#needle specter

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Needle Specter

Artist: Christopher Moeller TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 30 - A Chance

Don had only ever heard his brother’s shrills filled with anger.

The freckled mutant knew that Raph usually preferred the potency of his words over the volume he spoke them in. And even when training had gone wrong, and Raph accidentally fell or scraped his knee, he had never made more than an annoyed grunt.

Don’s pupils constricted in horror as he was forced to listen to something he never thought he’d ever hear. Something so awful it made him nearly recoil into his shell, only being stopped by the chains holding his limbs to the ground.

His brother’s cries of pain filled the small room instantly as the Man pressed down the plunger of the syringe.

PLEASE NO!!!!!!

The Man reached his hands around Raph’s head. The fiery mutant was too busy screaming to notice his brightly-hued mask being pulled off.

Don let out a threatening growl as he gave another harsh yank to his chains. The lack of vision and control had made him resort to more..instinctual measures, especially seeing how he still refused to speak in front of his and his brother’s captor. But inside he was fighting- fighting to keep himself calm. Fighting to reserve his energy for the shred of a chance that he and his brother would miraculously be given the opportunity to escape.

Don’s mind scrambled to think of something- ANYTHING he could do.

He couldn’t attack.

He couldn’t run.

He couldn’t hide.

He couldn’t see.

“USELESS~” The whispers of his mind taunted, “The only thing you’re good for is your brain. And now even THAT is defective.”

Don physically shook his head to escape from the clawing voices.

NO.

No- I’m..I’m not-

There’s still a chance I can figure a way out of here.

JUST. NEED. TO. FOCUS.

With hesitation hindering every movement, Don regretfully turned his gaze away from Raph, shut his eyes, and tried to drown out the piercing cries of his brother.

“You can do nothing for him.” The voices continued to whisper.

Raph’s screams began to heighten, forcing him to cough violently. As hard as Don was trying to not be distracted, he couldn’t stop himself from opening his eyes and yanking his head to look towards his suffering brother. A blaring green hue began to glow from Raph’s arm as the Monster began to snicker in amusement.

“Perhaps now you’re realizing that biting someone has consequences, Red.”

Don’s blood began to boil with a protective rage his twin would’ve been proud of.

GET AWAY FROM HIM.

Don’s chains began to shake as he clenched his fists tightly.

Even through his blurred vision, Don could sense the Monster was now facing him. The same chill crawled up his spine as his captor began walking to his precious experiment. The blurry Specter crystalized into a man once more as he knelt down next to Don, making sure to place himself just out of the mutant’s reach.

“And you.” The Man grabbed Don’s face again, barely dodging as the mutant attempted to lash out like his fiery brother, “What to call you..”

The Man smirked as he looked down to see Don’s mask still slightly hanging out of his pocket.

“I suppose “purple” would be appropriate going by your little accessory.. What do you think? Any opinion on the matter?”

The Man’s glasses reflected Don’s furious expression as the captor returned his empty gaze into the eyes of his prisoner.

Don’s hazel irises ignited with his burning temper.

Tōsutā o motte shawā o abiru.

The Man released Don’s face as he stepped back again, making sure to steer clear of the mutant’s reach.

“..Hmm. Nothing to say? Funny. You had plenty to say back in my garage.”

Don’s eyes minimally widened in realization. But besides that slip of silent information, the freckled mutant kept his features as still as stone.

HE’S KNOWN WE COULD SPEAK THE WHOLE TIME?!?

….The surveillance camera…

Don inwardly cursed himself for being so indiscreet back when he first woke up alongside Raph in their first ‘cell’.

If I had been able to SEE I would’ve known the camera was there..I would’ve signed to Raph- or nudged him- or tapped the floor or-

“Failed to do the simplest of tasks. Tsk tsk.. Seems Master Splinter’s training was all for naught. A true disappointment.” The voices vengefully returned, their wails louder than before.

“Uselesssssssss” The voices rang.

���How about Spots? Freckles? Such lovely names for a pet.” The Man taunted, as if trying to name a new dog, rather than a title for his next subject.

Don blinked back into the reflective eyes of the Monster.

“Hmm. Or maybe Dot. Speck. Am I getting close?”

“Ikimono.” ( “Creature.” ) Don snarled through gritted teeth. The act to hold back his words was pointless now that he knew the Man had heard his conversations from earlier. Don wanted to test if the Man knew other languages, so he resorted to his second spoken dialect. If there was a chance Raph and him could communicate without being understood, he would take it.

“Aw, look~ You found your voice. Japanese is it? Could’ve sworn my team told me you spoke English, but I wouldn’t put it past them to make such a foolish mistake..”

Don internally grinned that his experiment of the Man’s knowledge was a success. It seemed the Man recognized the language, but didn’t understand the words.

“Well, seeing how I’m not the greatest with titles, perhaps you’ll earn your own name- like Rabid Red over there.”

The Man gestured to Raphael, who was now barely conscious hanging limply from his bonds. Don could tell from his brother’s blurred form’s posture that he was fighting to stay awake. The screaming had finally stopped, leaving the fiery mutant gasping and shivering through the pain that still burned through his arm. The glow had finally begun to fade.

“Ah! Speaking of which! The injection should begin to take effect right…now.”

The Man rose from the ground and began returning to the hazy pixels of darkness, as Don twisted his neck as far as it could go so he could ( somewhat ) see what was about to happen to his beloved, exhausted brother.

“Alright, Rabid Red. Let’s see if you can finally take an order properly.”

The Man pulled out what appeared to be some kind of rectangular control from his pocket, while accidentally dropping Raph’s mask. Don’s captor was so focused on his subject that he didn’t notice the crimson cloth slowly float to the ground in front of the freckled mutant.

While watching the hazy blurs of his brother and the Monster, Don caught the faint sound of the click of a button.

The pixels that made up the form of Raph’s right arm turned from jade to neon green.

“GRAGHHH!!!!AG-! AGK!!!” Raphael’s screams began once again as the Monster’s poison started to take effect.

“Now that you know what will happen if you fail, let’s try this again.”

Again?

“What is your name?”

Raph tugged and yanked with each scream, acting as if he was fighting against an invisible foe.

Or rather- one hidden deep in his veins.

Raph hang on!!! HANG ON!!!!!

“UUURGGHHH- HIIHH-AGHHHH!!!”

“Stop trying to fight it. It’s physically impossible.” The way the Man spoke so matter-of-factually made Don want to rip the Creature’s tongue out.

He’s acting like we’ve already LOST. Like no matter what, we have no chance…

DON’T LISTEN RAPH!! DON’T LISTEN!!

Don sent his suffering twin silent message after silent message begging him to hold on; To not tell the Creature anything.

“I don’t have all day you dumb turtle.” Apathy oozed throughout the Man’s features and tone, as Don heard another dreaded click of the button.

DON’T DO IT, RAPH!! STAND STRONG, BROTHER!!!

Another awful chorus of cries sounded from Raphael, this time far more raspy and choked. Don shuddered at the aching burn Raph’s throat must’ve been feeling through all his cries.

“Again I ask. Who are you?” The shadowy form of the man bent over, staring directly into Raph’s pained face.

“HHAAAIIIGH!!! UGGHH-hhh….I…” The fiery mutant choked.

RAPH DON’T!

“ I’M- “

The Man edged closer.

RAPHAEL PLEASE!!!

Deathly silence filled the room as Raph’s body fell slack again, his head hanging limply to his plastron.

“Well????” The Man expectantly huffed.

Don didn’t know if the pain had caused his brother to pass out, or whatever the creature of a man had injected into him. Fear racked the genius’ brain as he leaned as close as he could to his brother, trying with all his might to be able to make out what was happening.

And then.

Raph finally spoke.

“-I’M GONNA KICK YOUR BUTT ALL THE WAY TO NEW JERSEY!”

In one quick motion, Raphael took the precious opportunity given him with the Man’s face so close to his. With all the force he had left in his shaking body, Raph pulled back his head and slammed it dead into his captor’s face, shattering one of the Man’s lenses, and most likely his nose.

“AGK! YOU LITTLE DEFECT!!! AGH!” The Man turned away from Raph’s side with his hand clasped over his profusely bleeding face.

Despite all the pain that was tormenting his brother’s body, Don knew Raph was making a vengeful grin as his captor continued to lose crimson liquid from his nasal cavity.

As the Man almost sprinted past Don, he noticed the twit had grabbed a familiar purple hued cloth to cover his bleeding nose. Don sputtered angrily, mumbling incoherent insults.

YOU LOUSY PIECE OF CRAP.

Just as the Man left out the only door, Don turned back to his brother. The pixels of Raph’s arm still glowed, and he was shaking.

“Kyōdai? Daijōbudesuka?” ( “Brother, are you alright?” )

Going by the Man’s earlier statement, Don figured speaking in Japanese would be a safer form of communication between him and his brother. At least for now.

The blurs of his brother’s head rose and turned to face Don.

“Hai, Dōshi.” ( “Yes,Comrad.” )

Raph groaned, still shivering as the burn in his arm continued. Raph’s accent wasn’t as defined compared to Don’s, seeing how the fiery brother only learned the language as necessity rather than luxury in school, but his answer was still coherent enough for Don to understand every word.

Don slumped in his chains, finally releasing the horrible, chafing ache that constricted into his wrists. His heart continued to pound against his plastron, but the fear and adrenaline was finally dissipating. Even if it was short-lived, Don would take the seconds of peace he was given over nothing.

As he finally took a much needed breath, he looked down and noticed something shiny right by his left foot. It was just close enough for him to reach. Contrary to his wrists, his ankles weren’t tied down to the floor, so carefully, he reached his toes to the shiny object, and slid it in between them pulling the item closer. Just as he grasped it, a twinge of pain pulsed through his toes, making him let out a grunt of discomfort. He didn’t realize the muscles in his foot would cramp so easily, but it made sense seeing how he never held anything with his foot. Cause…ew. Nonetheless, he successfully pulled the item close enough to where his hands could reach it. The shackles on his wrists did make it difficult, but he eventually found a way to nestle the item in between his palms, cupping it, and pulling it closer to his ever-failing eyes.

It was a single shard of glass from the remainders of the Man’s lenses.

There’s still a chance.

No matter what that CREATURE says.. WE STILL HAVE A CHANCE.

We just need to hold on.

And here we have arrived at the end of Book One of "The Strength in Weakness". :) I still can't believe I have written a full 30 chapter story here on Tumblr- And there's still so much more to be made!! I can't wait for Book Two to begin! However I will say I'm going to take a little break from posting just to really set the stage for my next chapters. :)

Thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging with their comments and sharing my story! Also- Here's the Poster for Book Two. :)

ALSO~ HUGE thank you to @poetique823 for helping me through many of the last chapters. :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[chenna-kitty]

Various patron requested arknights characters from the past few months ✧

[simm-mouse]

Some sketches I made today

[butdaddyilovehimmm]

t's marvey fic rec list!

These are mostly smut (bdsm / d/s), fluff is in pt. 2 in the reblogs

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ruler of the Abyss.

Kneel to the Thorn Fairy, who shall make manifest one’s dreams—the wishes made by the heart.

He promises happy endings for all. Woe to those who doubt and defy his vision.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Alone.

He has always been alone.

But alone he is no longer—not when he is in his castle, surrounded by hordes of his people. He will never be alone again. No one will, all thanks to his efforts.

Never, never, never.

Malleus easily traverses the thorn-crusted lounge, floating across them like a specter. The bodies of school staff and fellow students lie limp in chairs and couches. Eyes closed, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

As he passes, he runs a hand along their scalps. Brushing their hair, patting their heads. Tender touches wishing them well.

Here is a king's domain, and here are his subjects. He, the dragon guarding his trove of invaluable treasures.

Malleus turns to face his captive audience, arms spread out toward them. “Today is something of a special occasion: Night Raven College’s Founding. I do believe this warrants a celebration—and, of course, all are invited to the festivities.”

A wave of magic washes over the room. Conical party hats manifest on each person's head, decorations appearing from thin air. Banners drape across the walls, streamers spill from black-clothed tables laden with food, and balloons tuck into the corners, safe from the needle-like thorns.

He projects applause, stunned oohs and aahs. Here, he is not a monster, but fellow man.

"Hmm, we're still missing something." Malleus strokes his chin, deep in thought. He snaps his fingers. "Ah, that's it! Music. It's not a proper party without any music."

With the wave of his hand, he summons a series of floating instruments. Bass, cello, viola, violin, harp, each bathed in an eerie green glow. They start playing by themselves, as if being handled by skillful, invisible hands.

Soft orchestral song fills the venue.

The guests rise, puppeted by the strings of his magic. Thorns on the floor retreat, allowing his peers to spill over onto the area repurposed for dance. Heads loll over--Malleus frowns and fixes them.

"There we are."

A glittering assemblage.

He smoothly conducts the bodies into neat pairs.

A waltz, he thinks, is ideal. It is also one of the few forms of dance he is familiar with. A waltz it shall be.

Palms link, fingers intertwine. Hands upon shoulders and upon backs. And then they are set to the hypnotic swing of the music, slow and sweet and intoxicating, like a steady drip of honey into one's mouth.

Malleus threads past the avid dancers and to the one person that has not been matched. The little bat who had almost flown away, far out of his grasp.

"Lilia," Malleus breathes raptly, "look at how happy everyone is. No one was left out. No one was forgotten. No one has to be alone anymore."

With this gift... my blessing... I've protected their smiles.

The duty of any Draconia.

He's proud--elated--but Lilia, alas, does not share the sentiment. Instead, the ancient fae wears a placid expression, eyes sewn shut. The same as all the other guests.

Malleus chuckles. No one hears it but himself.

"How exciting your dream must be. Action and adventure, at the best of your strength... I'm afraid this humble gathering cannot compare."

He’s sure Lilia would agree with him, were he awake.

“Never mind that," Malleus says, dispelling the thought. No more what ifs, only there ares. "Would you care for food? You'll need to keep your energy up for the celebration--it just may last all night."

He beckons with a finger, and a platter with a large cake hovers over. It is an extravagant seven layers, each a different flavor. Details are piped on in buttercream icing, invoking the image of each dormitory. A chocolate raven, wings open and prepared for flight, crowns the dessert.

A cake knife slides into Lilia's hand. His fingers slowly closer around the handle. With Malleus's guidance, he cuts into the topmost layer--Diasomnia--of the cake.

Something thick, red, and sticky leaks from the insides. The knife is coated as it is pulled back, freeing a slice. The violet crumb is fine, the frosting neon green with a dark chocolate drip.

Devilishly decadent.

"Come, you must try this," Malleus insists, stabbing a fork into the cake. He stuffs the bite into Lilia's mouth--but it doesn't stay, just rolls out and lands with a squishy splat on the ground.

Malleus eagerly waits for Lilia to beam at him, to praise him for its deliciousness.

It never comes.

Malleus laughs as though Lilia has responded as he imagines him to. He's drunk with delirium.

The strings abruptly screech, the dancers ceasing in their revelry.

He lets the unfinished slice fall. The plate shatters, reflecting one hundred Malleuses, one hundred Lilias. So many realities, and yet this is the one he has been dealt.

He guides the corners of Lilia's mouth upward, forcing a smile.

"Happy Night Raven College Founding Day," Malleus whispers, "and may you all have the sweetest of slumbers."

To his guests, to Lilia, to himself. And to the world that will soon be joining them in this delightful, never-ending dream.

Raising a hand, he unleashes fireworks from his palm. They explode in wild shapes and colors, emitting warmth and dazzling lights. The display is beautiful but fleeting--long shadows running along the walls before they blip out of existence and return to the darkness.

Every dream is like a firework, he surmises. A fiery flower frozen in time at the height of its bloom. They shall never wither nor fade.

Malleus reclines into his seat--a spiked and scaled throne, mounted high above the party venue. A lone king, untouchable.

Seated upon a mountain of lies, he looks out at his twisted kingdom. It’s a scene of his own creation, props lovingly places and toys carefully posed, acting out situations in his head.

The average school day at Night Raven College: students bickering, teachers watching over them. They see him, smile and wave. Talk with him, invite him.

Stay with him.

A loop playing, forever and ever.

Malleus sighs contentedly.

This is his happily ever after—from now until the end of eternity.

[pin-k-ink]

ghost hunt // shalnark (pt. 1)

tw ⇢ hacker!reader, strong sexual tension, mentions of violence and torture

wc ⇢ 2.9k

part one | part two

For months, Shalnark had noticed anomalies cropping up in the Phantom Troupe's secure networks. At first, he dismissed them as random glitches - minor system hiccups that were an inevitable result of the complexity of the Troupe's digital infrastructure.

But as the weeks dragged on, a distinct pattern began to emerge. The seemingly innocuous disruptions coincided precisely with the Troupe's face-to-face meetings and operations. And each time they occurred, just a little bit more data was quietly siphoned away into the ether - personnel files, coded transmission logs, details on upcoming jobs.

At first, the leaks were so minute as to be almost imperceptible. But compounded over time, they formed an insidious trail of digital breadcrumbs leading straight to the heart of the Troupe's clandestine activities.

Shalnark was the first to realize something was wrong, his keen eyes for patterns and minutiae detecting the faint specters moving through the network. He ran a battery of diagnoses and security sweeps, but could find no obvious points of infiltration, no gaping system vulnerabilities to explain the slow bleed of information.

Frowning, he made a subtle adjustment to the Troupe's firewalls, adding an extra layer of encryption to the data streams. If this was the work of an outside hacker, he was determined to fortify their defenses.

But the next convening of the Troupe saw another infinitesimal data leak, this time compounded by a more overt disruption - a brief negation of the network's security protocols, just long enough to expose their meeting's coordinates to the world before the systems snapped back into lock-down.

Cursing under his breath, Shalnark realized they were dealing with something more insidious than a run-of-the-mill cyber attack. This was the work of a skilled technician, a digital specter with the know-how to bypass even the Troupe's most stringent security measures.

A hacker. And a formidable one at that.

Over the following months, the pattern repeated itself with clockwork regularity.

Each time the hacker struck, it was like a digital harbinger - a crimson warning flare cutting through the night, exposing the Phantom Troupe's operations to scrutiny before they could batten down the hatches.

No matter how diligently Shalnark fortified their systems, the hacker always found a way to slither through, leaving just enough of a trail to compromise their next rendezvous point or heist location. Within hours of detecting the breach, encrypted coordinates and mission files would be radiating outwards across the digital ether like a neon signpost to the Troupe's whereabouts.

Curses and rebukes followed in the wake of each incident as the Troupe was forced to abandon meticulously laid plans at the last moment. Tempers frayed as vital targets were lost, lucrative scores forced to be postponed or scrapped entirely due to the consistent risk of exposure and interference.

The effect on morale was insidious. An air of tension and distrust began to pervade the Troupe's ranks. Suspicions were raised, allegiances questioned as each member wondered if there might be a mole in their midst feeding information to this unseen cyber adversary. The group's well-oiled machine of criminality ground to a halting, stuttering cadence as the constant disruptions took their toll.

Through it all, Shalnark became increasingly obsessed with his game of digital cat-and-mouse against the shadowy hacker. He rabbited down every cyber-trail, exhausted entire networks of resources, and still the intruder always danced just one step ahead of his pursuits. The futility bred a simmering frustration that he struggled to keep contained around his Troupe brothers.

Shalnark's skills with data systems and encryption were unparalleled, and to have them so flayed and exposed by this unknown factor needled at his professional pride. With each defeat, each near-miss at cracking the hacker's stratagem, a bitterness took root - festering into an almost singular obsession.

As the months ground on with no reprieve from the hacker's relentless cyber intrusions, Shalnark's attitude towards his digital foe underwent a palpable shift. What had begun as a sense of competitive respect and professional curiosity about their skills slowly contracted into something more bitter and resentful.

No longer was the hacker just an abstract technical challenge to be solved and neutralized. Now they had become Shalnark's personal white whale, a nemesis whose very existence mocked his abilities as the Phantom Troupe's cyber warfare specialist. With each fruitless lead and dead-end data trail, his obsession with unmasking their identity took on an increasingly personal dimension.

He saw traces of the hacker's work everywhere - in the stuttering lag of an encrypted video feed, the garbled fragments of a disrupted call. Always just ephemeral glimpses of a digital specter staying maddeningly out of reach. Shalnark's sleep became fitful, his waking hours consumed by the all-encompassing Need to solve this puzzle and expose the human factor behind the ones and zeroes.

The other members of the Troupe gave him a wide berth during this period, sensing the rising volatility in their comrade as his quarry continued to elude him. Only Chrollo dared approach Shalnark about the intensifying situation - and his words carried the unmistakable timbre of an ultimatum.

"This has gone on for too long," the Troupe's leader stated flatly during one particularly heated convening. They had just abandoned yet another heist after the coordinates leaked mere hours before the operation. "The hacker has become a liability we cannot tolerate any further."

Shalnark opened his mouth to object, but Chrollo raised a quieting hand.

"Find them," he said, his voice deceptively calm but laced with undercurrents of menace. "Use whatever means are required, but bring this to an end. The Troupe's resources are at your disposal."

It was not a request, but a command from the one man whose authority within the group was absolute. Shalnark could only nod tightly and set his jaw in grim determination.

No more games. No more playing defensive cyber games. It was time to take the offensive and hunt this ghostly intruder into the cold, harsh light of reality.

Shalnark initiated his most intensive manhunt yet, systematically dismantling encrypted networks and tracing fragmented data signatures across a labyrinth of proxy servers and dark web portals. He called in every favor owed, diverting the Troupe's vast resources towards isolating and triangulating the physical location from which the hacker's intrusions originated.

Weeks of effort finally paid off when Shalnark managed to trace a unique system signature to its source - a distinct set of geographic coordinates in a densely populated urban city center. Not even bothering to notify the rest of the Troupe, Shalnark grabbed his gear and set off to finally, ultimately, confront the entity that had tormented him for so long.

His fingers were steepled and expression darkly focused as the city's skyline came into view outside his car window. At long last, the hacker would be exposed and whatever drove them to carry out this endless campaign of cyber warfare against the Phantom Troupe would be excised.

One way, or another, tonight would see this chapter brought to a decisive close.

His footsteps were silent as he ascended the stairwell and made his way down the dreary hallway to the apartment indicated by his tracer.

Shalnark stepped across the threshold, ears pricked for any sound of movement from within the dimly lit interior. But the apartment appeared deserted, a simple living space with minimal furnishings. His brow furrowed slightly as he advanced further inside, perplexed by the apparent lack of activity.

That's when he noticed the open doorway leading to what appeared to be a bedroom area. And through that open doorway, he caught a glimpse of tousled bedsheets...and you.

You were seated cross-legged amidst the rumpled blankets, apparently just rousing from slumber. Shalnark's breath caught in his throat as he took in your disheveled appearance - clad in nothing more than an oversized shirt that rode up to mid-thigh, exposing an enticing expanse of leg and a pair of panties which did not do its intended purpose of obscuring your modesty.

Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with the haze of sleep, nonetheless snapped to sharp attention at the sound of his footsteps. In one lithe movement, you were on your feet, shoulders set in a subtly defiant line as you regarded the intruder.

"Well, well," you murmured, giving Shalnark an appraising look that somehow made him feel briefly self-conscious. "The infamous Shalnark of the Phantom Troupe. To what do I owe this rude awakening?"

Shalnark found himself momentarily thrown by your provocative state of undress. He had been prepared for any number of scenarios - from a shadowy hacker's lair bristling with cyber weaponry to an ambush by hired muscle. But this? This beautiful woman regarding him with a mixture of defiance and amusement in your heavy-lidded eyes? It wrong-footed him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

Rallying his composure, Shalnark allowed his gaze to brazenly trail over the bare expanse of your thighs before lifting to meet your challenging stare. "I must admit, you're not quite what I pictured," he said, taking a slow step further into the bedroom. "Though I can't deny the view is...enticing."

One finely sculpted eyebrow arched upwards at his suggestive tone. "Is that so?" you replied, clearly unfazed by his attempt to wrongfoot you. "And just what were you picturing when you decided to violate a young woman's privacy in the middle of the night?"

Shalnark felt the faintest prick of heat entering his cheeks at your words. Clearly you weren't going to make this easy on him. "Don't play coy," he said, his voice lowering an octave. "We both know exactly why I'm here...ghost."

The endearment, laden with faint derision, rolled off his tongue. For months now, you had been the enigmatic presence haunting the Troupe's systems - this maddeningly elusive "ghost in the machine" tormenting them with your formidable hacking skills. But now, finally, Shalnark had cornered his digital quarry.

"Ah, so you figured it out," you said lightly, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. Distractingly, you reached up to try and smother a yawn, causing your shirt to ride even higher.

Shalnark's eyes briefly tracked the motion before snapping back to your face, realizing you were deliberately trying to chip away at his eroded calm.

"Don't get cocky, ghost," he growled, mouth twisting in a fractional smirk. "You and I both know you're out of your depth here. So why don't we drop the games and you tell me what sort of suicide mission compelled you to gain the Troupe's...undivided attention."

Shalnark studied you for a moment, taking in the defiant set of your jaw and the way you steadily held his intense gaze. Despite the provocative situation, it was clear you weren't some wide-eyed innocent easily cowed or seduced. A formidable mind lurked behind that beautiful facade.

Perhaps a change of tactic was required.

"You're good, I'll give you that," he said finally, taking a couple of slow steps towards the bed. "Damn good, in fact. To slip past my security safeguards again and again...it's frankly impressive."

You said nothing, merely watched him approach with eyes narrowed in wariness. Shalnark's lips quirked upwards.

"I have to wonder what could have motivated such extraordinary efforts to gain the Phantom Troupe's attention," he continued conversationally. "Unless of course your true aim was to impress us with those prodigious skills of yours."

Halting at the foot of the bed, Shalnark braced one knee against the mattress, leaning towards you with a slow, predatory smile.

"I can assure you, ghost...you've more than proven your bona fides. The question is - what do you intend to do with such talents?" His voice dropped to a low purr. "Because I can think of several...tempting propositions for someone of your unique capabilities."

Your eyesbore into his, clear and unwavering, as Shalnark extended the unspoken offer to join the ranks of the Troupe. To gain all the power, resources, and reputation that came with being one of the world's most feared criminal empires. All you had to do was take his hand.

To Shalnark's surprise, you suddenly threw back your head and laughed - a rich, full-bodied sound devoid of any mirth.

"You Troupe boys really are delusional, aren't you?" you chuckled, the sound sending a frisson of surprise through Shalnark. "Did you really think a few cheap innuendos would be enough to sway me to your precious little gang's cause?"

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you rose in one lithe motion until you were mere inches from Shalnark's face, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your exhaled breaths.

"Let me be perfectly clear," you murmured, so close now that your lips almost brushed against his with each enunciated syllable. "I don't give a solitary fuck about your vaunted reputations or resources. And I certainly didn't go to all this effort just to impress a bunch of two-bit crooks and earn a tacky tattoo."

Shalnark felt his jaw tense at the open disdain in your tone, the utter dismissal of the fearsome credibility the Phantom Troupe's name carried. Before he could snap a rebuttal, you reached out and traced one fingertip along the line of his neck in a dangerously intimate gesture.

"No, I had a very...personal reason for painting such a large target on your troublesome little organization's backs," you breathed, your touch a delicious torment of physical proximity without release. "And I won't stop, I won't rest, until my goal is achieved. No matter who or what tries to get in my way."

With that final veiled promise, you pulled away from Shalnark and retreated a step, eyes glittering with a mixture of challenge and something else he couldn't put a name to.

"So I hope your Troupe masters are ready," you said flatly. "Because this is just the opening salvo. The game's only just begun."

Shalnark stared at you for a long moment, feeling a strange mixture of aggravation and reluctant intrigue. Your defiant rejection of his overtures had stung his pride, but he found himself perversely captivated by the fiery spirit blazing behind those beautiful eyes.

"You talk a good game, ghost," he said finally, recovering some of his usual cockiness. "But do you really think taunting the Phantom Troupe is a wise long-term strategy? We're not the type to take such provocations lightly."

"Is that a threat?" You arched one delicate eyebrow. "My, and here I thought the fearsome Shalnark would be above such blunt intimidation tactics."

You began slowly circling around him, each unhurried step carrying you through the small bedroom space. Shalnark turned, keeping you fixed in his sights as you moved with predatory grace.

"I'm simply making sure you understand the realities of what you're getting yourself involved in," he said evenly. "The Troupe doesn't take kindly to those who make sport of undermining our operations. Eventually, this path you're on leads to only one destination."

"And I'm sure you'd just love to be the one to personally deliver me to that destination," you purred, stopping directly behind him.

Shalnark tensed as he felt the barest whisper of your breath against the back of his neck, your presence suddenly looming at his back. Slowly, almost experimentally, you reached out and traced a fingertip along the nape of his neck and up into the tousled blond hair at his hairline. He suppressed a shiver at the intimate touch.

"Tell me, Shalnark," you murmured, voice a throaty purr against his ear. "Is this the point where you try a more...physical form of persuasion? Put that famed skill against me in hopes of bending my will?"

You punctuated the daring suggestion with the slightest graze of teeth against his earlobe. This time Shalnark couldn't stop the full-body jolt that rippled through him at the electrifying gesture.

Capitalizing on his moment of discomposure, you suddenly stepped around and invaded his personal space, leaving barely an inch between your bodies. He could feel the heat radiating off you, feel the hardened peaks of your breasts against his chest, smell the faint scent of soap and something muskier underlying it all.

"Because I have to warn you," you breathed, craning your neck to bring your lips tantalizingly close to his. "I don't break easily for anyone. No matter how...skilled their methods of interrogation might be."

The suggestive emphasis in your tone was unmistakable. As were the sudden fireworks of mutual awareness now crackling between your body and Shalnark's like an unstable current.

He could play coy and demure all he wanted, but you had clearly sensed the undercurrent of physical attraction simmering beneath the surface of his bravado. And you were expertly using it against him, stoking that heated tension with a deftly applied mix of coy words and distractingly intimate gestures.

For a moment, Shalnark was rendered speechless and unnervingly flustered by your brazen tactics. He opened his mouth, struggling for a witty rejoinder or cutting remark to undermine your dominance of the situation.

But you merely watched him with open amusement, waiting with the overpowering confidence of one wholly in control and unafraid of any retaliation. Finally, Shalnark managed a slightly strained chuckle.

"You're playing a very dangerous game, ghost," he said, allowing some of the unveiled hunger shading his voice. "And I do so love games with...high stakes."

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted one hand and traced the curve of your jaw with just enough pressure to tilt your face upwards towards his. Your gazes locked, pure molten irises against flinty steel, as he dipped his head fractionally closer and inhaled your intoxicating scent.

"Perhaps it's time I showed you just how skilled I can be at...extracting what I want," he purred, allowing his lips to skim featherlight against the sensitive hollow beneath your ear. "The hard way can be so very...invigorating."

You tensed infinitesimally against him, the only outward sign of the effect his seductive words were having. Shalnark smirked darkly and doubled down, lips brushing your neck as he murmured, "I do hope you're...prepared, ghost. Because this is your last chance to back down from the game you've started."

[fox-bee926]

My Tailor

Harvey Specter x fem!reader

Masterlist A/N: holy shit dudes I finally did it. It was hard and full of procrastination. But I did it. I might make another one. I might not. At this point consistency is a figment of my imagination. (not really edited don't come for me) Anyway! Enjoy! TW: suggestive talking, but only a bit of a joke. Nothing really scandalous or anything of the sort; Harvey being jealous Word Count: ~997 (nothing real crazy dw)

(Third POV)

Mike walks up to the door of Ms. Tailor’s Thread and Needle, business card in hand. The sign says closed, and the shop seems dark, but there is obvious movement. He is just about to knock on the door when it swings open. The woman seems very surprised when he stumbles back, rubbing his hands on his pants.

“Hello... Do you work here?”

“No, I sneak in just to eat my lunch.” 

Mike looks panicked for a moment, then composes himself. “By the sarcasm, I assume you do. I was sent by Harvey Specter. He has made his opinion on my suits very clear.”

“Of course he did, they’re terrible," Mike looks down, confused, thinking they were top of the line. "I’m Ms. Taylor, come on in.” Ms. Taylor opens the door wider, but keeps the sign flipped to closed. She smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress pants. “The other girls went out for lunch but Jessie told me I had a priority one booking. I’m going to assume that’s you.”

Mike walks into the shop and looks around. He stops in his tracks with a deer in headlights look. “Wait a minute, Harvey told me not to talk to you.”

“Did he now? Oh, don’t worry about him, honey. I promise he won’t mind.” The door shuts closed and Ms. Taylor turns the rest of the floor lights on as she grabs a small box of tools.

Mike goes to stand on the raised platform encircled by lights. “Are you sure? He seemed pretty... clear. Just as clear as his hating of my suits.”

“Positive, Mike. Now, let’s see what we’re working with. Oh, and please, call me Y/N.”

___

(Second POV)

You unlock the door to your shared apartment with Harvey. Mike had talked to you quite a bit about his time at Pearson Hardman. Especially how much of an ass Harvey had been to him. You had thought about talking Harvey into easing up on him, but in the end you decided against it. Harvey was bound to be upset hearing you two even talked at all. 

“He just said not to talk to you. No explanation or anything. I was worried that you had torn his suit or something.”

“I tore the buttons off one time, but that was completely non-work related. I’ll talk to him when I get home. For now, just say Jessie tailored you. Have a good day, hun, and good luck.”

You couldn’t lie, you were a bit upset that Harvey told his own associate not to let you tailor him. You had tailored every person even remotely close to Harvey, even Louis. However, Harvey’s jealousy was understandable. After Louis had not so subtly flirted with you, and not so subtly got his pockets’ seams ripped, Harvey was weary of sending his male coworkers to you for a suit.

The sound of the front door closing and your bag hitting the floor caught the attention of said Harvey Specter from the kitchen. As soon as your eyes met, he knew he was in trouble. Harvey waited patiently, wine glass in hand, in silence as you took your coat and heels off. Finally, you spoke.

“You told your own associate not to be tailored by me?”

“That little snitch. I knew something was up when he said Jessie had tailored him. You would never send Jessie to tailor a priority one.”

“That’s right. I would never send Jessie to tailor a priority one. I would never send anyone but myself to tailor a priority one, and you knew that. Yet, you were going to have Mike get a below-standard tailor job because you couldn’t handle your girlfriend hemming the pants of your coworker.” The more you talked, the more you realized just how angry you were. 

You and Harvey had had this conversation several times. You always said how you could handle yourself when male clients tried getting frisky (they always tried,) and Harvey said that he hates you getting so close to his male coworkers.

“This is- This is ridiculous! I shouldn’t have to ask you not to tailor my coworkers! I don’t like your hands being so close to their... inseam.” He made a confused face for a moment before going back to his rant. “How should I feel knowing that every man you tailor in New York feels your hands on him? How should that make me feel other than angry and very, very shitty?” His hands gripped the counter in frustration, and you copied the motion.

“You should feel angry. But you should also trust that the only thing I’m doing is poking a needle very close to their ‘inseam,’ as you put. I promise you, I can handle myself.” You reached across the counter and wrapped your hand around his.

Harvey hung his head, knowing he wouldn’t be getting anywhere. Also knowing, deep down, that he was overreacting a bit. “Fine. I’m sorry. But I’m still not going to recommend anyone unless absolutely necessary.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You walked around to his side of the counter and wrapped your arms around him, leaning your head against his back. He smelled of ballpoint pen and whatever cologne he decided to wear that day. You could never tell them apart, but you’d never tell him that.

After a minute or two he turned around in your arms and gently placed his hands on your face. 

“What would I do without you?”

“Not have the best tailored suits in New York City, at the very least.” You both chuckled and he placed a small kiss on your lips. “To be fair, I wouldn’t have the first clue how I would survive without you.”

“Well, for one you wouldn’t have the best kisser in New York City.” You let out a loud giggle and a few murmurs “oh really?” as he attacked your face with kisses of various weight. Finally, he left a passionate kiss on your lips, right where he started. He brushed a lock of hair out from in front of your face.

“What is a man without his best suit, anyways?”

[yandere-wishes]

i would give just about anything for some master sol content (from the acolyte? 🥺) maybe him realizing he has feelings for you and tries to restrain himself from acting in them, but ultimately finds himself too enamored with you 👉🏻👈🏻

I love master Sol sm!! 🥺🥺 he's so perfect ♥️💖

"There is no emotion. There is peace. There is no ignorance. There is knowledge. There is no passion. There is serenity"

He repeats the words like a sermon, devotion in tone, in mind. "No emotion only peace." There's a temporary flash. Some poltergeist daring to intrupt the idyllic room. Sol keeps his eyes closed, praying to the force. Exorcism on his tongue.

He sees the stars, the cosmic waves, and then...

And then your face smiling back at him. Between the debris of an asteroid field.

Sol isn't use to this.

To feelings so potent they threaten to suffocate. He's use to serenity, peace. A clear mind operating on the code he was brought up on. He's taken the clarity of a jedi molded mind for granted. He misses the halcyon.

You haunt him, sinking your teeth into his heart and bleeding him dry. He's thinking of you every moment, trying desprealty to push down the specter that dances across his sight.

Your ghost looms filling the air with a potent presence. Sols fingers reach out. caressing air and emptiness. He longs to feel your smaller hand in his.

"Master sol, are you willing to train padawan (y/n) for the afternoon?". Vernestra Rwoh's voice is pin needles tearing into his frail heart strings sol doesn't know how much restrain he can show when your physically there. Force, help him. He needs to feel you. Worship your body with saccharine feverous kisses. Feel your soft fingers running through his hair.

"Yes, I can..."

[cerastes]

I still love to think about how Under Tides’ entire last scene has Specter, who has been a half-catatonic, pleasant but creepy polite little nun that talks a bit too much about cutting things to piece and whose fighting style is explicitly “machine-like movements with no regard for her own safety, just follows orders to the letter while quietly whispering inaudible non-sense to herself”, finally, temporarily awaken and show us her true, non-brainwashed self, and the first order of action for her is to go “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know when I am, but that’s Skadi and Captain Gladiia, and they are confronting this dude that put like a thousand needles in me, so he has to fucking go”, break out of her cell with the gentlest touch, and then immediately starts doing Devil May Cry SSS air combos on Quintus while doing sick backflips, using her saw to ride along the cave’s wall, and bouncing off falling boulders like they are platforms to relentlessly keep attacking Quintus midair because fuck this particular dude forever.

And the twist is that her brainwashed fighting machine self is actually less violent than her sane, fully cognizant version.

[modeus-the-unbound]

Damsel feels like the specific Vessel that all the others would refrain from being cruel or mean towards. Like she is at least on neutral grounds with every last one of them. Let's go over the Vessels from most to least "Hostile" lets go in order. (I am leaving out Chapter 3's that are mostly unchanged from their Chapter 2 form, such as Eye of needle and Den)

-Hostile initially-

Fury would see Damsel as something...off. The bottom of her dress soaked in blood, as she sits on a random tumor sticking up from the ground and smiles up at her. Fury would not want to test her.

Beast would react to Damsel the same way a lioness reacts to a baby wildebeast that doesn't run, but instead nuzzles up to her. With confusion and hesitation. She wouldn't know what to do with someone so, unafraid.

Wraith would simply not interect with her, prefering to brood angrily alone. Damsel's very presence would make Wraith recall her happier days, and hurt her.

Nightmare would get no thrill out of hurting someone who doesn't even consider fighting back or being afraid. She would grow bored and apethetic to Damsel very quickly. Treating her more akin to a potted plant than a conversation partner from then on.

Witch would be bewildered by someone like Damsel, someone soo genuine. She would see this easily betrayable vessel and feel a form of sympathy for her. Being like a cool older cousin that looks out for you while also teaching you new swear words for fun.

-Neutral initially-

Burned Grey would feel like she reminds them of better days and act like a responsible mentor figure,

Drowned would just think Damsel is naive and too chipper and ignore her akin to Wraith.

Wild would not directly interact with Damsel in any way. But in her woods, Damsel would always find a cleae way in and out, free from any harrasment by the more aggresive animal life within it.

Razor would stab her. But when Damsel ran out of "new things to show her" while being stabbed, Razor would basically be like Damsel's shadow. Learning to imitate Damsel to better pretend to be normal, but otherwise, wouldn't think too much of her.

Thorn would not trust Damsel, as she doesn't trust anyone initially. But Damsel being willing to sit at the edge of her brambles and chat does slowly earn her that trust. Damsel would be the first friend that Thorn makes among the other Vessels.

Deconstructed just wants to make her happy!

-Friendly initially-

Adversary would bring Damsel along with her to any competition as her own personal cheerleader. And if the event went well, would treat Damsel to some some form of sweet treat on the way out. Damsel would also be the only one that would willingly taste test Adversary's new workout diet ideas.

Tower would demand Damsel praise her, worship her, as she does all others. Damsel would gladly do so, and the two would become fast friends. Tower would treat Damsel like a treasured song bird who always sings the right tune.

Prisoner is well aquainted with her twins peculiarities. They get along great, but also know to take some time to enjoy being away from the other. Absence makes the heart grow fonder after all...not to mention Prisoner does NOT like being confused for her sister, even momentarily.

Specter and Damsel would be having slumber parties and doing eachothers nails by the end of day 1. Best friends, secret handshakes, inside jokes, the works.

Stranger appreciates that Damsel is willing to address all of themself, and not just one face. This earns her the trust and friendship of even her Monsterous facet. Something no one else has done, while being liked by the other facets of herself.

[avocado-writing]

Ok here me out.. when Azira && Crowley getting absolutely smashed with the wine scene in the bookshop.. but y/n is also there.. with some heavy flirting/ sexual innuendos along then way.

notes: alcohol consumption content warning! just silly fluff.

pairing: crowley x reader x aziraphale

rating: T (alcohol)

if you like my work you can buy me a kofi!

After several missed attempts, you finally drop the needle on the record and music begins to fill the room. You try to do a little dance but instead end up walking slap-bang into a bookshelf and sending the first editions scattering. You fall on your arse in the middle of the papery deluge. 

“‘ziraphale, ‘m so sorry!” you manage, alcohol convincing you that you might as well have set his bookshop on fire. From his chair Aziraphale waves a hand. 

“‘s fine. Darling don’t be sad, I’ll help you get off—” Aziraphale tries to stand and falls back into his chair instead, “get off—” same attempt, same result. He slumps. “Crowley’s going to help you get off the floor.”

“You n’ Crowley’re gonna help me get off?” you repeat and burst into giggles, it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. Your laughter is infectious and soon the angel has joined in too, while Crowley crosses over to you with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. He heaves you to your feet with a terribly loud groan and you collapse in his arms, covering your ears. 

“Crowley do you have t’ be so loud? S’obnix— obnoxsiss— obnosiosss— annoying.”

“I’m not annoying. I’m lovely n’ you love me-ee-ee,” Crowley cheers, swooping you around in his arms in a mock-waltz. It’s funny for three and a half seconds and then you can feel the wine objecting heavily to it. 

“Put me down! NOW!”

Crowley deposits you into Aziraphale’s lap, and then falls in a pile at his feet, his cheek resting on the angel’s knee. You clumsily play with both of their hair. 

“We should sober up,” sighs Aziraphale. 

“Noooo!” you whine, “Nooo don’t do the thing. The sober thing. Because I hate it so ‘m still drunk n’ you treat me like a baby! Plus you say we gotta drink the wine again n’ it’s already been in you. ‘S gross. Don’t like it. Only thing should be in you more’n once is me n’ Crow.”

You bury your face into his shoulder until the world stops spinning. It doesn’t. 

“Sober up the nice way. Human way.”

“Alright darling,” Aziraphale says, and because you can’t see, you miss the way he exaggeratedly winks at the demon by his feet. “Nice way.”

You hum and fall asleep in his embrace. The wine bottles refill as your partners purge the alcohol from themselves, then carry you up to bed and leave you with a packet of paracetamol and a bottle of water. 

Hangovers are human things after all. 

- Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @idontmeanto @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker @ilyatan

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 2 - The Weight of Silence

Time sludged past in a viscous heap as Raph sat there with his shivering twin, trying to guide Don through the panic overwhelming his body. As a way to ground his brother, Raphael wrapped one of his arms slowly over Don’s shell, and gently pulled his brother close.

Ever since returning home, things have been.. different. One emergency to the next was becoming far too normal in his family’s life.  Not even the warm comfort of being home could protect Raph and Don from their nightmares. 

I’m so done with this.

The jolted shivers of Don penetrated Raph’s body in crackling sparks. The fiery brother’s attempts to calm himself were slowly devoured by the growing shadow of vengeance and bitterness. He couldn’t do anything, just sit and wait, as his twin fought for control of his own dang body. All because.. 

..of what happened.

All because..

..of what he couldn’t stop.

Despite his attempts to fight back, the shadows of Raph’s past overtook him instantly.

.  .  .

Raphael didn’t know how long it had been since Specter had left his and Don’s cell. The stinkin’ lab, or whatever it was, kept any rays of sunlight hidden behind its thick walls. There was no clock. No windows. Just the same yellow-tinted light that never turned off. Sometimes he would catch the faint echoes of footsteps through the door, but besides that, there were no other sounds heard. 

Complete. Silence.

He never realized how significant noise was. How.. normal it made each day; A skitter of a roach on the flaked tile, a light drip of the sewer pipe that Don hadn’t quite reached for repairs yet, the flick of Splinter’s tail as he paced, waiting for the kettle to sound so he could have his scheduled morning tea.. And even in the more simple things. While he and his bros read their books in the living room, the faint static of the TV would whisper in the background. Sensei’s Grandfather Clock would give a slight ticking hum when it reached noon.

Sound.. meant… life. 

Well, there was no doubt that he was still alive. Can’t feel pain if you’re dead, and last he checked, he was full of the stuff. His right arm’s muscles ached in a dull burn from whatever juice that mad scientist injected into him. Besides making him extremely uncomfortable, that liquid acid stuff really didn’t do all that much damage. That realization both intrigued and terrified him.

Does the stuff take longer to activate? Or was it just a dud?? Can a shot be a dud???

Raph slumped back onto the table he was currently strapped down to. He didn’t have to think too far back to remember what happened; How it made his body feel. When the needle pierced his skin, a swift chill flooded his veins, just like every other injection. But then before he had the chance to blink, the freezing cold crackled into searing hot. Like when you put your hand in ice for way too long. Every nerve in his arm twisted into knots as the poison slowly clawed its way up his bicep and into his neck. Blurs of screams pass through his memory as he shakes his head and pushes onto the next thing he can remember.

His memory takes him to the moment Specter began questioning him. With each interrogating word, Raph could feel his will.. lessen. The fire of defiance he had worn like a badge began getting smothered by the cold streams of the neon green liquid burning through his veins. As the interrogation continued, a voice began speaking to him deep in his mind. It shadowed the cold tone of Specter, melding together in a horrible chorus of condescension. It whispered empty promises to him. It begged him to “use his head” and just give in.

But Raph had never been good at taking orders. He fought strenuously at his binds, using the pain and movement to distract him from the voice. It took everything in him to finally burst through the ghostly whispers, making them dissipate into a murky echo. The voice chanted the same phrase over and over until it finally vanished from Raph’s mind:

“Just give in. Use your head.”

Excellent idea.

Raph’s mouth curled into a proud grin as he recalled using the voice’s words against it. The final cherry on top of the sundae of spite: A solid headbutt leaving Specter clinging to his profusely bleeding face. A true work of art if he had to say so himself. Even with the pain still radiating through his body, he gave a silent chuckle as the mad scientist beelined it for the door, leaving small crimson puddles in his wake. 

The small victory was cut short when he saw the jerk use Don’s mask as a hanky. Talk about disrespect. 

“Don, okitemasu ka?” (Don?..You awake?)

There was a slight sound of shuffling as his now non-purple clad brother turned to face Raph. Or at least- as best he could while being tied down to the floor by his wrists. Raph winced at the sight of the growing purple-ish red bruise spreading across Don’s left cheek.

“Hai, akiraka ni.” Don spoke in his usual “I’m too tired for this” tone.(Yes, obviously.)

“Keikaku wa arimasu ka?” (Do we have a plan?)

Don paused, shifting his expression to one Raph knew quite well: his “I’m thinking” face. Don’s brows creased together as his eyes lowered to look at his closed fists. A small moment of more unnerving silence passed as Raph waited impatiently for his brother to give a hint as to what was going on in his overly-sized brain. 

Without saying a word, Don used his hazel eyes to steer Raph’s matching set onto what was in the freckled brother’s hand. A tiny shard of glass.

How did he-??

Apparently Raph’s confusion was clear in his body language, cause Don, still being blind as a bat, nodded while he quickly fingerspelled the letters G-L-A-S-S-E-S. 

Ok- we got a teeny glass knife.. Pretty sure it’s too small to do any real damage, and it’ll break if Don tries to use it to unlock his cuffs.. So.. how is that helpful at all????

Again, true to their twin nature, Don read Raph’s feelings like a book, and continued to sign the word “WAIT.” 

That.. is not an answer.

Don rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic sigh.

“Sain suru no ga itai!” The freckled brother hissed in annoyance. (It hurts to sign!)

Oh. Oops.

“G-gomen..” Raph whispered as he hunched his shoulders in apology.(Sorry..)

Don simply gave a slack thumbs up before dropping his weighted cuffs back to the ground to give his aching wrists a break. The clangs of his cuffs hitting the floor echoed through their empty cell. 

Silence drowned the brothers in a thick sheet of anxiety in seconds. The room felt as if the walls began to stretch, only growing the cell’s chill of emptiness. The cold sensation crawled its way up Raph’s arms and legs like a spider skittering up his shell, making him shudder in discomfort.

Raph’s annoyance levels were at an all-time high at this point. Not only was he captured, doomed to be some mad scientist’s plaything, stuck in awkward silence, and tied down so he couldn’t move- but with every word he spoke, he had to take the time to translate it from English to Japanese. And then he had to properly say it in that dialect so that Don would understand him through his lousy accent and stuttering. On top of that, his arm still ached and shuddered from time to time, making it very hard to concentrate. 

Usually at about this time, Raph would excuse himself from the room and throw hands with an unfortunately placed pipe sticking out of the ground. He had to do something to get his building energy out. If he chose through his fists in a secluded room, then no one would get hurt. Well- maybe him, but bruised and bloodied knuckles are nothing to cry about. The only other option to get it out would be through his mouth- and that choice has landed him far too many times in his room with a sore butt for it to be his first pick. Sensei always taught him that words can sting like venom, so he always chose his fists. He learned pretty quick that it’s best for him to hide when he released his brimming energy. It never ended well when someone got in his way.

But now here he is, on the brink of a volcanic eruption of built up negative energy and stress, and with no way to let it out. His tight fists shook in their strapped leather binds, making the metal belts clink and clang. Raph let out a frustrated growl as all his tugging and pulling proved to be useless. Not a dent or a tear in sight. His foot tapped restlessly on the floor in erratic bursts.

Finally- the silence ended.

Raph and Don shot their heads up in unison as they heard the sounds of footsteps and keys outside the door of their cell. Don lifted his head and straightened his posture immediately, trying to mask the obvious exhaustion weighing his body down by the second. Raph raised his chin and took a deep inhale as the door’s handle began to turn. 

The door opened revealing a woman with a pointed chin and nose. Her hair was long and straight as if it were made of plastic. Her abyss blue irises were framed with thick-rimmed glasses. She pointed at Don with a glossy, red tipped finger.

“That one.” She curtly ordered.

Raph watched in horror as two guards rushed towards his brother. The first tried to grab at Don’s chains, but was quickly thwarted by his brother’s teeth clamping down onto their arm. The second guard immediately stepped in, pointing and firing his pistol at Don’s neck. With a *thwick* the dart penetrated into his skin, making him yelp. 

No. Please- God- NO.

Don continued to struggle against the two men, but the tranq was already starting to take effect, making Don’s movements go from quick and calculated to sluggish and desperate. As the men began to lift Don up from his chains, he tried one last ditch effort at an attack. His fist, now released from being tied down to the ground, came rocketing straight into one of the guard’s faces. But as Raph watched, he noticed something. Right before Don’s fist made contact with the man, he released his grip and shot out his fingers.

Something shiny flew from his twin’s hand and landed right in between Raph’s feet. As subtly as he could, Raph slid the glass underneath his heel. The struggle between the guards and Don continued, giving Raph hope that nothing was noticed. But finally, after using all his strength to fight off the guards, Don fell limp onto the ground succumbing to the effects of the tranquilizer.

Please don’t take him!! DON’T LET THEM TAKE HIM!!

And all Raph could do….

..was watch through tear-filled eyes as his brother, his twin, was dragged away into the blinding light of the hallway.

That's it for this chapter. :) I'M SO HAPPY TO BE BACK TO WRITING SIWWWWW!!!!!! I've missed it so~

If you enjoyed reading, feel free to reblog this!

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[polarspaz]

 Tim AU pile 2!

Upper right is from the Carrion AU. Kon, in super heroic fashion, saves the world from destruction but winds up dead due to his grievous injuries. Cassie is the one to be with him in his last moments, sobbing in despair as she watches the life fade from her friends eyes. Then Tim arrives.

He just yanks her aside and hovers over Kon for a moment. He look's like the specter of death itself as he pulls out a very special needle and slams it into the dead man’s neck. Cassie ties to pull Tim away, but stops when she see Kon’s chest begin to rhythmically rise and fall. Then, miraculously, Kon’s eyes snap open.

Kon looks around bewildered, pretty sure he was just dead, when he feels two trembling hands grip the side of his face. He sees Tim looming over him, posture rigid and voice eerily flat as he says “You didn’t have my consent to die Kon”

----

Then the bottom Left is Ra’s Al Ghul having a very bad time with JJ.

Ra’s kidnaps Tim, who just sighs and goes along with, just to see what the hell this maniac has planned now. After a very elegant and courteous debate, Tim declines Ra’s offer to rid him of JJ in exchange for becoming his creepy little protégé. Ra’s of course, ignores Tim and locks him up until he can change his mind.

Soon, Tim is getting tortured by Ra’s ninja’s and he’s just like fuck this, I am not going through this shit again and let’s JJ loose. ((BTW: I decided that Tim’s Shrike costume is now grey/white because Bruce uses it as an indicator to tell how well mentally Tim is doing on his patrols. If he comes back with barely any blood on his suit it’s a GOOD DAY. If comes back and theres a lot of blood on it? That’s a BAD DAY.))  

---

The tiny one on the bottom right if from the blood bird AU. After getting too high on caffeine one night, Tim ends up watching several animal documentaries until he can get to sleep, but one documentary about the short-horned lizard catches his interest.

Couple hours later, Dick is knocking on his apartment door with fresh doughnuts in hand. The door clicks open and Dick’ answering hello turns into a girlish shriek. Tim is standing there in the doorway, pale as a ghost, eyes completely red, with blood dripping down his cheeks. The big, excited smile on his face doesn’t help the situation either. “Holy shit Dick you gotta see this!’

After, Tim is very disappointed when Dick tells him that being able to squirt blood out your eyes is just plan terrifying and not really cool.

[overdicebro]

rating the princesses based on how long their hair feels like to me (Vessels and Shifty)

Apotheosis- ∞/10 bro's hair is bigger than tower and all the other vessels combined 💀

Tower- 10/10 an olympic challenge to braid

Fury- 10/10 it looks longer than Tower's hair but tbh Tower's hair is floating

Eye of the Needle- 10/10 long and also coming from a giant💀

Adversary- 9/10 Tied up but pretty long

Beast- 6/10 she looks like she's balding, if not counting her fur she's pretty down the list

Den- 6/10 same with Beast

Wraith- 8/10 long for a skeleton

Specter- 8/10 Floating hair gang, pretty long as a human-size vessel

Nightmare- 8/10 same with Specter but hers have more dead ends jk

Damsel- 7/10 I like to think her hair is more fluffy/wavy and a littleee bit shorter than Prisoners

Prisoners- 7.5/10 her hair is straighter than Damsels

Drowned/Burned Grey- 7/10 Both have a drastically different hairstyle than the others, and are two sides of the same coin so yeah pretty similar

Witch- 8.5/10 I feel like her hair is longer if straightened

Thorn- 8.3/10 Looks a bit shorter than Witch as how she was drawn

Wild- 🌲/10 idk man

Wounded Wild- 8.3/10 One of the princesses with a different side part

Deconstructed Damsel- 📝/10 Not a single hair on her body jit that's paper💀

Bloated Drowned Grey(technically doesn't count as she isn't part of the vessels)- 5/10 idk how her hair is better than mine being a bloated corpse

Stranger- 9/10 considering they have 3(4?) heads I think their is pretty long combined

Razor- 0/10 I refuse to believe there's a single hair on her body, it's just bendy metal

Mutually Assured Destruction/Arm's Race/Empty Cup- -∞/10 💀💀💀💀

TSM- ∞∞∞/10 💀 Nahh

First Chapter Princess- 7/10 Medium-hair length queen

[metanarrates]

the adversary is such an interesting route because through most of the game routes, most actions you can take are not locked behind specific dialogue options, and the actions usually don't need to be "repeated" to achieve a specific path through the route. for example, the path to freeing the specter only requires that you tell her you want to free her, let her possess you, and that you not stab yourself with the knife, in order to achieve that.

but the adversary has a few unique and somewhat non-intuitive actions you can take with her (flipping her the bird and even having her allow you to stab her in order to prove she can't die) that are locked behind dialogue options, and those dialogue options don't even clearly point to you being able to unlock those actions. additionally, you have to repeatedly choose to fight her in the exact way she wants if you don't want her to evolve into the fury or the eye of the needle.

i guess it fits to have the route most defined by stubbornness and rivalry requring you to pick a course of action and stick to it, but the amount of unique actions allowed within this route (even leaving her in the basement can trigger some unique scenes!) makes me wonder if it was the first developed. most routes in video games have "convergence" points with very few subvariations in order to cut down on having to develop too many distinct outcomes. while it's true that slay the princess has an unusual amount of distinct variations in each route, it's still also got a lot of convergence points that reuse the same art pieces with just slightly different dialogue. it feels significant to me that the adversary has a lot of unique scenes and art compared to some of the other princesses