature starts its turn within 30 feet of you and you can see one another, you can create the illusion that you look like one of the creature's departed loved ones or bitter enemies. It must succeed on a DC 16 Wisdom saving throw or be frightened until the end of its turn. Creatures that can see through illusions are immune to this effect.

Once you’ve used Devilish Form, it cannot be used again until the next dawn.

Sentience. The Chain Devil’s Embrace is a sentient, lawful evil suit of armor with an Intelligence of 11, a Wisdom of 12, and a Charisma of 14. It has hearing and darkvision vision out to a range of 120 feet. The armor communicates telepathically to the creature attuned to it and can speak, read, and understand Infernal and Common.

A sadistic chain devil named Tyrastr lives within the Chain Devil’s Embrace. The armor yearns to inflict pain and tyranny on others. It doesn’t care what the beliefs of its wearer are, so long as they are enforced meticulously and transgressors are punished without mercy.

Curse. While wearing this armor, Tyrastr demands strict adherence to your oath. If you act contradictory to your oath or do not seize an opportunity to mercilessly pursue it, the chains constrict around you and you take 1d8 piercing damage. The damage increases by 1d8 with each subsequent transgression. If this damage reduces you to 0 hit points, you immediately die and your soul is sent to hell, where it is imprisoned by a chain devil warden.

Until your attunement to this armor ends, you have disadvantage on ability checks, attack rolls, and saving throws while wearing any other armor. A soldier kneels before you, defeated. Blood and sweat mats the hair to his face. Up close, you see he is a year or more from adulthood. The boy’s trembling rattles his armor. “The cur prostrates itself before you, make it suffer!” Tyrastr’s vile, metallic voice pierces through your mind, dripping with sadistic glee. “This one was there, watching your home burn!” Despite your commitment to destroy the Malefic Order for razing your temple, your rage falters. Killing this boy would be wrong. You turn your back and listen to his fleeing footsteps.  “Spineless worm! How will you avenge your brothers if you cannot do what is necessary!?” As these words reverberate through your skull, your chain armor constricts. Links of jagged iron bite into your flesh, reopening half-healed cuts. Blood mingles with rust. The pain is exquisite. - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 200 magic items, printable item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks, and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️ Thank you so much for your support! 💖

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Take my soul (need control) ❞

slashers dating slasher reader | erratic!slasher!male!reader | fluff, smut | graphic description of violence, brief mention of animal cruelty in Brahms H. section, mentions of nsfw things |

Amanda Young | Brahms Heelshire | Corey Cunningham | OG!Michael Myers | RZ!Michael Myers | poly!Ghostface (Stu Macher, Billy Loomis) | Sinclair brothers

as a preface, (Y/N) is implied to be erratic and unhinged as a slasher. their s/o's are the only ones who can calm them.

Amanda Young (Saw) -

You didn't fit in her future.

At least, that's what Amanda's initials thoughts are when you two stared down each other from across the parking lot, panting as you held your weapons.

She's heard of you through the news. The infamous (slasher name), the monster that lurks in the shadows and savagely crushes anyone who had the misfortune of wounding up as their victim.

Your methods were unlike hers. Not calculated, not planned, not meticulous - completely erratic, like a hurricane.

But she needs the man that one of you has knocked out in your scuffle. While you? You just saw him walking past you while he was making his way to his car and decided he'd die tonight. She stiffens and reaches back for the gun she brings for emergencies as you straighten up but finds herself bewildered as you begin laughing maniacally.

"Have 'im, Ms Piggy" She sees your grip loosen on your weapon and her fingers uncurl from the handle of the gun. "Ya' clearly need 'im more than I do" and just like that, you're gone. The only thing she hears is her own breathing and her racing heartbeat.

Amanda is feverish about finding you. She reads everything she can and scours wannabe psychos and sociopaths' blogs dedicated to your crimes. (slasher name) becomes an obsession.

When you meet again, you find 'Miss Piggy' eyeing the interiors of your home. She's unsure of what she feels as she imagines you moving about the space but she smiles when you begin chuckling like a hyena and reach for the knife you had on you.

"I need your help, (Y/N)"

"Will it be fun?"

Amanda's smiling under her mask. She's seen your research of her work. The newspaper clippings, paint (or blood) of your theories on the wall (among other 'deranged' scribbles) you were familiar with her.

"Wouldn't have asked if it wasn't".

Fun was an understatement. You were a wildcard, someone that could cost her this entire game but the carnage you spread was so beautiful...she wasn't sure if any device or game she sets up could compare.

You two end up working with each other more and more. Your unpredictability makes the FBI tear their hairs out - you were, ironically, the balance she needed in her scales.

When you two confess to each other, you're soaked in someone else's blood. She approaches you from behind, watching your shoulders and chest rise and fall.

You lick the blood from your lips, your smile stretching over your cheeks looking almost uncomfortable.

Her eyes flick to your lips then up to your eyes.

"Come 'ere, Miss Piggy" she leans in and you meet her halfway.

Most would argue that you would be the worst guy to be in a relationship with.

They're wrong.

Amanda knows the ins and outs of your twisted heart because you bare it to her as it beats for her in your palm.

She doesn't take advantage of it. Tests it? Sure, just to feel more secure, but never to the point where you doubt her love for her.

Amanda thinks your ingenuity and creative mind is her favourite part of you (among other things).

You've jokingly told her she could split your skull open to get those ideas fresh - she giggles and you gather her in your arms.

Amanda leaves the window of your bathroom unlocked. Just for you. She knows you need to 'hunt' sometimes and doesn't discourage it (though she makes sure you know her targets so you don't end up killing them). When you crawl back home, you make sure to shower first before you shuffle back into bed.

She tends to your wounds, scolding you only if she knows you could've avoided it in the first place. "More fun that way, 'Manda" she huffs "So you'd leave me forever just for more fun?"

She knows you're pretty screwed up in that brain box of yours, she's not above manipulating you to bend to her whims but she only ever does it out of love, (Y/N)!

She's highly protective of you. She'll ensure your identity is safe if there are any loose ends during your 'hunts'.

She can't lose you. You can't lose her. Both of you are monsters. Both of you belong together - can't live without the other.

If a victim manages to get an upper hand on either of you God help them.

The second one of you is in danger, the other only sees red.

You've literally taken several bullets for Amanda.

She was so gentle with you that night. Her kisses silent apologies. Seeing her cry as she looks down at you makes you move to sit - despite the pain and her protests. Her breath hitched as your tongue slithers in, Amanda's lips warmed by yours.

"You're hurt, (Y/N)" "Don't care, need you"

"You're hurt because of me!" her yell makes you tilt your head "I should've been more careful!" she continues.

"I want you, Amanda" you whine, cupping her weeping face in your hands. "I'll want you even if you hurt me, even if it kills me. Don't say no to me, Piggy?"

The nickname wins her over.

By the way, she calls you Froggy or Kermit (Kermy too!). It's cute.

(She buys green and pink items because they remind her of the two of you and you've gifted her two hearts that you'd cut in half, coloured pink and green and sowed together. She placed the gift on the desk she works on, it's displayed in a dome glass case and she fights back a smile every time she lays eyes on it)

The satisfaction she gets when victims scream as they spot you in the same room as them. Just so fucking proud of her killing machine.

When you go overboard, if the emotions get too overwhelming for you and you only think of how to get rid of the pain - Amanda grips the nape of your neck and pushes you onto your knees.

You bow because it's her. You breathe because it's her.

"(slasher name)" Your eye twitches, gaze still floating around the room but she knows she has your attention.

"You all there, Kermy?"

"I'm right here, Piggy".

Brahms Heelshire (The Boy) -

Initially, you'd taken the babysitting job as a cover to lay low. Things were getting heated in (insert wherever you're from) and this secluded manor was perfect.

The sight of the doll didn't make you falter. Hey, you got a few screws loose yourself so you didn't judge the Heelshires for how they cope.

Brahms was intrigued by you from the second he laid his eyes on you. The way you instantly gathered the doll in your arms without an ounce of judgement makes butterflies flutter.

He is elated to know that there's a chance you won't freak out if you see him.

He quickly finds out you're not exactly the Average Joe.

You brought the rat traps inside, he inches closer to the hole in the wall when you suddenly froze. The rat squeaks furiously and your non-dominant hand idly reaches for the drawers. Brahms did not expect you to pull out a meat tenderizer.

There's a mix of emotions in the boy as he skitters to his room. He laid awake that night, a part of him wondering if you were just like him and the other feeling guilt at the excitement.

His parents tried their best to nurture him into a decent man. Even if it didn't work, their voices still linger in his head but when he sees the tender way you cradle the porcelain extension of himself the next morning? Your voice sickly sweet, lips pressing into the cold temple of the doll?

Brahms craves you.

Malcolm, poor, stupid, Malcolm.

Brahms wasn't the only one that wanted him gone. The only reason you reciprocated his advances was to fulfil a different type of lust.

(Malcolm wasn't your type anyways.)

Brahms's nails nearly break as he digs them in the wood of the walls, breath labouring as anger consumes him. Malcolm was on top of you, unworthy hands gripping at you like you were some common whore.

He's moved from behind the walls to the closet when you're on top of him. The grip of the 'missing' meat tenderizer was so tight his hand was trembling.

Malcolm yells in pain and Brahm pauses as he watches you laugh in pure delight as you dig your thumbs inside Malcolm's eye sockets.

You turn to him, smile still etched on your features and Brahms gulps as you bring your thumb to your mouth to suck the blood and gore clean.

"Cute mask"

The kitchen utensil drops with a comical 'THUD!' while you two stare at each other.

Your relationship falls into a steady, domestic, pace much quicker than both of you anticipated. How could they not? The secluded land was beautiful when the weather wasn't so dreary. Even if it was, the grand fireplaces were extremely nice to cosy up next to. It's hard NOT to fall deeper and deeper into each other when everything was so romantic.

Malcolm's death was covered up thanks to the wild animals on the land. Brahms watches from the window as you whistle, beckoning the scavengers as you spread a few of Malcolm's innards around.

You tell him everything about your kills. Effectively burying his parent's voice in his head as you sink him deeper and deeper into your hell.

"You're beautiful just like this, Brahmsy" he pants from beneath the mask and you place a kiss on those cold lips. "They won't understand like I do, we're meant to be like this so we can find each other" his pupils are so blown out as he stares up at you.

"You're my good boy, Brahms, forever and always. Okay?"

"Okay, (Y/N)". Your smile was sculpted by the king of hell himself and Brahm's eyes roll back as you move your hips.

Brahms feels vindicated and free. For once, guilt doesn't whisper accusingly in his shadow. Instead, there's you.

Your routines overlap his. Your hands pull him from the darkness. Your voice haunts him every second of every day.

The bodies pile up in the woods. The rats are scarce with the sudden spike of scavengers drawn to the Heelshire manor.

You love spoiling him with victims, love watching him release his creativity and curiosity. He's so good with his hands and all that raw strength? It's not an odd sight for you to make love in the showers after 'play time' was done.

He loves helping you freak the shit out of your victims, pretending to be the ghost in the walls and making them so paranoid they think they've gone crazy.

When they're dealt with, Brahms often makes snacks for the both of you.

Oh! He makes a mask for you. To show his love and for you to wear when you need it.

He doesn't like that you leave the manor. It causes BIG arguments. Vintage vases flying to the wall kind of arguments. But you were a bloodthirsty hound, you needed to stretch your legs.

He'll be sullen but he gets over it. This routine annoys the shit out of both of you though but over time, he learns you need it just as much as he needs his quiet times.

He welcomes you when you get home, lifting his mask to kiss you and you giggle as your hands slide up his wifebeater.

"Miss me, big boy?"

"Always" he pouts.

Corey Cunningham (Halloween Ends) -

Corey knew before you did.

You were just like him. The darkness spills from your eyes as you tell him how the front of your car got wrecked.

"A deer scared you?" he wipes his hands on the front of his uniform, turning to you as you nod and stroke the large dents and scratches on your hood. "Swerved into the woods, didn't hit a tree head-on - Thank God, right?" Corey nods.

He pretends not to see the splatter of blood and hoses down the hair and chunks of flesh from your tires.

Guessed you missed a spot, hm?

He's good at being undetected. People...people avoid him nowadays.

You don't have to ask around much to learn about the cute, outcasted, mechanic's past. You find it all a bit pathetic. These people were really that terrified of him over what sounded like an honest mistake?

Corey wonders why you've gone to Allen's family's abandoned house during his nightly routine of stalking you.

He watches you from the windows, knife in hand though with no real intent of using it...on you anyways. Blood had already stained the blade.

You pause at the sight of dried blood and gaze up the spiralling staircase. Much to his chagrin, you lay down and place your head right on the bloodstain.

Your laughter makes blood pool under the skin of his cheeks. Your hands splay out to your side and you're laughing so hard your sides hurt, Corey finds himself pressing a hand to the window and wishes he was right beside you.

The next day, Corey's parked right out of the supermarket just as you come out. He grins boyishly and you ask if he needs anything. He holds himself back from saying "you" and instead asks if you're free tonight.

You don't expect him to be so forward but you're intrigued. So you ask if he'll be the one to pick you up (considering your car is still in his garage) and Corey pretends to be interested as you write down your address as he imprints the sight of your semi-focused expression. He already knows where you live but you don't have to worry about that, (Y/N).

The night was perfect from the get-go. Your warmth pressed against his back as he drove the two of you to a bar that was further away than usual but was the only one he could go to without people whispering — you don't mind.

Then drinks got involved and suddenly you're dancing with him, some shitty pop song playing over shitty speakers but neither of you cared.

Then reality came crashing in. Someone had loudly — drunkenly — mentioned Corey's past. Everyone gives him looks and although he could care less he pretends to by pulling you out of the bar.

"Corey, wait" he's too drunk to drive and his hands are itching to feel blood so he pauses as you chuckle the command out. "Stay here, baby" The nickname makes his heart flutter and he nods as he leans against his bike. When you disappear back into the bar — probably left something, he thought — he curses and tries his hardest not to storm in and strangle the life out of that asshole who ruined his date and the closest bar he could go to without reproachful glares.

He contemplates the thought of moving away from Haddonfield with you when his phone rings. It's you. For a second, he thinks you're in trouble but when he answers you're breathless pants of glee tells him otherwise.

"Come to the back, Corey".

The sight that greets him is the asshole with a bleeding mouth and a broken nose. The burst veins in his eyes and the wooden plank that you held loosely in your arm paint a clear picture.

"Night's still young, baby" you muse as you make a faux swing that makes the man whimper from where he was sprawled on the ground. "I know you wanna" Your purr makes Corey shudder.

The Cheshire grin on your face is absolutely maniacal as Corey sheds his jacket and pulls out the pocket knife he kept in his back pocket.

The same one you'd felt against your thighs when you were riding his bike.

Haddonfield was lucky the two of you decided to spread your chaos elsewhere because the two of you were insatiable.

The fact that neither of you stayed in one city for too long also didn't help. You were basically doing an American-wide murder spree.

And Corey would not have it any other way.

You were just like him — wilder, sure, but you understood him in ways no one else had ever done.

"Fuck, baby" Corey has you on the bed of some engineer whose blood was currently being used as lube. The man's body was somewhere in the room but Corey barely gave a shit when you're looking down at him with that toothy grin that makes your eyes twinkle with bloodlust. "Mm, you feel so fuckin' good, Corey".

Somehow you two decide to settle down in a quiet town. Corey going under a different name as he works at a garage. Everybody around you thinks you guys are the sweetest couple — cooing at how young you are and sighing about young love.

They don't know that your weekend trips are spent with blood, guts, and sex. Two maniacs completely enamoured with one another.

"Baby, look" Corey eyes the silver band on your finger. Then the other one is on your palm as you extend it to him. You drop the chopped-off hand of the man the both of you had just killed and inched closer and closer.

"Pretty, hm?" he nods "Till death do us part" At that, he scoffs and pulls you in closer.

"Not even Death can keep us apart, (Y/N) (L/N)" he brushes the tip of your noses together and plants a bloody kiss but your giggle cuts it short.

"Don't you mean, (Y/N) Cunningham-(L/N)?" Corey's grin is nothing short of loving and he claims your lips again.

OG!Michael Myers (Halloween (1978 - 1982)) -

To be completely honest, the way you two met was a blur. Before you met Michael Myers your life had little to no meaning.

When he decided to break into your family home one night, he jump-starts everything. He had you pinned on the dining table, his mask already coated with the blood of your kin. Your feeble attempts at escaping his inhumanely strong grip leave you gasping for breath and you're sure that the building pressure in your head isn't a good sign.

But when you stare into Michael's eyes a sudden force tugs your lips apart into a bloody smile. Your laughter is nothing but strained gasps and squeaks and it makes Michael's grip falter enough for you to finally grasp the make-shift stake beside you (from the chair he'd thrown your way) and drive it into his shoulder.

Michael staggers and without missing a beat, you're lunging at him again. No fear, no hesitation, and frankly, no thoughts behind such a brash action.

The force of your body slamming into him throws his momentum off but he feels something in his chest suddenly beat as your shrill laughter fills his ears.

You, with your wild hair and wilder eyes...

Michael craved you.

He knocks you out.

Then, he watches you. From your recovery in the hospital to the 'safehouse' you were placed in. The detectives thought this could be their chance — to finally catch Michael Myers as he 'finishes you off'.

Michael knows you're done with your kill just from the shift in the air. He enters the safehouse and stares at the splatters of blood and bullet holes in the drywall. He follows the sounds of your laughter and finds you in the dining room in a familiar pose.

You have the detective pinned under you, fingers crushing his larynx as he weakly fights back against you. Michael waits politely, when you're done he moves to the back door and you wordlessly follow.

Eating rats was new but strangely enough the act of catching them was a great bonding activity. Your jokes about meeting the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles — and eating them — fly over Michael's head but his amused silence tells you he doesn't mind your babbles.

He learns fairly quickly that, unlike his silent, effortlessly, intimidating self, you're erratic, loud and pumped with energy when you're hunting.

He doesn't dislike it but it takes some getting used to.

You don't always go on hunts together but when you do he appreciates your gore-y creativity.

The Shape of Haddonfield now has Hellhound by his side — isn't that a cute nickname for yourself, (Y/N)?

While victims shit themselves at the sight of Michael, his stony demeanour is what makes him all the more Boogeyman-worthy. He feels inhuman. That both terrifies and comforts some — but you?

You're entirely too human. Your glee, your rambles as you stab your victims, you're laughter full of excitement.

"Mikey" he glances your way as your fingers stroke up the neck of his mask. Here you were, sprawled all over Michael Myer's lap like a goddamn kitten. You lean up and kiss his rubbery lips, he hums as your tongue licks his mask and pushes you back just enough to lift his mask above his nose.

"Thank you, Mikey" you chuckle, letting him taste the romantic spaghetti dinner you two had helped yourselves to after murdering the old couple.

Their home was isolated enough, that both of you could enjoy living above ground for a few days.

"You taste so good, Mikey" The grip on your waist makes that addictively sweet laughter bubble in your throat.

RZ!Michael Myers (Halloween (2007 - 2009))-

You were the only good thing in his god-forsaken life.

The mental institution had made a big mistake in housing two monsters — especially when those monsters were always so drawn towards each other.

No matter what punishments they inflicted on either of you for sharing glances. It did little to stop this undeniable, instinctual, need to be close to one another.

Initially, the doctors had thought Michael's curiosity was a good sign. A sign that he was showing interest in making friends. Even if you were less than ideal in terms of 'fixing' him considering your own streak of homicide (that landed you in this shithole in the first place) but they were desperate.

So, they allowed controlled meetings. Michael's stare terrified others but you seemed to thrive under his attention.

Guards had reached out to pull you back as you climbed the table and got right up in Michael's face but he is as still as a statue as you carefully brush his long locks of blonde hair back.

"There you are, pretty boy" and with those words and your eyes that reflect back his darkened soul right back at him — Michael is smitten.

When he escapes, he finds you.

When he enacts his revenge, you're the shadow that devours any sacrificial lambs that managed to stray from his grasp.

Oh, he's all yours.

Michael swears that if you're not near him the air feels thinner.

He relishes in the way you mercilessly slaughter anyone in your way — he doesn't ask why you kill but knows that whatever the answer he'll support his batshit insane boyfriend.

"Is this for me?" he nods, showing you the new mask he'd created. You smile warmly, sitting across from him as you carefully place the mask on your face.

"How do I look, pretty boy?"

He places his large hand on your thighs and begins tapping. You encourage him with careful strokes to his bicep.

.--. .-. . - - -.--

Your grin makes his heart flutter. "Thank you, baby" and you reward your darling lover with a kiss which makes him grunt at the mask that blocks him from properly kissing you.

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher (Scream (1996)) -

They had an inkling you were just like them.

Billy says it's the way your eyes become devoid of any light when you're angry. While Stu tells you it's the way you lick the blood from your split lip and smile as you lunge at the opposing team's captain.

(Y/N) (L/N), an athlete of their school.

Meanwhile, to his boyfriends, he's an absolutely merciless murderer.

Everyone sort of avoids you. Even your coach rarely gets in your face to yell at you the way he does at everyone else. It baffles people that Billy and Stu are your lovers.

For them though? It's the perfect match.

You're not Ghostface, however, (slasher name) is always spotted with Ghostface.

A maniac with brute strength that takes hits and stabs and even bullets without going down.

Those who did live to tell the tale of an encounter with (slasher name) and Ghostface mutter that hurting Ghostface? Was a big fucking mistake if (slasher name) is there to witness it.

You're the kind of guy to body slam someone out a second-storey window and just walk it off while the victim who cushioned your fall is wheezing their last breath.

Billy reprimands your unnecessary displays of brutality while Stu simply gushes about how cool it was. They both tend to your wounds, kissing and massaging anything that hurts.

Ghostface is equally as protective of you, make no mistake, even if they're not throwing a chair at a victim they will ensure you don't actually get yourself killed in your bloodlust.

Stu has pulled a gun and shot someone in the face when they threatened to do the same to you.

Billy rushes to the two of you upon hearing gunshots but groans in relief as he sees you making out with Stu mere inches away from the body.

"Hey! Earth to perverts! Time to scram!" Billy is pulled into the make-out session by you and he all but melts under your hold.

"Want you. Now" Stu laughs at your huffy tone but eagerly circles his hands around your waist while you pull Billy closer to your front.

Beauregard 'Bo' Sinclair (House of Wax) -

A new victim of Ambrose? That's what you are, right?

Wrong.

You'd been a solo traveller that coincidentally got grouped up with another group of travellers. You seemed normal enough, Bo thinks as he spots you making your way to his garage.

Cute and handsome, a darn shame you'd have to die but at least Vincent will immortalize your beauty.

He notices that you're not close with the others. When he asks, you explain your vehicles had broken down near each other so Lester rounded up all of you together.

You lean on the hood of the car he was clearly working on, jutting your hips and looking impressed. He shamelessly takes in the curve of your butt before putting on a charming Southern smile when you glance back at him.

"Good with your hands, hm?" Bo feels blood travel south but he just chuckles. The conversation is cut short by the others clearing their throats.

When he kills the group one by one, he immediately notices that you seem excited at the violence he spreads. You don't scream or yelp but you're helping him.

At first, he thinks you're just saving your ass from getting sliced down when you push someone in front of you. But while the others run, you're moaning as he's thrusting the blade repeatedly into the man's body.

He pants as you two make eye contact, gulping he pulls the blade out and offers it to you.

"Fuckin' finally" you coo, pressing a bloody kiss on his cheek before you slip to hunt the others down.

His brothers are definitely confused by his decision to let you stay as a real residence of Ambrose but after another group rolls in you prove your worth to them.

Between heated moments under the sheets and lip-locking with Bo, you confess that the reason you ended up at Ambrose was that the police were hot on your tail.

"It's fate," you say as you trace circles on his chest. "We were meant to meet, to be family" he would usually scoff at such a notion but the way you fit into his deranged life so easily...

"It's something", he gruffs out, watching as you take the lighter from his hand to light the cigarette between his lips. "Whatever it is, it brought you to me so"

"Aww, Bo, you gettin' sappy on me?" your teasing makes him threaten to shove the cigarette in your mouth but you just laugh it off.

"Love ya', Bo" he averts his eyes but mumbles.

"Love you too..."

Vincent Sinclair (House of Wax) -

Instead of catching Bo's eyes, it's Vincent's heart that you grasp.

A solo traveller that somehow got roped in with another group, a victim of circumstance is what Vincent would have called you.

But instead, you've ruthlessly wormed your way inside his heart.

While the others ran like headless chickens when Bo started killing, you were dragged by another girl to hide in the Sinclairs' house. Stupid move on her end really, but you were curious about their headquarters of sorts. So you follow, breathing raggedly to sell this whole 'helpless victim' façade.

You find the basement. Despite the chills that run down your spine from the scent of death (and wax) you convince her it'd be a good place to hide.

Vincent hears her as she shakily steps into his lair. He thinks she's the only one but finds it odd that she looks desperately over his shoulder as he slices her head off with a pair of garden shears.

Until he feels a blade pressed right at the base of his spine.

"You're pretty strong" Your eyes twinkle from the corner of his and he goes rigid as you dig the tip of the blade deeper. You reach to brush locks of his hair behind his ear, a growl raises from his throat but you shush him.

Your lips brush on the shell of his ear.

"I'll bring more of them here, I want to watch while you turn them into pieces of art".

Bo is feeling an inkling of worry at the sudden lack of victims. He rushes to see if they've decided to overwhelm Vincent and finds you swinging your feet while Vincent is organizing the bodies of the group.

Bo is distrustful. He thinks you've seduced his twin and while that is true, you've no bad intentions like he thinks you do.

Vincent is painfully awkward compared to your nonchalant energy. But it works, the two of you just work.

He scolds you when you get new wounds from the victims fighting back but it's a bit hypocritical when he does the same.

Though he prefers wax figures, he did dabble in oil paints again as he attempts to recreate the scene he sees of you demolishing victims.

A watcher, a stalker; an artist.

Vincent usually stays in the basement but ever since you came? When the hunt is on, he's watching you. Imprinting the image of your body shaking with muffled laughter as you pull your jaws away from the bleeding neck of a victim, spitting out their vocal cords with a satisfied hum.

"Vinnie" your coo makes him flinch but he walks out from the shadows as you beckon him with your hand. Your boyfriend stands in front of you, reaching to wipe some blood away from your cheek but really the only thing he does is move it around.

"Was that pretty, Vinnie?" he huffs through his nose and lifts your chin up so you stain his waxy lips with warm blood.

He pulls away to sign, 'Always beautifull'.

Lester Sinclair (House of Wax) -

You rode with him on the way to Ambrose.

He's taken by your looks and feels a sense of pity and regrets that you'd be dead soon. Especially since you were the only one among the others that weren't a complete asshole to him.

"Ambrose, huh" he nods, tapping his steering wheel as his eyes flit between the road and you. "Must be pretty secluded, haven't even heard of it", he laughs and tells you it's because you aren't from around here.

"See ya'" he waves at you but you scan him from head to toe in a way that's not scrutinizing but lustful. He feels his cheeks warm, you nod to him as a goodbye before you turn to walk into the death trap that is Ambrose.

He's surprised to find you covered in blood and right outside his shack later that night. Jonesy growls near his heel but you were just sitting there on his porch, casually testing the weight of the hilt of a hatchet in your hands.

"Your brothers should use you more than a glorified Ferryman" he is confused but tense. His muscles are rigid like a snake coiling to bite.

Blood drips from the ends of your hair and nose, you place the hatchet down and crouch, beckoning Jonesy' with a sweet baby voice that has the poor pup confused between staying by Lester's side or sniffing you.

"I like Ambrose," you tell him, your eyes squished into an adorable crescent shape.

"Can I stay, Lester?"

His brothers aren't aware of you until at least a week. They were extremely distrustful of you, their baby brother was someone that they did not want to be harmed. Hence why he stays out of the nitty-gritty of it all.

When you show that you're just as protective of Lester, they approve of your relationship. Not that you would let their approval get in the way of your love for him anyways.

Your boyfriend has to get used to your sudden disappearances and reappearances.

And he has to learn how to stitch you up as well. He doesn't scold you though reminds you to be more careful but drinks up your stories of the victims being crushed under your foot.

Whoever manages to stray far enough from Ambrose to find Lester's shack will find themselves in an entirely different but just as torturous hell.

Jonesy enjoys the raw feed though.

"I gotta go" Lester laughs as you whine and drag him back to your side. "I gotta check if anyone's 'lost'" he reminds but you stubbornly shake your head.

"Can't leave me, I'm hurt and defenceless"

Yeah, Lester's seen you shove the end of a rake down someone's throat with a broken arm and a concussion all while laughing. You could protect yourself with the scrapes and boo-boos from the night before just fine.

Feeling yourself lose this battle, you press a kiss to the nape of his neck as he sits and it makes his breath hitch.

Your hands circle his waist and his head hangs low as you slip your fingers down the band of his underwear.

"Stay" you plead.

"Jesus H. Christ" he turns and you grin triumphantly as he kisses you.

[cynicalrosebud]

Rumor Has It (3)

Part 1 Part 2

I blinked after a coffee fueled daze and this shite was written, and I don’t proofread very much, so enjoy!

Dividers and banners by @strangergraphics , check her stuff out, I could scroll through them for hours!

Amsterdam, Netherlands October 29, 2022 0500 hours

The safehouse was dimly lit, cluttered with maps, weapons, and tactical gear. Price, always the epitome of calm even in the midst of chaos, meticulously cleaned his rifle. Across the room, Gaz glanced through the intel on his tablet, his focus unwavering despite the occasional glance towards Rumor.

Rumor, seated at a table with a cup of strong coffee, wore a wry smile. If he was a cat, the sergeant would have bet that his tail would be swaying slowly. His Welsh accent lent a certain smoothness to his words as he spoke. "So, Gaz, you’ve got everything sorted for tonight then? Or do you need me to double-check anything?"

Gaz glanced up, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. "No, I’ve got it covered. Just making sure we’re not missing anything crucial."

Price, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help but chuckle. "Rumor’s right; we need to make sure everything’s in order. Can’t have any surprises tonight, especially not the bad kind."

Rumor’s eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his long fingers on the creaky table, his casual demeanor contrasting with the seriousness of the situation. "Oh, I’m sure Gaz’s got it all under control. But if you need a hand with anything, just give me a shout. I’m very good at checking gear, Cariad.”

Gaz’s gaze flickered towards Rumor, his nerves evident. "Uh, thanks. I appreciate it."

Price, catching the subtle flirtation, gave Rumor a knowing look. "Easy, Rumor. We’re on a mission here. No time for charm."

Rumor’s smile widened slightly. "Just trying to lighten the mood, syr. It’s not every day I get to work with legends like ye."

Price’s grin softened. "Flattery will get you everywhere, but let’s keep it focused. We’re heading out in an hour. Make sure you’re ready."

Gaz nodded, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "We’ll be ready, sir."

As the clock ticked down, the team prepared for the mission ahead. The tension was palpable. Even as the mission loomed closer, there was a certain camaraderie forming between them, with Rumor's charm adding an unexpected layer to their interactions.

0600 hours

The night was thick with fog in Amsterdam, the city's lights barely piercing the darkness. Rumor, Price, and Gaz approached the water's edge, the cold air heavy with anticipation. Their mission was clear: infiltrate the barge, secure the target, and exit without a trace.

Price, taking charge, leaned in to address his team. “Alright, team. We’re hitting the water now. We need to clear the docks, take out any patrol boats we encounter, and then board the barge. Stay sharp.”

Rumor, his confidence unwavering, replied, “Got it, Price. Just lead the way, and I’ll make sure we’re not swimming in trouble.” Gaz had done a minor look into the limited info on Rumor. Known for his exceptional recon skills, the Welshman was adept at locating enemies and navigating through complex environments.

Gaz, slightly flustered but focused, adjusted his gear. “Understood. What’s the plan once we hit the shore?”

Price’s orders were clear as he scanned the dark silhouette of the dock and the barge moored nearby. “We’ll approach from the rear entrance of the barge. It’s less risky. Rumor’s leading us, so follow his lead. We need to take out any patrol boats first.”

The trio slipped through the water with practiced ease. They swam toward a buoy where they would emerge and make contact with Kate Laswell.

Emerging from the water beside the buoy, Price activated his comms. “Laswell, we are in position.”

Laswell’s voice came through the earpieces. “Copy, John. What do ya got?”

Price held up his binoculars, scanning the barge. “I got AQ loading cargo into a barge.”

Laswell responded, “That’s your target. Get onboard and find out who they’re working with.”

Rumor, with a playful grin, swooned, clutching the spot over his heart, “Ah bless me, I hear angels in me ears, ready to take me home to me mam.”

Laswell’s voice, with a hint of dry amusement and a touch of firmness, replied, “Rumor, save the poetry.”

Price chuckled quietly and said, “Rog. Out here”

Laswell’s voice faded as she ended the comms.

Price turned to his team, his gaze sharp. “We’ve got sentries on the perimeter. Stay low and keep alert.” He handed Rumor the binoculars, who checked the area with practiced ease and then passed them to Gaz. As their fingers brushed briefly, Gaz’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he quickly refocused on the task at hand.

Gaz, now holding the binoculars, peered through them. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye on the perimeter.”

Rumor, showcasing his expertise, addressed the pair. “Understood. I’ll handle the navigation.” His knowledge of the barge’s layout and skill in locating enemies made him the perfect guide.

The barge loomed ahead, dark and imposing. Inside, every sound seemed magnified.

Price, scanning the dark silhouette of the barge ahead, added, “We’ll approach from the rear entrance. Less chance of running into guards that way. Rumor’s leading us in, so follow his lead.”

Rumor, with a slight grin, remarked, “I see the hat still never comes off, syr.”

Price shot Rumor a brief, amused wink despite the seriousness of their situation. “Keeps the rain out of me eyes. Plus, it’s good for keeping the noggin warm.”

Gaz, still focused but slightly flustered, adjusted his gear. “Let’s get moving. We don’t want to hang about.”

Navigating through the barge, Price maintained control with clear directives. “Watch for guards. Stay silent and sharp.”

Rumor, now fully focused, scanned the surroundings with a keen eye. “We’re clear so far. Stick close and follow my lead.”

Gaz kept his gaze alert, trying to stay composed. “Point the way, Rumor.”

As they approached their target, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Rumor’s usual charm was replaced by a focused intensity. He turned to Price and Gaz, whispering, “Almost there. Stay alert.”

Price met Rumor’s gaze with a nod of fondness. “Check. Let’s get this done.”

With their objective in sight, the trio moved with determined precision.

The barge was eerily quiet, its darkened interior filled with the sounds of dripping water and the creak of metal. Rumor, Price, and Gaz moved with practiced stealth, Rumor pausing by each door, expertly checking for traps and disposing of them when needed.

They advanced cautiously, their breaths steady and silent.

Rumor led the way, his expertise in recon work making him the ideal guide through the dimly lit corridors of the barge. He signaled for Price and Gaz to stay close, his eyes scanning every corner for potential threats.

Price, his demeanor serious, held his weapon at the ready. “Keep it tight. We clear the barge, take out every enemy inside, and secure any intel we can find.”

Gaz, his gaze sharp, nodded in agreement. “Understood. Let’s move.”

The trio continued, taking out enemies with swift and precise movements. Each opponent was neutralized before they could raise an alarm. Rumor’s keen sense of direction and ability to memorize layouts made short work of their path through the barge.

They reached a central room, where the remaining enemies were gathered. With a coordinated effort, Price, Rumor, and Gaz engaged the foes in a stealthy firefight. Each shot was calculated, minimizing noise and chaos. The battle was fierce but efficient, ending with the last enemy falling silent.

Price, surveying the area as text tones rang in the room, turned to his team. “Check their phones. We need any intel they’ve got.”

Gaz moved quickly, scanning the phone of the defeated final enemy. After a few tense moments, he found a series of text messages that made his eyes widen. “Looks like the Las Almas cartel is working with Al-Qatala. They’re planning to transfer someone into the U.S. The transfer’s happening at Café Gracht at 8am.”

Price’s eyes narrowed with concern. He activated his comms, his tone urgent. “Laswell, we’ve got a situation. The Las Almas cartel and Al-Qatala are coordinating a transfer to the U.S. The operation’s set for Café Gracht at 8am. We need you to locate the café. Something big is about to go down.”

Laswell’s voice crackled back through the earpiece. “Copy that, Price. I’ll find the café and get everything in motion. Keep me updated.”

Price turned to Rumor and Gaz, his expression resolute. “Alright, we need to get out of here and prep for the next phase. We’ve got a lead on where this transfer is happening, and it’s crucial we’re there to intercept.”

Rumor, ever calm, nodded. “Understood. Let’s get to extraction and prepare for the next move.”

With their mission on the barge complete, the trio retraced their steps, moving efficiently to their extraction point.

As they exited the barge, the fog of Amsterdam enveloped them once more. The night air was filled with the promise of further action, and the stakes had never been higher.

[valiantverses]

The Azrael Series: Chapter One

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader/ Slowburn/Sort of Enemies to Friends to Lovers)

°°°°°

Summary/Notes: Task Force 141 is assigned a new member to deal with Makarov for good. Highly-skilled, brutally efficient and devastatingly competent, Ghost has met his match - and finds himself at odds with the SAS Fraternization Regulations as getting to know you makes him re-evaluate a life he never thought to allow himself.

°°°°°

Chapter One

Introduction 1

@beansproutmafia @chinuneko @agustdpeach

Click.

Ghost watched you methodically assemble your rifle, noting how deliberate each movement was. You worked smoothly - barrel into receiver, scope in place, alignment done perfectly. He met your eyes as you surveyed the area, sliding in casings into the magazine with focused intensity.

Not sparing him another glance, you turned to look into your scope, securing the perimeter. Out on the craggy cliff face of the unforgivingly frigid Ural mountains, escape would not be easy. The only thing keeping you from being spotted was the taiga camouflage you wore and the relative cover of the copse of rocks you had climbed on to next to the lieutenant, chest pressed flat on to the rough ground as you settled yourself into a prone position.

"Alpha Two, in position and operational."

Your voice was clear through the coms, unhampered by the face coverings you wore even as your warm breath created soft puffs of vapour, swirling lazily into the air.

Next to you, Riley shifted, your sides touching as he took a final look over the perimeter and inconspicuously - attempting to, anyway - looked over your rifle to see your handiwork.

"Alpha Actual, in position and operational."

His voice reverberated through the rock you had both deemed fit to survey the target location - A laboratory nestled in a valley in the Ural mountains that served as a logistics facility for Makarov, protected by the mercenaries he hired.

"Copy, Alpha Squad. Bravo Squad getting into position, T-Minus 10. Maintain positions. Over."

"Copy." "Copy."

Twin voices rang out, and then there was a silence, a chasm between you and the lieutenant.

You did nothing to break it, comfortable in the stillness of the break of dawn, even as the lieutenant continued to sneak assessing looks at you.

Though your file spoke for itself, experience and skills clearly laid out for the entire team to peruse in black - admittedly mostly redacted - ink, it was another thing entirely to trust a new teammate to watch your back.

Station Chief Laswell had attempted to soothe the situation, utilizing lots of what you recognized to be CIA mediation training to make the mission seem like less of what it was.

But the message was clear to you immediately upon receiving team assignments.

Ghost was babysitting you.

It didn't matter, you decided. You were the unknown variable in a well-oiled machine that had been training together for months. A factor that could put the team at risk so long as they didn't know - or trust - you.

Acceptance would come. Or it wouldn't - you rarely found the kind of stability needed to forge lasting relationships in this lifestyle.

Hunching your shoulders as the wind picked up, you meticulously cleared each area of your assigned quadrant, catching sight of Sergeant McTavish as he came into the view of your scope on the southernmost side of the compound.

Sergeant McTavish - Soap, as he had insisted you called him - had given you the warmest reception by far. He had taken one look at you during introductions and had been not just welcoming but outright friendly, giving you a wide smile and offering to take you on a tour of the team's home base.

You watched as Soap glanced behind him, jerking his head in the direction of the building closest to him as another hooded figure sidled up by his side - Sergeant Garrick.

Sergeant Garrick did not have quite the same warmness as Soap, but his wary smile had seemed genuine, facial muscles pulling up in such a way that your deeply ingrained intelligence training had told you was free of deception. He had offered to spar, and said that he'd give you a lay of the land outside the base upon return from this mission.

That's about where any sense of welcome started and ended with the team, Laswell and Captain Price had kept you at arms length, a clipped sort of professionalism. Lieutenant Riley was an apathetic sort of distance, and you had the sense that he was on the look out for any of your weaknesses and would no doubt be more than glad to pull out the Personnel Transfer Forms in his desk that had barely ever seen the light of day if you failed to live up to expectations.

You kept your breathing low and steady, the high elevations making the air feel thin. Next to you, you felt the lieutenant shift.

"Our directive mandates recon and reaction only, no active engagement."

His eyes on you felt like an itching in the back of your throat, easy enough to ignore but always at the back of your mind.

"Yes, sir." You affirmed, laser focused on clearing the western perimeter of the compound. "I was there when the instructions were given."

There was a pregnant pause where you continued constant surveillance, not even looking up as in your peripheral vision the blazing nothingness of freshly fallen snow was obscured by the bone white of your lieutenant's skull mask.

"I could do without your attitude, sergean-"

He had leaned in close enough to you that you were able to reach behind him to his nape and pull him in your direction, sandwiching yourself between his bulky body and the rough stone below. Before he could pull away, you tightened your grip on his coat, indicating with your free hand to remain low on the ground.

It had been subtle, well hidden, but the glint of a sniper scope aimed in your general direction had you reacting immediately.

Slightly winded from the lieutenant's weight on you, you reached up and clicked on your coms link.

"Captain, Alpha Two reporting. Hostile sniper positively ID'ed in area of operations. Westernmost building, clear line of sight of Bravo Team. Requesting green light for engagement."

You began to relax your arm but were quickly pinned to place by a hefty elbow as Ghost grabbed you by the collar of your coat, growling into your ear.

"Alpha Two heard. Confirm, Alpha Actual?"

Price's voice rang out of the coms, to no response.

Ghost snarled at you, placing his other hand next to your head, effectively locking you into place.

"Fuckin' hell sergeant, never heard of an anti reflect? Nine times out of ten a sniper has a sunshade o-"

"East facing window on furthest building, two windows down from the top floor. Sunshades work by blocking out light reflections but only with direct sunlight. The snow is freshly fallen and we're south- they hadn't accounted for the reflection of the sun onto the snowbank behind us. Nobody would expect hostiles on a blank cliff face-"

He grunted, keeping his eyes trained on you even as he reached over to look into your scope, bodies still pressed tightly together.

"Alpha Actual, positive ID'ed hostile? Over"

The captain's message once again went unanswered.

You shifted your legs a little, freezing when his thighs squeezed your sides in warning as he surveyed the westernmost building, the brutalist architecture starker in the snow.

You spoke in low tones, trying to get him to see your point. The low oxygen environment forced you to conserve your time spent talking.

"They're deeper into the building and have partial cover because of the drainage. They'd have direct line of fire on Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant McTavish. It'd be like shooting fish in a barrel."

"Alpha Actual, do you copy? Ghos-"

He huffed, the movement reverberating through you as he eased away from his position on top of you, falling into a low crouch behind the rock.

"Captain, hostile sniper ID'ed. West building, two windows from top. Clear line of sight on Bravo. Over."

There was another tense pause as the coms line grew silent, you taking the opportunity to roll over on to your stomach and keep watch on Soap and Garrick's position.

"Copy, Alpha Actual. Alpha Two, request to engage approved- Alpha Actual and Bravo Squad, maintain position."

"Copy, Alpha Two moving to position."

You wasted no time, disassembling your rifle in seconds, taking care not to let the snow into any openings as you turned to face your lieutenant and gave him a perfunctory nod, not waiting for his response as you left the relative safety of the rock formation.

The trek to the Southeast of the valley was arduous, the oxygen thin and the paths non-existent in the freshly fallen snow. Your lungs took in searingly cold air and your vision started to blur as the whiteness of the snow began to bleed into each other, the visor you wore being the only thing that kept you from snow blindness. Sometimes it became necessary to crawl on your hands and knees in the areas that were particularly visible to the valley down below. You did your best to keep your deep breaths from drowning out the coms, hearing Garrick and Mctavish's confirmation of identifying the sniper and entering an obscured alcove.

As you reached a copse of rocks that had the Western building in sight, you took off the gloves which the jagged rocks you had crawled on had embedded into and immediately began assembling your rifle, the familiarity of the metal body a comfort even in the frigid air.

You breathed in, then exhaled, before focusing on identifying the hostile sniper in front of you.

As your eyes began to adjust to the darkness of the empty room, a figure began to form, carved out of the inky blackness, partially hidden behind a mounted rifle.

The outside world stuttered to a stop. There was your breathing, low and calm. There was the enemy, looking up from their scope. There was your finger on the trigger, and then there was the the enemy's body jerking back, a bullet between his eyes as he slumped against the wall.

You waited.

You kept the corpse in sight of the crosshair, making sure the enemy's radio was within sight of you at all times.

Because if there was a sniper, then there would be a spotter, and it would just be a matter of who was more patient.

There was a flurry of movement as another person emerged out of the darkness and ran to their previous partners radio, stopping abruptly and collapsing as the insides of their skull became acquainted with the wall behind them.

"Captain, hostiles eliminated."

"Copy, Alpha Two. Bravo Squad, commence operation."

You kept your eyes trained on Soap and Garrick. You ensured they avoided engaging with the enemy, removing obstacles from their path before it could become a problem. Through the coms, you led them to the intelligence building and then back out, until they had successfully left the compound with Makarov's data in hand.

It was a perfect mission, and you could see by the pleased set of Garrick's shoulders, the twitch of Price' lips and the glint of Soap's eyes that the team really, really needed this win.

Evidently, not everyone was pleased with your performance.

Being the last one out of the chopper before debrief, you felt a hand on your shoulder, tugging you back until that familiar skull mask was in your vision once more.

"Liuetenant." You inclined your head, unsure of what he wanted.

"I don't like your attitude, sergeant."

"I don't need you to like me, sir. "

He remained silent, eyes boring into your own.

You regarded him, standing under the bright lights of the air hangar, mask and snow clothing so bright it almost made it hard to look at him. So you continued on.

"All I need is for you to know that on the field, I have your back."

Your lips quirked up as you managed a relaxed salute, muttering a 'sir' as you went to enter the debriefing room and began giving your report when everyone had gathered.

There was not a shred of doubt in your mind that the skull mask was trained on you the entire time.

[scrumptiousstuffs]

Hi Sue! What do you think about today's episode?🤭

In my opinion it was even better!! (Don't get me wrong, the bed scene between KantBison is still №1) I love the humour this show has, it's my style. The way First is flirting the hell out of everything, I'm here for it 😆 It's for all these times Khao was flirting with him heheh

And the way Style conquers Fadel, I'm living for every second 👀 And as the last scene shows, he's almost there...

Oh, and the music! Is top notch, I love the "Micro" vibes of it all (thanks to Sand I'm a Micro fan now heh)

Hello Mei!!! I love Ep 2 - all four boys continue to do an amazing job establishing their characters. The styling and music (like you say) continue to be a delight.

And since I am vibrating with excitement from the recent episode (despite my sleep deprivation cause the live airing for THK is after midnight for me), here are some of my musings:

1) I am delighted to see First playing Kant with such nuances. There is a degree of complexity with Kant. Yes, he is lusting after Bison (cause the sex was just that good) - but you can tell, he is pulling all the moves on Bison partly because of his job as an informant (the sleeping with target part is currently secondary, although I suspect this will change soon hehee). Everytime Bison rebuffs him whenever Kant tries to get physical/kiss him, you could see a break in Kant’s suave and cool nature (the grit and tension of his jaw, the slight tightness in his eyes and eyebrow lift - all of which occurs in split second before he quickly smooth his expression and becomes the charming flirt he dons on when he is with Bison). Similarly, when he is lusting after Bison, the mouth bite or quick tongue swipe across his lips as he makes a quick sweep of Bison’s body (most noticeable in that tattoo parlour when Bison dressed/undressed his pants).

Plus, him hiring his friend to flirt with Bison just so he could prove to Bison how jealous and protective he can be? - oh yes, I can see why the police keep using him as their informant. Kant is meticulous, a good planner and savvy (although I am quite amused this was the route he took when Babe gave him the advice to show how sincere he is with his feelings to Bison)

You and I both know First is a master in microexpression and here we are given another top tier performance by yours truly.

2) Speaking of microexpression, Khaotung also knocked it out of the park for me as Bison. He may be an assassin with a girgonomous knowledge on how to kill and dispose a body efficiently - but there is a naivety and innocence to him. Truly, only Khaotung could play a mixture of deadly assassin, cutie pie and naive dork at the same time.

His facial expression screams burnout when he is doing the assassin job. E.g: Bison being careless with the gloves? - I think it’s really a way of him essentially telling Fadel and us (as audience), he simply no longer cares about his job. Or everytime Kant flirts with him, the disbelief and bemused expression on his face whenever Kant proclaims he is “so in love” but at the same time, he can’t help be charm whenever Kant does pull the moves on him. And I will like to point out that Bison is gradually letting his guard down with Kant - him slipping and saying “Khun Mae”. You can see the micro-change in his expression when Kant pointed it out.

Bison has also voiced out clearly what he wants most at present is freedom, which includes no long-term commitment (one of the reason he keeps rebuffing Kant) - isn’t it interesting Kant is the one who keeps insisting for them to be boyfriends when he could have just agree with Bison to keep it casual/FWB type?. I mean, I’m sure the FWB will still allow some opportunity for Kant to snoop and gain information from Bison. That itself tells me Kant has subconsciously decided he wants Bison regardless of the informant/police business.

3) Style cracks me up so much in this episode. He is like the buzzing mosquito (affectionately) that Fadel wants to slap off but keep missing. I mentioned in a previous musing (on my side blog) that Style is sharper than most people realise (there is a reason why he is bestie with Kant).

Dunk acting was on point here - from the shameless and boisterous performance at the fieldtrack to him basically haunting Fadel like the Ghost from Xmas Past at the market and gym. But oh - I think he really clocked on how to break into Fadel’s shell after the very enlightening conversation with Bison at the burger joint. Not sure if you realised, but it’s after that conversation, he amped up his seduction rather than just trying to relentlessly annoy Fadel to submission.

Even Style kissing (quite aggressively, I may add) in the gym is calculated on Style part. He saw Fadel did not rebuff him in the sauna, clocked on Fadel actually checking him out. And so he took his chance!

4) And that brings me to my boi, Fadel (urgh, I just want to hug him so badly). We talked about how Bison has a touch of naivity to him. However, I think Fadel is just the same in some aspects.

Bison (bless him) really wants his brother to live a little. I cannot express how much I adore Fadel and Bison’s dynamic as brothers. Bison may be rebellious but he truly loves his big brother. And so, Bison giving his blessing to Style delight me to no end! (Also, did you click on Kant gritting his teeth (heh) when Bison admitted to Kant he primarily agreed for Kant’s bestie to hit on Fadel not because it will free them to date but so that his brother can experience living too!)

Anyway, I’m regressing. Poor Fadel is having a whiplash from all the emotions he has never previously experienced hitting him all at once because of Style. Style annoys him (yes) but you could also see the flicker of amusement in his eyes and begrudging admiration for the gumption of this shameless boy who does not fear him and will come up to his face (even if he gets soak with water, foot stomped or the threat of windpipe being crushed. None of these really faze Style (and I think that sticks in Fadel’s mind). Plus, with Bison whispering in his ears about how Style is cute and fearless (really Bison gaslighting his brother into thinking more about Style 😉).

And so, him jerking off to Style beautiful body (and face) that really was a revelation for him (he is so so aroused but also damn mad with himself for having any feeling at all) - did you also clock Fadel’s fantasy Style looking angelic and even more alluring/seductive than real life sauna event? (Truly good cinematography and storytelling here!)

Speaking of which, I am going to give a special shout out to the dancing scene by KantBison. Some people hate it (and I read some fans actually skip it due to the cringe nature) - I don’t know about you, but I love it. And we know with Jojo, there is always good reasons why a scene is included. Yes, it is a tribute to Pulp Fiction (which Jojo adores), but beyond that the scene is important for several factors:

1) Bison subtle challenge for Kant to prove he is willing to do anything for him

2) Kant essentially lying that he couldn’t dance (and Bison commented on this later on), which Kant smoothly cover up by saying he was just following Bison’s lead (that tells me Kant has variety of skills that we and Bison are not privy too!)

3) And oh the song choice - the lyrics talk about scheming, mixed signals and how the eyes don’t lies - ahem, what does that remind you of?

Ok, enough analysis 😂😂😂 - this is getting way too long. I’m also going to finish up by saying - I’m intrigued by Bison’s choice of phone - an old-fashioned flip phone when we know this is set at present time. And we still have yet to see Fadel’s choice of phone model - does it mean anything? ☺️

[saintsenara]

what are ur thoughts on all the young dudes man i gotta know

i've never read it, and i can't really see any situation in which i will. not only am i wolfstar-ambivalent, i'm also wizards-knowing-loads-about-muggle-pop-culture-ambivalent - so i'm very much not the target audience.

[although i'm not "what's going on in the 1970s"-ambivalent by any means, so there's that.]

but i suspect anyone who reads this blog regularly knew that - and so i also suspect [even though i wouldn't dare to assume this of you and your intentions in asking this, anon] that it might be presumed that i'm going to pop off about several of the phenomena all the young dudes has set into motion...

and sure, the contemporary marauders subfandom is not a space i'm interested in spending any time in - which is why i don't - but i think it's nonetheless worth saying something in defence of it.

all the young dudes deserves more credit than i think it gets in the fandom more widely - especially in those bits of the fandom which are more interested in canon compliance and canon coherence - for being a genuine pop-culture phenomenon. all corners of the fandom have benefitted from this - i guarantee that huge numbers of people who have returned to the harry potter fandom since 2020 have done so because they've read it [or, at the very least, heard of it], and i also guarantee that many of those people have gone on to make a home for themselves in spaces which seem to have very little in common with the marauders subfandom [such as canon-compliant jily or pro-snape spaces]. many of the things it does - especially the integration of muggle pop-culture into its worldbuilding - have clearly influenced how plenty of authors approach their own work, even if that work is otherwise removed from it in vibe. and its aesthetic is all over the non-fic aspects of fandom too - every "canon-compliant" moodboard or edit or playlist i've ever seen would fit well into the atyd universe. i think it doesn't hurt to acknowledge its influence - it doesn't mean that an author can't disagree with its approach.

[or: my view on all the young dudes is very similar to my view on taylor swift. i've never listened to a single one of her albums, i'm not sure i could name more than about five of her songs - and i don't think the five i can name are any good, i sometimes see flashes of the inter-swiftie discourse and it's like reading a text in a language i can only half speak - but i would be a fool to dismiss her broader pop-culture influence, including on musicians i do follow more closely, or the fact that the fandom which surrounds her is both sincerely interesting, not least from an anthropological perspective, and something in which people i like and respect participate.]

i also don't think the divisions between the marauders subfandom and other spaces are as clear-cut as is often made out. and i think that all the young dudes often gets used as a stick with which to beat this point - particularly because people in the marauders subfandom are frequently accused of not having read the books, and elevating atyd's interpretation of characters [especially sirius and remus] and events over the seven-book series.

that the subfandom elevates fanon and headcanon over canon is a legitimate point. but i think we should all get a fucking grip and recognise that this can disinterest us - or even annoy us - and still not be something any of us should think is that deep.

after all, like anyone, i've encountered people in fandom who write unrecognisable versions of characters, are completely resistant to the idea that their interpretation isn't correct, and believe that it's evidence of deep-seated prejudice to pair their faves with different people... and every single one is someone who believes that their approach is meticulously canon-compliant.

or - as the old adage goes - "people who live in glass subfandoms shouldn't throw stones at roadman remus".

[hederasgarden]

Just Pretend

Summary: For a moment, Six thinks about how his life could be different.  Paring: Sierra Six (Court Gentry) x F!Reader Word Count: 700 Rating: 18+ only. Mild violence. Six does watch the reader without her knowledge but it's all above board. A/N: This is based on my thoughts about how Sierra Six would 100% have a housewife kink. Thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking over this story. 

Masterlist ♡ The Grey Man Masterlist

Six doesn’t mean to watch you. 

He knows it’s wrong, a violation of privacy, but after all the awful things he’s done, it seems small by comparison. Each time he finds his eyes drawn to you he promises himself it’s the last. It’s a lie of course because being stuck in a safe house for weeks on end, there isn’t much else to do. You live in the apartment next to the mark he’s collecting intel on. The blinds to your living room and bedroom are always drawn but he can see clearly into your kitchen where you spend most of your time.

It’s oddly relaxing to see you do mundane things like cooking dinner or baking cookies. You spend your mornings before work reading from your tablet and drinking tea at the little table you’ve wedged under the large window. Sometimes you’ll do the crossword there on Sundays, nose scrunched up as you solve the riddles and pencil in your answer. There’s a row of potted plants on the shelf that you take meticulous care of, watering them and cleaning the dust off their leaves with a damp cloth weekly. 

He loves the cooler days the best when you’ll throw open the window and he can hear the soft music you play and catch the smell of whatever you’re cooking. You’ve been baking more recently, experimenting with decorating cupcakes and cookies. Six admires the concentration it takes to sit, bent over a table to painstakingly create intricate designs for long stretches of time. He imagines you giving treats to your coworkers and friends. He knows they'd taste good, infused with the love and dedication you pour into them.

As far he can tell you don’t have anyone important in your life, at least that lives close by. You’re home every day by 5:30 pm on the dot and on the weekends you only seem to leave for groceries, although he’s seen two different men walk you back to your apartment in the evening. You never kiss or invite them up but you wear pretty sundresses that cling to all the right places on your body. Six is quick to push away that kind of thought. That’s dangerous territory. It’s bad enough he’s spying on you without your knowledge. 

This afternoon it looks like you’re making pasta and homemade bread. His stomach growls at the thought of warm, buttery bread. For a moment he lets himself fantasize what it would be like if he could share a meal with you, to be the person you spent hours cooking for. He likes to think you’d be the type to watch him take the first bite, anxious to see if he liked the new recipe. You’d probably smile and shyly look away when he complimented you, secretly pleased. 

Six thinks about cleaning up after dinner with you, the quiet, comfortable way the two of you would move around the small kitchen together. He'd wash and dry the dishes while you put away the leftovers. Afterward, the two of you would curl up on the couch and watch a movie. Six is willing to bet money you have a collection of soft blankets to burrow under. You'd probably fall asleep before the movie ends, head pillowed against his shoulder, and sleepily protest when he says you should go to bed. 

Before his thought can go further, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye has him swinging the scope sharply to the right. It's the target, emerging from his apartment for the first time in weeks. The older man yawns and stretches, unaware he's being watched.

Six sighs, and flips open the shitty old Nokia phone he was given for the mission. 

"Target confirmed."

"10-4. Execute. Exfil will be waiting in the south alley," the faceless voice on the other end of the line commands. 

"Understood," Six replies, dropping the phone and grinding it under the heel of his boot. 

Before he can help himself, he looks back at your open kitchen window. You take a sip of wine and bite into a piece of bread, eyes closing with a smile as you savor the taste. His gaze lingers, longer than it should before he forces himself back to the task at hand. 

He takes slow, even breaths and leans his shoulder into the butt of the rifle, squeezing the trigger. The man topples back into the apartment. Below, the street traffic continues, unaware of what just occurred. The urge to look back at you is strong but Six buries it and disassembles his weapon. 

That isn't his life.

 This is and there's no amount of pretending that will change that.

♡

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[reina-petrova]

A Wicked Game ・❥・ Kalijah

↳What if Elijah found Katherine at least once before Mystic Falls?

↳Katherine Pierce x Elijah Mikaelson

↳Angst, smut, dirty talk, blowjob, teasing, light dom/sub undertones, rough sex

↳5k words

↳Read on AO3🥀

・❥・You have to chase me・❥・

Katherine's fingers delicately encircled the crystal tumbler in front of her, the amber whiskey rolling around as she tipped it back between red lips. She placed the heavy glass back down on the lacquered bar top and signalled for another. The bar was alive that night; all sorts of walks of life come to release their stressors one way or another. Booze, drugs, sex... The alcohol was flowing, the air was hazy ,and the laughter was raucous, but Katherine had her mind on the latter.

It had been a while since she'd found someone interesting to string along, perhaps bleed dry if the night called for it. She was likewise in the mood to forget, and had no shortage of volunteers that seemed to vie for the opportunity. One man couldn't seem to take his eyes off her for a second. Katherine offered a small but devilish smile to a him, her gaze intent even as the bartender placed her a fresh drink in front of her. She could hear the man's heart beating even from across the bar, hearing it thud a little quicker in his chest the longer she looked at him.

He will do nicely.

Katherine picked up her drink, moving to slide off the barstool and onto her heels. She felt powerful as she walked towards her target, her pride swelling at the thought of a successful kill of the night. The alcohol burned warmly in her blood, and she couldn't wait until she tasted fresh blood to match. A predator stalking its prey, until she stopped dead in her tracks.

Her eyes instinctively flashed to the door of the bar when a shadow appeared in her periphery. An all too familiar figure that she sensed the moment he appeared. Her heart fell, along with her glass. It was him.

The tumbler had completely slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor. People gasped around her at the sound of the crystal breaking, but she did not react. She could only stare in horror at as Elijah Mikaelson's eyes met hers. The din of the bar and her suitor fell away, leaving her to face her fate alone.

Elijah's face was as handsome as she remembered, but the coldness in his eyes, that was something she would never become accustomed to. The hatred that seethed beneath. Katherine swallowed dryly, her breathing becoming pitched as she stepped back once, twice. Run, run!

But she couldn't. She was frozen.

She had last heard Elijah was somewhere across the country, pointedly the other side of the country. That's why she was here. How could he have snuck up on her like this? How could she have been so stupid?

Elijah's eyes simmered with something else she couldn't read. He stood about ten feet away from her, far too short of a distance to make her escape. The witnesses meant nothing, he would tear the inside of bar out if it suited him.

Elijah seemed to notice her indecision, so he made it for her. He turned to leave the bar, inclining his head to signal for her to follow. Dread settled into her stomach like a brick, and she felt her body begin to tremble as it obeyed without her permission. She took a step forward, her heel crushing the remnants of the crystal on the ground. Another step, then another.

He'd already left, evidently confident that she would follow. Despite her instincts burning through her to run, to fight, she knew... If she didn't, she knew things would get much, much worse.

Once outside, the sun still glowing in its final moments, the haze and energy from the bar left behind, she breathed in the warm summer air.

Her eyes fell upon him once more, bathed in that golden light.

"Come."

・❥・You're meant to catch me・❥

The apartment was clearly outdated and out of use, but it was clean. The old hardwood floors were swept, the fine oak canopy bed meticulously made with delicate white curtains gathered to each of its poles. They blew in a soft breeze in tandem with the ones that hung on the open windows. The sun had begun to set in earnest where the city was beginning to fall dark but the sky was still alive with pinks and oranges. The room smelled like summer, the city a soft hum in the background. The two stood in the last remnants of the light, their vampire eyes seeing in perfect clarity.

It was evident that this was one of the old rooms that Elijah kept, undoubtedly one of a few across countless cities, wherever he needed to settle down for a night or two. The furniture looked dated but well cared for; like she had stepped back into time. But then again, she always did with Elijah. For better or for worse.

She'd followed him just across the street to the building, walking steadily behind but never faltering in her pace. He never once turned to see if she was following; he knew she was. Now she was here, and the tables had turned. The predator became the prey.

She watched him with careful eyes as he paced the length of the room, collecting his thoughts. He'd doubtlessly not expected this twist of luck to fall into his lap, as she had barely thought to be in the city that night herself, and now it was time for him to make the most of his opportunity. The air of sophistication he carried never dropped, not for a moment. It could only come with carrying a thousand lifetimes on your shoulders. In direct opposition to his calm demeanour, her body itched to run; she could almost feel the fear overtaking her body as she waited for him to do something, anything. Utter a single word that would let her know this was the last night of her life. Her nerves were practically electrified.

There was nowhere to run now.

"I can see you shaking. Thank you for understanding the gravity of your situation."

Katherine bit down on her lip, angry that he could see her fear plainly when she had been fighting it back for so long. Everything seemed to come undone inside of her at the very sight of him.

Still, she raised her head defiantly and hardened her eyes, fingernails digging into her palms until the indents threatened to bleed to control her trembling. She would retain as much dignity as she could. She had gotten this far. Elijah paced for a few more steps, stopping but a few feet away from her. The city lights spilled into the room, bathing the wall she was standing by in a faint glow. Her body stayed put against it, her curls brushing against the old wallpaper. For all her trying, once her eyes met his, her gaze fell to the ground in front of her.

"I didn't know you were in town." She said lowly, frustrated. In truth, she was more than furious with herself for letting the side down. One step ahead, always. So much for that.

She watched him from the small distance that separated them, her eyes further adjusting as the sunlight gave way to the moon. Darkness seemed to stain the corners of the room like ink, but she could see him perfectly. His suit was well tailored, as it always was, a fine silk tie at his throat and a crisp white shirt peeking out from behind his black suit jacket. His hair was shorter than she'd seen him last, brushed away from his face to accentuate his handsome features and the line of his jaw.

"It was a rather spontaneous decision, but let's call it fate, shall we?" He paused, making sure she met his eyes before he continued. They seemed to gleam in the nighttime with a dark promise. "We have much to discuss, Katerina."

"I think you know the story pretty well by now." Her irony slipped out before she could stop it. She realized her mistake but it was too late to react; Elijah appeared in front of her in a flash, drowning her in shadows as he blocked any of the light coming in through the windows. Everywhere she looked, he was there. The overwhelming feeling of being surrounded by him made her feel dizzy.

“When will you learn your place, Katerina?” His voice thrummed inside of his chest, carrying over to hers where she felt it vibrate.

“I have no place to mind.” She gritted from behind clenched teeth. Frustration flared within her, but the tension was what was most unbearable. He gazed upon her like he wanted to devour her and she looked up at him like she wanted to set him ablaze. Her eyes flashed with the thought, but his eyes stayed dark and heady. Complete control, always.

“That’s where you are mistaken. You know your place yet you refuse it. Shall I remind you of it?”

In a flash, he spun her around until her hands were splayed against the wall and he stood behind her. She felt the warmth of his body against hers, pressing her slowly into the wall. Her fingers bent and scratched against the wall, seeking for purchase in a situation increasingly out of her control. His scent enveloped her like a veil.

He pushed her hair aside roughly to expose the soft skin of her neck, then used his fingers to trace from underneath her ear down to the slope of her shoulder. Katherine felt herself shiver in response to his touch, familiar yet with an underlying tone of cruelty.

She swallowed against the dryness of her throat, feeling his body shift behind hers until his chest was pressed against her shoulder blades. His right hand came upon her right side, placing his hand directly onto her neck. His touch was light but beneath his fingers lingered something else. A warning.

The warmth of his body bled into hers, and despite herself, she felt the sting of desire in her lower stomach. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, breathing light under the weight of his hand on her. He seemed to notice her shifting and he chuckled lowly in his chest. His fingers shifted slightly so his palm was on the back of her neck, index finger pressing against the sensitive point under her ear where her jaw began. Her skin seemed to crave his touch, but her mind battled against it.

“It’s here, with me. Just like this.” One hand on her waist, the other travelled along her side and up her shoulder. With a precise and gentle hand, he grasped her jaw and slowly tilted her head so that her neck was exposed to him. Goosebumps rose all over her skin. “At my complete mercy.”

Katherine took a small breath and held it. A mixture of fear and anger seared through her. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have let her guard down?

“So now what?” She said quietly, her voice thick with trepidation.

“Indeed, now what? How many more times must we repeat history, Katerina?" She felt him sigh behind her. "Perhaps now is the time to end it.”

Katherine felt herself spin around and only when she was facing him did she realize he had allowed it, his hands dropping from her neck. His body was still barely a hairsbreadth from hers; he didn’t need to be touching her for her to understand she was trapped. Her eyes met his, unable to look anywhere else but his face. She could no longer hide the desperation in her eyes.

“Elijah… please.”

Amusement slowly darkened his gaze.

“Begging, Katerina? That’s unlike you.”

“I’d only do it for you.”

His eyes flashed at that.

"How long will you continue to avoid the consequences of your actions?"

Katherine gave a mirthless laugh at that. "If you think I haven't been dealing with the consequences for the last 500 years, you aren't giving your brother enough credit."

"Then perhaps it is my consequence you should be worried about." He responded coolly. The way Elijah remained so unshakeable frightened her most. Klaus was predictably unstable, but no one could decipher Elijah, not truly, not even her. Though the fact that he hadn't ripped her head from her shoulders told her she still had some sort of power in this game. His eyes met hers and she thought she saw them soften, if only for a moment.

"Elijah." Katherine lifted her hand and delicately placed it against his cheek. His skin was warm to the touch and she could feel the lightest bit of stubble on his jaw. She hadn't touched him like this for centuries, and suddenly she was back to 1492 when the gallant Elijah Mikaelson was kissing her hand in the middle of the ballroom floor. Before everything had been destroyed.

"I am not a Salvatore, Katerina. This is not a game."

His hand caught her wrist and he lowered it for her, none too gently. She choked back the yelp of pain as her arm twisted in an unnatural way before she ripped it from his grasp.

"I'm not playing at one." She said harshly. "I know you remember."

It was Elijah's turn to laugh dryly. "Remember what, exactly? Your dalliance with Niklaus? How you fled into the night and snapped your own neck? When I swore to you that I would protect you?"

"You knew why he was courting me, Elijah. You know I never cared for him. I wanted more, I told you that! What was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to trust me."

Katherine sighed quietly as she looked up into Elijah's eyes. He took a half step back from her, turning to face the rest of the room. She took a deep breath, realizing that she hadn't truly been breathing with him so close to her. His scent still lingered as he walked away, but the warmth of his body disappearing left her cold. When she spoke, she spoke to his back.

"I couldn't- I can't."

"I know, Katerina. All too well."

Silence fell upon the room as the night did, settling in slowly like frost. Katherine put her hands on her arms, folding them over her ribs. The room was cooling from the sun setting but the ice in his words chilled her more. All of this could still end with him delivering her to Klaus, not a single moment of her life was guaranteed since he walked into that bar.

But where there is hate, there was once love.

"I know you remember." She repeated. Her voice barely carried across the room but she knew he heard every word. Taking one slow step after another, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors, her instincts roiled against each movement that brought her closer to him. It felt so wrong to walk towards her death, and yet...

Elijah turned around to look at her, his face disappearing in the shadows as his back turned to the windows. Light brimmed around his silhouette like a dark angel. She took another step. Closer still.

"Don't, Katerina." His voice was a warning, low and dangerous.

"Remind me." She whispered, fighting the quiver in her throat as she closed the distance between them. She gazed up at him, his features dark but his eyes shining with... hate? Desire?

A dry chuckle escaped his lips. "Remind you?"

This is too dangerous, her mind echoed. Don't be an idiot. He watched her with cool curiosity, allowing her to wander closer to him. She felt as though his jaws would snap around her at any moment.

"Remind me of what once was. What you once felt for me... and I'll remind you. All those moments we lost, Elijah."

Something changed in his expression then. The vitriol gave way to something else, something deeper as her words rang in the emptiness of the room. Perhaps it was just a hallucination borne of desperate to live, but she thought she saw his eyes soften, even for a moment.

That moment was enough. The tipping point.

Elijah's lips crashed into hers, his hands immediately circling her waist. Katherine's arms came up and around his neck as she matched the ferocity of his kiss, feeling all of the fear and panic transform into desire and passion. The frustration still broiled underneath for both of them as his hands dug into her skin roughly and her fingernails scratched along the soft skin at the nape of his neck.

Katherine felt his hands slid underneath her ass and she lifted her legs to encircle his waist. She could feel his arousal between her hips, and she felt her own heighten at the feeling, a delicious flame licking in her lower stomach. A mix of hatred and long-lost desire fueled the spark between them, giving way to a burning flame.

Katherine's breath deepened into pants as she fumbled with Elijah's suit jacket, pushing it away from his shoulders. He released her onto the floor and shrugged it off, then loosened his tie from his neck. The energy was frenetic between them, their lips immediately returning to each other's.

Elijah growled beneath his breath as he gripped the flimsy fabric of her top and tore it from her torso, revealing the lacy black bra she'd worn underneath. He paused at the sight of it, his broad chest rising and falling in soft pants, and a smirk appearing on his lips.

"Planned this?"

"I could ask the same of you."

Elijah cocked his head to the side as though challenging her, and she saw his smile grow despite himself.

"You've always been wilful, Katerina. It's time I taught you your place."

Katherine let a small laugh escape her as his hands returned to her body, but it quickly died in a sea of moans that he coaxed from her body.

He pushed her to the wall, nearly slamming her against it and she returned the favor, shoving him against the poles of the canopy bed. The hunger grew, his fingers knotting in her curls and the buttons of his shirt popping off as she tore it off with her fingers.

Elijah's mouth was hot and rough against the skin of her neck, his fangs scraping deliciously along the column of her throat. Her hands explored the bare expanse of his chest as she moved to step out of her heels.

"No-" She heard him grunt. "Leave them on."

She raised a brow with a smirk but acquiesced, stepping out of her black jeans until she was only in her underwear and the stilettos. Elijah was left only in his trousers.

Katherine didn't miss a beat before unbuckling them, leaving messy kisses down his throat, chest, and hips before lowering herself to her knees. She pulled the length of him out of his pants and licked from root to tip. Elijah's growl was amplified, his head falling back against the pole, fingers coming back to tangle in her curls.

"Mm. Can you take all of me?"

Katherine's jaw relaxed as she took his cock into her mouth fully, using her tongue to swirl around his thick member. She angled her face upwards and she felt herself growing wetter at the sight of Elijah coming undone above her. His brows were furrowed, eyes intent on her as he watched her every movement as though captivated.

"I know you're getting soaked for me. You love this, don't you?" He murmured softly, his hand coming down to trace his fingers along her jawbone. Katherine pushed him farther down the back of her throat, causing him to buck his hips in response. She heard him snarl at the feeling.

"Katerina." His low voice was a warning. "Tease me and you'll have a long night ahead of you."

Katherine hummed around the length of him, but then felt him tug on her hair as he pulled her back up to him. His lips found hers, and he flipped her around so that her back was to his chest. His hand immediately went between her legs, his other circling her waist like a vice. Katherine felt her knees give as his precise fingers rubbed through her underwear, feeling the patch of wetness grow beneath his touch.

"You did enjoy it, didn't you? Enjoyed being on your knees for me?"

She could only moan in response, her hips twisting in his grip, but he held her to him tightly.

He pressed her down onto the bed, her hips hanging from the bed and her palms flat as she moved her head to the side. He pulled the lacy underwear off her hips in one smooth movement, his hand coming up to cup her ass. He gave a slight swat, and she jumped at the warmth of the sting.

Elijah's body covered hers, his hand once more finding its way beneath her body and between her legs. She gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping between her wet folds, his fingers finding her needy clit with ease. With his weight on top of her and the bed beneath her, she had no choice but to endure the waves of pleasure coursing through her veins. She muffled her cries in the soft sheets of the bed, her body beginning to tremble as her first orgasm began to grow.

"Does that feel good, Katerina? Do you want to cum?"

She whined in response, backing her hips up closer to his fingers as much as he would allow. The weight of him, the warmth of his skin, the scent of him, and the sound of his voice, low and deep in her voice, it was too much to bear.

"Yes, Elijah, please, please..."

Begging, Katerina? That's unlike you. - I'd only do it for you.

Their past interaction rang in her ears the moment the words slipped past her lips, but she was desperate for release. His fingers quickened against her soaked pussy, and as she came closer and closer to her release... he stopped.

"Fuck! Elijah..."

He removed himself from her body, the cold chill of the room drafting over her skin. Goosebumps rose over her body as she rubbed her thighs together, desperate for release. Her heels clicked together as she whimpered.

"Please, Elijah..."

"You haven't been very good, have you, Katerina?"

His hands pushed her legs apart, then he pressed one against her lower back, steadying her hips. "Have you?" He asked again, giving her ass another swat. She hissed at the feeling.

"No! No, I haven't."

He tsk'd behind her, and she felt her arousal dripping between her thighs and onto the sheets of the bed. With his other hand, he placed his cock at her entrance and rubbed the head of it up and down her pussy, collecting her wetness. She arched her back at the feeling, but every time she tried to move her hips back to meet his, he kept her firmly in place.

"Only good girls get to cum, sweet Katerina."

With that, he slid into her, the entire length of him right to the hilt. Katherine gasped at the feeling, quickly releasing a deep moan as he began to move against her hips, settling a ruthless pace against her.

His hips thrusted in and out, slowing down occasionally only to purposefully roll his hips against hers so that his cock hit every delicious point of pleasure inside of her. Her clit was left untouched, and she almost reached between her legs to avail herself of the need.

His hand caught hers, and he placed both above her head for good measure, locking her wrists in the grip of one hand.

"You'll take what pleasure I give you."

She sucked a breath in as he increased his pace, his fingers on his other hand leaving bruises on her hips from his desperate grip. Katherine bucked her hips back, trying to meet his insistent pace.

Once he'd had his pleasure, he slid out of her slowly so she felt every moment, then pulled on her hip until she turned and laid on her back, then he released her hands from his grip.

"I'll be good, I swear..." She panted as she gazed up at him, her eyes hungrily drinking in his toned stomach and chest, the chiseled V-line of his hips, the strength of his thighs. His arms were a particularly favourite appreciation of hers, and she watched as the lean muscles shifted under his smooth skin. His eyes were aflame with desire, and his lips shifted into a crooked smile. She watched as he stroked himself once, twice.

He slid back between her folds, their eyes connecting as he spoke,

"That's my good girl."

Katherine brought her legs around his waist, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he thrust back into her. Her heels scratched against his lower back, clicking together as he moved in and out with vampiric speed. She felt as though she would come apart just from the feeling of him inside her, the sight of his warm brown eyes and feeling of his skin sticking to hers. That was, until he slid his hand down to where she needed him most.

She nearly screamed at the feeling of him rolling his thumb over her clit, coupled with his thick cock rolling inside of her just right.

"Please," She groaned. "Please let me cum, Elijah."

"Do you deserve it, Katerina?" She heard his voice shake the slightest bit, and she knew that his release was close. He needed her as badly as she needed him, even all these centuries later. "Do you think you deserve my mercy?"

"I need it, I need it." She panted. She closed her eyes tightly together, unable to control the impending release. His fingers were too precise, too controlled. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it was becoming impossible to resist giving into the temptation. "Please, I can't-"

"Cum for me, Katerina."

The moment those words left his lips, she came undone around him. Her hands gripped his forearms so hard that to any mortal man, she would've shattered their wrists. Elijah's hips continued to piston against hers, fingers delicately rolling over her clit as she rode out her orgasm, her hips stuttering at the feeling.

She watched as euphoria over took him, his features transforming as his release neared, gripping her hips tightly to him as his thrusts became shorter and closer. She tightened her ankles around his hips, keeping him close to her body. Moments later, he came inside of her, the last of his thrusts languid and slow inside of her. She winced at the overstimulation, but his hand soon fell away from her clit as pulled out of her.

She dropped her legs from around his waist and allowed her limbs to fall slack, the electricity of her release still shocking her every nerve. She felt utterly spent.

Elijah was already dressing himself, trousers buckled and with his shirt in tatters, he reached into a nearby dresser and pulled out a fresh one. Katherine raised a brow at that. Perhaps he frequented this apartment far more than she knew.

He threw it over his shoulders, followed by his tie. Within moments, he was dressed while she lay naked on the bed.

"I'd hasten, Katerina. Dawn is breaking, and I'm only giving you a day's headstart."

Katherine pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking off the remnants of the pleasure in her muscles as the cold rush of reality poured itself over her. She slid off the bed, quickly gathering her underwear and jeans, and what shreds remained of her top.

"How long will this go on, Elijah?" She could hardly conceal the tiredness in her voice as she dressed, running her fingers through her hair to try and regain some dignity. Her makeup was certainly beyond smudged and the mess of her curls the result of a good fucking.

"A long time." He responded quietly, but she didn't understand the meaning of his words until much later.

As she finished buttoning her jeans, Elijah raised a hand and placed it delicately on her jaw, mirroring the gesture she'd done just hours ago. Katherine felt her breath hitch despite everything they'd just done. The way he gazed at her was far more intimate than any of it.

Then, his eyes hardened. The cold stare returned and she knew nothing had really changed. History was repeating itself, just as he'd said.

"The next time I see you, Katerina, it will be the last. Are we clear?"

She wasn't naive; a single night of passion wasn't enough to spare her life. She knew better than to test Elijah again, and she certainly knew no such mercy awaited her if she ran into either of the Mikaelson brothers again.

The dawn was indeed beginning to break, with the navy blue sky beginning to lighten with each passing moment. Katherine didn't need to be told twice; once she collected her belongings, she disappeared from Elijah's sight without another word.

Once outside, the city was sparse apart from a few who either rose early to go to work, or whose night had yet to end. Katherine took a small breath of the summer air, feeling the breeze gently brush against her curls. She'd survived one more night. That was something. As she stood at the edge of the road, telltale signs of her pleasure still tingling the deepest parts of her, she found herself turning around and gazing back up at the old apartment building.

Elijah stood at the window, the picture of elegance, watching her every movement. She turned away, and disappeared into the dawn.

・❥・But if I catch you, the game will be over・❥・

[allnightstay]

Day 19 - Secret

Summary: Orochimaru thinks Kabuto is hiding a secret from him, resorting to an interesting method to get one out of the poor boy.

Lee: Kabuto

Ler: Orochimaru

A/N: This one is for @mari2akary , thank you so much for this request!! I adore this duo 🤭 Hope you enjoy!

The dimly lit laboratory was silent, the occasional drip of a potion cooling on the counter. Kabuto adjusted his glasses, quietly working through a stack of reports, the meticulous kind of work that he found oddly satisfying. It felt eerie that the air was so still, but this should've been a warning sign for the boy.

A shadow loomed over him, and before Kabuto could even look up, he heard a voice, smooth and serpentine.

“Kabuto…” Orochimaru’s low, drawling voice sent a shiver down Kabuto’s spine.

“Yes, Lord Orochimaru?” he responded, not looking away from his notes.

“I believe you’re hiding something from me,” Orochimaru said softly, circling behind Kabuto like a predator toying with its prey. His golden, slit-pupiled eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Kabuto’s hands stilled. “I assure you, I’m not,” he answered carefully, though he knew from experience that denying anything rarely helped when Orochimaru was in this kind of mood.

Orochimaru chuckled, an eerie sound that slithered through the air. “Mmm, you say that… but I wonder.” He leaned in close, so close that Kabuto could feel the cold brush of his breath by his ear. “If you aren’t keeping secrets… you won’t mind if I verify that for myself.”

Kabuto tensed, but before he could react, Orochimaru’s hands darted, targeting the hollows of his underarms.

“W-wait, whahaha- what are you-” Kabuto started, but his words broke off into a startled gasp as Orochimaru’s fingers began to dance along his sides.

“Ticklish, Kabuto?” Orochimaru’s voice was a mixture of amusement and menace, a teasing tone that made the situation all the more maddening.

“S-stohohohop—! Lord Orochimaru, thihihis is ridiculous- nahahaha!” Kabuto squirmed in his chair, throwing his head back, then forward to suppress any further laughter.

“Oh? Now I know you’re hiding something,” Orochimaru purred, trailing his long, pale fingers over Kabuto’s ribs in slow, deliberate strokes. “People only laugh like this when they’ve got a secret.”

“Hahaha—It’s not—there’s no secret!!” Kabuto twisted, trying to slip away, but Orochimaru’s grip was unyielding, fingers gliding to the sensitive spots just beneath his ribs.

“Are you sure?” Orochimaru cooed, his eyes glittering with mischief. His hands moved to Kabuto’s stomach now, giving it a gentle squeeze that sent the silver-haired medic into helpless fits.

“NAHAHAHA!! Ahhh ahahaha - Lord Orochimaru, please!” Kabuto gasped, his usual composure shattered as he writhed beneath the older man’s touch.

But Orochimaru only smiled, tilting his head like a snake inspecting prey. “You know how much I dislike dishonesty, Kabuto. If you confess now, I might show mercy.”

“I SWEHEHEHEAR!! Ahahaha- there’s nothing! No sehehehecret!” Kabuto howled, trying desperately to shield his sides from Orochimaru’s relentless fingers. But Orochimaru was too quick, effortlessly pinning Kabuto’s wrists with one hand while the other continued its ticklish assault.

“Then why are you laughing so much?” Orochimaru whispered, as if the tickling were a dark interrogation method. He traced his fingers down Kabuto’s waist in feather-light strokes, eliciting another burst of laughter.

“BEHEHECAUSE—hahaha—it tickles!” Kabuto nearly shrieked, "SIHIHIR PLEHEHEAHAHAH!"

Orochimaru chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “If you’re not hiding anything… perhaps I’ll just keep this up until you remember what you’ve forgotten.”

“NO—hahaha—PLEASE! I’m not—Hahaha!—I SWEHEHEAR!”

Finally, Orochimaru slowed his attack, though his smirk never left. He leaned in close again, golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful,” he whispered, releasing Kabuto’s wrists.

Panting, Kabuto slumped forward, adjusting his glasses with shaky hands as he tried to catch his breath.

Orochimaru gave a low, satisfied hum. “But if I discover you are hiding something...” His voice trailed off, leaving the implied threat hanging in the air.

Kabuto swallowed hard, brushing down his clothes with what little dignity he had left. “There’s no secret, Lord Orochimaru.”

“Of course,” Orochimaru murmured, though his smile suggested otherwise. He trailed his fingers across Kabuto’s shoulder one last time, as if to remind him that next time, mercy might not come so easily. “I’ll see you later, Kabuto.”

As Orochimaru glided out of the room, Kabuto exhaled slowly, his pulse still racing.

Next time, he thought grimly, he’d make sure Orochimaru never got the chance to tickle him again—assuming there was even a way to stop him.

[homestuckreplay]

saw: seen

WELL I watched Saw (2004) and it was surprisingly really good! Dave's bro is clearly directly emulating Jigsaw, so the movie gives a clear idea of the kind of person that Bro either is, or wants to be.

The movie focuses on the crimes of a serial killer known as Jigsaw, who constructs elaborate 'games' for his victims. All of Jigsaw's games involve the player causing extreme pain and permanent physical damage to either themself or another person. Jigsaw knows that the majority of his victims will die during the games, and has no issue with that, but doesn't want to do the killing himself or have them die before they've already been physically and psychologically tortured. He also wants to directly witness this torture - to be there in the room and not just watching through a screen, while remaining anonymous and unseen. His plans are elaborate, meticulous, and tailored to each of his victims.

In each case, he is trying to punish them for a perceived wrong that they have committed, or just for a personality flaw. Jigsaw has access to all kinds of torture devices, recording technology, and spaces such as sewage plants and warehouses to conduct his plots in. He is a mastermind without morals, someone with all the skills of a wedding planner or a project manager paired with the belief that he gets to be the judge of all humanity.

Applying this to Dave's bro definitely explains the huge weapons collection. Bro might not have access to actual medieval torture devices for personal use, or might not want to go quite as far as Jigsaw, and these blades, bombs, and explosives are the closest thing. The common areas of the apartment function both as Bro's storage/planning space, and as a site to set up traps for Dave - Lil Cal possibly being the means of guiding Dave to the next clue, or next source of torment. Leaving a disturbing image somewhere a victim will find it, drawing a symbol or message on the walls, and filling the room with cameras while also being physically, stealthily present, are all things Bro has copied directly from Jigsaw.

The puppet theming is Bro's own for the most part - Jigsaw does use animatronics and masks, but not piles of plush, at least not in this first movie. However, puppets carry the connotation of the puppetmaster, which Jigsaw definitely is. Dave is the victim of all Bro's saw traps because he's present and he's easy to manipulate. Bro could be specifically targeting Dave specifically for motivations similar to Jigsaw - wanting to fix or correct Dave in some way, just as he tries to mold Dave into sharing his interests and creating similar ironic content - or he could be using Dave as a test subject, before putting his 'games' into practice on other victims out in the world. I don't know which of these options is scarier.

It does add a new layer to Dave being reluctant to play Sburb, as well. He's already crossed that line of when a game stops being a game and becomes a danger to reality.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Some important analysis from mrc on X about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle being aware of the work and actions of the 𝐒𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 bullying campaign of Princess Catherine [Part 2 of 2] Credit: @brigantia__ Dated 19th June 2024 by u/Negative_Difference4

Some important analysis from mrc on X about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle being aware of the work and actions of the 𝐒𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 bullying campaign of Princess Catherine [Part 2 of 2] Credit: @brigantia__ Dated 19th June 2024 "𝟮/𝟯. In March 2024 Markle and Harry's '𝐒𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝' was named in the New York Times as the source of 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 of the social media conspiracies about the Princess of Wales. Conspiracies that were then weaponised by foreign organisations to create distrust in British institutions. Not only that, numerous rumours and conspiracies the Sussex Squad had been pushing hit mainstream US media. And weeks later, members of the 𝐒𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 participated in Harry and Markle's Nigeria Invictus visit. A visit that was meticulously planned and orchestrated, with strict security and media control. 𝙋𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙,𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨.𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙤 (𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘴)"https://reddit.com/link/1doz7na/video/8i1uamxk6x8d1/player"𝟯/𝟯. clearly Markle and Harry, both having had a long history of personal and professional social media use,are fully aware of what their 𝐒𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 do in their name. And, given their (ironic and hypocritical) social media advocacy, they 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 be aware. They have both acknowledged (directly and indirectly) their online fans and their Sussex Squad.And have shown their understanding of the Sussex Squad's ability to trend social media topics, and to pushback against unwanted media and public content about them. On numerous occasions Markle and Harry have targeted the Sussex Squad for support as customers and online engagement - Global Citizen and Markle's Clevr Blends being just two examples. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭.This year Markle and Harry pre-planned and pre-approved a group of Sussex Squad members to participate and interact with them, 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧, in Nigeria,for the Invictus promotion.This event was not open to the public. 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 have a long history of organised social media campaigns targeting the Prince and Princess of Wales, including: spreading and trending affair rumours (this also impacts Rose and her family),targeting official royal tours and visits,and character attacks (racism is a big one).And it's quite clear Markle and Harry have benefited and profited from those campaigns. In 2020, after years of networking and negotiation, Markle and Harry signed some multimillion dollar content deals - promising 'uplifting social content'. It's now obvious to everyone that the only ratings and sales success they've had has come from royal gossip. As Jack Royston (Newsweek) said: "𝐈𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟,𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬" One of Markle and Harry's underlying narratives has been that William and Catherine were jealous. Jealous of their relationship, and of their popularity.This was the explanation given for most of what transpired between 2016 and 2019. That any negative media stories about Markle and Harry were planted by William and Catherine. This narrative framed the Netflix and Spare book content. Markle and Harry were working towards and framing their Netflix content in 2020 - 2022. Their 'work' was creating examples the public could see and experience real-time.The Oprah interview played into that, as did Sussex Squad and Bouzy social media activity. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨."https://ift.tt/vVgGc5M: brigantia__ https://ift.tt/6ZmDKWR post link: https://ift.tt/haAM2fu author: Negative_Difference4 submitted: June 26, 2024 at 03:55PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[pianokantzart]

MY FAVORITE SCENE! HERE WE GO.

Also, shoutout to @supermary64​. All the screenshots below are from the clips they’ve posted.

At the beginning of the scene Luigi is being dragged along by his bound wrists. He is captured by strange masked creatures that clearly think very little of him, kicking him in the calves to keep him moving toward a hot air balloon, which takes off into the sky for an unknown destination.

Looking down at the landscape below, Luigi spots an old stone castle, and his expression shifts as he reflects on a better time...

… A time where he was a little kid, building a wood-block castle on the playground, and look at that castle. Luigi is a savant! At that age (which I guess is somewhere between three and five???) he probably spent a good deal of time slowly constructing the thing, carefully and quietly putting effort into every detail. Look at his face! he is completely focused and in the zone. Just one final touch needed… a flag on top…

Then along comes this little shit.

 He is aggressive right off the bat, stealing Luigi’s flag and blowing raspberries, testing his limits of how much he can intimidate this smaller, far more timid kid.

In the reflection of the sunglasses you can see Luigi backing down, fearful, hand held out in self defense. He is completely noncombative, and bracing himself for the worst.

Luigi shields his face as his castle is kicked down. He falls over backwards as the instigator laughs at him, twirling the stolen flag in his hand.

On cue, in comes Mario, jumping on top of his brother’s bully, leaping over him to place himself at Luigi’s side.

Mario puts himself between him and the attacker, breathing heavily, gearing up for a fight as he hands the retrieved flag over to his little brother, not taking his eyes off the threat, not an ounce of fear in his expression despite the fact that the he is up against what looks to be an older, bigger child.

Luckily, the bully was hoping for an easy target. Spitting out a block he runs off without looking back.

Mario turns and smiles at his brother, looking very proud of himself. Luigi, after a moment of shy consideration, smiles back. Despite having had his meticulously-constructed castle destroyed, the loss of his creation doesn’t compare to the sense of relief and safety he feels knowing his brother is there, and has his back.

Then the flashback ends, and Luigi is alone.

I think this memory is simply a culmination of how much Luigi is straight up missing his brother. Ever since they were kids he has followed Mario everywhere, even into danger and uncertainty… fearful as always, yet maintaining a sureness that he would be alright so long as his big brother took the lead.

“Nothing can hurt us as long as we’re together”… but they aren’t together anymore. For the first time for as long as he can remember, Luigi is completely and utterly alone.

Luigi looks at his bound wrists and considers the situation. He doesn’t know what’s happening or where he’s going, he only knows this world he landed in is aggressive, unforgiving, and dead set against him. Never before has the future looked so bleak.

Luigi settles back into place, looking dead ahead with a look– sad and thoughtful, like he is recalling his final moments with Mario, and wondering what he would’ve said if he had known there was a chance they were never going to see each other again.

[jimxnslight]

Chapter 6: I'm Sorry Too

Summary: Elitist Academy is exactly what it sounds like: an academy that focuses on teaching students from elite classes of the magic community. When Y/N is thrown into the academy to learn alongside 8 men, she realises she’ll have to learn to work with them, whether she likes it or not.

Pairing: Reader x OT7 (Choose Your Own)

Genre: Magic School au, mystery, angst

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: domestic abuse, additional warnings might be added as story progresses

A/N: The difference between the way Y/N treats Amelia in comparison to the guys actually makes me laugh like she rlly can't stand them lmao

Taglist: @florabloomgirly @shawtylilsalty @11thenightwemet11

The sound of the whistle sparked you all into action.

You jumped up from your crouching position and sprinted to the middle of the field, managing to snatch a dodgeball barely a second before Taehyung could. The moment your hand enclosed around the rubber ball, you backed away, immediately scanning your surroundings. 

Yoongi and Jungkook were each holding a ball of their own, moving away from the centre the same way you had, while Hoseok was the only person on the other team that had grabbed the last one. 

There was only a moment of silence before dodgeballs started flying everywhere, each one aimed at the opposing team with precision. But as precise as the throws were the dodges. 

“We should aim to get Hoseok out first,” Namjoon said as he picked up a ball from the floor, making sure to keep an eye out for the other team’s throws, “he’s the biggest threat at the moment.”

Jungkook nodded, “agreed, though I’d keep an eye out for Taehyung as well.”

You hated to agree with him, but he was right. Despite his earlier apathy, Taehyung was a lot more athletic than you had initially thought, with some of his throws being mere millimetres away from getting a few of you out. 

You sneaked a glance at the rest of your team, noticing Jimin and Yoongi’s distracted faces. Jimin’s expression seemed worried, his gaze constantly finding Seokjin every few seconds. You couldn’t blame him, considering physical activity didn’t seem to be his strong suit. He was constantly hiding behind Cheonsa, occasionally picking up a ball to throw it weakly at your team’s side of the field. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, seemed beyond irritated as he gave the ball in his hand, the field around him, and the coach a subdued glare. You didn’t exactly know what the reason for said irritation was, but if you had to guess, you’d say that he seemingly wasn’t a fan of the game that had been chosen. Why might that be? You didn’t even have a guess for that one. 

With a new game plan in mind, the five of you spread out across the field, trying your best to target Hoseok and Taehyung while they manoeuvred away from each throw. 

“Make sure the ball doesn’t touch anywhere under your shoulders!” Hoseok called out, taking a few steps back as he surveyed the field meticulously, “and try to catch the ball as it’s coming towards you.”

“If you manage to catch it, whoever threw it automatically gets out.” He turned his head to meet his teammates’ eyes as he spoke. 

It was an opportunity, you realised, as you noticed Hoseok’s focus was distracted for just a moment. But before you could act, you watched Jungkook smirk, clearly noticing the mistake as well, before grabbing a ball from the floor and hurling it at Hoseok’s leg. 

You couldn’t have expected what happened next even if you were made to relive this moment over and over. 

Almost in slow motion, you watched the ball leave Jungkook’s hand, flying in the air for a moment, before it connected with Hoseok’s bare leg. It was only soft rubber, the most it should have been able to do was leave a light pink tinge on his skin, but instead, as the red sphere made contact with his leg, a strangled groan escaped Hoseok’s lips as he immediately crumpled to the floor, clutching his leg with one hand while the other kept himself upright. 

You might have scoffed at the exaggerated expression, reducing it to another instance of men being dramatic, but the look of pure pain on Hoseok’s face and in his voice made you hesitate in jumping to that thought. Everyone paused, an eerie silence falling over the field as confusion spread through everyone’s mind. 

It wasn’t until Hoseok’s hand raised from his leg that you realised why he had sounded so hurt, your own eyes widening at the view.

Hoseok’s leg was a bloody mess. 

It was as if someone had taken a knife, searing hot iron, and toxic acid to the initially clear skin multiple times. From a distance, you could make out some deep-looking cuts scattered around his calf, as well as a giant purple and blue bruise. You grimaced as you picked up on a sickening sizzling sound that seemed to really complete the picture. 

But then you watched in horror as the bruise and cuts began to spread up his leg, until his entire thigh was bleeding as well. It was enough to make your jaw drop. 

Taehyung walked up to him slowly, assessing Hoseok’s leg with an expression that matched your own before he suddenly whipped around to face Jungkook. 

“What the hell did you do?!” He yelled furiously, icy eyes ablaze with pure rage.

“I… I didn’t mean…” Jungkook tried to explain, but his surprise seemed to bar him from finishing the sentence while his gaze stayed glued to Hoseok’s leg. 

You couldn’t blame him. How could such a flimsy rubber ball have caused such a major injury? It was impossible… unless it was-

“Now this is what I’m talking about!” Mr. Son laughed -laughed- as he crossed his arms in delight, “I’ve magically altered the balls to ensure that if they hit you, it’ll hurt like hell, so I suggest you start taking the game more seriously.”

He then uncrossed his arms to casually place his hands on his hips, “now continue playing, I didn’t say to stop.”

Instead, your gaze went to Taehyung, who had begun helping a limping Hoseok to the sidelines, but they came to an abrupt stop when Mr. Son’s words rang around the field.

“What do you think you're doing?”

Everyone’s head whipped back to him, “I told you to continue playing.”

“Um,” Hoseok started, looking confused, “aren’t I out sir?”

“You are only out when you are physically knocked out,” he said much too casually for your liking, “otherwise, you continue playing.”

It was Taehyung that stepped in, his earlier anger replaced by surprise, “but sir… he’s injured.”

“Then he needs to learn to stop being a baby and get over it.” He turned towards the rest of the students on the field, “now I said continue the game!”

No one could move a muscle, too shocked at the lack of care being shown by Mr. Son. Tough love was one thing, but this had to be straight up abuse. 

You all stood with wide eyes, hesitating as the dodgeballs hung limply from your hands. 

Mr. Son didn’t seem to like that one bit. His brows furrowed as he scanned your reluctant forms, the edge of his lip turning downwards in displeasure. 

“Either you start playing the game, or I give you a real punishment to cry about,” he snapped, making sure to meet his fiery gaze with each and every one of you, “this is what real life is going to be like, so either you suck it up, or you face the consequences. It’s your choice.”

If this was him trying to teach you, then you couldn’t imagine what an actual punishment from him would look like- and you doubted that he didn’t already have some messed up punishment already planned for all of you. 

So slowly, with the even worse punishment in mind, you bent down to grab a ball that had rolled by your feet. Everyone’s eyes were on you now, watching you take the bright red ball in your hand hesitantly. You turned to the other side of the field, and with a shaky breath, gave it a half hearted throw. 

Another moment of shock spread throughout the field as the ball made contact with Taehyung, who doubled over with a pained groan. Even though you had barely thrown the ball, it had shot out of your hand like a bullet, almost pushing you off your own feet and slamming into Taehyung’s torso. 

There was a moment of silence as you all watched Taehyung push himself upright, a slight wince overtaking his features at the effort. Distantly you wondered if there was a nasty bruise spreading through his stomach under his shirt at this very moment. 

Then Yoongi stepped forward, plucking a ball from the ground and chucking it to the other side of the field where it came in contact with Cheonsa’s arm.

You all watched him grimace.

And just like that, the game continued once again. Every hit had someone groaning or doubling over in pain or giving Mr. Son the nastiest glare in existence. 

By the end of it, everyone was covered in blood and bruises. You almost dropped to the ground with a relieved sigh when you finally heard the bell go off, immediately dropping the dodgeball in your hand as if it were made of hot iron. You could feel nasty cuts and bruises spreading up your torso and left arm, the pain making you wince.

After surveying the field tiredly, you confirmed that everyone else at least looked alive. Well… aside from Seokjin. He had been hit the most, with purple bruises and blood scattering almost every part of his body that you could see. You watched Jimin check over him worriedly as Seokjin rested his hands on his knees with a pained grimace. 

“You,” Mr. Son suddenly said, causing everyone to flinch. When you turned to face him, you realised with horror that he was pointing one of his fingers in your direction. 

It was embarrassing to admit just how much you tensed at the attention. But really, what more could he possibly want from you? 

Mr. Son nodded his head in Seokjin’s direction before looking down at you once again, “take that five year old over there to the nurse.”

You briefly looked over at Seokjin, an anger flaring throughout your body. Of course Mr. Son would make you, the only girl, take Seokjin to the nurse instead of his literal brother standing right next to him. But as much as you wanted to stand up to Mr. Son and give him a piece of your mind, you had no intention of pushing him past his limits. You had seen enough today, and all you really wanted now was to get as far away from him as humanly possible. 

So without another word, you walked up to Seokjin and grabbed his sleeve, afraid that grabbing his wrist might hurt him even more, before you dragged him towards the nurse’s station. 

Mr. Son turned to the remaining boys, “get yourselves cleaned up.” 

“And if I hear you got blood anywhere in the classrooms, dodgeball will be the least of your worries.”

-

-

-

You’d spent the entire journey to the healing bay dragging a wincing Seokjin behind you, your mood completely ruined by Mr. Son. Seokjin didn’t say anything, just quietly letting you drag him along.

That left the two of you sitting in the healing bay, Seokjin sitting on one of the beds and you leaning against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest, while you both waited for the healer to arrive. You’d reasoned that since you were already here, you might as well get some healing potion for your own cuts and bruises, even if it meant having to be in his presence for a bit longer. 

A sudden vibration from your pocket caught your attention, making you reach into it and pull out your phone. You inwardly groaned at the name that appeared on the screen, not because of who it was, rather what it likely meant. 

Confirmation that your suspicions were right came when you skimmed the string of texts from Jisoo quickly, your lips downturning into a grimace. 

Jisoo: Hey kid, your father wants me to pick you up after school. You’re going to be spending the weekend at home. 

Jisoo: I’m sorry, I tried to get you out of it but you know how stubborn your father is…

You dropped your phone into your pocket with a tired sigh, crossing your arms over your chest once again. You were hoping that you could spend the weekend at your dorm, far away from your home, just the way you liked it, but it seemed like that had only been wishful thinking. Of course your father would never leave you alone, that would be asking for too much. 

At least you would get to meet your mother. 

The thought brought a smile to your face, even if it mostly was a sad one. It pained you that the thought of your mother had become so bittersweet, yet that was the reality you lived in. A familiar anger had your hands curling into fists by your side as you thought of the reason why.

But you immediately unfurled them while shaking your head, attempting to calm the mixture of feelings cluttering around your mind. Instead, you tried to focus your thoughts on something else, gaze straying around the room to aid you in the effort. 

They ended up landing on your arm, and you couldn’t help but rotate it slowly to observe the angry blotches of purple and blue scattering the once unblemished skin. 

How could Mr. Son treat his students like that? And not only did he do it, but he seemed to enjoy it as well. Your arm dropped to your side as a breathy scoff left your lips. He was just another example of a man abusing his position of power. And you were no stranger to those, having grown up surrounded by them constantly. 

Out of the corner of your eye you suddenly noticed Seokjin’s gaze studying you, and you got the feeling he’d been doing it this entire time. But the moment you met his gaze, he was quick to look away and instead focus on the ground before him. It made you narrow your eyes.

“What?” You asked, causing him to widen his eyes in surprise, “if you have something to say to me, just say it.”

His gaze dropped to the floor once again, and it was then that you remembered that he couldn’t speak.

You watched him shift in his seat before taking out his phone, his fingers working expertly over the screen to type something. Your eyebrows furrowed when he seemingly finished whatever it was he was writing and passed the phone over to you. 

‘I’m sorry,’ it read. You looked up from the screen to take in his nervous expression.

“For what?” You asked. 

He took his phone back, typing over the screen once again.

‘For not thanking you when you saved me yesterday from those students.’

That made you pause. You’d quickly forgotten about the incident that happened yesterday, but now that it was being brought up again, in this way, it surprised you.

‘I’m really grateful that you stood up for me when no one else did,’ he continued. 

You shifted in your place as an odd feeling began to spread through your chest. It was entirely unfamiliar, too filled with warmth and guilt. You tried to shove it away, wanting nothing more than for it to be gone. 

“Do you always let everyone walk all over you?” You commented, but it didn’t have nearly as much bite as you had wanted it to.

Instead of getting offended, Seokjin just shrugged, ‘I don’t have much of a choice. It’s hard to stand up for yourself when you can’t even speak up.’

“Men are always so keen on getting aggressive all the time,” you countered, raising an eyebrow at him, “why didn’t you just lay one on them?”

Seokjin wrinkled his nose, as if the thought made him uncomfortable, ‘I don’t know about others, but I don’t want to hurt anyone.’

You hated the pang of sympathy you felt at his words. If he didn’t want to be aggressive, then he didn’t exactly have many other ways to defend himself. If he used his phone to tell them off, then it would just be a new target for them to make fun of. If someone else stood up for him, then they’d think that he was hiding behind others like a coward. It really was a difficult position to be in. 

‘Anyways,’ he texted, noticing your sudden silence, ‘I just didn’t want you to think I was ungrateful.’

It was an odd sight, seeing a man actually be apologetic towards you. Most of the ones in your life were arrogant to the point that sometimes you wondered if they even saw you as human. Honestly, you didn’t even know it was still possible for them to even say it, yet here Seokjin was, so casually apologising to you when, when you really thought about it, it wasn’t entirely his fault since he couldn’t speak. 

A silence followed as you tried to come up with something to say, but all you could do was hold his gaze in the dimly lit healing bay. He was still sat on one of the beds, knees spread slightly so that his hands could rest easily between them. For the first time since you met him, you noticed that there were miniscule specks of pink swimming in the violet of his irises, just barely visible even with the proximity created by the small size of the healing bay. It made his eyes seem like they were sparkling, even under the room’s dimness.

There was something else in his eyes too, a look that the logical part of you couldn’t seem to decipher. But a small, naive part of you emerged from the forgotten depths of your mind, attributing the look to genuine remorse. You refused to believe that, yet you still couldn’t help feeling guilty. 

Your lips moved before your mind could approve. 

“I’m sorry too.”

This time the silence was deafening, but only because your shock seemed to weigh down on your lungs. 

Why the hell did you say that? Sure you felt a little guilty, but apologising… to him? What were you doing?

If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed Seokjin’s wide eyes and the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. However, the only thing you were paying attention to was pushing yourself off the wall. Forget the healing potions, you’ll come back some other time, when Seokjin wasn’t sitting there making you say things you would normally never even dream of saying. 

Without giving him a glance, you quickly scurried out of the room, not noticing Seokjin’s tiny smile, before entering into the main hall. The sight of the Tree of Life was becoming more familiar by the day, just like the students that were chatting with each other as they started making their way to the dining hall. 

The openness of the hall compared to the small room you had just emerged from seemed to calm you, making it a lot easier to breathe and think clearly about the last few moments. You couldn’t believe you had just apologised to someone like him. Perhaps it had something to do with the expression he’d given you, one that looked suspiciously akin to guilt, which had in turn contagiously spread to yourself as well.

But why had he even apologised in the first place? There was no way someone like him was genuinely apologetic, you weren’t so dumb as to fall for something like that. So what exactly was his intention behind that move?

You toyed around with different ideas as you strolled across the hall, playing with the strap of your bookbag and casually watching the students milling around. Your form manoeuvred through them expertly, just barely missing one student’s flailing hand and another’s ill-placed shoe.

But just as you sidestepped to avoid an especially excited student, you came to an abrupt stop, a thought striking you all of a sudden.

What if he was trying to manipulate you?

What if he had only apologised to soften the walls you’d spent years building between yourself and the opposite sex? The reason for that could be endless: to hurt you, to get in your pants, etc. You were disappointed in yourself for falling for it, for even going so far as to give him an apology back. What had you been thinking? How could you have crumbled so easily?

You turned your head to the side, crossing your arms in frustration. Well if he thought he’d succeeded, he was dead wrong. You made a mental note to stay extra cautious in Seokjin’s presence, making sure you would never fall for his facade again. 

A shoulder suddenly bumped into yours, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyes immediately landed on the girl responsible, who apologised instantly before walking towards the Tree of Life and plopping down on the stone at its base to chat with her friend. Your gaze automatically dropped to her shoes, which were sitting atop the exact place where the trap door Cheonsa had shown you was. The door itself blended into the floor, so well that even you, who knew where it was, could just barely make out its edges. 

The sight of it reminded you of last night with Cheonsa, which made you further remember its disastrous end. You wondered what Ms. Kari had even been doing down in the lab in the first place. From what you could remember, she’d spoken on the phone about planning… tasks? And then she’d also said something about needing a layout of some sort? You couldn’t be certain of the context of anything she’d said that night, but what you were certain about was that it had been a miracle that she hadn’t recognised you or Cheonsa. You had been terrified walking into her class this morning, but she had greeted you both in the same manner as everyone else, so it didn’t seem like she was onto you. 

“And why the hell would I care?” You heard a familiar voice say, interrupting your thoughts.

Speak of the devil…

Your eyes travelled around the hall, searching for the infamous purple-haired twin who owned the familiar voice. You eventually found him standing near the intricately designed wall a few metres away from you, facing Hannah with a challenging brow raised in her direction. Hannah simply glared at him, a ring of scattered books and papers surrounding her feet. 

“You’re the one that bumped into me and dropped all my books,” she snapped, having to stare up at him since she was at least a head shorter, “the least you could do is pick them up you jerk.”

Cheonsa simply tilted his head, seeming almost bored, “and what if I don’t feel like it, hm? What’ll you do about it, shortie?”

“Shortie?!” She repeated, indignant, “Excuse me?! You’re not so tall yourself Park Cheonsa!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but at least I don’t have to look up to people when I talk to them.”

You rolled your eyes at his clearly inciting words, remembering last night once again. He had done the same to you, prodded you left and right just to rile you up with an amused smirk. He clearly found teasing others fun. But there was something different about the way he acted now. Last night his expression had been full of sly grins and teasing chuckles, but now, as he faced Hannah, his expression was devoid of any such things. Instead, his eyes were narrowed at her while his lips were pulled into an unamused line. 

“How dare you-?!” She began, and you knew she was about to give him a piece of her mind. But then another voice cut her off, this one more calm and lower in pitch. 

“Cheonsa,” Jimin spoke, walking over to the two. And to your surprise, his expression lacked any of the mirth he usually tortured you with, replaced entirely by a serious scowl. It was particularly directed to Cheonsa, and even you could read the message it held loud and clear: ‘cut it out.’ 

Wow, who knew your roommate had a serious side?

“Park Jimin?!” Hannah marvelled incredulously, eyes almost popping out of their sockets as she looked him up and down like he was a seven course meal. She was starstruck for a few moments, just standing there and taking him in, before she seemed to realise the position she was in. In a matter of a second her tough exterior crumbled, her initially furrowed brows and downturned lips crumbling along with it. 

“I’m so glad you’re here! I didn’t know what to do!” She whined, suddenly completely helpless, “he’s the one that bumped into me and now he’s making fun of my height!”

Cheonsa rolled his eyes, evidently unfazed by her complete change of character, “you didn’t seem to have a problem with telling me off a second ago.”

“You little-” She began to counter angrily, but then her gaze snapped to Jimin and she quickly switched back to her helpless facade, “I mean- how could you say that?! You’re so mean to me, Park Cheonsa!”

Jimin’s lips formed a thin line, gaze travelling between his twin brother and the grey-eyed girl before him. He sighed, choosing instead to bend down and pick up Hannah’s scattered books and papers. 

A smile spread on her lips at the gesture, “thank you, Jimin, you’re so sweet!”

Cheonsa was also smiling, but his was a mixture of malice and amusement, “you missed a spot. Tell me, how much is the school paying you to be their janitor, Jimin?”

If looks could kill, Cheonsa would have been a pile of ash from the dirty glare Hannah was drilling into his head. That was until Jimin stood once again and handed her the books and papers he had collected, turning her glare into a bright and appreciative smile. 

The action was followed by an awkward silence, as if she was expecting him to say something more, but both Jimin and Cheonsa stood silently, almost entirely mirror images of each other. When Hannah realised that neither of them were going to speak, she shifted uncomfortably with an embarrassed laugh. 

“Well, I should get going. I’ll see you later, Jimin!” She said, giving him a small wave before she turned around and began walking away, and thanks again for the help!”

Neither brother spoke even when she had left the hall, opting instead to study the other with unamused expressions. Eventually, it was Cheonsa who broke the silence.

“Park ‘I can do no wrong’ Jimin,” he said sarcastically, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, “thank god you were here in time before my big bad self could harm her.”

Jimin just sighed tiredly, “first the incident in the dining hall earlier today, and now this. I wonder if you ever feel even a sliver of empathy for the people you hurt.”

“Hmmm,” Cheonsa pretended to think, placing a finger on his chin to really sell it, before he shrugged nonchalantly, “nope, I sleep like a baby every night.”

Jimin’s jaw ticked.

“Of course you do. Hurting others comes naturally to you after all.”

“The same way being a doormat comes naturally to you,” Cheonsa countered without missing a beat. 

The twins stared each other down, Jimin’s gaze fiery while Cheonsa’s was full of amusement. They stood like that for a moment, before it was Jimin’s turn to break the tension with a heavy sigh. 

“Whatever, I didn’t come here to fight with you,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment, “just leave others alone, you can’t just go around and hurt whoever you feel like.”

Without waiting for a response, Jimin turned around and disappeared behind the giant double doors. You watched Cheonsa stand for a few seconds, gaze fixed on the doors Jimin had disappeared behind with an unreadable expression, before he disappeared in the opposite direction. 

Well… that was quite the show. You never knew that the Park twins were on bad terms, but that piece of information didn’t seem to surprise you. They were so different from each other, unlike the eerie similarities in their appearances, that their enmity towards each other kind of made sense. 

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called. 

Your gaze dropped on Amelia, who was walking into your line of sight with a big smile that you returned. 

“Oh hey, Amelia” you greeted, adjusting the strap of your book bag, “did you want to go get lunch together now?”

“Of course!” She said, nodding her head enthusiastically, “I’ve been thinking about it all throughout class.”

That made you raise an eyebrow.

“Oh? So you’re telling me you haven’t been paying attention in class?” You teased, raising a textbook you’d snagged from your bag to feign hitting her on the arm, “what would your parents say, huh?”

“Please,” she waved you off with a laugh, “missing one lesson won’t kill me.”

Then she grabbed your arm, looping it around hers before she began dragging you towards the dining hall. 

“Now come on, I’m starving.”

-

-

-

Your break with Amelia had ended up being filled with smiles and laughs, the two of you seeming to click almost instantly. She’d told you about how her father was a CEO of some kind of tourist company and stories of travelling the world because of it, while you had in turn told her about your own parents. To your relief, she didn’t seem to make a big deal out of it, instead nodding her head with a surprised expression on her face before moving the topic along. 

You were glad to have made her a friend, especially considering you didn’t have any friends your age in general. 

“What’s got you smiling so widely?” 

You groaned inwardly, your smile instantly melting off your face at the unfortunately familiar sound of Namjoon’s voice. You turned around to find him walking onto the field you were currently standing on, eyeing you with a raised brow.

After spending your break with Amelia, the rest of the day had gone by in a blur. Had it been your choice, you would have locked yourself in your dorm’s bedroom watching a funny TV show and eating some nice buttery popcorn, but after the text Jisoo had sent you earlier, you’d been forced to pack a bag with your school work and trudge reluctantly to the field you had played dodgeball in earlier that day. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked with a frown, refocusing back on him, “don’t you have someone else to bother with your porcupine hair?”

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffed instantly, “not even a rat would make a nest out of whatever's on your head.”

“What do you want, Namjoon?” 

His gaze strayed to casually scan the rest of the field, as if he were searching for something, “believe it or not, I’m not here for you. I’m waiting for Suho, he’s going to pick me up.”

Your gaze instantly snapped to him, a sinking feeling in your chest at his words.

“Wait,” you said slowly, hoping you were mistaken, “here? He said he’ll pick you up from here? This spot exactly?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon answered, his answer also slow as the realisation seemed to dawn on the two of you at the same time. 

Whenever you and Namjoon got picked up together, it meant-

“He’s coming with us,” Jisoo finished as she suddenly appeared in your line of sight. 

You turned your head to give her an incredulous look, taking in her short, dark brown hair, lightly done makeup, and brown eyes. Like always, she was dressed in a professional and expensive-looking navy suit, while the click of her heels was muffled by the lush green grass.

“What do you mean he’s coming with us?” You asked, an evident whine in your voice, “I thought father was making me stay home for the weekend?”

“And you are,” she nodded, “but your father invited Namjoon over for the weekend as well.”

Great, you thought bitterly. 

Jisoo must have noticed the change in your expression, because she gave you an encouraging smile, “come on, kid. This is far from the first time your father has invited him over.”

“I’ve been seeing Namjoon’s face for two days straight, Jisoo,” you grumbled, “I need a break from it… desperately.”

“I’m standing right here, you know?” Namjoon grumbled in a tone similar to yours, but you just waved him off. 

“Whatever.”

You turned back to Jisoo, “is there nothing you can do to kick him out of the weekend?”

Namjoon rolled his eyes as Jisoo shook her head apologetically.

“Sorry kid, whatever your dad says is law. I can’t-”

“Yooooo,” a male voice suddenly cut her off, causing all three of you to immediately flinch. You snapped your heads to Suho, who was wearing a black suit and sunglasses that made him look like some kind of special agent. His dark brown hair was slightly longer compared to the last time you’d seen him, while his once fair skin seemed tanner.

“What’s up guys?” He asked, his attitude exaggeratedly upbeat, “hope ya’ll weren’t waiting too long for me.”

“Suho, we didn’t see you there,” Jisoo said, surprise still present in her expression. 

“What’s up Jis’?” He said, the nickname instantly making you cringe, “I like the new cut my dude.”

“Really?” She asked, her characteristically professional front breaking for a moment to reveal a vomit-inducing lovestruck expression. It made you roll your eyes, knowing the kind, smart, and beautiful Jisoo standing before you could do so much better than someone like him. 

You targeted Namjoon with a narrowed gaze, as if it were his fault she was acting like this, “why is he speaking like that?”

Namjoon just sighed in response, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

“He went on a trip to America, recently,” Namjoon explained with a sigh, “I don’t know how long he’s going to insist on being like this, but let’s hope it’s soon.”

“Nah bro, America was crazy fun,” Suho announced unnecessarily, “they’re so fashionable and chill.”

You gave Namjoon another look, “make him stop.”

“Trust me, I’ve already tried,” he said before turning to Jisoo, “why don’t we just get going?”

“Of course,” she said, that characteristically professional tone taking over her voice once again. “If you all will follow me into the portal.”

The three of you watched Jisoo walk into the centre of the cleared out field while she pulled out her wand from the holder at her waist, making sure to keep an appropriate distance between herself and the rest of you. Once she had done that, she raised her wand to wave it in front of her, the wooden stick making a circular shape in the air. In a matter of a second, an enormous burst of yellow light swirled before her, tiny sparkles hovering hesitantly away from it before dissipating into nothingness. 

Now that you were standing here, facing the blinding light of the portal before you, you were starting to notice that feeling of fear pressing down against your chest, making it slightly difficult to breathe. It was a familiar occurrence that always happened when you were about to go home… whenever you thought of who was waiting for you within the marble walls and glittering chandeliers. 

You took a deep breath, trying to rid yourself of the awful feeling, and focused instead on Jisoo’s back as it vanished behind the swirl of yellow and white. It’s not like you had a choice anyway, you were well aware that there was no point in running or trying to negotiate a later date. So after watching Namjoon, and then Suho, walk into the portal, you brushed your now sweaty palms over your skirt before closing your eyes. 

And then lost yourself in the light. 

<< previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter >>

[spacexseven]

What would fyodor think about sk darling?

hahahaha i was hoping someone would ask this...

fyodor is intrigued by you. he knows, of course, that there was a serial killer on the loose taking the lives of multiple ability users, including some that he recognized. it was interesting enough that your target appeared to be only ability users, but when he finds out that nikolai has a connection to you...well, now he just had to find out more.

your ability is also quite curious; needing you to kill someone to steal their ability, hence implying that abilities could be transferred. of course, since his ability was intertwined with himself, he was curious as to whether you were able to take his ability.

seeing nikolai follow you around like a lovesick puppy is what convinces him to start watching you.

he knows you're aware of nikolai (he expected that from you—was this warm feeling in his chest pride?) and his ability, as well as his extensive criminal record. it doesn't deter you from trying to run off with his ability, however, and neither does your initial defeat. he watches as you walk away without your gun and with a glove instead, watches as you get back to plotting. fyodor finds it all quite amusing.

as a reward for entertaining him, he drops a parcel on your doorstep with your gun in it. the only other thing there is a message written on a simple card attached to it—santouka taneda's ability may prove to be very useful. he knows that you already knew this, but he was just curious about whether his message would cause you to change your plans and target taneda instead.

it doesn't.

you're very meticulous in the way you go about your plans, and clearly an anonymous message won't get in the way of that. you don't even ask nikolai about the note, which could only mean you knew it wasn't him who had sent it to you. instead, you approach fyodor himself one day when he was walking into a cafe.

"dostoevsky," you say, your smile so unassuming that he'd have never thought you were capable of the evil acts you had committed, "i'll kindly ask you to please stay out of my business."

for a moment, he's caught off guard. and then it comes crashing down on him—you had ango's ability. that's how you knew it was him.

he smiles back, just as fabricated as yours, "please," he takes a seat across you, "i only meant to offer some friendly advice."

you raise an eyebrow, "friendly? do you always use your friends as pawns to eliminate your enemies? or am i just special?"

"we have a common goal," he instead says, "concerning the eradication of ability users."

you scoff at that, "you clearly know nothing about me. i'm not doing this for the same reasons as you."

your eyes are void of emotion, and your hand is gripping the fork on the table—an obvious threat. for the first time in a while, fyodor finds a genuine smile replacing the fake one from before, "in that case, why don't you tell me about your reasons? we may be able to cooperate on certain matters."

you can say no and leave. after all, fyodor is asking you to help him kill off some ability users that can become problems later, and he knows you don't have to say yes. you can decide that you don't want to get involved and walk away, and he can't do anything about it. holding a stranger hostage wouldn't cause you to surrender yourself, nor would a threat to your life. there's nothing forcing you to stay, but you don't leave anyway. instead, you let your polite facade drop, an unreadable expression taking its place.

"alright," even your voice, he realizes, sounds cold and blank now. it only makes him more curious, "but i have one condition."

"nobody touches nikolai gogol. i'll do with him as i please, so don't involve him in your plan. if you can do this for me, i'll hear you out."

[tsarisfanfiction]

Truth Comes Out of His Well (Chapter 11)

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Lee Fletcher, Kronos, Apollo, Apollo Cabin (and many more) As always, @stereden is responsible for the accompanying podfic! You can also blame her for the end of this chapter :P << Chapter 10 Listen to chapter 11 on AO3

The demigods had started to fight back.

For what had felt like forever, Silena and Michael’s reports – especially Silena’s – had more or less boiled down to “camp life is going on as normal”, which had relieved Lee and pleased Kronos.  Lee still disagreed with Silena’s blind belief that if the demigods just stayed out of the war, they wouldn’t get hurt, but he wouldn’t disagree that the less of a target they painted on their own backs, the safer they would be.

Living out camp life as per usual, training and playing Capture the Flag – albeit with vastly reduced numbers during the winter, as Lee recalled well – meant that Kronos seemed to be content to leave them alone, and anything that had Kronos leaving Lee’s family and friends alone was a positive in his book.

Lee himself was not doing too well, admittedly.  He had lost a lot of weight, muscles atrophying from inaction – the brief spells of freedom to go to the bathroom did a little but nowhere near enough - and being chained up the rest of the time meant he couldn’t even do any exercises to keep in shape.  His diet was enough to keep him from starvation and keep his brain sharp, because Kronos clearly wanted Lee’s mental faculties intact, but it wasn’t ideal, either.

Worst of all was the fact that he hadn’t seen the sun since being captured.  He had never worked out exactly where in the world Kronos was keeping him, but it was far enough underground that the sun never came close, not even a distant warmth just reaching him through the corridors.  What he had worked out was that Kronos had more than one base, and a way to move between them both quickly and also undetected by the gods.

The biggest clue for that was the Princess Andromeda, a boat he’d heard mention of back when he was still at camp, and also heard mentioned in passing as Kronos barked out orders.  From what Lee could tell, that was where a lot of the monsters were kept – which was a relief.  The other demigods ranged from neutral to cruel but they had enough fear of Kronos to not hurt Lee, except with sharp words and venomous tongues.  Years of instincts told Lee that if a monster came across him, his much-reduced healing abilities would be tested, and he wasn’t certain that was something he could survive.

Although there were times when he’d wondered if it would be better if one of them did stumble across him and put him out of his misery.  Kronos wouldn’t be able to use him anymore, then.

Lee wasn’t stupid.  He hadn’t caved and told Kronos what he wanted to know, not once, but clearly Kronos still thought it was worth having him listen in to all his spy reports.  He hadn’t physically reacted to lies in years, but with so many forced overloads, Lee was aware that he had almost certainly developed a nervous tic – not that he’d worked out what it was.

Thankfully, for the most part, Kronos’ various spies told the truth.  That made sense – they’d be poor spies if they didn’t give accurate information – but Kronos clearly had enough paranoia over the possibility of double-agents that he had resorted to using a lie detector anyway, unluckily for Lee.

Michael was probably the least truthful, but they were all small things, a lack of certainty when he claimed it, and other similarly unremarkable things.  Silena, on the other end of the scale, was meticulous in her truth-telling, almost honest to a fault.

As far as Lee knew, Silena was also the only spy, including Kronos’ lesser used ones, the ones that kept an eye on the gods and some demigods who weren’t at camp over the winter, who knew about him.  When Kronos took a report from Michael and the others, he settled himself on the ever-present outcrop of rock which he posed on like a king.  A tyrant, if Lee was being specific.  It was only when the face materialising in muted colours was Silena’s that Kronos moved, instead lounging next to Lee, looking so much more like Luke, so that Hecate’s spell picked him up on the visual transmission, too.

Lee hated it.  He hated the way Kronos still moved and posed like Luke, not always but enough, and always when he was after reactions, or the sadistic pleasure of watching his victim force themselves to suppress their reactions, because they knew it wasn’t Luke, despite appearances.  He hated how Kronos posed next to him, like he and Luke were chilling against the side of a building somewhere, rather than Lee being chained to a wall and Kronos inhabiting his once-friend’s body.

Silena didn’t outwardly react, but Lee knew her well enough to know that the sight hurt her, anyway.  There were things he didn’t know about the daughter of Aphrodite, now, because she’d lied to him for so long, but one trait that kept shining through, even in her spying, was how much she cared for people.  To call it a shame that she’d channelled that care into some twisted belief that if she worked with Kronos she could protect people would be a massive understatement, but Lee hadn’t particularly inherited his father’s talent with words.

Music and healing weren’t doing him any good, not now that his healing spluttered and died at anything greater than bruises, and truth…  Well.  Truth was what had put him in this situation in the first place.  Lee didn’t hate it, because it was from his father and he could never hate anything Apollo gave him, but part of him didn’t think too kindly about that particular ability of his.

Then again, it had always been awkward, knowing when someone was lying.  He’d alienated many classmates as a kid, before he lived at camp, by not knowing when it wasn’t worth calling out a lie.  It was also why he didn’t advertise it at camp – he didn’t need everyone looking at him, on edge every time they told a white lie.  He’d alienated a few campers, too, before he’d learned when to keep his mouth shut and ignore a lie.

Lee did at least appreciate that Silena went out of her way not to tell a lie – more or less the only thing he still felt positively towards the daughter of Aphrodite for.

Unfortunately, that made it all the more obvious to Lee when suddenly, Silena did lie.

“I don’t know,” she said, pulling all the perfect expressions to mimic her own face when she spoke truths.  “The head counsellors have narrowed it down to two opportunities, but they haven’t decided which one to take, yet.”

They were talking about cutting off some of Kronos’ reinforcements, and Lee dearly wanted to get back in contact with camp himself to tell them that it didn’t matter, the titan just called more up from Tartarus to replace his depleted ranks.  They would be much, much, better off keeping their heads out of the way and not going out of their way to target Kronos.

Before Lee had been snatched, camp had always been reactive to Kronos.  Lightning bolt stolen?  Send a trio to retrieve it.  Camp defences failing because the tree they were currently tied to was dying?  Send Clarisse out to fetch the Golden Fleece.  An invasion of camp?  Fight back.  Now, it seemed like the head counsellors were getting more and more proactive.

Lee wished he could say he didn’t expect that of Michael, but Michael had always been trigger happy and quick to lash out, impersonating the old adage of how offence was the best defence.  It was one thing that Lee had never fully managed to stop him doing, and it didn’t surprise him that his younger brother had fallen into the safety of familiarity.

He wasn’t even surprised that Clarisse was reportedly touting similar sentiments.  She and Michael had always been more similar than either of them would admit even on pain of death, after all.  The two of them working together would’ve been something to celebrate, in other circumstances.  As it was, Lee wished they weren’t enabling and egging each other on.  Sooner or later, they’d come up with something that had Kronos furious enough to retaliate.

With Silena suddenly lying, he got the sinking feeling that she, at least, thought it was going to be sooner rather than later.

He also realised she was relying on him to not broadcast her lie to Kronos, even though she didn’t look at him once.  She rarely did, any more.  Lee didn’t know if it was because he looked so awful she couldn’t bear to look – his hair was longer now than it had ever been, and he was sure his skin looked bleached and sallow, even in Hecate’s visual transmissions – or if it was guilt, the acceptance that she had thrown away their friendship for good and that Lee could only forgive so much.

Lee didn’t do it for Silena, but he did it for the demigods risking their lives to whittle down at Kronos’ army, even if it was a futile endeavour.

The grilling he got once her report was over was the most intense it had been in a while, leaving Lee in no doubt that Kronos had noticed something, but Lee hadn’t given in yet and he certainly wasn’t going to cave with demigod lives potentially on the line.

Even when Kronos pushed and pushed and pushed, and the by-now familiar torment of multiple lies being thrown at him by a crowd of uncomfortably eager demigods lasted so long that Lee was sure he’d blacked out before they were done.  Even if he hadn’t passed out, he’d certainly lost awareness.

Coming back to his senses, face tight with dried tears and aching cheeks, and wrists screaming from where they’d still never lost the habit of fighting for freedom when his senses overloaded, to see Kronos still waiting, golden eyes burning and arms crossed in a way that was for once less Luke and more terrifying titan, was different.  So was the way Kronos resumed the interrogation immediately, pushing and prying and pulling to get the details of Silena’s lie out of him.

Lee had no idea how he held on.  The continued lack of physical violence likely helped – if Kronos had snapped and decided physical torture would be more effective, then Lee wasn’t sure if he could have done – but eventually Kronos stalked out of the room, glowering and presence oppressive even as he walked away with a single, terrifying, parting shot.

“You only have yourself to blame.”

To blame for what?

The next time he saw Kronos, several meals so likely at least a week later, the titan was no happier, and Camp Half-Blood’s target had been hit.

Lee actually heard the account from Ethan, who had scoffed about it as he watched Lee eat his food tentatively after his attempted healing session ended almost before it began.  His wrists were weak, and permanently ringed with red welts and various shades of bruising, and hairline fractures in the bones weren’t sealing up.  Still, he had long since stopped taking for granted the freedom to eat at his own pace, feeding himself instead of being at the mercy of someone else.

Ethan hadn’t been impressed at what the campers had done.  In another circumstance, Lee would have found it hilarious, but all it really inspired was dread, instead.  A contingency of monsters had been travelling via coach, heading for the Princess Andromeda to meet with Kronos and receive their orders.  None of them appeared to have been particularly bright, but the implication was that Kronos thought them at least capable of following orders.

Someone had snuck into the coach’s toilet and rigged the flush to set off a series of Greek Fire bombs, annihilating the coach and turning all of the monsters to dust.  The part of Lee that had been a camp counsellor for many years saw the unholy combination of cabin eleven and cabin nine in the carnage – cabin nine to set up the mechanics behind the trap, and cabin eleven to sneak it into position.

Specifically, Lee would have pointed fingers in the direction of the Stolls and Beckendorf, if he was still at camp.  It was the exact sort of uncontrolled chaos that the trio could get up to, even if Beckendorf at least pretended to be above Hermes cabin levels of shenanigans.

Lee had known the son of Hephaestus far too long to be fooled by that act.

Above all, though, the biggest hint to Beckendorf’s involvement was Silena’s lie.  She hadn’t lied about any of the other planned attacks, which had left Kronos in a position to counter them, even if his idea of counter so far seemed to be throwing more monsters at the problem – and with Clarisse and the Ares cabin so frequently leading the charge, that wasn’t doing a whole lot.  Beckendorf, however, she had always been close to.  Her crush on the other boy had been blatantly obvious to everyone, with the possible exception of the boy in question, and the same was true of the reverse.

Even now, Lee could see Silena risking everything to try and protect him.

Ethan’s recounting of the events from what he knew bordered on entertaining – certainly satisfying, from the point of view of someone who was no more eager for Kronos to win the war than he had been before he’d been captured – but when Kronos swept into the room later, after Ethan had re-shackled Lee and left, there was no entertainment at all.

There was fear, which slowly evolved into horror.

“You’ve been very stubborn, Lee,” Kronos acknowledged.  Normally when he spoke like that, he leaned into the way he was inhabiting Luke’s body, but the body language stayed all wrong, more accurate to the titan inside.  It didn’t bode well.  “I do admire your loyalty to the gods.  Perhaps if more demigods had your devotion, I wouldn’t even be here, but fortunately for me, you are an oddity, and not the normal.”  His tone lightened for a moment, before snapping into something dark and sharp.  “However.”

Golden eyes burned and Lee wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t on the receiving end of a titan’s intensity.

“This little rebellion of yours ends now, Lee,” Kronos told him, a truth, something that he believed with his entire being.  He’d said several things to that effect before, and Lee hadn’t stopped yet.  “I have entertained your pitiful attempts at stonewalling me for the past year” – gods, it had been a year? – “but my patience is now at an end.  You will co-operate with me from now on.”

Lee got the sense that something very bad was about to happen.  Kronos was too certain, too angry, for it to be more of the same, and that meant the odds of it actually being something that could break him were much, much higher than he liked.

Kronos snapped his fingers, an action that sometimes accompanied part of Lee’s body – often his mouth – freezing in place, but nothing happened to Lee.

There were footsteps instead, heavy and loud and uneven, like someone didn’t want to be walking.

Alabaster walked in, his face unbearably smug, but it wasn’t the son of Hecate that had Lee’s insides slumping all the way down to the cave floor in despair.

No, that was the demigod in his grasp, cuffed and writhing in a desperate yet so clearly futile attempt to escape.

Gods, please, no.

Chapter 12>>>