#nothing brings the community together like gore

[the0retically]

Love the influx of gore posting from the jrwi community it’s honestly so fun and entertaining to me, let’s go freaks!!!

[kiddbegins]

Couch - A. Hotchner

Aaron hotchner x fem!reader

You weren’t always comfortable around Aaron hotchner. It was impossible to be right away. Stoic new boss that never looked at anyone in anyway other than with daggers for eyes.

He intimidated you from day 1. It took a good handful of cases before you were used to the gore of the job and he seemed to notice when it got to you.

That led to him making sure you were okay, which opened up that line of communication. You knew you could go to him. That he was there.

Not that you never thought that. He was your boss of course. A well respected and known fbi agent. You’d seen him in the news plenty of times before you’d met him face to face.

Regardless of how things started, now, a handful of years later, you were close. Things were shaky for his home life and you were a shining star in the sky that kept him sane.

Though he’d never admit that to you.

In the same sense, he was that for you. This last case back in Connecticut was hard. Hit home. You’d almost lost the team all at once. It wasn’t easy.

And since then, sleeping wasn’t either. The few hours of sleep were met with reliving that exact moment, waking up right after your eyes fell to the fact nobody had gotten out.

So you just stayed awake. It wasn’t necessarily on purpose but if you could, you’d find an excuse to do it. Even if it meant that the following morning you’d be leaning on your palm on your desk fighting to keep your eyes open.

It wasn’t unnoticed. By anyone. Though nobody wanted to bring it up. Just like former problems, they figured it was something you’d work through on your own. It worked for Reid, it should work for you too. Should.

Except it didn’t, and not even a week later and a good deal of hours under-slept, Hotch was calling you into his office. How could you possibly do your job if the bags under your eyes were dark enough to match his suit?

He didn’t accept the usual argument of you being fine, he never did. “Seriously, Hotch, I’ll get over it-“ he held his hand up, standing.

“You’re taking a nap.” His voice firm, not allowing an argument. Sure it was unprofessional, but he knew you wouldn’t go home and even if you would, that didn’t mean you’d sleep.

The only way he could be sure you at least tried, was in the same room as him. And since they weren’t out on a case, looking to share a hotel room, his office’s couch would do.

“What?”

He gestured to the couch, moving the small red pillow from the middle of the cushions to the end and patted it, “lay down.”

Once again, no argument allowed. When you did, he shrugged his jacket off, putting it over you like a blanket.

“Hotch-“

“Sh,” a finger held up to his lips. “Try and sleep. I’m going back to do work.” And he did. As if you weren’t laying there, confused and staring at the front of his desk.

It took awhile, his pen scribbling across paper and those papers then turning the only sound aside from both of your breathing that you could hear.

Eventually though, you did fall asleep. Surprising to you, nothing woke you up until you nearly rolled off the couch and scared yourself awake.

Hotch was still at his desk but the lights were out, his lamp shining some of it onto his face.

Slowly you stretched, looking over, catching his eye as he did the same. “Morning.” He said, checking the time with a slight chuckle, one you’d hardly heard.

It was actually almost 8 and he was reading over a report for the third time in an attempt to let you rest the best you could.

“Mhm,” you were too tired to make words come out of your mouth as you stood, his jacket slipping before you caught it. “You shoulda w’ke me up before.” Your words muttered together.

“You needed rest.”

“On your couch specifically?”

“Would you have got it at home?”

“…no.”

Hotch gave you a slight smile, “there’s your answer.” He held his hand out for his jacket, placing it on his desk when you reached and handed it over.

“Thank you.” You muttered quietly, fiddling with your fingernails nervously.

“Don’t thank me.” He softly spoke, an aura entrapping the two of you.

That became a bit of a thing between you. The naps weren’t terribly frequent, but enough that you could pin the connection between them. He made you feel safe. A reminder that he was there.

At home, it was silent, too many things could run through your mind. But in his office, he was right there. Writing, typing, quietly talking on the phone, existing right in your face.

You’d woken the other day to him softly telling Jack goodnight and it made your heart just about burst right then and there. You waited a decent while before actually sitting up and alerting him of your actual presence.

There was even a point he left you to sleep in the office and nothing. No dice. You couldn’t sleep a wink. He came back in and you were out in the next five minutes.

Something about Aaron hotchner was just so simply comforting and your body craved his presence.

JOIN HOTCH'S TAGLIST HERE!

tags: @luvonstyles @doctorreid187 @its-just-me-chey @oliviabbb @lillisummers @zzagataa @alexxavicry @felix-fan @thestarrynightslover @hiireadstuff

[ataraxiaspainting]

Chrollo Lucilfer Yandere Analysis.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, not SFW (both non-con and dub-con), the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectfully, forced tattooing, Chrollo having a god complex but that's nothing new lol, Stockholm Syndrome, stalking, parallels to religion (mainly Judeo-Christianity), implied body transformation (using Chrollo’s book), masturbation, manipulation, and violence/gore.

Word Count: 13k.

credits to @ddarker-dreams for the yandere MBTI and like everything she writes for this creepy greaseball (check her out if you haven’t already!!) <33333

another thanks to @depravitycentral for the inspiration! check them out too!!!! their general profile and nsfw profile for mr. chrollo specifically BUT everything they write is pretty good! <33333

one last thanks to @phasmophobia-territory for the ultimate yandere types list and @blughxreader for the yandere personality meme. both have inspired the unique qualities part of this analysis, so please be sure to check them out! <333

also, for quotes i tried to do something like genshin impact/honkai: star rail voicelines so i apologize if they aren’t good (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)

*~*~*~*

I look forward to living life with you from here on out. However, just know that there will be many different roads we will walk together on. Their lengths will depend on you, for better or for worse. As time goes on, however, I know that they will all end eventually.

→ Introduction.

The very definition of an empty shell, Chrollo has had his humanity stripped of him from a very young age. The only people who have ever made him feel something are all members of the Troupe or are buried underground, burning in hell or soaring above the clouds as angels, either one a much better existence than the life they all spent in Meteor City. So, when he sees you, someone who has been able to make him feel something without interacting with him at all, without the use of Nen, without even brushing your shoulder against him while running to your train in a hurry, he does not know what to do.

He feels like he is back to being a small child, roaming the streets and looking through dumpsters for anything of value trying to ignore the pain of the cuts and infections all over his body. You bring up a feeling he has not felt in years; fear. Despite this situation being far, far different from those times, his brain thinks otherwise. It sends him a fight or flight response every time he sees you, as much as he hides it, much like he hides himself among the crowds and crowds of people as he follows you home. You have resurrected a beast thought to be long dead, something innate, animal, almost carnal, without even lifting a finger.

Is this who he is, he wonders? He finally feels something, for once, a sense of belonging and identity and… humanity.

It fills him with a sense of euphoria, while you view it with dread every time his Zetsu slips for just a moment. You always look over your shoulder during those times and start walking faster, but definitely not enough to deter him, and it will never be enough.

→ Darling Character Analysis.

Creative.

Chrollo has a deep curiosity about the world and appreciates a darling who shares this thirst for knowledge and intellectual growth. The form of expression doesn't matter to him, whether it's through writing, music, or eloquent speech. What truly matters to Chrollo is that his darling can communicate uniquely and authentically.

In a concerning manner, Chrollo imitates his darling’s behaviors to an extreme degree, devouring everything they do with an insatiable appetite. It doesn't matter how his darling presents their interests to him, whether it's straightforward or not. For instance, if his darling mentions their love for playing the violin after spending days alone with only Chrollo for company, the next day a brand new violin will mysteriously appear on the table beside their side of the bed. Chrollo will secretly learn to play the violin himself, the one he purchased as well as the one he gifted to his darling, practicing when they are not paying attention or are fast asleep.

As a result, his darling may find themselves obligated to reciprocate this behavior by learning Chrollo's favorite musical pieces.

He will experience immense joy, perhaps so much that he will hold them down on the bed and shower their face with kisses while they squirm and kick. Even when they eventually stop, he will continue, disregarding their pleas for him to stop.

As always, his strength is overpowering, leaving you with no action to do other than to say no.

At least there is some form of care after it is all over and done with, although it always somehow involves blending with whatever activity preceded it. For instance, if it was playing the violin, he would play you with both your favorite pieces on the gramophone he put near the bathtub while giving you a massage and preparing a relaxing bath for both of you.

It is painful, more so than the usual ache between your legs, because he pays attention to your desires and exploits them, even when he appears to be gentle. The pain lingers, no matter how hard you try to disconnect from everything happening around you.

He gives you everything you want, and it hurts because you always know why.

Bold.

A darling who never hides their intentions and just goes for it would spark some sort of admiration in Chrollo, especially if they use their boldness on him as a manipulation tactic.

He finds it entertaining most of all, but also there is a small part of him that is grateful for it because it makes his darling seem more human to him and not just something to own.

Boldness is quite a human trait, one that he so adores, especially with those he holds close like fellow members of the Troupe. It is also quite a trait that can easily be manipulated.

If you attempt to flirt to lower his guard, he will flirt back twice as hard. 

When everything is over and done with, he will admit he knows exactly what you are doing as he kisses you again, you not kissing him back this time, as good as your acting was, much to your horror.

Resourceful.

Chrollo sees himself above the rest of man, a God in his way, so a darling who is quite similar to him he would adore.

That is not to say he could not fall for someone the complete opposite of him, someone who is impulsive and wears their heart on their sleeve and everything else he does not and cannot do, but the probability is low compared to a darling that plans everything and keeps their cards close, much as he does.

That makes escape attempts though, quite common, considering how resourceful his darling can be, like using a file to saw the metal in one of his safes or the iron on their leg keeping them in his penthouse. But he loves it, it is one of his favorite things about them.

It is endless entertainment to him, a sort of fight against himself, albeit he is much, much stronger when it comes to wits most likely. You can think on your feet as much as you want, but so will he.

He will mirror their actions until the end.

Independent.

Much like his beloved's cleverness, he derives amusement from their self-reliance. He takes pleasure in dismantling their barriers bit by bit until they have no choice but to rely on him completely.

Indeed, Chrollo views his beloved as simultaneously superior and inferior to him.

There is no equality between them, only a shifting power dynamic that his beloved will soon discover. They will never be certain if his actions, like retrieving their favorite snack from the top shelf of the pantry, are expressions of love or gestures of mockery.

At times, it may be both. At times, it may be neither.

His thoughts remain inscrutable, and he revels in it.

Cunning.

Chrollo loves it when your eyebrows furrow, when you’re deep in focus, especially when you are trying to come up with an escape plan and not noticing him right behind you, because of that expression on your face.

It’s unholy, the way he worships you with sacrifices both living and not. He wants to ruin you, yet keep you as you are. So, after a long time of pondering, he concludes. He will remake your shape, not enough to completely alter it, but just enough for your walls to tumble down and let him in. That is why while he will let you try and try again to escape, he will still attempt to get into your head. He is like a poison, a parasite, imprisoning you in your fears, insecurities, and plans that are doomed to fail sooner or later. It is what he wants to be, but he also wants to be more. 

More and more he will be, and more and more he will take from you. It is only natural to want more than what is given, correct? 

It is how Chrollo and the other Troupe members survived so long in Meteor City. They take and take, not caring who they hurt because it is human instinct to want and seize. He will argue as such whenever you try to guilt him because you will soon know that he holds no shame in whatever he does. He is selfish, and he wants to stay that way. He wants you to do the same, so he loves it when you fight him or try to run away because he knows it is only nature. Nature will run its course regardless of who wants it to not. Nature does not care, so why should he? Why should you?

But he also wants you to not be as selfish as him, despite him knowing that it most likely will not be unless you are broken down enough. But that is fine, Chrollo tells himself because that time will eventually arise.

Mature.

Maturity is an elusive quality that characterizes Chrollo, yet eludes him as well. It ebbs and flows like a breeze, carrying seeds to unknown destinations, beyond the perception of onlookers. Unfortunately, you, the observer, are an unwilling participant in the multitude of games he plays and the various disguises he dons. Occasionally, Chrollo can act impulsively, adopting yet another facade acquired from others in the interludes of his life. However, there are moments when he patiently waits for the opportune time to strike, akin to a cunning serpent. But this outcome relies on your level of vigilance or innocence. Perhaps, one day, you'll find it best to surrender to his will. Chrollo eagerly anticipates that day.

Hardworking.

Chrollo feels a mix of jealousy and a desire for control when he sees someone truly dedicated to their pursuits. He wants to replicate their passion and adopt a similar persona. At the same time, he is intrigued by their determination and ambition, as he wants to understand every aspect of their character. This admiration creates a thrilling challenge for him, as he seeks to imitate their drive while also appreciating it. He wants to both admire and exploit this trait to engage in a game of cat and mouse until they submit. Perhaps it would be good to do just that, to prevent yourself from getting hurt again.

Observant.

Chrollo finds great pleasure in the thrill of the hunt, especially when his keen-eyed darling begins to notice subtle indications of being watched. These signs, carefully planted by Chrollo himself, make his darling increasingly cautious. For Chrollo, taking risks brings great rewards. Although these signs are intentional, they still hold, don't they? A lingering footstep behind them. A faint smile on a stranger's face, an unfamiliar figure lurking in an alley near his companion's residence. These signals confirm that they are being stalked, and Chrollo is entertained by the fact that their sharp instincts assure them that this is no mere coincidence or misunderstanding.

Logical.

Chrollo's beloved should possess some semblance of logic, even if it deviates from conventional understanding. The key lies in their thought process, rather than adherence to reason. This cognitive approach, be it driven by emotions or rationality, captivates Chrollo. They meticulously evaluate facts, evidence, and outcomes, exercising caution in moments of perceived advantage, as well as during bouts of insecurity and danger, where they must think quickly on their feet. This mental calculus can either serve them well or inadvertently lead to their downfall. They carefully weigh the pros and cons, thus fueling Chrollo's insatiable desire for the fun of the chase, which hinges upon ultimately catching his beloved in the act.

A Leader.

If you hold a position of leadership, whether at work or among friends, this situation will be even more perplexing and distressing for you. In an instant, you were no longer in charge, forcibly removed from your familiar surroundings and confined. Your authority, influence, and status, which held great significance, have been stripped away. You may experience a profound sense of helplessness and powerlessness as if all your hard work has been unjustly taken from you. Chrollo, as your captor, will seek to exert even more control over you if you possess the characteristic of leadership. He finds it ironic that you are now compelled to follow him, forever robbed of the opportunity to lead while you remain in captivity.

Confident Outside, Insecure Inside.

Chrollo takes great pleasure in this particular attribute, as a mere few words, be they soothing or otherwise, have the power to manipulate you effortlessly.

You find yourself compelled to dance and sing, controlled by invisible strings or some intangible force, as there seems to be no other recourse in this predicament. After enduring prolonged isolation, you will unquestioningly revere Chrollo's words, no matter how distorted they may be, treating them as a testament to be praised. And Chrollo eagerly anticipates the arrival of that day.

It instills fear in you, as both of you are aware that such a day will inevitably arrive.

With a few choice words, Chrollo can elicit tears or smiles from you, a feat that few others have managed to accomplish.

You despise it, while Chrollo utterly loves it. Intelligent.

Intelligence encompasses a wide range of abilities, making it possible for Chrollo to be drawn to various types. However, what truly captivates him is a darling who possesses either linguistic or interpersonal intelligence, or even better, both. He desires someone who can effortlessly decipher people's intentions, using words that ignite a fire within him, even if those words are aimed at him or others.

The type or types of intelligence his darling possesses greatly influences their relationship. How he presents himself in public, whether as a kind gentleman or someone who keeps his distance, depends on their emotional intelligence and intuition. Additionally, Chrollo finds it incredibly appealing when his darling shares a specific interest that is completely new to him. This not only allows him to learn something new but also adds another mask to his ever-expanding collection.

Someone who is emotionally intelligent, like his beloved, would pose a challenge for him to manipulate. They possess the ability to understand him better than most, making it all the more satisfying for Chrollo when they succumb to his desires. After all, as Chrollo often says, the greater the risk, the greater the reward.

→ Yandere MBTI: CAMS. (Cruel, Aware, Manipulative, Strict)

Chrollo possesses great skill in dismantling individuals but lacks the necessary expertise to reconstruct them according to his vision. Unfortunately, you have become an unwilling participant in his experiments. Share with him your deepest anguish and vulnerabilities. Chrollo also portrays himself as a universal remedy, claiming that he holds the power to alleviate all your suffering and resolve your troubles, provided you heed his advice.

However, he waits until he has captured you, and your defenses have crumbled. In that moment of vulnerability, when you are cut off from the world, consumed by sorrow, unable to eat or speak, he reveals himself as a deity. He extends his hand to you, leading you along a path he meticulously constructed. This path is filled with suffering, a never-ending cycle of waiting for both of you. But at the end of this dark tunnel lies Chrollo's ultimate desire: your affection.

What is your ultimate pain, what is your ultimate wish? I can provide anything and everything for you, beloved if you do not stray away from the light.

If you happen to encounter him in public before he abducts you, it is because he willingly allows you to do so, aiming to create a favorable impression that will prevent you from suspecting his true intentions. However, if you do find yourself growing suspicious, it is not without justification. Nevertheless, he will persist in attempting to dispel your doubts by showering you with more gifts and displaying gentlemanly behavior such as pulling out your chair and kissing your hand or inner wrist. Yet, everything appears excessively flawless, to the extent of inducing nausea. Everything is so… flawless all of the time, but only when you are around him and him alone. Ironically, despite Chrollo's desire to dissuade your wariness towards him, his tender and kind gestures only evoke fear.

Chrollo effortlessly switches between portraying himself as a divine figure and a malevolent force, adapting to the circumstances at hand. On one hand, he displays an uncanny perfection, never making a mistake and seemingly possessing an understanding of your thoughts and emotions even before you do. On the other hand, he reveals his true nature as pure evil by casually initiating a bet to see who can consume the most alcohol, leaving you as an unwilling participant in this game of his. As soon as you become intoxicated, he unveils himself as the embodiment of wickedness, groaning as your clothes rip off and you cry his mouth is on yours and he keeps murmuring things into your ear that are so much more terrifying than sweet and-

Panaceas are eternal, refusing to fade away, regardless of your preferences. And so is this situation with me, my dearest.

Chrollo often repeats the phrase that he would sacrifice his life for you. However, there is doubt as to whether he truly means it. His actions, whether they be subtle or overt, inflict daily harm upon you, both mentally and physically. He disguises his hurtful behavior as casual conversation, a serious one, and everything in between. Chrollo's self-centered nature raises the question of why he would make such a claim.

You remain unaware of his true intentions, as Chrollo holds the knowledge of what is genuine and what is fabricated close to his chest. He perpetuates this ambiguity, ensuring that you will never uncover the truth. Once again, Chrollo finds himself in a position of guilt, but the specific charges remain unknown. As an impartial judge, you can't discern between deceit and honesty when you have never been taught the difference. Chrollo, determined to maintain this state of uncertainty, ensures that the truth remains elusive, no matter what lengths he has to go to to make sure it stays that way.

Chrollo possesses the ability to assume various roles. He can portray himself as a reliable partner rather than a deceitful captor, a compassionate individual rather than a mass murderer, a savior rather than someone in need of rescue... The possibilities are endless. This charade is not merely a game to him, but a necessity to maintain his façade. Even if he desired to, he could never remove these disguises, as he is oblivious to his true identity, because who is he without his lies? Nothing? It is a sorrowful predicament for both me and him, you will think someday, one that may prompt you to ponder whether it is Stockholm Syndrome or your inherent empathy for others.

At some point, you will allow him to take what he desires, whether it be when he reaches a breaking point and loses control, or when you become desperate for any form of human interaction.

Whenever you are in need, call out my name. I will be there to provide whatever cure you desire for the ailment at hand.

→ Unique Qualities.

Yandere Type: 

Possessive.

Chrollo in one word would be selfish, and he himself would not deny that it suits him quite well.

Whatever he touches turns to gold in the most metaphorical sense. Whenever he sees something he wants, he will take it. Everything Chrollo takes either has rhyme and reason to it or none at all. He turns them into gold as a sign of who owns them. Even if you have fallen or will eventually fall prey to this touch. The golden touch immobilizes you so you never ever leave him. 

Like King Midas, he is selfish, and he takes pride in it. He is never humble in anything he does. That much is certain. He holds you in his arms at night like he knows your weight in gold, that he could never lose you as he lost himself all those years ago. His kisses are gentle when he wants them to be, or they can be as aggressive as he wants them to be. You’ll come to learn that it does not matter what you want, what matters is what Chrollo wants. Does not having a say in your hell hurt? Or does not having a choice help you justify to yourself that you must escape this?

Monitoring. (Watches From Afar / Direct Contact)

Really, it is Shalnark that does most of the work here, but it is still worth mentioning, especially since what Chrollo cannot get through traditional stalking alone, he asks a very teasing Shalnark to get for him. Though, if Shalnark fails, Feitan is put to the task, much to Feitan’s quite less than subtle annoyance, not that he would ever voice it. Through this trio, the work is separated into three strategies.

Chrollo’s way of finding information is as classic as it comes. Either he is observing you go about your usual day, to that coffee shop you visit before going to work, to the library you frequent on the weekends, to a park you like walking in to see the birds and to get a change of scenery while you read, or he is inside your home, looking through drawers, sampling some leftovers even from your fridge, and making a literal list of things to buy you either later or in the present moment and things to take with him when he inevitably steals you away. Shalnark’s way comes through the internet, through placing cameras in your home and showing Chrollo the footage day in and day out, and perhaps even making an online friend of you if you are that social with other people. To him, it’s all child’s play, especially with finding family members and friends of yours for later, to perhaps ask them questions under the guise of a fellow friend of yours even. But the information that neither Shalnark nor Chrollo can get from stalking alone relies on Feitan, which is where all the finding people you know and love trickle down and puddle at the bottom of this sort of vial of differing plans. This is a last resort, sort of, because there are better things that Feitan can be doing, really, but he is nothing less than loyal to Chrollo and the other Spiders, so he’ll find people who may know the answers his boss was looking for.

He does not blame Chrollo, because if the information was something even Shalnark could not find, it is something so secretive that it could metaphorically be so beneath the waves that it is on the bottom of the ocean floor.

Feitan takes on the role of the more experienced diver because he wants to make Chrollo happy.

Thankfully for most of those you know, only a maximum of perhaps five people are flicked off before you are brought to whatever penthouse Chrollo has bought for the next month or so. The rest can continue with their lives as it was, not that Feitan cares or Shalnark cares or Chrollo cares, except for poor, poor you.

Removing Nuisances. (Murder Likelihood: 8/10)

Similarly to gathering information about you, dealing with rivals follows a similar sort of hierarchy. Chrollo follows them, albeit with far less care and perhaps even stealing a few things along the way, if the rivals are rich enough, though that is quite rare to happen. Instead, he would try to threaten them through anonymous emails or letters, perhaps even with a photo of them sleeping thrown into the mix. But if that does not work, Shalnark is up next, digging up past searches and buyings that the rival perhaps regrets or wants to remain hidden. It could be anything, really, and soon this information will start to spread like a flame until the rival’s reputation is utterly ruined. If the rival is still stubborn about wanting to be romantically involved with you, Feitan is last, burying a corpse underground that looks far from the human it once was by the end of it all, and Feitan, unsurprisingly, likes this sort of business rather than simply lying in wait for a friend of yours to unfortunately cross his path.

Perhaps even Chrollo will join Feitan in this session or sessions. It sometimes happens, when Chrollo is too pent up or feeling especially angry, although he hides it well with a smile that is a bit too wide, at this rival in particular. By the end of it, when both he and Feitan look like they took a bath in blood with their clothes on, Chrollo laughs, and Feitan snickers. He feels good, both of them do. Maybe this is why Chrollo is so taken with you, Feitan wonders. The power and control that comes with you… it’s utterly addicting, isn’t it?

Adam and Eve. (Absolute Isolation) (Kidnapping Likelihood: 10/10)

Before he takes you away, Chrollo makes sure that whatever he cannot replace he takes with him. This includes memorabilia, photos, family heirlooms if you have any, and even annotated novels you have on your bookshelf with notes sticking out of them like sore thumbs. He manages to take it all away easily, just like he does with you. Chrollo, despite how selfish he is, still wants in some capacity to make you happy. In your “adapting stage”, you may be able to hide away from him in the bathroom and lock the door, but at least you will have the choice to continue whatever hobbies you had before that Chrollo allows you to do while you are self-isolating. 

He sees this small reason for you not to hate him entirely as a win. A triumph followed by many others to come.

Collector’s Habit. (Comfortable Imprisonment / Chains + Cages)

Chrollo’s penthouse is lined with things both of significance to him and you. Almost all of it is stuff that he has stolen, however, not that he cares. The paintings lined up in the dining room, the many pretty dresses put in your closet and you are forced to wear, the jewelry that he clasps onto your neck and fingers and wrists like chains, all of them are stolen in some capacity or another. 

The things that he had stolen from your home all look like they belong there, almost. Your favorite pink beret placed next to a porcelain plate of macaroons and fruit a note telling you to get ready for a date later in the evening, an old photo of you placed in a frame that ought to be at least three hours worth of your salary, your most cherished books all lined up next to Chrollo’s own, all the covers and sizes somewhat similar to one another that it almost drives you mad. It brings Chrollo comfort, while it brings you ire. 

Possibly, you’ll read one of his Dostoevsky pieces when you think he is gone, or you’ll try on one of his many fur coats when it gets too chilly or when you are curious. But curiosity always finds a way to kill the cat, because when you think you are not going to be caught, Chrollo finds a way to sneak up behind you and simply observe, smirking, even when you see him.

Attention-Seeking.

Chrollo has always been one to utterly enjoy being in the limelight. He loves acting parts, playing parts as classy as a Prince Charming to a part as scheming as a villain that has locked the princess in a tower. You get both, the unlucky person you are. He gives you roses and proclaims poems and confessions of absolute love and undying loyalty, but you then remember that he is the one that trapped you here, to begin with.

This life that was forced upon you is a fairytale very close to cracking and falling apart, but never does.

You are forced to be a helpless maiden waiting for a knight in shining armor to rescue her, but unfortunately for you, that knight is also the very evildoer in this story. So, you try to be your own knight, your own prince, but it will never be as close or as real as an actual hero. So, your attempts fail, regardless of how long they were in the making. You are not strong enough, not fast enough, and you simply cannot write your own ending in this whimsical tale if Chrollo is always aware of them.

But you come up with a plan that takes weeks upon weeks and months upon months for it to bear fruit. 

You'll comply with his desires and make your getaway when he least anticipates it. Thus, you're compelled to dance with Chrollo, flawlessly and without objection, to safeguard your plan. However, with each movement, it feels as though nails are penetrating your foot, for you're uncertain if Chrollo is aware of your actions, and it fills you with immense fear.

But it is too late to back out of this, so you keep on doing this waltz.

Eliminating Rivals. 

The basement, as always, is filled with dust and dirt with insects both alive and dead scattered on the floor next to Feitan’s equipment. Chrollo does not mind it, though, despite him still wearing the suit he wore when he was following you to the train station, the route you usually took to get back from your best friend’s house to your place. He does not like her, but he decides to let her still do whatever with her life as she pleases, unlike the person currently zip-tied to one of the rusty chairs with broken legs. As long as she does not try to seek to be more than friends with you, she’ll be safe from harm. Even though Chrollo’s gut is telling him that she will try, that she will kiss you, say “I love you” to you and maybe go on top of you in bed and-

He tries not to think about it, he is already behind schedule enough as it is, though he could just make Feitan do the work by himself. He tries not to think about it because he has to start preparing his penthouse for your arrival soon to come. He has already purchased some new comforter sets for the bedroom, along with some of the skincare products he knows you use in the bathroom. He’s busy, too busy to involve himself with something other than torturing this man and getting back on track. He focuses on the scene ahead, trying not to think about that friend of yours or the barista who always looks at you for a tad bit too long. If he let his emotions and not logic control him, he would have murdered half this town already and left love notes on their headstones.

He looks at the man, covered in his own blood, his own vomit, his own feces from being confined there for days before Chrollo arrived, deathly thin from starvation and dehydration. From what Feitan told him, Feitan gouged out one eye one day and the other eye the next day, leaving him blind and weeping, his vocal cords far-reaching past their limit, crying out gibberish like some sort of animal, something not too conscious enough of its surroundings to be anything considered even near human.

“Fei, do you hear that?”

“...I do.”

Sexual Drive: 5/10.

Chrollo knows most of what there is to know about sex, but not for his own pleasure. He uses this knowledge mainly in intelligence gathering, when Shalnark, Feitan, and even Pakunoda are not able to get the information the Troupe needs for their next heist. He holds sex with little to no emotional value because of this, since his love for the other Troupe members is high above what little admiration he could possibly hold for those people that he subtly interrogates while fucking them as gently or as hard as they want him to, whispering in their ear when they are feeling their most euphoric, asking them what dons are trading with each other and with what, asking them how the president of this company makes so much when the value of their imports and exports don’t exactly match up, asking them how exactly many secret passageways this mansion has… it’s endless, really, how much information he can get out of them. The human body is so vulnerable, especially when pain mixes with pleasure or pleasure mixes with pain or pain is alone or please is alone. Chrollo is grateful for it.

But when it comes to sex with you, Chrollo then finally sees the emotional side of this spectrum. Your bodies bond and become one, melting into one another as you both moan out each other’s name, lovingly yours and lovingly his.

This development does not surprise him because he does want an emotional bond with you in some sense of the word, he wants you to worship him just as much as he does with you.

Let us go, shall we? Before you could answer, his hand grabs your wrist, his grip making it impossible for someone like you to break away. We… have plenty to talk about and do, correct?

Violence Towards Darling: 3/10.

Don’t take this as a sign that he will not use violence on you at all. Believing that Chrollo's violent tendencies towards you are limited to slapping or ignoring you is a naive assumption. You soon realize that attempting to strike him is futile due to his lightning-fast reflexes. Fighting back against Chrollo will not resolve anything. Instead, you come to understand that he wants you to be like a pet, constantly performing tricks and obediently following his commands.

You wonder if he would also display you like a trophy. Uncertain, you contemplate whether or not you want to find out. Eventually, a few nights later, you dream of a life without Chrollo's constant control, where he does not touch you possessively and parade you around expensive events. You recognize that you are nothing more than his lapdog, his pet, his trophy.

However, Chrollo claims to see something more in you. Is he being genuine in his belief? Do you really desire to uncover the truth?

Violence Towards Others: 8/10.

In his search for you, he maintains his usual calm demeanor, though his eyes reveal his inner turmoil. Anger fills his vision, overshadowing any light. Surely, you couldn't have gone too far. He frantically scans the penthouse until he finds you on the balcony... in the company of someone else.

“Feeling intrusive, are we?”

He pays no mind to the identity of this person, although it's likely they are a former lover or at the very least, a love interest. Your declarations of love and reciprocated kisses leave no room for doubt. How they managed to reach this height is irrelevant to him.

Without uttering a single word, he opens his book, channeling an unseen force from his hands to your ill-fated companion, causing them to plummet to the ground amidst screams from both of you.

After a few moments of tears, mumbled apologies, and the utterance of their name, he informs you that a serious discussion will take place later. With that, you silently follow him back inside. He will contact Shizuku to handle the cleanup of the body in due time.

Vanilla / Kinky

Favorite Kinks:

Begging.

Both inside and outside the bedroom, Chrollo likes having you beg, from you begging him to let you orgasm to you begging him to get you that new book in that series you were quite interested in before you got stolen away. It’s a power dynamic no doubt, it makes him feel wanted by you, needed by you, loved by you. That’s all he wants, really, your love and devotion and for you to promise to be his sun and moon and stars, for you to say he is bigger and more important to me than the sky, for you to hold him, for him to hold you.

No matter how much time passes, how many different places you both stay in and leave, how many countries you visit for leisure or for Chrollo's next big scheme, he refuses to break this unhealthy pattern, even for your sake. He enjoys this routine, so why would he alter it? He will occasionally tease you for being rather selfish, even as you both grow older and wiser and your hairs both white and your skin wrinkly. He will even say it to you when your corpse is resting peacefully in its coffin, as he sheds tears for the first time in many years.

Every time please, Chrollo, please, I… comes out of your mouth, it sounds like to him, the most beautiful martial vow. 

He locks each and every one into the deepest crevices of his heart like unwilling prisoners, despite how small and cold and dead his said heart is, at least to you. They don’t want to stay, but they have to because I want them there in remembrance. Just like you. Poetic, is it not?

Voyeurism. 

The screen in front of him showed you coming out of the shower, your body dripping with soapy water with a towel on your body that barely covered anything and a smaller towel covering your hair that was put up in a clip. Shalnark placing cameras all around your place made things much easier to know things about you that he could not find out through traditional stalking alone. He is grateful for him.

Slowly, as he smiled, one of his hands went into his pants, then his boxers as he caressed the half-hard thing beneath them both. He kept groaning as it got harder and harder, his breathing getting faster and faster. He is not sure how much time had gone by, but he knows that there was now liquid, slow and warm, running down his legs and is all over his hand, and as always, you were none the wiser.

Oral. (Receiving)

Your knees are on the floor, having been there so long it hurts. Your neck is curved backward and your mouth is in pain from his large manhood in there like an unwanted intruder, as you desperately gag and choke and cry. The only reason you have not successfully gotten away is because one of his hands is grabbing the back of your head and pulling you every time you pull, hopelessly still trying to fight.

Your hands are tied behind your back with silk to not damage the skin of your wrists, while you desperately try to claw your way out of them.

You’re in the clothing that he wants you to wear, as usual, though calling it clothing would be an overstatement as it hardly covers anything. A black thong with a short skirt, along with a low-cut bralette. As always, you have no say in the matter, and even though you are unable to utter a word, he showers you with affectionate words, as fake as they seem.

Favorite Parts:

Your Thighs.

It is more of a comfort thing than anything else, really. The way that it is one of the softest parts of you, one of the meatiest parts of you, and, most of all, the easiest parts of you to grab and hold and kiss and press hickeys into and fuck.

It’s only natural for a thief to want to keep their prized possessions close to them, is it not, my darling? 

While Chrollo still places you all of his mementos and diamonds and paintings among the many, many other things he has hidden away in his current penthouse, seeing you as better than all of those things combined, he still sees you, in some ways, as something to be sanctioned, whether it be for your own safety or just his pure, unadulterated selfishness, or perhaps both.

So, he holds onto your thighs at all times pretty much, squeezing the flesh for either attention or just because he needs some security that you are still there with him, no matter how close you physically are to him.

He will occasionally rest his head on your lap, reciting his book aloud while you are obliged to listen. He never dozes off because he is too cautious for that, although he yearns for it. His desire to lie down and have you run your fingers through his hair as he gradually drifts to sleep almost surpasses all his other needs. It may sound like a fantasy for him, no pun intended.

However, it would be a nightmare for you, whether he falls asleep or not. But as always, Chrollo hardly cares. If you dare to object, your longer skirts, shorts, and one pair of sweatpants will vanish for approximately a month, only to be replaced by outrageously short clothes that barely qualify as attire.

They’re soft, just like your lips, your voice, just everything else about you, you, you. It’s the parts that most perfectly describe you, he’ll say, forcing you to tolerate all his touches because his hand is not going anywhere, just like the rest of me, sweetling.

Just stay still and let me see how plush you are just for me, alright?

If he ignores all the goosebumps and the shivers, he can assume that this is what heaven feels like. It must be, right, dearest?

Your Collarbone.

Despite everything else about him, Chrollo can be a sort of traditionalist when he wants to be. This applies quite rarely though, only really affecting the relationship he has with you, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

He likes how the bones stick out, the crevices just so perfect for him to slide the tip of his fingers across, just so perfect for him to kiss and bite, just so perfect to hang necklaces from so they are on a sort of diagonal and reflect the light, making them shine and making them highlight the hickeys that have been pressed into them, right below them, and right above them…

He forces you to wear all kinds of accessories and low-cut shirts that he can find, not caring how much money it would cost, just to see some diamond-encrusted choker on your neck. He says in the calmest voice he can muster that it is no big deal, darling, just trust me and I got this for you and you alone, now why don’t you be a sweetheart and put it on? You might think that a choker and a collar are essentially the same, as they both tightly grip the neck like a suffocating hold. However, Chrollo pays no mind to this, as owners don't concern themselves with their pets realizing they're wearing such a sign of possession.

Your Feet.

Chrollo appreciates art in his own unique way, specifically when it comes to sculpting and realism. He finds your feet to be truly exquisite, along with the rest of you. Despite your attempts to ignore it or cover them up, he has a clear fondness for your feet. Your toes are round, your heels are perfectly shaped, and your soles fit perfectly in his hands when he places heeled shoes on them. In secret, he also enjoys the scent of your feet, although he would never admit it. He would rather die than confess. 

Your feet are cute and can become sweaty and sticky, making them easy to hold onto, just like your thighs. 

Those traits really remind him after you orgasm, with you of course begging repeatedly for it a few moments before he lets you.

It's a hidden pleasure for him, even if you were to discover it, he would keep it to himself. You won't be able to get any information from him. If you do happen to find out, don't be surprised when a substantial portion of your jewelry drawer is filled with anklets.

His Fingers.

Chrollo admires his hands more than most other parts of his body. He trims his fingernails every two weeks, putting hand cream every time he steps out of the bath, never skipping this routine of his. The reason he admires his hands so much is that despite all the bloodshed and other dirty acts he does with them, they remain on the outside clean. It boosts his ego, in a way.

There are just so many uses for them, he loves flipping the pages of his favorite novels with them, he loves cutting food for both you and himself with them, he loves squeezing your thigh as either a warning or a sign of love… there are just endless possibilities, at least from his perspective.

But his new favorite thing is to fuck your clit with them, and yours alone.

Is it a privilege, then, that only yours can bring him such joy? Whether you believe it to be so or not, it holds no significance, for Chrollo finds pleasure in this, and only his satisfaction matters, given that he is the one who has taken you captive.

Please, Chrollo, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, I can’t take this anymore I-

His movements are flawlessly executed, almost unfairly so. They are deliberate yet unhurried, demanding your submission. However, he will only grant you this pleasure if you plead for it. The act of begging will consume several minutes, perhaps even a minimum of two, leaving you in a state of desperation. Meanwhile, he will revel in your discomfort, relishing the power he holds over you. This perverse satisfaction is what he adores the most.

As you wish.

Inevitably, you will find yourself succumbing to your desires, unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure he provides. Despite your stubbornness, your willpower will eventually crumble under the weight of his expertise.

He derives immense pleasure from knowing that he alone possesses the ability to bring you such ecstasy. This knowledge fuels his ego, heightening his sense of self-importance.

His Words.

Chrollo has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, but he also derives great pleasure from imparting knowledge and amusingly embarrassing others. And when it comes to you, he takes it to another level.

He constantly showers you with compliments, comparing you to famous heroines like Juliet and Ophelia from classic literature. He insists that you possess the same beauty as any damsel in distress from those timeless tales. To prove his point, he even offers to acquire paintings of these fictional princesses and damsels for you to admire and compare yourself to.

Wanting a break from his constant attention, you agree to his proposal. Besides, you get the bonus of owning some exquisite artwork. What could go wrong, right?

Well, it turns out to be a colossal mistake.

Upon waking up, you find yourself surrounded by what feels like an entire museum filled with paintings of fictional damsels, duchesses, princesses, and queens. The overwhelming presence of these artworks threatens to suffocate you. And to make matters worse, Chrollo insists on meticulously going through each painting one by one, forcing you to endure this ordeal that could very well last for days.

Your legs resemble hers, your lips resemble hers, your feet resemble hers... every aspect of your physique and the muse's physique that he remarks upon, leaves you feeling incredibly exposed, more so than ever before.

The duration of this process is absolutely exasperating. It leaves you feeling as defenseless as a lamb anticipating its fate in the hands of a butcher.

His Knowledge.

Chrollo truly treasures his knowledge, viewing it as divine nectar from the heavens, if indeed it exists. This belief is so strong that he occasionally overestimates it, taking every opportunity to display it in a way that impresses you more than anything else he does, both inside and outside of the bedroom. Whether intentionally or not, he will state the obvious, like pointing out that the creature you're observing in the rose garden during your “date” is not a slug, but a snail. 

It frustrates you, but you acknowledge that it could be worse–he could forbid you from venturing outdoors altogether. 

Surely, that counts for something, doesn't it? 

…Doesn’t it?

Fantasies. (Consent / Non-Con) (Coercion / Brute Force)

If one were to make a comparison, they would compare you to a piece of art so beautiful, that it is instinct to witness, praise, and worship until their bodies all turn to mere dust, in which they will be swept away by those alive who do not want your refinement to be stained by those who have passed on. For what is a beauty without a beholder? Chrollo will gladly take up that role, as he is the only one worthy of seeing such a piece. You, leaning on the pillows, legs crossed, hair put up in a neat bun, wearing makeup that he has said he likes on you before, looking up at him like he has come to bless you with a mere glimpse of the divine power he holds, wearing the black lingerie he chose for you to wear this evening, made of lace with patterns of roses scattered about.

This is his welcome home gift, from both himself and you. He may have requested that you could partake in this, but since you are doing it without any complaint but instead loving doing the task at hand, he could consider him soon becoming one with your body for the evening to be an award from you for all the work he has done for the Troupe these past few days.

If such a prize is laid before him, ripe for the taking, why wouldn’t he? So, without so much as uttering another word, he starts to undress as you watch, a mix of genuine joy and interest laid out on your face. He hasn’t even touched you yet, and with this simple act, you are bound to him with the invisible thread of lust.

When his boxers are all the way down, he approaches, and you don’t blink, wanting to take it all in. Shall the fun start? When your lips meet, all reservations that you once had dissolve, as few as they are now.

(But don’t think Chrollo respects your boundaries completely when it comes to sex; if you deny him enough, over the course of months and months, he will break his composure and show you where you belong; underneath him.)

→ Strengths.

Realities. (Your Own, His Avow) (Patient / Impatient)

The being that is above you in this bed is unlike any human you have ever met before. His looks and personality are all artificially crafted, like some automaton made to resemble actual living things, but do not stray far from their roots, what they were made for, and what they were made of. I’m real, you think, I’m real. Chrollo is not.

He’s aware of everything you do. Every step you take. Every word you say.

He is aware. He possesses knowledge of all things, much like the god he feigns to be. His understanding of emotions is as keen as his logical reasoning, resulting in a situation of dread that pertains solely to you.

It instills fear within you because he holds the key to all knowledge, while you remain in not-so-blissful ignorance.

→ Weaknesses.

Lotus Eater. (Dreamy Idleness)

Chrollo, despite his attempts to appear superior to others, is not without his flaws. If those around him stroke his ego, he becomes overly confident. Yet, if one were to try the opposite approach, it would have the same effect as boosting his ego. He is cursed with arrogance, always believing he is superior to others, even some members of the Troupe. Perhaps you can use this knowledge to your advantage. Faking affection could lower his guard and further inflate his narcissism. It is a strategic move, preferable to engaging in a physical fight that you cannot possibly win. 

Therefore, when you believe you have the opportunity to escape when his guard seems lowered enough that he won't immediately pursue you, you run. At that moment, his facade will crack, his eyes will grow emptier, and the hollow husk chasing after you will not resemble the Chrollo you once knew.

→ Daily Life.

Welcome. (Day One)

Chrollo remains a mystery begging to be left unsolved.

He rises at his usual hour each morning, and it's a rarity to witness him actually sleeping. His breakfast consistently consists of sausage and eggs, seasoned solely with salt and pepper, as he avoids other spices. He purchases fresh bread from whichever local bakery happens to be closest for the week or a few days ahead. Occasionally, if you're fortunate, he may bring back something sweet while out and about, such as a chocolate-filled croissant or a cherry jam-filled danish. However, trust, whether in platonic or romantic relationships, is something that must be earned.

Interestingly, it appears that regardless of the circumstances, Chrollo seems to possess a certain level of trust that you won't make any foolish choices. On your initial day in this penthouse, he simply greeted you, patiently waiting until the effects of the drugs wore off, allowing you to cry on the bed until your tears ran dry. He comforted you, softly shushing you and gently caressing your cheeks with his thumb.

Yet, he never becomes too intimate.

Was that his motive? Is that why he opted to masquerade as a compassionate gentleman rather than a captor? Instead of asserting his authority, he chose to console you, demonstrating that such solace could be snatched away in an instant. You were oblivious to his true intentions. On that initial day, you wept more than any other day, the taste of mint on Chrollo's breath and the aroma of coffee still etched in your memory. He would inflict further harm, and for the sake of your sanity, you believe it is preferable for him to remain an enigma, shielding you from the repulsive monster lurking beneath his attractive facade.

What Could Be. (And What Is)

Strangely enough, there are still parts of your life after Chrollo has captured you that would still sort of count as normal enough that you could turn the other way and ignore all other cosmic horrors that are happening in the general vicinity. You could still decide what you want to eat and drink that day, what to watch, what to read, what time to wake up and what time to go to bed, what to write in your diary (that not-so-strangely has its lock missing now), listen to the morning birds or to the music that Chrollo allows you to listen to (which is most of it, shockingly)... the list really is endless, really, aside from a few things that you forget sometimes, much to future you’s horror.

But sometimes you forget on purpose, to divulge in the fantasy Chrollo has carefully crafted for both of you, either to fool him or your walls really are as broken down as he wants them to be.

He finds it nice when you ask him questions about whatever place he has rented for the two of you for the time being, the location at hand most likely being related to the Troupe’s plans to steal whatever is of value. He likes to show off, and to listen to him talk for hours requires the patience of a saint.

→ Punishments. (No Punishments / Tortuous Punishments)

Welcome Again. (Failed Departure)

The penthouse looked to be the same after you ran out the entrance door that you lockpicked. The fireplace was still lit. There was still a smell of peppermint in the air along with some scent of coffee, lattes maybe. Everything looks the same, just as it always has. It nearly scares you more, how calm and warm this place is, than the hand that has a grip on your wrist so tight that you feel like he will dislocate it in the very least.

But he does not look angry, but that smile is not good at all either.

He does not say anything as he closes the door behind him, turning the lock on the door so it will remain that way. He does not say anything as he continues to drag you, albeit a bit more tight in his grip now that you are within his grasp once again. Whatever you say goes in one ear and out the other, and you know better than to struggle and scream, because you do not want this day to result in yet another bloodbath, and it would be useless anyway, even if someone came to rescue you. That is why, like the sort of pet you were trained to be, you bite your tongue and obey. He seems to not be angry now, but who knows what awaits you once you are in the bedroom, where most talks and actions are the consequences of your supposed crimes. You can’t really breathe, but that is alright. Chrollo will help you every step of the way after all, as the dutiful owner he has come to be.

Perhaps a pet is all you will be.

He wants you to look up at him like some god, some deity that you worship with all your being. But you can’t, not yet, and Chrollo knows that. Perhaps some methods unknown to you but known to him can help, can’t it?

He hopes so for your sake, but what do you hope for, wish for? You don’t know, and maybe never will.

Venus Fly Trap. (Temptations of a Liar)

Chrollo is well aware of the diverse array of predatory flowers, each manifesting in its own unique way. Perhaps you too possess such characteristics, with your alluring fragrance and honeyed speech, deceiving him into a false sense of security before stripping it all away. However, there is one crucial detail you seem to have overlooked. What transpires when a venus fly trap ensnares a prey that surpasses its own size and devours its own kind and others, rather than the typical fly it ensnares?

Undoubtedly, they suffer. Yet it appears that this lesson has eluded you thus far, hasn't it?

You have displayed kindness, sweetness, and a willingness to comply, within certain limits. Undoubtedly, you possess some degree of skill, though not enough to deceive him, the enigmatic masked orchestrator of this theatrical production.

Therefore, it is without much remorse that he renders you motionless with delicate silk and persuasive words that possess the potential to sting, should you ever dare to push him too far.

However, deep down you are aware of the truth, just as he is aware too. If he doesn't take a firm stance, what other undesirable situations will you find yourself in? With a single hand, he flips open the book, while using the other to shush you.

“A shame,” He says, turning the pages. “A crying shame, really. The sky is so lovely tonight… Who knows when we will get this scenery again, hmm?”

You don’t know what he will do to you. 

…Does he?

→ Quotes.

Hello.

Greetings. It is truly an honor to meet you face to face like this at long last, [First]. There is no need to introduce yourself to me as I already know who you are. That, and… hmm. That, and I think you are not all there right now. Please, I recommend relaxing and listening to what I have to say. But just to make sure, try to speak to me… as expected.

Chat: Ballet.

All dancers must put themselves fully into whatever moves they do. I suppose that can be the same thing for you and me.

Chat: Athenaeum.

Libraries and archives are some of the places I enjoy going to the most. Maybe if you continue behaving, I’ll take you to one nearby.

Chat: Reimbursement. 

Quid pro quo, darling; I assume you know the best ways to compensate me for the broken locks?

When It Rains.

The rain is perfect for a day of staying inside. Though, hehe… you’ll be indoors no matter what, right? Good thing you have me as company today. …What do you mean? I leave sometimes, mainly to get you things might I add. I suggest being more grateful if you don’t want that koala plush to disappear.

After It Rains.

Sigh… the smell of morning dew and the sounds of birds chirping… simply marvelous. Let’s go dance on the balcony, but be sure not to get your new shoes wet and slip. I would hate to have to bring Machi again.

When Thunder Strikes.

Aw, are you going to cling to me so cutely whenever there is a storm? I wouldn’t mind that, I’ll even give you more blankets to hide in if you wish. …Wait, dearest, come back… sigh… of course she hid under the bed again.

When It Snows.

So cold out there, isn’t it? If you ask nicely, I’ll give you back your socks and slippers. Go on.

When the Sun Is Out.

Let’s go on a walk tonight when it’s not so hot out. The sunset’s beauty will only be second to your own.

Good Morning.

Good morning, love, I made coffee. Feel free to use one of the creamers I got you, and there is oat milk near them somewhere in the fridge… Hm? I have never really been a fan of sweet drinks, so black coffee tastes good to someone like me. 

Good Afternoon.

Sure, you can cook lunch. But allow me to cut the ingredients and heat sources. We know how you used them last time.

Good Evening.

It’s so quiet you can only hear the crickets chirping. It’s quite a romantic atmosphere, isn't it?

Good Night.

Ah ah ah. No bed for you yet. Give me a goodnight kiss first. No, you can’t sleep on the couch either. Or the floor. If you keep refusing, I’m going to ask you more questions than yesterday. …That’s better.

About Chrollo: Tattoos.

There is something comforting about them, I think. No matter what the person does to reject it, it will stay. The permanence of such an act should also be what you should be. Now, bite me again and you will sooner than later find yourself in a tattoo parlor. Am I understood?

About Chrollo: Lies.

Don’t say that, my love. I’m not lying to you, I’m just picking what parts of the truth to show and hide. There is no harm in that, I think. 

About Us: Home.

This place is much more human with you in it. Do with that as you wish.

About Us: Cull.

Life and death have a sort of agreement. A contract if you will. The more lives taken by your hands, the more your own life is put at risk. Quite poetic. Like everything else in life, there must be balance.

About Us: Matrimony.

Being bound by just a few words… The very idea is beautiful in my opinion. If you want, we can get married. It is not like anyone else is going to put that pretty ring finger of yours to good use, anyway.

About Us: Panoply.

Anything you want you shall receive. Just say the word. Unless it is already here, which is a possibility.

About You: Humanity.

The human psyche is truly fascinating, don’t you agree? All it takes is a few words or a few actions and it all comes crumbling down. Like you.

About You: Epiphany. 

Not a man, not ten men, not a hundred men can ever provide me with the same joy you give me. You’re special, you know? You make me feel… alive.

Something to Share.

“Be glad as children, as birds in the sky.” A quote from Fyodor Dostoevsky. But… birds are constantly migrating to better places, so really, are they grateful and glad for the gift of life?

Interesting Things.

I see you are doing experiments with pH again. Just be sure to not use all of the vinegar, please. And no, vinegar cannot melt a door, for the final time. 

About Nobunaga.

He thinks more with his heart than his head. But he means well for the Troupe. Or himself when he makes someone call to order takeout for him. 

About Feitan.

I learned a lot of torture methods from him. He truly is the best at what he does. As for social skills… not so much. But everyone has their ups and downs, and that is Fei’s.

About Machi.

One of the most loyal people I have ever met. Also one of the most in tune with their wants and needs. If she thinks of something to say, she’ll say it without a doubt. She is very transparent when it comes to that kind of thing.

About Hisoka.

Hisoka… he is very… out there, isn’t he? But he is valuable to me, so I give him free rein to do whatever he wishes.

About Phinks.

One of the physically strongest. Though also one of the only ones to ever get a laugh out of me. Shizuku once asked him why he did not have any eyebrows, and the way he stopped talking and stared at the ceiling caused us all to snicker. Feitan did earn a blow to the head by the end of it because Phinks does not hit women… He is much more gentlemanly than he appears.

About Shalnark.

When it comes to computers and such, Shalnark is the person to do it. He was the one to convince me to get a newer phone model and taught me how it worked. He kept chuckling as he did, and every question I had asked earned a wide smile in response but no actual answer. He says I am an… “old man at heart…?”

About Franklin.

He is not the most talkative one out there, but if ever comes to games to decide matters, he is the one for the job. Once, Uvogin betted fifty thousand Jenny if he ever beat me in chess. Franklin managed to almost win in the end, but he gave up at the last moment. He said he couldn’t bear to do that to me.

About Shizuku.

At long last, she at least remembers my name. She is quite charming in her own way… I see why Franklin took on a sort of caretaker role for her.

About Pakunoda.

Paku… Paku is one of the sweetest people I know. Whenever I didn’t feel well, she was the first one to come and help me feel better. She even fed me her rations, regardless of the tough times we were put through. I should ask her to make me soup again, I have missed the taste of it…

About Bonolenov.

When he trusts you enough, he has quite a humorous and proud side. He is very proud of his culture, and as someone who did not have one as a child, I find it very admirable.

About Uvogin.

I swear he could drink enough beer to kill a whale and still not be satisfied. The same goes for fights. Any challenge goes, whether that is an eating or video game contest.

About Kortopi.

His copying ability is quite useful, and Nobunaga wanted to give him a haircut using his sword. He declined of course, much to Nobunaga’s disappointment. …Hm? A copy of you? No, you are priceless, and nothing can ever compare, even a version of you that does everything I ask. There is a charm to your disobedience. That, and Kortopi cannot make living copies.

More About Chrollo: I.

Come. I got you some books for us to read together. But before you touch them, I must tell you that you can only read them while on my lap. Isn’t that such a great deal, dearest?

More About Chrollo: II.

“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven…” Yes, I can see the parallels between this line and myself. Is that why you decided to show me this? …Oh, you just wanted an excuse to call me Lucifer again. Do what you wish, I suppose. But please put that book back on the shelf where it came from when you are done. You know I hate it when you mess up the categories. …Hm? Don’t do that, or I won’t get you any more mochi. …You know my threats aren’t empty, my dear.

More About Chrollo: III.

…Do you need something from me, dearest? No? …Why am I asking? So you just happen to be pressing your chest against my arm for no apparent reason? …I see. Well, if you want my attention so badly, who am I to refuse?

More About Chrollo: IV.

Yes, that note is from me. That gift is also from me. Open it, please. …You should try wearing that set next time. Your thighs will stand out better. You were the one that was asking last night, not me. Ah, you are feeling rather adventurous these past few weeks, aren’t you? …Looking for something? Is this it? You know, I’m disappointed in you, to put it frankly. I thought you were coming around. You know what happens now, don’t you?

More About Chrollo: V.

Time has certainly sped by, hasn’t it? Let me give you a word of advice. No matter what happens, always remember those who have gotten you to where you are now. As a result, your situation can prove to be much less isolating that way. …Yes, that includes me. For when you are alone, my dear, your mind always finds a way to eat you whole.

Chrollo’s Hobbies.

Leading an orchestra and executing a grand theft operation share fundamental principles. It is imperative to maintain a commanding presence, ensuring that others adhere to your lead. Collaboration becomes the pivotal factor in achieving triumph during such endeavors.

Chrollo’s Troubles.

I find it perplexing how some individuals effortlessly navigate life with a serene demeanor, rooted in their unwavering sense of self. Maybe it stems from a twinge of envy, or perhaps there's another elusive element at play. But being envious is part of being human, is it not?

Favorite Food: Black Squid Ink Carbonara.

It is briny, and salty, like the sea. Quite refreshing as well, especially paired with homemade pasta. Only the best quality is allowed. …I am not being too picky. Do you know how many children in Meteor City have grown up never eating from a fast food place, much less a local restaurant? I simply am greedy because I can now. I couldn’t before, and that is why I do so as an adult.

Favorite Food: Opulence. 

As an adult, my current ability to indulge in greed is a newfound privilege that I couldn't have experienced previously. Hence, I find it impossible to resist the temptation of adding an extra serving of truffle or caviar to my plate.

Least Favorite Food: Canned Cabbage.

One of the very few foods I refused to eat unless absolutely necessary was canned cabbage. It was slimy and always came in watery vinegar with mostly moldy parts… I was desperate, but not desperate enough to eat that. Machi, Nobunaga, and Phinks all agreed. Feitan didn’t, much to everyone’s annoyance.

Least Favorite Food: Waste.

Paku, Machi, and Feitan had a sort of pact that they forced on the rest of us to never throw away things that were still edible. According to Shalnark and Uvogin, moldy food is still edible. Phinks and I disagreed but… we got outvoted. 

Receiving a Gift: I.

Indulging in scrumptious meals truly possesses the power to alleviate all worries. So, how can I express my gratitude?

Receiving a Gift: II.

Oh? Thank you, dearest. …For your own good, you better not have put salt instead of sugar this time.

Receiving a Gift: III.

Ah... considering you seem to have a moment to spare, would you be interested in sitting down and enjoying a shared reading session? The choice of material is entirely up to you, of course.

Chrollo’s Birthday.

You are such a prize, you know? You’re in an outfit worth its weight in gold, actually, now that I think about it, diamonds. Autumn has set in, the weather gets colder, and the food gets warmer. Perfect time for spending quality time with someone, wouldn’t you say so? Please, allow me to do this with you, [First]. I have never really cared for this day if I am being honest, but… now that you are here, I feel like new opportunities are around every corner.

Birthday.

Happy birthday, [First]. Within reason, I would like to treat you to whatever your heart desires. Food, art, wine; anything, just tell me, alright? I will see to it. …Heh. I’m afraid a fall from this penthouse will not be enough to kill me. …No, I am not going to put it to the test, since I am certain about it. Please think of something else. The world is your oyster, dearest. But… remember that I can always close it before you can get to the pearl.

Feelings About You: Ethereal.

This feeling… I haven’t felt something like this since… Hmm? Am I? Quite the observation.

Feelings About You: Euphonious. 

…I miss your voice, you know. I always like it when you get caught up in a topic that interests you, no matter what it is. …But last time I took the gag off and took you out, you behaved quite terribly… Here, I’ll tell you what. I’ll take the gag off, and I’ll get you something related to your interests, and then we can talk about it. Does that sound good to you?

Feelings About You: Eternity.

We shall be together forever, bonded at the hip if we must be. I promise you. Do not worry about the details. It does not matter if you like it or not, because I will take care of whatever obstacles get in our way. Whether that obstacle is you or any… outsiders.

Feelings About You: Elision.

Do know that I do mean it when I say that I do want to make you happy. Yes, our relationship is less than ideal, but in the end, just know my feelings for you are indeed sincere. …I’m not exactly willing to take criticism, but I could try, perhaps. If you like to do so, I am willing to compromise, though.

→ Conclusion.

You never hear Chrollo in his movements, but you do in his actions when he wants you to.

He puts far more effort into the little things, the details than outright saying his feelings for you, or just telling you his threats. That mysterious gift that appeared on your bed while you were away at work, that just so happens to contain some of your favorite sweets? 

The bouquet on your kitchen table that was placed while you were asleep? The box of dozens if not at least a hundred pictures of you by your mailbox when you tried to file a police report? 

Chrollo is patient to a fault. You will never know what is happening, at its fullest, until it is far too late.

You can put as much blame on yourself as you want, and hate yourself as much as you want, for not realizing how dangerous this entire situation is. But this position under Chrollo’s thumb is so much more horrifying than you could ever imagine, so do not blame yourself for not noticing everything at once.

That is not to say Chrollo won’t try to degrade you into thinking this is all your fault.

Your walls will be as good as broken and crumbled down sooner than you think.

[ilguna]

☼ the great war pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; your relationship has been rocky with finnick lately, and each time you think you can let it go, it comes back full force. it isn’t until you’re injured on the way to storm the capitol, are you able to slow down and fix what’s wrong.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, ehh gore, weapon use, death/death mention, torture mention, emotional/mental abuse, cheating, use of derogatory names such as whore, slut, etc.

wc; 9.6k

notes; based off of the taylor swift song!!

part one.

--

Your teeth crash together as your chin comes into hard contact with the ground. All you do is move your jaw and a crunch fills your ears. You’ve broken a tooth. You hope it’s not noticeable.

There’s pressure on your back, like someone’s holding you down. That’s when a second bomb goes off, much closer than the first, shaking the ground. You wince at the ringing in your left ear, struggling to breathe through the smoke.

“(Y/n).” A hard voice says, a hand grabs your jaw, turning your head. Your eyes meet Finnick’s. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” You say, reaching to touch your teeth, curious to see where the piece has broken off from. With shaky hands, you assess and come to the conclusion that it must be a canine, because it’s not as sharp as it used to be.

You’re pulled into a sitting position, forced to face the gory scene that lies a few feet away. Blood has been sprayed all over the walls and down the tile. Boggs is now lying where he’d been standing less than a minute ago, and he doesn’t have legs. Just torn flesh and fabric where they were.

Katniss and Homes are by his side. A first aid kit has been presented, but you know nothing in that box could preserve the amount of blood fleeing from Boggs’s body. Still, it’s Homes’s job to find a way.

Finnick, seeing that you’re fine, moves on to the rest of the squad, checking on others. You carefully get to your feet, being careful where to step in order not to slip. Katniss crawls away to find the Holo, bringing it back to Boggs when she does. In this time, Homes has managed to put a compression bandage on one of Boggs’s thighs, but it’s soaked through already.

Finnick crouches next to Messalla, shaking him gently, going to pull out his water bottle to pour it on him. A few feet away, Jackson is shouting into a field communicator, trying to alert the base camp that medics are needed. There is no saving Boggs, though. This is too much blood. 

Katniss passess off the Holo to Boggs, who immediately gets to work on it. You turn away, not wanting to continue to stare at a man who will be dead in the next few minutes. You wander to Finnick, who can’t seem to get Messalla awake. You crouch, feel for a pulse on his neck, and find his heart is beating steady and strong.

“He’s alive.”

“Prepare to retreat!” Jackson hollers across the grass.

“Look!” Finnick yells back at her, pointing at the way you came. 

A black and oily matter geysers from the street, shooting twenty feet into the air before raining back down. A different pod, triggered by the bombs. It’s coming between the buildings, a wave growing bigger as it gains momentum.

Gunfire begins as Gale and Leeg begin to blast a path down the stones toward the far end of the block. They manage to set off another bomb ten yards away. You watch as Katniss and Homes each take a side of Boggs to grab him and bring him with.

You reach for the unconscious Messalla, lowering one of your shoulders as you begin to pull him toward you. Finnick must understand what you’re trying to do, because he does his best to help you get Messalla on your shoulder. He’s as heavy as he looks, so you struggle under the weight to get to your feet at first, but once you’re up, it’s a piece of cake.

This is not your first time carrying someone like this.

“You should’ve told me to do that.” Finnick says, you wave him off as you begin to hurry down the courtyard, desperate to keep up with the squad. 

No matter how slow you move, Finnick refuses to pass you. He keeps a steady hand on your back, guiding you forward. Ahead, Boggs is crying in pain from being jostled from side to side. They can’t carry him any better.

You watch helplessly as Peeta runs up on Katniss in an attack. He grabs the back of her jumpsuit, pulling her down. She lets go of Boggs, losing her balance, slamming into the stones. Peeta aims the butt of his gun over her head, and in one fluid motion, throws it down in an attempt to kill her. 

Katniss dodges, your pace slows, unsure of whether or not you should drop Messalla, when Mitchell tackles Peeta. The two of them tumble to the ground as Mitchell struggles to pin him down completely. It’s impossible. Peeta is fueled with adrenaline and rage as he gets his feet on the soldier’s hips, and launches him down the block.

A pod triggers. A snap fills the air. Cables appear out of the stones, encasing Mitchell, and stringing him up several feet above your head. He begins to bleed, cuts dripping blood, raining down on those who are behind far enough to watch. It must be barbed wire, because there is no other idea.

You make a wide arc around Peeta, holding onto Messalla tightly as you pass him. Finnick detours entirely, heading straight for him, as well as Castor and Pollux. You continue straight, hot on Katniss and Homes’s heels. Gale and Leeg shoot a lock off one of the apartment doors, allowing you inside. They turn their attention to the cables holding Mitchell, but the situation doesn’t seem hopeful.

A trail of blood leads you through the pink and white velvet living room. You follow them down a hallway with family photos and into a kitchen with marble flooring. They gently let Boggs down, who has lost all his color. Homes then turns to you, watching as you get down on a knee to roll Messalla off your aching shoulder.

Finnick and Pollux drag in a struggling Peeta, Castor acting as backup. Jackson manages to get a pair of handcuffs on him, and then all four of them throw him into a closet to force him to cool down. The door to the living room slams shut, several people shouting. Leeg and Cressida come in coughing, a violent gag coming from Leeg.

“Gale!” Katniss screams, but he comes in through the kitchen door less than a second later.

“Fumes!” He chokes.

Castor and Pollux work fast to grab towels and aprons to shove in the cracks while Gale struggles to keep his breakfast from covering the yellow sink.

“Mitchell?” Homes asks, Leeg shakes her head.

Boggs grabs Katniss, giving her the Holo, trying to speak. None of you can hear, so she leans down to allow him to whisper in her ear. When she jerks away suddenly to see his face, it gives you a clear look. He’s dead.

“What? Boggs? Boggs?” She shakes him slightly.

A loud bang interrupts the moment, several heads whip in the direction of the closet, where Peeta is having a tantrum. It isn’t long before he loses the motivation to continue, the kicks turning to drumming, and then nothing.

“He’s gone?” Finnick asks, looking at Boggs. Katniss nods solemnly. “We need to get out of here. Now. We just set off a streetful of pods. You can bet they’ve got us on surveillance tapes.”

“Count on it.” Castor agrees. “All the streets are covered by surveillance cameras. I bet they set off the black wave manually when they saw us taping the propo.”

“Our radio communicators went dead almost immediately. Probably an electromagnetic pulse device. But I’ll get us back to camp. Give me the Holo.” Jackson orders, holding out her hand.

Katniss clutches it to her chest. “No. Boggs gave it to me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jackson snaps quickly. 

“It’s true.” Homes says. “He transferred the prime security clearance to her while he was dying. I saw it.”

“Why would he do that?” Jackson demands.

There’s a moment of silence as Katniss stares at Jackson, gears turning in her mind. He must’ve said something to her right before he died that’s making her hesitate. Her eyes move to look at him, but she doesn’t move her head. Her whole body is rigid.

“Because I’m on a special mission for President Coin. I think Boggs was the only one who knew about it.”

Jackson almost immediately turns her nose up. “To do what?”

“To assassinate President Snow before the loss of life from this war makes our population unsustainable.”

Jackson doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t believe you. As your current commander, I order you to transfer the prime security clearance over to me.”

“No.” Katniss says defiantly. “That would be in direct violation of President Coin’s orders.”

In an instant, guns are pulled and pointed. Those in favor of protecting Katniss shove theirs in Jackson’s face. Those who were trained by District Thirteen, most loyal to Jackson, aim theirs at Katniss. It’s a standstill.

Until Cressida says, “It’s true. That’s why we’re here. Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we can film the Mockingjay assassinating Snow, it will end the war.”

Jackson hesitates, then motions her gun to the closet, where Peeta is. “And why is he here?”

Katniss stares, Cressida is quick. “Because the two post-Games interviews with Caesar Flickerman were shot in President Snow’s personal quarters. Plutarch thinks Peeta may be of some use as a guide in a location we have little knowledge of.”

“We have to go!” Gale suddenly shouts. “I’m following Katniss. If you don’t want to, head back to camp. But let’s move!”

Homes lowers his gun, unlocking the closet. He lifts Peeta onto his shoulder the same way you did with Messalla. “Ready.”

“Boggs?” Leeg asks.

“We can’t take him. He’d understand.” Finnick says. He frees Boggs’s gun, slinging it over his own shoulder. “Lead on, Soldier Everdeen.”

Katniss looks down at the Holo, lost. She’s too smart to get caught up in her own pride, though, because she offers it to Jackson. “I don’t know how to use this. Boggs said you would help me. He said I could count on you.”

Jackson scowls, yanking the Holo from her, tapping in a command. An intersection appears in the open air. “If we go out the kitchen door, there’s a small courtyard, then the back side of another corner apartment unit. We’re looking at an overview of the four streets that meet at the intersection.”

You all stare at the projection, watching the colorful blinking pods. No matter what direction you go from here, you’ll be met with some danger. Katniss lets out a tough breath. “Put on your masks. We’re going out the way we came in.” A couple strong voices try to overrule her, but she speaks over them. “If the wave was that powerful, then it may have triggered and absorbed other pods in our path.”

The room goes quiet. Pollux signs quickly, Castor interprets. “It may have disabled the cameras as well. Coated the lenses.”

Gale props his shoe on the counter, he uses a kitchen knife to poke and scrape off the black oil, which has now mostly solidified. “It’s not corrosive. I think it was meant to either suffocate or poison us.”

“Probably our best shot.” Leeg agrees.

Everyone puts their mask on. Finnick pulls Peeta’s on for him. Cressida and Leeg get Messalla off of the floor. He’s not entirely awake just yet, but he’s coming around slowly. Katniss takes the lead out of the kitchen door, moving slowly to properly assess the black oil, which is now a gel substance. She figures out that it doesn’t absorb the pattern of the boot tread, so there’s no reason to be overly cautious.

The apartment complex has been completely coated. The buildings, paving stones and the rooftops are covered in a thick layer. There’s a single teardrop that hangs above the street, with two protruding shapes coming from it. The barrel of a gun and a human hand. It’s Mitchell, trapped in there forever.

Katniss waits on the sidewalk beneath Mitchell until you’ve gathered around her. “If anyone needs to go back, for whatever reason, now is the time. No questions asked, no hard feelings.” When no one begins to retreat, she turns in the direction of the Capitol.

You’re forced to move fairly quickly, afraid of the Peacekeepers showing up at any minute with how much time was spent inside the apartment. The good news is that Katniss’s instincts seem to have been correct, because as you go, it’s clear several pods have been set off. There’s a whole block littered with dead tracker jackers, suffocated by the fumes. 

A whole apartment building has collapsed on the next block, and it’s nothing but a mound beneath the thick gel. Katniss takes the responsibility of hurrying across intersections, checking to make sure it’s clear, and then waving you onward. The more you see that things have been disabled, the more you can relax.

Finnick keeps you within arms reach in case Katniss’s assessments are wrong, sometimes even pushing you back if he feels as if you’re walking a line. You try not to get too annoyed when he does this, but after the third time, you step away when he tries to grab you. You don’t need his help.

By the fifth block, the wave has finally begun to reach its limit. The gel has become thinner and less effective. The color scheme here is a baby blue, and you can tell by the rooftops that the oil didn’t quite reach. Katniss keeps a stern eye on the sunlight, and decides that it’s time to take cover since it’s going to be dark soon.

She guides you to an apartment, where Homes pulls out a tool to unlock the door. She stands outside of the door while the rest of you head inside, where you’re met with an apartment that’s laid out almost the exact same way as the one that you hid in. Only, the decoration is much more different.

No matter where you look or turn, the walls are covered in mirror shards, creating an abstract picture. When Gale flicks on his flashlight, it shines directly into his reflection, creating a colorful projection on the ceiling.

He checks the windows while Katniss shuts the door. After a couple minutes of examining the front room, he removes his mask. “It’s all right. You can smell it, but it’s not too strong.”

Katniss turns the lock on the door, giving him a nod. She heads straight inside, through a hallway that has two bedrooms with bathrooms. A spiral staircase sits off to the side of the living room that brings you to an open space that takes up most of the second floor. No windows have been installed upstairs, but the lights have been left on.

A television screen takes up an entire wall, glowing softly to provide some light. With how many chairs and sofas occupy the room, it’s obvious that this must be the main sitting room, and downstairs is just a facade. Most of the squad fall down onto a cushion, breathing heavily, closing their eyes.

Finnick is among them, patting the velvet next to him to invite you. You shake your head, shedding your backpack and some of the gear into a corner on the floor. It’s a relief not having to carry the heavy stuff anymore, so it’s easier to stand. Finnick presses his lips together.

Jackson keeps her gun trained on Peeta, despite the fact that he’s still unconscious and handcuffed. He’s laying across a blue sofa where Homes laid him down. 

“(Y/n), why don’t you sit? We don’t know how long we’ll be able to rest for.” Finnick murmurs, reaching to grab your hand.

You cross your arms over your chest. “I’m comfortable where I am.”

He tilts his head at you, mouth opening, most likely to tell you that you’re being ridiculous, when a distant chain of explosions makes the ground shake. 

“It wasn’t close.” Jackson says. “A good four or five blocks away.”

“Where we left Boggs.” Leeg says.

The television comes alive, emitting a high-pitched beeping noise, bringing other members of the squad to their feet. “It’s all right!” Cressida shouts. “It’s just an emergency broadcast. Every Capitol television is automatically activated for it.”

As if to prove her right, the television shows your group, scrambling to pick up the pieces right after the first bombing took place. A female narrates what’s happening on screen to catch viewers up to speed. Getting to your feet to grab Messalla, Jackson trying to communicate with base camp, Homes trying to slow the blood loss, Leeg and Gale shooting down the path.

The geyser of black oil begins, all of you shoot into action to try and escape, only for Peeta to lose his mind and launch Mitchell into the next pod. It catches the entire scene of you disappearing into the pink apartment. The last thing the cameras capture is Gale by himself on the street, trying to free Mitchell before it’s too late. Then the oil coats the lens.

The reporter is able to identify Gale, Finnick, you, Boggs, Peeta, Cressida and Katniss by name.

“There’s no aerial footage. Boggs must have been right about their hovercraft capacity.” Castor points out.

It then cuts to the courtyard on the other side of the apartment, where Peacekeepers line the roof across the building. Shells are launched into the row of apartments, setting off the explosions that you heard and felt, and then the building collapses. Next is a live feed, where the reporter stands with the Peacekeepers. The apartment buildings burning behind her, firefighters trying to control the flame.

Everyone is pronounced dead.

“Finally, a bit of luck.” Homes sighs.

“My father. He just lost my sister and now….” Leeg trails off.

They play the footage over and over, celebrating their victory in killing the Mockingjay and her friends. They briefly interrupt to play a pre-made montage of Katniss’s rise to rebel power, and then go right back to live feed to allow a pair of reporters to tear Katniss down. They promise that Snow will make an official statement later on, and then the screen fades back to a glow.

“Oh,” Finnick breathes, lips turned downward. “I hope Annie wasn’t watching that live.”

You press your lips tightly together, hands forming balled fists as you shove them into your pockets. Well, that’s not what you think at all. You hope she thinks the both of you are dead, because in her mind that’ll mean she never got to have Finnick back. He’ll be yours forever. Just a pile of ash mixed together.

When Finnick’s head begins to move, you try to change the angry expression on his face, but he’s quick with gauging your reaction. The expression on his face completely wipes, changing to worry. He plants his feet on the floor, going to push himself up from the couch. You stop him by holding your index finger up, shaking your head. 

“Thirteen must think it’s true if they didn’t intercept.” Jackson murmurs.

“So, now that we’re dead, what’s our next move?” Gale asks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Peeta speaks, a couple people look over, as if they’re just realizing that he’s awake again. He looks miserable, eyes devoid of life. He pushes himself upright, staring at Gale. “Our next move… is to kill me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jackson says.

“I just murdered a member of our squad!” Peeta shouts.

“You pushed him off you. You couldn’t have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot.” Finnick tells him.

“Who cares? He’s dead, isn’t he?” A tear escapes his eye, and it’s just the start of the many to come. “I didn’t know. I’ve never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I’m the monster. I’m the mutt. I’m the one Snow has turned into a weapon!”

“It’s not your fault, Peeta.”

“You can’t take me with you. It’s only a matter of time before I kill someone else.” Peeta shakes his head, looking around the room. “Maybe you think it’s kinder to just dump me somewhere. Let me take my chances. But that’s the same thing as handing me over to the Capitol. Do you think you’d be doing me a favor by sending me back to Snow?”

Katniss hesitates, Gale does not. “I’ll kill you before that happens. I promise.”

Peeta stares, weighing this, and then begins to shake his head again. “It’s no good. What if you’re not there to do it? I want one of those poison pills like the rest of you have.”

You raise your eyebrows at his demand. He’s asking about the nightlock pills that everyone was given in the case of capture. If the Capitol turned to torture, the escape would be the pill, where you would die within seconds of biting into it. Of course, you could try to live through what they have planned, but after seeing the state of Peeta and Johanna, it might be better to skip the process.

It’s unsurprising that they didn’t give him one. He doesn’t have a stable hand over his mind.

“It’s not about you.” Katniss tells him. “We’re on a mission. And you’re necessary to it.” She looks away. “Think we might find some food here?”

With this, the group splits into two. Some stay to guard Peeta, like Jackson and Leeg, while others keep an eye out for Snow’s broadcast. The half of the group that used to live in the Capitol split to begin looking for hiding spaces where food may be kept. You, however, are immediately dragged downstairs by Finnick to talk in one of the bedrooms.

After a minute of staring at each other, he speaks. “What’s going on, (Y/n)? I feel like we’re not making any progress.”

“Probably because we’re not.” You lean back against the wall, watching the way his face twists.

“We were fine a couple of days ago, and then Peeta came and we started having issues again.” Finnick pauses. “You’ve hardly spoken to me in two days.”

You shrug.

“You don’t care?” He asks. “(Y/n), this is not how a relationship works. You can’t just stop talking to me because you’re mad.”

“We’ve had this discussion about a hundred times.” You tell him. “And no matter how I explain it to you, it doesn’t seem to matter. You don’t care.”

“I do care. I’m the one making the effort to fix this right now. Why are you mad this time?”

“This time?” You echo, face screwing. “I don’t know, you’re smart. How about you stand there and think about what I’ve been trying to tell you for a couple weeks?”

“If this is about Annie—”

“Of course it’s about Annie.” You cut him off. “You and her might have verbally broken up, but you never emotionally left that relationship. It’s clear in everything you do that her feelings take priority over mine.” 

“How is that even remotely true?” He asks. “(Y/n), who do I go to bed with every night?”

“You bring Annie up every time you’re given the chance.” You motion vaguely to the door. “And it’s pretty obvious that you know what you’re doing because you look at me after as if you’re seeking gratification from it!”

Finnick lets out a laugh. “You think I get gratification from you being upset? You think I like arguing?”

“Do you think I like listening to you talk about Annie all the time?”

“Is that really the issue here?” Finnick asks back. “I think the real issue is that you don’t trust me because of what Vaughn did to you. (Y/n), I have done nothing to earn your distrust.”

You grit your teeth, glaring at him. 

He raises his eyebrows. “Am I wrong? Annie and I are just friends. You and her are friends.”

“I am not friends with her. And you shouldn’t be friends with your ex.” You spit. 

It’s exactly what Vaughn did. The girl he’d been cheating on you with was practically a coworker. She didn’t exactly work the same division he did, but they were in the same general station. He saw her frequently, which is how he got to know her so quickly. She was an easy target.

“She’s a victor, (Y/n). You and I promised to take care of her.”

“No.” You snap. “No, I did not. That was you. You took it upon yourself to take care of her, even though she has her entire family to do that for her.”

“Not anymore.” Finnick says. “We both know that they killed her family when they took her to the Capitol. Who’s going to take care of her? Do her grounding techniques?”

“I don’t know, the medical professionals that are equipped to do that?” You ask. “The doctors in District Thirteen are more than capable of taking care of a girl that’s lost her mind.”

“Once again, you’re making jabs at her, and she’s not able to defend herself. She can’t help it.”

“I don’t care!” You shout, throwing your hands up. “And you’re doing it again, thinking about the feelings of a girl who isn’t even here!” You take a breath to calm yourself, because you’re almost ready to fly off the rails. “I am so sick of having this conversation with you. You don’t get it. I don’t want to explain it anymore.”

“Listen.” Finnick tells you. “You need to trust me.”

“How can I trust you when you continue to do the things that incriminate you?” You ask him, this makes him pause. “I don’t want to do this for the rest of my life. In fact, I don’t want to do this anymore now.”

This brings him back to life, “What does that mean? You want to break up with me?”

You open your mouth with the intention to tell him no, but the word doesn’t come out. You press your lips together, staring at him. The expression on his face changes completely, from anger to worry.

“(Y/n), you can’t be serious.”

You tilt your head at him. How can you trust him when he’s doing what Vaughn did, just in a different dance with different steps? Instead of a girl from work, it’s a victor that both of you mentored. He keeps running to her, to her feelings, slowly fleeing from you the same way Vaughn had.

You don’t want a repeat of Vaughn. You don’t want to spend almost a year shut inside of your house trying to fix what’s broken inside. You loved Vaughn, you put a lot of your feelings into that relationship. And you were almost willing to do the same thing with Finnick, because he seemed as if he genuinely wanted to be with you. 

You can’t trust Finnick, not completely. Not when he’s doing the same thing your ex did.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” You tell him, feeling yourself distant from the conversation.

“I want you to tell me that I’m wrong. You don’t want to break up with me.” He tells you.

“You’re wrong.” You say slowly.

“That wasn’t convincing.” Finnick shakes his head. “Come on.”

“Finnick, I don’t want to be cheated on again, and you’re not really proving to me that you won’t.�� You tell him, grabbing the door handle to the room.

When you leave the room, you can hear Finnick calling you back, but you ignore him. You opt to join the group upstairs, and find most of them gathered around a table in the middle of the room, now littered with food. A couple of people look at you, as if they’ve heard even a fraction of your conversation. You ignore them and sit down.

A couple seconds later, Finnick comes back, too. He doesn’t sit next to you. He finds a sofa on the other side of the room. You make brief eye contact with him before directing your attention elsewhere.

“Isn’t this illegal?” Leeg asks, referring to the hoarding of food.

“On the contrary, in the Capitol you’d be considered stupid not to do it.” Messalla says. “Even before the Quarter Quell, people were starting to stock up on scarce supplies.”

“While others went without it.” Leeg says.

“Right.” Messalla agrees. “That’s how it works here.”

“Fortunately, or we wouldn’t have dinner.” Gale says. “Everybody grab a can.”

Some of you move immediately, already having an eye on your favorite soups. A couple of the soldiers hesitate, not used to the freedom of eating. In Thirteen these cans would be rationed by age, body weight, and physical exercise. You don’t think any of them have been able to eat as much or as little as they’ve wanted in their life.

You shake your can of soup before cracking the lid open. A few people follow Katniss’s example of using their can lid as a spoon, but you opt for drinking it straight. The top is mostly broth, which is easy to drink. The further you go, the more you have to be careful to chew.

It’s when you start passing around a box of cookies when the beeping begins again. A seal of Panem appears on the screen and remains while the anthem plays. Cressida hums long, resting her head on her palm. The Capitol starts to show your supposedly dead faces, just like they do for the Hunger Games.

It begins with the camera crew of Castor, Pollux, Messalla and Cressida. It moves on to Boggs, Gale, Finnick, Peeta, Katniss and yourself. And they completely skip over the soldiers of Thirteen, likely because they have no idea who they are and they serve no real significance to the Capitol audience.

President Snow appears at his desk, hands neatly laced on the wood. The Panem flag is hung behind him, placed so it’s clearly viewed on television. There’s a white rose on his lapel, a signature he could not appear without.

He starts with congratulating the Peacekeepers on doing such a fantastic job of tracking your squad down and eliminating you quickly. With the Mockingjay being dead, he declares that this will certainly be a turning point in the war, since there is no face to continue to lead the rebels.

He then tries to deface Katniss by calling her a poor, unstable girl with a measly talent with a bow and arrow. She apparently isn’t a great thinker, and hardly the mastermind of a rebellion, merely a face plucked from the rabble because of her antics in the Games. But needed since the rebels have no leader among them.

They must have enough of Snow in Thirteen, because Coin appears on screen, a haunting smile on her face. She introduces herself as President Alma Coin, the leader of District Thirteen. She’s the head of the rebellion. She gives Katniss’s eulogy, praising the girl who managed to survive the Seam in Twelve and the Hunger Games, turning a country of slaves into an army of rebels.

“Dead or alive, Katniss Everdeen will remain the face of this rebellion. If you ever waver in your resolve, think of the Mockingjay, and in her you will find the strength you need to rid Panem of its oppressors.” Coin says.

“I had no idea how much I meant to her.” Katniss muses, earning a laugh from Gale. 

A heavily edited picture of Katniss appears. There are no words. There is no slogan.

President Snow is back. If he’s angry, it’s well masked. He speaks in a calm and collected voice. “Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen’s body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself.”

The seal. The anthem. A glow.

“Except that you won’t find her.” Finnick mutters.

You're sure as soon as the sun rises tomorrow, they’ll be tearing the rubble apart for your bodies. And when they come up with twelve missing bodies, the hunt for your squad will begin.

“We can get a head start on them at least.” Katniss says, as if reading your mind. 

She pulls out the Holo, asking Jackson to walk her through the basic commands she should know. It consists mainly of entering the coordinates of the nearest intersection. Once that’s done, a projection appears in the sky of the outside surroundings. 

The room is quiet as you observe the amount of blinking pods. It’s easily four times the amount that you saw earlier this afternoon when Boggs had the Holo. It’s going to be damn near impossible to get through a street without setting off a single one. And this is hoping that they’re all correctly labeled.

“Any ideas?” Katniss asks.

“Why don’t we start by ruling out possibilities.” Finnick says. “The street is not a possibility.”

“The rooftops are just as bad as the street.” Leeg shakes her head.

“We might have a chance to withdraw, go back the way we came.” Homes suggests. “But that would mean a failed mission.”

Katniss sighs. “It was never intended for all of us to go forward. You just had the misfortune to be with me.”

“Well, that’s a moot point. We’re with you now.” Jackson says. “So, we can’t stay put. We can’t move up. We can’t move laterally. I think that just leaves one option.”

“Underground.” Gale says.

Katniss nods, changing the Holo from showing street-level pods to the sewers. It doesn’t take long for you to realize there’s little to nothing that can stop you down there. It’s clean of pods. And the ones that are active, seem to be the easiest attacks you can deflect. This raises hopes almost immediately.

The only bad news is the streets become a tangled mess underground. There’s a lot of twisting and turning tunnels that seem to intersect. This is not enough to deter the squad, though. You can handle a confusing path, as long as you have safety in numbers.

Messalla informs the group that there’s a vertical ladder two doors down that should connect the row of apartments you’re in to the tunnels. All you have to do is squeeze through a maintenance shaft that runs the length of the building. The shaft’s entrance is in the back of a closet on the top floor.

“Okay, then. Let’s make it look like we’ve never been here.” Katniss tells everyone. 

You work together to wipe your trace. All empty cans are sent down a trash chute, the full ones are saved for later. The couch cushions have to be flipped because of smeared blood. The tiles in the kitchen are wiped clean of gel that might have come off of shoes. The one thing you can’t fix is the lock on the front door, but that doesn’t matter because you lock a second bolt, anyway.

The last thing on the list to do is to get Peeta off the blue sofa, but he’s planted himself firmly, outright refusing to get up. “I’m not going. I’ll either disclose your position or hurt someone else.”

“Snow’s people will find you.” Finnick tells him.

“Then leave me a pill. I’ll only take it if I have to.”

“That’s not an option. Come along.” Jackson orders.

“Or you’ll what? Shoot me?”

“We’ll knock you out and rag you with us.” Homes says. “Which will both slow us down and endanger us.”

“Stop being noble!” Peeta bursts. “I don’t care if I die!” He turns to Katniss. “Katniss, please. Don’t you see, I want to be out of this?”

Katniss takes a moment to think, but it doesn’t work out in Peeta’s favor. “We’re wasting time. Are you coming voluntarily or do we knock you out?”

Peeta buries his face in his hands, shaking his head before he gets to his feet.

“Should we free his hands?” Leeg asks.

“No!” Peeta snaps loudly, pulling his wrists to his chest.

“No.” Katniss agrees. “But I want the key.”

Jackson hands it over, no objections. Katniss slips it into her pants pocket. 

Homes takes the squad to the maintenance shaft, where he pries the metal door open. As soon as eyes are laid on the narrow hallway between the walls, it’s clear that the protective gear that Castor and Pollux wear for their cameras will not fit. So, they take them off, resorting to their backup cameras which are considerably smaller.

Messalla looks around the apartment, but he can’t find a good place to put the gear besides the closet. Katniss doesn’t seem happy about this. Still, you move on through the hallway, which is an incredibly tight fit, even after going single file and taking off your backpacks.

You’re not stuck in the walls for long. Messalla breaks open the second apartment, leading you to a room inside that’s marked ‘utility’. When you go inside, you’re met with a circular tube going down. 

Messalla pops the latch open, frowning. “It’s why no one ever wants the center unit. Workmen coming and going whenever and no second bath. But the rent’s considerably cheaper.”

A wide ladder with tread steps stares back at you. One by one, you head down and gather at the foot of it, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. The lights above are clearly dated and coated with dust, making it hard to see. Not to mention the smell of chemicals, mildew and sewage that assaults your nose.

The sound of heavy breathing begins, causing you to look for the source. You’re met with Pollux, who has paled and begun to sweat. He grabs onto Castor’s wrist, staring at him intensely.

“My brother worked down here after he became an Avox.” Castor informs you. “Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to ground level. Didn’t see the sun once.”

There’s a moment of silence, as no one knows how to respond. Peeta turns to Pollux. “Well, then you just became our most valuable asset.” This earns a laugh from Castor and a weak smile from Pollux.

It doesn’t take long before you all realize that Peeta’s right. Pollux takes you on his own path, onto a set of tunnels that mimic the main street plan aboveground. Apparently, it’s called the Transfer, since small delivery trucks use it to get around quicker in the city. With it being daytime and active work hours, most of the pods are disabled to avoid accidentally killing their own. At night, it’s a complete minefield.

If you didn’t have Pollux, the place would be your personal nightmare. There’s hundreds of passages, utility shafts, train tracks and even drainage tubes that form a huge maze. Not to mention the offshoots that require gas masks, have live wires or giant rats that will eat you alive. 

He alerts the group when a gush of water should sweep through the sewers, knows exactly what time the Avoxes change shifts, and leads you through damn but obscure pipes to avoid the cargo trains. And finally, Pollux knows exactly where all the cameras are underground.

With his guidance, you move quicker than you did this morning. However, after about six hours of traveling, it’s clear the squad is tired. Katniss suggests resting while you can, and no one says otherwise. Pollux finds a small, warm room that’s humming with machines. The walls are covered with levels and dials. 

Pollux holds up four fingers to tell the group that you must be gone by then. Jackson works out a guard schedule for both Peeta and in case a surprise comes around. Finnick is put on the first watch, you are not. He picks a spot fairly close to the opening of the room. 

You stand over him. Half of you wants to sit down next to him to be close, but the other doesn’t know if it’s right to do that. After the argument you had in the apartment, it might be better to put some distance between the two of you. Still, you never really sleep without him.

Before you can sit down, Jackson squeezes beside him, taking the spot. You frown, and Finnick seems to look between you two, but you don’t say anything. Only move further inside of the room, toward the back, where you rest your head in the corner, backpack in your lap.

It figures you don’t sleep well. You’re in and out of dozing, waking each time someone coughs or moves too loudly. The most you get out of the four hours is a nightmare that you can’t even remember the details of. But once you’re awake after it, there’s no falling back asleep.

By the time seven is approaching, you’re ready to leave. The room has become stuffy and humid. There’s a pit in your stomach telling you that you need to move, quickly. It makes you antsy, especially considering your gut has never lied to you in the past.

Katniss and Pollux take their time waking everyone up. It works slowly down the line, as people yawn and rub their eyes. It isn’t until the last person has been shaken awake, does Katniss suddenly hush the group, getting up slowly to lean her head out of the room. It sounds like a whisper, a long string being repeated. You can’t decipher it. 

“Katniss.” A voice whispers. Katniss jumps at the sound of her name, bow loaded and aimed at Peeta. “Katniss.” The word is almost inaudible and hard to trace back to him. “Katniss.” She lifts the arrow, pointing it at his head, the look in her eyes distancing. Peeta jerks upright, eyes wide. “Katniss!” He finds her immediately, but doesn’t move. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

Katniss hesitates. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you.” He tells her. “Run! Get out! Go!”

She lowers the arrow, but doesn’t pull it off the string. Instead, she directs her attention to the rest of you. “Whatever it is, it’s after me. It might be a good time to split up.”

“But we’re your guard.” Jackson reasons.

“And your crew.” Cressida adds.

“I’m not leaving you.” Gale tells her.

She looks around your group, deciding what has to be done. She tells Finnick to give one of his guns to Castor. They eject the blank cartridge from Peeta’s gun, load it with a real one and hand it over to Pollux. Both Katniss and Gale give up their guns to Messalla and Cressida, since they have their bows. 

There’s not enough time to show them how to do everything, so they settle with how to point and pull the trigger. Katniss warns them to be careful, though, because of the tight space of the sewers. They could accidentally hit someone if their target isn’t clear.

The only person without a weapon is Peeta. No one objects,

Pollux leads the way out of the room, allowing you to hear the whisper better. If it’s coming from mutts, they might move fast. For now, they seem to be at a far distance. Katniss tells you that she’s suspicious they’re tracking by scent, but encourages everyone to be quiet, anyway.

She follows the path she made with Pollux earlier, because she can’t find a reason why you shouldn’t. While the squad tries to be quiet as you move, it’s hard to avoid an accident every half an hour. A boot splashes in the water too loud, a gun clips a metal pipe on the wall, Katniss speaks above a whisper.

You make it about three blocks through an overflow pipe and a neglected train track when the screams stop you. They’re loud, laced with fear and surprise, coming straight from the chest. They echo off the walls, straight to you.

“Avoces.” Peeta says immediately. “That’s what Darius sounded like when they tortured him.”

“The mutts must have found them.” Cressida says.

“So they’re not just after Katniss.” Leeg assumes.

“They’ll probably kill anyone. It’s just that they won’t stop until they get to her.” Gale shakes his head.

Katniss closes her eyes. “Let me go on alone. Lead them off. I’ll transfer the Holo to Jackson. The rest of you can finish the mission.”

“No one’s going to agree to that!” Jackson throws her hands up.

“We’re wasting time!” Finnick snaps.

“Listen.” Peeta whispers.

The screams have stopped completely, replaced by the whispers once again. This time, they’re below and behind you. Closer this time. Moving faster than you thought.

You start to run. Katniss and Pollux lead you to a staircase. She whips out the Holo, trying to find a different path to where you’re going, when she begins to gag. Jackson orders for masks to be put on, but Katniss waves the idea away. She takes a sharp turn into a door, slamming the right half of her body into it to get out. 

You find yourselves in the Transfer. Here, it’s tiled nicely the way it is aboveground. The only difference is that there’s brick walls, no apartments. It’s void of anyone and everything, besides the group of you and the pods that lie ahead.

Katniss acts quickly, using an explosive arrow to blow a pod into pieces. She heads for the next intersection, ordering you to stay close. You try to keep up, following behind Finnick tightly, when a flash of light blinds you. You cover your eyes, peeking through your fingers to find Messalla trapped in a bright beam of light. He’s unmoving, mouth open wide, staring up. You watch as the flesh melts off his body, pooling at his feet.

“Can’t help him!” Peeta shoves you forward, causing you to stumble. “Can’t!” 

It works to get your feet moving again, as you take off behind Katniss, who is barely moving faster than you are. She comes to a sudden halt at this intersection, throwing her arm out to keep you from falling forward. A spray of gunfire cuts you off from going any further.

A squad of Peacekeepers are coming down the Transfer in your direction. Katniss refuses to step foot on the next stretch, likely because the pod is more trouble than you can afford right now, and begins to fire back at the Peacekeepers. You swing your gun up, aiming carefully before spraying bullets back at them.

Realistically, the Peacekeepers outnumber your group, which grows smaller by the hour. Still, you’re able to take out three quarters of them before more begin to come out a side door in the tunnel, flooding the area. And they’re not stopping.

“Those aren’t Peacekeepers.” You whisper in horror, as your eyes fixate on the details. It’s the mutts that have been following you. They look like Peacekeepers, since they’re about the size of a human, white, and have four limbs, but they’re naked with reptilian tails, arched backs and elongated necks. 

They mow down the actual Peacekeepers, opening their mouths wide before clamping down on the necks of the Capitol workers, ripping their heads off. Blood begins to spray, coating the pastel-colored Transfer, causing your stomach to turn. It’s only a matter of seconds before all the Peacekeepers are decapitated, and you’re the next target on the mutt’s list.

“This way!” Katniss shouts, hugging the wall and making another sharp turn to avoid the pod ahead. When everyone has gathered, she shoots behind you, activating a pod that has large mechanical teeth that chew the tile to dust. 

She grabs Pollux. “Forget the mission. What’s the quickest way aboveground?”

Pollux takes the lead again, bringing you down the Transfer and through a doorway. Tile changes to concrete. You’re forced to crawl through a small pipe. It leads you to a ledge that’s barely a foot wide. When you look up, you can see that you’re in the main sewer now.

And below is the most disgusting mess you’ve seen in your life. Human waste, garbage, and chemicals create a smell that brings tears to your eyes. You retch, forming tight fists as you struggle to breathe through your nose. The surface below is continuously moving, and some of the garbage on top is on fire. 

It’s clear that if you fall in, you’re never getting out. 

In an alcove on the other side of the bridge is a ladder. You catch glimpses of it, Pollux smacking it with his hand, pointing upward. Behind you sounds the mutts, slipping against the concrete floor. 

“Wait! Where’s Jackson and Leeg One?” Katniss asks.

“They stayed at the Grinder to hold the mutts back.” Homes says.

“What?” Katniss lunges in your direction, but Homes grabs her to pull her back.

“Don’t waste their lives, Katniss. It’s too late for them. Look!” Homes points to the mutts that are moving quicker, now that you’re in their sight.

“Stand back!” Gale shouts, pulling out an arrow that you recognize as explosive. He aims it at you and Finnick, and neither of you have crossed the bridge yet.

“Wait!” Finnick calls.

Gale releases the arrow when he realizes his mistake. You watch as the arrow comes into contact with the bridge, a rough hand grabs the back of your protective gear, swinging you away from the crumbling edge. You trip over Finnick’s boots, landing on your knees, facing the mutts.

Up close, you can get a better and more detailed look. They’re human and lizard. They’re white with scales. They’ve got clawed hands and feet. And they have blood of your enemies and friends smeared around their mouths.

You can feel your heart shoot into your mouth at the sight of them only a few feet away. You and Finnick are their next closest target, and now you have nowhere to run. You can fight or you can jump. It doesn’t matter which way you go, because it’s going to be painful.

You whip your head from side to side, desperate to find a different solution, hoping for just one other option. Something that can save you, you deserve it after everything that’s happened to you, right?

Right, the universe must say back, as your eyes lock onto a single doorknob that’s sticking out of the brick wall. It belongs to a small door, barely half your height. You dive for the handle, aggressively turning the knob, feeling the relief as the door swings open.

“Finnick!” Your voice is shrill, trying to get his attention. You don’t even bother to turn as you begin to scramble across the floor to hide.

The room is tiny, and for a second you’re terrified that it won’t fit both of you in it. Finnick comes sliding in, squishing you against the wall while he struggles to slam the door shut. 

The mutts begin to pound at the door, trying to break it open. The room is barely big enough for the two of you to sit side by side, backpacks in your lap, feet planted firmly to the door to keep it shut. You close your eyes, head resting on the brick, sweat running down the side of your temple.

You can hear gunfire on the other side of the door, and they must set off several more explosive arrows, because you can hear the blast, feel the shake of the ground beneath your butt. For a moment, all noise stops, and then there’s one final blast that causes debris to rain from the concrete cracks above.

The mutts almost stop banging at the door completely, except for a few stragglers that refuse to leave. Neither you or Finnick move to open the door, afraid that there might be more than what you can handle right now. You’re exhausted and running low on bullets. And Finnick’s trident is not good enough for fighting those mutts. In the Transfer, they were taking dozens of bullets without slowing down.

After about an hour of catching your breath and slowly relaxing your muscles, you open your bag, pulling out the only can of food you have. 

“I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here.” Finnick says, “We don’t have the Holo. I think Katniss might’ve used it to kill the rest of those mutts.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. It was probably a way to help us.”

“How far away from the Capitol do you think we are?” Finnick asks.

You shake your head, shrugging a shoulder. You rip the can open, throwing the lid into the corner of the room by your left foot. “I think just a couple of miles now. We did a lot of distance early this morning.”

“It might be easier for us to sit here and wait for them to find us. I’m sure Katniss and Gale saw us hide in here, they can get to the Capitol and alert them that we’re here. That way, they’ll be able to tell everyone that we’re still alive.”

“They’re going to find out that we’re alive when Katniss shows up.”

“Not completely, not all of us made it out. Just Pollux, Gale, Katniss, Cressida and Peeta.”

“We lost Castor and Homes, too?”

“I saw the mutts crossing the gap by drowning each other before I came in here. Homes was too close to the edge, and Castor was about to go down, too.”

“Annie will be happy to know we’re both alive.” Finnick says.

You blink, slowly turning your head to look at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“What? I think it’s the perfect time to have this conversation. You walked away last night. You didn’t even give me a chance to respond to what you said. Do you really think I would cheat on you with Annie?”

“Finnick, you’re practically obsessed with her!” You roll your eyes.

“I have not. She’s our friend.”

“She’s your friend!” You tell him. “Which I’m not comfortable with, by the way.”

“So I’m not allowed to have female friends?” Finnick asks.

“You don’t get it.” You wave your hand.

“Don’t wave your hand at me.” He snaps.

You glare at him. “The worst part is that you didn’t start acting like this until recently.” You shake your head. “As soon as the Quarter Quell was announced, suddenly she was the most important person in your life. You wanted her to be saved from the reaping, but not me, right?”

Finnick’s face twists. “What are you talking about?”

“You practically begged me for months to volunteer over her, so I felt obligated to. I didn’t want to go back into an arena, but if not me, then who, right? Mags?” You look away from him, down at your can of food, which you’ve lost the appetite to eat. “And then during the interviews with Caesar, you completely embarrassed me. I poured my heart out to the Capitol about how in love I was and wanted to experience life with you, and then you went ahead and fucking mentioned all the important people in your life, but I wasn’t any one of them.”

You take a shaky breath, “But you know who was?”

Finnick’s sitting in silence, you turn your head to look at him, earning a blank look. 

“Annie, Finnick. You named Annie.” You tell him. “It wasn’t until we were fighting for our lives in the arena did I feel like you gave a shit about me again.” You can feel yourself calming down, but then you sigh. “When we went to Thirteen, everything changed again. You found out that Annie was taken by the Capitol. All you could talk about was her. It didn’t matter if you were delirious from the drugs or you were sober, you couldn’t shut up about her.”

A laugh escapes you, but it’s not out of humor. “I was fucking relieved when they finally knocked you out.” You admit. “I cried because it was nice not having to hear about her all hours of the day. And then all I felt was guilt for being happy that you were unconscious. And don’t even get me started on the whole rescuing bullshit. 

“When you pushed me aside in the hallway to get to the hospital faster. The two of you hugged like you were more than friends. Like you were a long lost pair of lovers that had finally been reunited.”

Once again, you’re shaking your head, the more you think about the situation, the worse it seems. You can feel the pressure in your eyes growing, the urge to cry. 

“(Y/n)…” Finnick murmurs.

You swallow thickly. “And maybe it is ridiculous for me to feel this way. All I can see is Vaughn doing the exact same thing. He was sleeping in the same bed as me, but he was also seeing some other girl. I never saw it coming.”

“I’m sorry.” Finnick starts. “I didn’t realize how bad it was from the outside. (Y/n), honestly, I think a part of me feels the need to take care of her because we were her mentors. I don’t see anything romantic in our friendship anymore.”

You slowly turn your head to look at him, unsatisfied with his answer. He must realize this, because he reaches over to take your hand. “You’re right, honey. Annie needs to be on her own.”

“Thank you.” You breathe, closing your eyes.

“I love you, (Y/n). I promise I’ll be better.”

[ficnation]

“Your dad’s an asshole” Part 2 - Carl x Reader

Request: “Carl x son of negan. Where they meet when Negan goes to get supplies for the first time from Alexandria and Negan’s son keeps flirting with Carl and Carl gets flustered and acts like he hates it, because y’know son of NEGAN, but eventually they go on a sort of date and kiss? Just fluff with a lil angst? Whatever works for you xoxo”

requested by @thatcucumberwhore

Word count: 2,2k+

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Male! Reader

Warnings: usual twd themes (e.g gore, cursing)

A/n: Your relationship with Carl develops but you still have a long way to go. Also I do plan on writing some kind of an epilogue to this lil series eventually but it’s gonna take a while. Hope you enjoy it!

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The only times you could see Carl was when you snuck out in the middle of the night or when your father wasn’t around. You always met halfway in the woods, not far from the main road that led from the Sanctuary to Alexandria. It wasn’t exactly safe for either of you, but if it was the only way you could see each other, it was a risk you were willing to take.

It was surprising how similar you were despite your different personalities. You’ve both lost your mothers at the start of the apocalypse, and your dads changed drastically because of that. You had to grow up far too quickly, drowning in loneliness with no one your age to talk to. Those things made you fit like two puzzle pieces—meant to be.

The forest hummed around you when you strode off the main road and into the surrounding trees, all but invisible from the outside world. You were careful not to step on any of the fallen twigs, afraid of making too much noise.

The sky above was dark and cloudless, yet you could only see a few streaks of light coming from the stars here and there. The crowns of the trees were far too thick to let anything more shine through them.

This part of the woods was usually peaceful—as peaceful as it could be in a world infested with the undead. But that didn’t mean you could feel safe or let your guard down. Even if there was no visible sign of threat, you had to keep your eyes and ears open.

You sat down under one of the many trees, mindlessly playing with a stray twig. You waited and waited, but time didn’t seem to pass fast enough while you waited for Carl to show up.

The darker the sky got, the more you started to worry.

But the moment you heard the familiar sound of careful footsteps, your eyes roamed around wildly. You couldn’t help the cheerful smile that spread across your face when you recognized the silhouette in front of you.

“Hey…” you greeted him, waving. Carl returned the gesture as he walked over to sit beside you, taking his spot under the tree.

His light brown hair seemed to glow under the dim moonlight, and his eye sparkled with happiness that only your presence could bring out of him. His cheeks were pink from the cold wind, and the thin material of his plaid shirt did nothing to warm him up.

Carl smiled at you and leaned back against the trunk of the tree, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s almost midnight,” he stated, gazing at the starry sky.

It was indeed getting darker and darker every second. Your breath hitched slightly as you watched the clouds move in front of the moon.

“You’re lucky I didn’t wake up Judith when I fell on my ass jumping out of the window.”

You grinned at his joke before looking down at your feet. “Yeah…” you trailed off.

It had been so long since you’d seen one another with the constant war between your communities, yet there you were, alone together at midnight, gazing up at the moon.

It felt so strange and different to be with him like this. It made you feel more alive and more relaxed than you ever had before. No stress or anger could ruin it because you both knew where you stood; no matter the hatred between your people, you agreed you wouldn’t let it influence your friendship.

Carl stared up at the sky, lost in thought, as he watched a shooting star pass by. You looked up, too, following the path of the bright star.

“That’s nothing in comparison to the way you shine,” you stated, a confident smirk already growing on your face.

You knew very well what would follow your words. The blush on Carl’s face was barely visible in the darkness, but the way he nudged your arm with his elbow assured you it was definitely there.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, and for some reason, it was the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“Yeah? Or what? You’re gonna kiss me?” The world around you froze the moment those words left your mouth. Damn, you hated yourself for speaking before thinking.

The silence that suddenly fell between the two of you was more than awkward. And you had no idea how to take those words back because you did want him to kiss you. You’ve been thinking for a while now how it would feel to brush your lips against his. Would they feel rough or soft against yours? Would Carl let you tangle your fingers in his soft hair?

You tried not to think about it, to repress those thoughts and keep them far away from your mind. But they always came back when you expected it the least. Even when you were just eating breakfast, the thought of kissing Carl and really being with him randomly popped up in your head.

“I’m sorry, it was just a joke. I shouldn’t have said that.” You chickened out.

Carl didn’t say anything, sitting beside you, deep in thought. You couldn’t read his face or his body language. He didn’t seem tense to you, but as far as you knew, it could just be your brain trying to let you keep some shred of hope.

“Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, why?” Carl finally looked at you, waking up from his frozen state with a shake of his head.

You gave him a look, clearly not believing his words.

He sighed and shrugged. “I’ve missed you. More than I thought I would.” His voice dropped into a soft whisper. “When you leave I feel like there’s something missing.”

Carl’s eye met yours in the darkness. His words and the way he looked at you made your breath hitch. He must’ve noticed that because seconds after you exhaled, his lips were on yours, leaving a soft peck. When your eyes fluttered in confusion, it was his time to chicken out and pull away.

“Well, shit. Now, I should probably be sorry.”

You grinned at him, your hand landing in his hair, pulling him back into the kiss. Carl chuckled into your lips, responding with just as much confidence. As your lips touched, time stopped, and everything around you faded away; nothing else mattered at that moment except for each other. As your bodies pressed together, the tension you’ve been building up suddenly released in an electrifying rush.

The forest was still and quiet early in the morning before the light even touched the horizon. The riverbank nearby made soft noises, its rushing waters calming in their constant flow. The sun had not yet greeted the world, and the dew that had settled the night before was just beginning to vanish in the early morning’s heat. 

You chased Carl through the clearing, laughing quietly, playing a game of tag while you escorted him halfway home.

The dew from the grass had saturated your jeans, the moisture seeping into the fabric effortlessly. Your pants were almost soaked through from the ankles all the way up to your knees. A small puddle of water even seeped into one of your sneakers, your foot squelching with every step you took.

Despite that, you were fast on your feet, and just when you were about to catch the back of Carl’s shirt in your grasp, the groans of undead filled the air. Their sounds alone turned the peaceful early morning eerie. Their groans seemed to come from all directions, the sound somehow omnipresent, as if it came from within and without, surrounding you. You could feel your hair stand on end as the happiness evaporated from your veins.

Your companion stopped so abruptly in his tracks that you couldn’t stop in time and ran headfirst into him, the impact causing you to release an involuntary grunt. 

“Fuck,” you grumbled, your hand instantly grabbing Carl’s arm in a tight, protective grip.

You looked into the distance to the dirt road leading to Alexandria. A herd of walkers moved forward in the direction of Carl’s community, one of the biggest ones you’ve encountered in your life. Your breath hitched in your throat, your hand shaking. They marched in a line so long you didn’t see the end of it. 

“We gotta get out of here,” you whispered right into his ear, pulling his arm in the opposite direction. You had to get as far as possible from the herd. 

“No, I need to get home,” Carl sneered, stubbornly planting his feet on the ground beneath. He didn’t even give you so much as a glance. 

“Not fucking happening. Let’s go. You’re not coming anywhere near them.” Your voice was firm; it wasn’t a request. 

The young Grimes stood silently for a minute, observing the herd in the distance. He didn’t know what to do; if his dad noticed his disappearance, he’d panic and send people to look for him. He didn’t want them to walk into this death trap, but at the same time, there was no way he’d get through the walkers unnoticed. 

“Carl,” he could hear the slight shift in the tone of your voice. It became stern. You’ve never spoken to him this way before. He knew that he had no choice but to go with you.

Finally, he nodded his head and let you guide him the opposite way. You traveled in silence, on high alert at all times. Your eyes scanned the horizon, and your ears strained to listen for the slightest hint of danger. You couldn’t risk gaining the attention of any of the walkers. If just one noticed you, it’d all be over.

After hours of walking, you reached the gates of a community unknown to Carl. He looked quizzically between you and the tall gates, but you could see the annoyance and suspicion spreading through his face.

“You brought me to the Sanctuary? Right under your father’s nose?” he questioned, fuming. He quickly pulled his hand out of yours and stepped away from your reach. How could you do this to him?

For a moment, you were oblivious to his suspicions and looked at him, confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t play dumb!” Carl’s voice was booming as he stared you down, fists clenched.

Your eyes jumped from Carl to the community’s gates, then back to your companion again. You quickly understood what he feared. “Well, I’m flattered you think the Sanctuary looks like this.”

Carl seemed disoriented; he blinked fast as the hatred fell from his face. He felt terrible that it took just this to make him doubt you and withdraw his trust. The boy looked down at the dirt beneath his boots.

“I wouldn’t take you there Carl.”

He nodded, reassured by your words, but still didn’t raise his head. “I’m sorry, I just freaked out.”

You walked toward him, your hand gently grasping his chin to make him look at you. You pecked his cheek softly before pulling him towards the gates. “This is the Kingdom. We’ll be safe here and we can rest a little before going home.”

“Are you sure? How do you even know about this place?” he questioned but followed you without any resistance.

“Uhh…” You scratched your neck bashfully. “It’s a long story. I will tell you someday, I promise.”

Upon reaching the gates, the man on watch duty stood up abruptly, revealing the biggest, friendliest smile as he recognized your face. Waving you in, he called to someone else to let you inside. You slipped through the crack in the gates without waiting a second longer.

Carl observed as the unfamiliar man greeted you by name with his arms outstretched and his face full of joy. You rushed up to him, throwing your own arms around his solid frame, a playful fight unfolding between the two of you before you remembered about your companion.

“Jerry, this is Carl.” The man raised his eyebrow, anticipating that you’d add something more to the introduction. So you humored him, “My boyfriend.”

“Didn’t think anyone would like your overconfident ass,” he joked, letting out a deep chuckle as you clutched your chest in the feigned offense. 

“Me? Overconfident?” You snorted, crossing your arms. “Never.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jerry waved you off before changing the topic. “What brings you here so early?” 

“I hoped we could crash here for a few hours. We almost bumped into a herd,” you explained, your happiness faltering at the memory. 

“You’re always welcome here, you know that.” The man patted your shoulder reassuringly. He didn’t need more explanation. 

You smiled, nodding gratefully at him before your hand found Carl’s, and you pulled him down the path deeper into the community. 

“Come on, I know a place.”

You took him to a small clearing on the other side of the community, a makeshift garden nearby. You pulled him onto a comfortable hammock hanging between two apple trees. As the sun rose in the sky, you both basked in its warm glow and dozed off in peaceful slumber.

Even though you both would likely be in trouble once you reached your homes, the temporary escape was more than worth it. Carl’s company was worth all the trouble in the world. There was no place you wouldn’t have gone with him, no distance you wouldn’t have traveled, and no experience that wasn’t worth sharing with him.

Maybe someday, we can just live here.

TAGLIST

@thatcucumberwhore @yttricuz @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @humanmistakes @twdeadlysins @donttelltheelff  @khaleesihavilliard @leafy-sprouts @spenceslovcr

[desolatespring]

head empty, just thinking about trying to play a rigged drinking game with yan chrollo so he’ll get drunk and you can escape but it backfires completely

Mont la Salle

Ooh I love this idea! I’ve only written one other yandere work before so bear with me on this one 😭

CW: blood/light gore, mentions of alcohol, implied kidnapping, religious imagery, implied female reader, and Chrollo being Chrollo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the steps leading up to the altar, the torn carpet doing nothing to shield you from the cold and rotting wood beneath.

“I offered you a seat next to me.” Chrollo remarks when he sees you shiver once again. Leering over your shoulder you see him sprawled on the priests celebrant chair behind you. His legs extended outwards before him. He seems almost pleasantly surprised when you stand up and walk towards him, his posture straightening in response.

“I’ll make a deal with you.” Short, sweet, and to the point was the best way you’ve found to communicate with Chrollo. The less you said the less he had to pick apart and dissect. “If you can make yourself useful and pick a lock for me, I will sit with you.”

Chrollo tilts his head in thought, most likely trying to figure out if unlocking anything will offer you a means of escape. When he finds no way of it aiding you he stands up. “Lead the way.”

He follows you to the church’s ambry; two full bottles of garnet tinted sacramental wine sat collecting dust behind the locked door. Chrollo shakes his head with a curt laugh. “You bribe me so you can steal altar wine. Have I corrupted you, dear?”

You cross your arms over your chest and purse your lips. “Are you opening it or not?” Another tactic you’ve found useful when asking for something of Chrollo is to be blunt. He’s less likely to tease you when you’ve been forthcoming, and you suspect, he’s intrigued by your boldness. Not many people are willing to try and push their limits with him.

Chrollo presses his hand lightly against your temple as he plucks a bobby-pin from your hair. He straightens the pin and makes quick work of picking the lock. Once opened he grabs a bottle of wine and brings it back to the altar. His eyes skirt across the label and he seems satisfied with his findings. He fishes a small blade from his pocket, the sharpened piece of silver pops the cork out with ease.

Chrollo places his right hand on the small of your back and ushers you towards his chair. Sitting down with the now opened, aged bottle of wine in hand, Chrollo deftly pulls you onto his lap. Clearly taking full advantage of your agreed upon seating arrangement. You’re unable to hide your grimace when the hand on your back snakes around and finds its home on your waist.

“I hope you like pomegranate and plum, my love.” The wine sounds almost as sickeningly sweet as the pet name. As the bottle reaches Chrollo’s lips you can’t help but piece together some noteworthy information.

There’s enough wine here to get him at least a little buzzed no matter how high his tolerance is, there’s no other troupe members around, and you aren’t currently confined with any restraints. If you’re going to make a break for it this may be your only chance.

You’re so deep in thought it takes you a moment to notice him passing you the bottle. You look up and see the deep cherry red it’s staining his lips. If any other personality were attached to the man before you, you might’ve been tempted to lick it off. The porcelain skin, grey pouty eyes, and shaggy black hair were enough to pull you in when you’d first met.

Now you’re stuck forcing a smile before taking a few small sips. Only drink enough to feel confident in your plan.

As the first bottle slowly empties, the vast majority of it going to Chrollo, you feel his fingertips creep along the fishnets under your shorts, gently tugging and slipping under them when he pleases. He always gets so handsy after a few drinks. You will yourself not to push his hand away, as it’ll only reveal how little you’ve had to drink if you start resisting him now.

When the second bottle is opened you take a few more sips, slightly bigger this time. Being so close to him you realize you underestimated how much you’d need to drink to build any semblance of courage.

When Chrollo’s eyelids droop the slightest amount and the touches on your thigh become less coordinated, now fueled with more hunger than passion, you excuse yourself to the restroom. You’re painfully aware he’ll only allow himself to get so inebriated in front of you, never wanting to lose his self control. This is the closest to an opportunity you’ll ever receive.

You climb from off his lap, and begin heading for the narrow staircase that leads to the bathroom, making sure to give your most convincing stumble along the way. Once the door to the stairwell shuts behind you, you drop the act and move quickly to the bathroom while still keeping your footfalls and breathing as soft as possible.

Now inside you shut the door. Clicking both the dead bolt and knob lock into place. You immediately head for the window which is just above eye level. To your relief the glass has already been shattered presumably due to the weather or past vandals, leaving only the screen intact. Picking up the largest shard of glass you can find, you hastily cut a hole in the screen before grabbing onto the windowsill and hoisting yourself up.

The sharp glass stings as it cuts into your palms but you ignore the pain to the best of your ability, knowing you only have so much time to act. Your arms shake as you pull yourself up and through the window. Cool mossy pavement offers your burning hands enough relief for you to pull the rest of your body through, careful not to cut yourself any further.

Once you’ve crawled out you stand up on the concrete, pausing just long enough to retrieve the glass shard from earlier and give the briefest look around to ensure Chrollo isn’t already outside and waiting for you. Feeling as if the coast is clear you begin running at a full sprint towards the woods, thinking it’ll hide you the best. You occasionally stumble over your own two feet as they refuse to move as fast as you’d like.

As you break through the tree line the first tendrils of hope begin to seep into you. There’s no way he can see you with the branches shrouding your figure.

Your right leg comes forward to jump over a fallen log and your hope vanishes just as quickly as it came. You gasp as your back hits the hard forest floor, leaves doing nothing to cushion your blow. By the time your lungs are ready to take in air again Chrollo’s already hoisting you off the ground and tossing you over his shoulder.

The speed at which everything unfolded leaves your neck stiff and your head reeling. It isn’t until you go to stab at him with the glass you realize you dropped it in your fall. With the last bit of fight you have left in you, you punch and thrash in Chrollo’s grasp, clawing at anything you fingers come in contact with.

Chrollo remains silent as he carries you effortlessly back towards the church despite all your frantic thrashing. By the time he gets you inside the cuts on your palms have reopened and your finger nails are chipped and bleeding from the strength you were using to scratch at him.

Chrollo less than gracefully pulls you off of his shoulder, gripping both your wrists in one of his hands, the other opening the door to the confessional booth before shutting himself in it with you. He places you on the bench, effectively holding you in place before leaning closer to you. “Now why don’t you start by telling me exactly what you had planned? And don’t forget to ask for my forgiveness.”

[yandereocs]

*rubs hands together* Imagine Husk’s de-faced darling asking to cut off one of his hands before they’ll forgive them

* YEAHHHH

* Let us both evily rub our hands together like super villains

* For context, this is related to this post right here!!

Defaced and declawed - Yandere Husk x Reader

* CW: Descriptions of violence and gore

You don't like looking in mirrors anymore.

It makes sense, given your circumstances. You're not sure anyone would be a fan of looking at themselves after having their face ripped off.

The pain has long subsided and the wound had scarred cleanly. But you swear that you can still feel the agony of your skin pulling off.

It's terrible.

Both you and Husk prefer the bandages stay on.

Speaking of Husk, he feels terrible. You know he does. His mask is in a constant state of expressing sadness or nothing at all. His loving gestures have increase by tenfold. He keeps writing elegant essays begging for forgiveness.

But you can never bring yourself to accept any of it.

Today was no different. Husk was desperately trying to win your affection back, to make everything okay again. He was writing something in his notebook, the sound of pen scratching against paper mixing with the noise of whatever you were watching on TV.

"Please, my love. I'm sorry. It was a lapse of judgement, I never meant to harm you like that. I've told you before that I'll do anything for your forgiveness and I meant it. Anything at all."

Your eyes scan the paper as the notebook was suddenly handed to you. His handwriting had deteriorated in the past months, slowly going from calm and smooth to frantic and shaky.

As soon as you finish reading, your eyes immediately flicked over to Husk's hands. Even now, all you could see was his bloodstained hands, how the thick red liquid dried under his fingernails. It disgusted you.

Those hands...they hurt you. Caused you more pain then you could imagine, caused pain to so many other lives. You turned away from Husk. Looking at him was sickening.

"Your hands."

You felt him perk up when you spoke. Ever since the incident, you've barely spoken to him, if at all.

"I want...I want you to cut off your hands."

The monster immediately stiffened. Cut off his hands? What an insane request.

But he was so desperate for your love again.

"If I do this, you'll forgive me?"

The notebook appears in front of you again. You sigh. You don't want to forgive him. But, if his hands were gone, then no harm can come to you again.

You'd be safe.

"Yeah, sure."

Your reply was half-hearted but it seemed enough for Husk. The man immediately rose from his seat and scurried away to the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts. What would happen afterwards? Husk needed his hands to communicate with you. He was normally the one initiating conversations after the incident. Will the two of you just be in silence forever?

Husk returns promptly, interrupting your thoughts. He was holding a butcher knife. He placed his hand on the coffee table, glancing your way multiple times to make sure you were watching.

You were.

The knife was raised.

And was brought down swiftly.

Immediately the knife clattered to the table as Husk stumbled backwards, his remaining hand gripping the base of his wrist. Blood was pouring out, staining the floor, and Husk's form was becoming unstable. Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you watched the man in front of you shift from something humanoid to monstrous to back to humanoid. He was letting out low groans and growls of pain, his body shivering.

It was a disgusting sight.

You could see the hand that he had chopped off just laying on the coffee table, the once human hand shifting into someone much larger with sharp claws. Perhaps that's how his original hand looks like.

The stench of blood filled the air and make your stomach churn. But you couldn't tear your eyes away no matter who hard you tried.

Husk turns to you, his mask blank. But you could tell he was in pain. You stared back, not offering any words of comfort. Why would you?

Husk lets out another low groan before reaching for the butcher knife again. But then he stops, and he looks down at himself. He isn't exactly sure how to chop off his other hand. He looks to you for help. You shrug.

Husk drops the knife again and stumbles to his notebook, picking up his pencil with shaking, blood stained hand as he writes something down before showing it to you.

The handwriting is barely legible and it isn't in his usual cursive, instead looking more like frantic chicken scratches. But the words could be made out with close enough reading.

"Is chopping one hand enough?"

You stare at the question written, mulling it over. Just one hand wasn't enough to compensate what he did to you. After all, he had used both hands. You scoff and turn away once more, shaking your head.

"No."

Husk immediately let's out a low groan and drops the notebook, his body shaking. His form is still unstable, occasionally sprouting large antlers or growing significantly taller before shifting back to his usual form. He's struggling to keep it together. To keep you from seeing just how much of a monster he really is.

It doesn't really matter, though. You already know what kind of a beast he is. You learned that the second he laid his hands on you.

Husk stumbles out of the room and leaves the house, slamming the door. Most likely accidentally. You watch him as he goes.

And now you're left in just your thoughts.

As always, they immediately swarm your head. Regrets, fears, pleas for mercy, they all resurface.

Your head throbs.

Your face aches.

You're so tired.

The door abruptly swings open and your gaze immediately jerks over in it's direction.

It's Husk, of course. He kicked the door shut and makes his way towards you, standing in front of where you were sitting. He holds his hands out. Or, you know. Lack thereof.

Somehow he found a way to get rid of his second hand. The wound wasn't a clean as a swift chop. It honestly looked like he got some wild animal to maul his other hand off. Maybe that is what he did.

Blood was staining the floor under the two of you. You can't tear your eyes away. The exposed, pulsating muscle and the contrast of cleanly cut bone compared to the gnawed off end of his wrists was disgusting to see, the overwhelming stench of iron flooding your nose, causing you to cover it.

He's looking at you.

He needs an answer.

You'll forgive him now, right?

He did what you asked.

So what if he can't communicate with you anymore? He'll find a way.

So, please. He's silently pleading. He needs your forgiveness.

Surely this was enough for you, right?

As you look at him, your stomach churns with the familiar feeling of fear, disgust and hatred.

Nothing has changed.

It wasn't enough.

[light-lanterne]

Not that I doubt your writing speed, but in the event that it takes you a while to get through your Bylerween stories to the point that they can't end up in the event... would it be possible to request a small summary of the things you'd planned?

hello ! thanks for the ask ~! there are all the reasons to doubt my writing speed, unfortunately, so by all means, a small summary is a perfectly reasonable request !! these are not the final synopses (maybe not even final titles), so please forgive how rushed and imperfect they are x.x

please be warned, though: out of the list with warnings for the event the @bylerween2023 mods posted, at least 90% of those themes are mentioned and alluded to in this post (let alone the stories themselves). proceed with caution.

an offering @boycattj, @byelerss, @catboy-cabin, @cosmobrain00, @dark-quill, @conanssummerchild, @fenixashes, @fluffyfangirl, @foodiewithdahoodie, @holyvirgilscriptures, @hyperfixationcentralsvoid, @rotisseries, @wheelersboy, @yearninginblue. forgive me for tagging you all in unfinished stories, but i thought maybe you'd find some of these concepts interesting >.<

- - - - - - - - ☽ day 1 — ghosts and hauntings ☾ - - - - - - - -

the old barn on cornwallis road

will's house is haunted. not by a ghost or a spectre, but by the cries and suffering of all the boys his father has kidnapped, tortured, and murdered over the past couple years. young as he is, there is nothing he can do but sit and watch as the boys perish, their resentful eyes following his every move as he performs his part in their abduction and killing, fantasies of escaping by himself nothing but a distant dream he'd be better off forgetting. that is, at least, until he meets his dad's latest victim. he's younger than the others, yet far more resilient and determined to escape. more importantly, however, he is kind and understanding with will and so, will's dreams of freedom slowly begin to include this boy. unfortunately, however, they remain dreams and will is instead forced to witness as mike's spirit and fight leave him as the days go by and the brutality lonnie enacts on him becomes worse and worse, his death an impending doom they cannot avoid,,, unless, of course, will manages to do something to save them both.

- - - - - ☽ day 2 — slashers, gore and body horror ☾ - - - - -

a sun to his moon

goat fae will has a normal, quiet life in his small community. he spends his days playing with his friends, cloud gazing, foraging for delicious berries and, quite literally, looking for greener pastures. one day, as he is making his way back home, he gets caught by a strong storm which forces him to seek refuge in an old abandoned barn, the pitch black darkness and his runny nose effectively restricting his senses to the point that he can only hear. and hear he does, when he catches a noise by his side and realises that there is someone in there with him. mike, to be precise; another lost soul who got caught by the storm. they can't see each other, or smell each other, but simply by talking they decide they really enjoy their time together and thus, when the rain stops and they're able to leave, they arrange to meet the next day and have a proper conversation. so they go, then arrive at their meeting spot, then come to a halt as they realise that they'd both made the same mistake: they'd assumed the other to be the same species as themselves when, in fact, mike is a wolf fae, the likes of which are notorious for eating goat faes.

- - - - - ☽ day 3 — demons, devils and exorcisms ☾ - - - - -

blood for the blood moon

it is the 16th century and will is having a tough time. his birthday is a week away and that would normally be a reason to celebrate, but this time he can't bring himself to cheer up even though he knows he should. in one week, his twin sister, jane, will be accepted into the town's council as their high priestess, her magic bringing peace to the village and convincing even the most religious old people of her goodness and pure intent. him? he's not special like jane. he's just a nobody who doesn't quite belong, who doesn't get invited to these events, and who can't even get his crush's attention, no matter what he does. mike hasn't always been a part of his life —or anyone's—; in fact, will can't even remember when they met. all he knows is that he cares so much about mike and it's entirely unfair that everything he does for him goes unnoticed. just last week, will helped him find clean water (just a couple days after the town's well was deemed poisoned), saved mike from biting into a rotten apple (the entire harvest had turned out wrong), scared off that nasty wild goat that kept following them both (its big horns a massive danger), and even warded off that stupid girl who keeps bothering mike even though he's clearly not interested (her broken arm should serve as a reminder to stay away, right?) he does all these things for mike and all will gets is silent stares and teasing smiles and he loves those, but he wants so much more and he doesn't know what to do and it's all making him so angry that he's beginning to believe a demon might've gotten into him, or something. but surely that can't be. demons are not real and will won't change his mind on the matter; not even if jane keeps bugging him about mike's red eyes and his supposedly dark, evil aura.

- - - - - - - - ☽ day 4 — psychological horror ☾ - - - - - - - -

the secret in mike wheeler's basement

there is a secret mike keeps in his basement. it's something important, something he treasures more than anything in the world. but he won't show anyone. not even dustin, when he visits for his weekly check-ins on his childhood friend. not even lucas or max, who only get to come back to hawkins every other month and can't bear the sight of mike's current home. not even el, who's tried to peek into mike's brain more than once only to be met by absolute darkness. and to be entirely honest, mike's silence is quite frustrating. the fight against vecna left them all tired and scarred and moving on from it all has been really hard, but they all still want to keep in touch and thus, the fact that they all make an effort except mike has left them a bit bitter. it's as if everything he's ever needed is there, in the basement, and the party would love to know what's got their friend so enthralled he can't even make time for them anymore. maybe will knows what's in there. he did come back to town for a few weeks sometime last year, during the summer; back then, will had wanted to show his then-boyfriend around town and there had been a couple clashes with mike, but as far as the others knew, everything had smoothed over when the boyfriend left suddenly and mike had will all for himself again. maybe it was then that mike showed will what laid beneath the floorboards, and maybe will held the answer as to why mike's entire house smells of acetone and dry blood. but there's no way of knowing. no one's seen will in a year either so as far as the party's concerned, mike's probably just obsessed with one of the weird life-like dolls he started making once he moved into the old creel house.

- - - - - - - - - ☽ day 5 — came back wrong ☾ - - - - - - - - -

a deal with god

will's life hasn't been easy: poverty, shitty dad, shitty classmates, shitty town. it all used to get to him, back when he lived in hawkins, but now, in retrospective, none of that is as bad as what his life is now. it could be worse, though. being abandoned in a dark, cold, alternate dimension is truly a horrible experience to go through at the tender age of twelve, but at least he's alive, right? more importantly, he's found a way to survive and, quite frankly, thrive in this place his friends called "the upside down". and sure, the powers he developed are big part of why he's even made it this far, but he dares say he's assimilated rather well in the ecosystem and he's almost ready to call this place home. but not yet. first, he needs to help henry destroy the other world. the one where he's been forgotten by the entirety of the town, and where his name is only ever uttered in mockery by everyone he ever loved. not mike, though. mike's the only one who still cares for him and continues to search for him even now, five years after will was taken and everything changed for them all. mike's the only one who's asked about him now that the gates are open and the "upside down" has filtered into whatever's left of hawkins, and he's the only one who seems willing to go on their own to try to find will. mike still cares, and will loves him for it, and that's why he's not going to let him go with the rest. a singular human surviving should do nothing to disturb his and henry's plans and so, will's decided he's going to keep mike alive. even if he has to lie and manipulate mike into coming with him, and even if he has to ask for henry's help.

- - - - - - - - ☽ day 6 — supernatural creatures ☾ - - - - - - - -

cruelty and the beast

(just going to link the original post i'd already made for this one >.<)

- - - ☽ day 7 — witches, wizards and necromancers ☾ - - -

the lost eden funeral home and crematorium

mike has always been fascinated by death. ever since he was a little child, he'd freak his sister out by bringing home carcasses he'd find in the forest, or by showing her the remnants of whatever poor critter he'd had to dissect during biology class. it is then no surprise that he'd end up working at a mortuary, embalming the bodies of the deceased every night and coming home with the smell of formaldehyde well ingrained in his brain. most nights, his time at the mortuary is filled with boring paperwork and the occasional facial reconstruction he has to slave over for the entirety of his shift. every once in a while, he is tasked with dealing with the result of a massive accident and struggles to catch his breath as he prepares up to a dozen bodies for their funeral. however his night goes, he tries to enjoy his job as much as he can, and he likes to think he's really good at it and can handle anything the world throws at him. ,,,that is, of course, until the night when he accidentally reads a passage out of his boss' necromancy manual and brings back to life the body of a young man who passed away under very violent circumstances. who, despite looking (and smelling) like a rotten zombie, seems to be a sweet and lovely dude who died far too soon. so, and because he is nothing but fascinated by the entire situation, mike decides to go a little further and try to bring the man fully back, no matter what it takes.

and that's it ! all the stories i was supposed to write for bylerween and which i'll slowly chip away over the course of the year x.x hopefully you found some of these entertaining ~!

[prpfz]

( 🐩 )

the cravings are getting real and i cannot stop them !

21 muse looking for 19+ writers! OOC chatter is a must since i love making friends and chatting whenever we are not in the mood for roleplay. ghosting is alright too 'cause this is all a fun lil hobby nothing serious 🪽

I will be blunt and honest when I say I crave dark roleplays. I explore the nitty-gritty of it all and see what monsters lie deep within the human mind. I want it to start cute and soft, and then you're taken for a spin when they show their true selves. I like the angst, the longing, the DREAD of it all, then that crash, knowing there's nothing you can do to fix them.

It's been on my mind for DAYS now, and it's an itch I have to get rid of, or else I will go mad! This roleplay will include stalking, obsessive behavior, 🕊 themes, 🍪, and other things. The only things off-limit are extreme Gore and bathroom stuff.

I am a semi-literate writer and work long shifts, so replies are always wacky, but I will communicate and always make speedy replies whenever I am available

PLEASE, I am begging you to bring the energy we don't have to be serious or anything. I want us to both have fun writing together. We can make lots for the roleplays as well 🌩

give a like and anon will get back to you

[olderthannetfic]

Thinking about your answer to https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/711971384704811008/im-aware-that-this-is-probably-a-dumb-question (the impact of a sex scene)

As a writer, I've often skipped it when, to me, it didn't feel necessary: the characters have reached the point where yes, they're together / committed / into each other, etc but I've had a few times (not often) readers say they'd have liked to have the sex scene, in fics where for me it would have been totally pastede on: the arc is done, the deed happened / will happen off-screen, etc, so it doesn't bring anything to the story or characters. But I think for some, it's unsatisfying if the dicks aren't out and the tongues battling for dominance; if it's not shown but only implied, then it's not as satisfying to them as readers.

Similarly, as a reader, I've often found myself skipping over the sex scenes when it felt, to me, only here to fulfill expectations, a reward for the readers who enjoy sex scenes independently of whether it's useful in the story, even if commenters are raving about it or the author is praised for their sex scenes. Ficcers aren't writing assignments to please a paying customer, after all, but themselves and hopefully their community, and many do love reading and writing about The Boning. But in that case, when I don't see the point of it, I just skim quickly so I can spot if there's anything interesting plot/characterization-wise. It's rarely the case when it's just added at the end IME, though I guess it's here as some sort of... emotional climax? or something? for some folks? I can't see it, but it's there for people who aren't me, and that's fine.

So I'm not entirely sure that I 100% see what you mean when you say that it's obvious when it's needed or unneeded ;-) it can be obvious to me that it is such when the exact opposite is obvious to another reader/writer, so I guess there's a degree of YMMV about it.

And yeah, I'm ace, and yeah, I do read and write sex scenes; it's not that I'm a prude! I just think there's a degree of sliding scale to it. Is The Sex Scene Necessary / Does It Make Sense Plot-Wise etc? You say that it's obvious when sex scenes (or gore, etc) are distracting or unneeded in a badly written fic, but 'badly written' may not quite mean the same thing to everyone, and perhaps depends on what the reader wants to find there.

(Cue me angsting about adding a sex scene in a fic because Gah! People want their smut! And I read So-and-so say that they only read Explicit and Mature! Must add sex to fics! And then write a porny fic, and see someone say the opposite! Woe! ;-)

--

I meant it's often obvious to the writer, but yes, readers may disagree. I think the sex scenes at climaxes are particularly prone to people disagreeing for exactly the reason you say: they're a sort of genre expectation for some. I do, generally, find a long emotional build unsatisfying if we don't see the characters get together beyond just asking each other out, and a sex scene is one way of showing them together.

It's the sex scenes in the middle that happen well before the emotional climax that I feel are particularly obvious. Maybe it only comes with experience, and I'm sure not everyone will agree because there's nothing in art everyone agrees on, but I think a lot of people will agree on which ones feel extraneous or missing... or at least which ones feel like they're there to be hot vs. which ones seem to be doing something else in addition.

Let me give you an example of a sex scene that should not have been missing:

In the film The Quick and the Dead, Sharon Stone finally had enough clout to get the sex scene removed. Good for her... but sadly, it's one time it really should have stayed in because it happens between two characters who don't trust each other and have only sort of drawn closer the previous day. On the morning after the sex scene they're scheduled to fight a duel to the death. They concoct a secret scheme to get out of it. We don't see them coming up with this because it's supposed to be a surprise, which is fine, but we also don't see any scene that really explains when they had time to come up with it or why they trust each other enough to carry it out. The sex doesn't make it sensible to trust each other, but it does explain why they might suddenly be filled with new feelings and do so anyway. It also explains when they had time to discuss a plan in private without others wondering what they were up to.

The scenes that are most obviously needed are ones that are structural: They contain some major emotional beat that isn't in other scenes. Something about the status quo is radically different between the scenes on either side. A character makes a major decision even if we don't know exactly what it is yet. Those kinds of moments should be on-page/on-screen.

[painonthebrain]

DAY #1: SANTA CLAUS

Claustrophobia | Forced celebration | Panic attack

Fandom: Original work/OCs

CWs: Captivity, nonbinary whumper, demon whumper, masc whumpee, angel whumpee, nonbinary whumpee (mentioned), restraints, humiliation, alcohol use/drinking, forced drinking, choking, beating (past), neck whump/gore (past)

@amonthofwhump

Hearing footsteps, Oath looks up, his face dark. His body is tense, forced to kneel, chains holding him down — pinning his wrists and ankles to the ground, with a slimmer chain around his neck keeping him from holding his head up. His muscles burn with the strain of holding the position. His wings are secured, bound together with tough leather, cramping and twitching, the tightness of the bonds creating a horrible ache that spreads from the limbs to his back.

There’s a spell circle keeping him from escaping too — but it has no use, because he has no way out of the restraints anyway.

The rest of his surroundings serve no further purpose than to humiliate and break him down. Blank concrete walls littered with cracks on every side box him in, still leaving too much space that he can’t occupy because he’s tethered to the floor. He’s cataloged every detail of this place, and still he hasn’t been able to leave. Now the only thing worth paying attention to is the person walking into the room, waiting for whatever cruelty they have in store for him now.

As Oath turns his eyes upward to see who it is, he sneers. The approaching figure is tall, imposing, with long curly hair tied back in a low pony — messy and wild otherwise. They carry themselves with a confidence like what Oath once had long ago, lips curved into a toothy smile, canines sharp like shattered glass. Their face is dotted with dark red markings, as if they gored someone only moments before, the deep black of their eyes reflecting back death and untimely demise.

It’s Marrow.

A demon, a beast of hellfire. Someone who thinks they can tame Oath, turn him into a trained animal, rip apart his spirit and turn him into something he’s not. Like it’s simple.

Oath’s eyes narrow.

He should be in its place.

He doesn't speak, merely eyeing the demon suspiciously as he bites his tongue. And despite refusing to speak, his gaze communicates his inner thoughts perfectly.

What do you want, scum. Going to beat me again?

The marks from that have already healed anyway.

Marrow stands, regarding him thoughtfully. Or at least appearing to.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” it teases.

“Shut up.” Oath scoffs.

Marrow goes silent for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that pretty little mouth of yours would look so much better without a tongue. I’d have half a mind to chop it off if that little halo around your neck didn’t do that wonderful thing where it stabs you!”

Oath jerks a hand against his restraints, trying to bring it to his throat. The halo around it does exactly what Marrow describes. It punishes liars for their dishonesty.

Oath has tiny little scars in a ring around his neck.

…

He’s been lying a lot recently.

He says nothing more. He’d rather not test Marrow. After all, he’s not the important one here. That’s Starling.

“Oh, don’t worry!” They wave their hands, brushing off the threat like it’s a silly joke. “You won’t be punished for that. I’m here to celebrate, after all.”

“… Celebrate what.” Oath says, his voice flat. He can’t imagine anything Marrow would celebrate is worth celebrating at all.

“Oh, you don't know?”

Oath shakes his head, regretting it when he hears it crack. No, he doesn't.

“I’m going to let you go!”

Oath stares. “Really?” Yeah, right. They still haven’t finished questioning him. The irritated pinpricks around his neck are evidence of that.

Yet for a brief moment, he indulges in the fantasy that his captor might actually let him go free. Albeit probably without his charge, but the cost of freedom is great sometimes. It would be worth it — besides, he could come back later to save Starling. Just to save his reputation. Just to save his job. Nothing more.

“That’s… that's—” That’s unbelievable, when did Marrow ever express any sympathy or care for him? Who is he trying to fool?

Marrow’s expression doesn’t look right, and Oath knows they don’t mean it.

“You're lying.”

“Oh no, I’m not! You’ll never see this place again, I promise.”

“Sure.” His voice is laced with sarcasm. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit. There’s two options: let him go or don’t. Simple.

Just pick one already.

Marrow grins. “Come now —” it tips Oath’s chin up to look at it, bending his neck backwards; Oath bites back a groan, knowing he isn’t truly able to stretch it that far, not without the chain around his neck — “that’s no way to act during a celebration! Loosen up!”

Marrow pulls out a flask from its pocket. “Here,” it holds the container out to Oath. “Drink.”

“Oh-“ He stares at it. “No… no thanks.” It has to be a trick. Besides, how does Marrow even want him to drink it? With them holding the flask for him? Heat rises to Oath’s cheeks. The idea is humiliating.

“I insist!” Marrow smiles, all teeth, and Oath shrinks back, as much as he can while immobilized by the chains.

“No, I don’t —”

“You don’t what?” Marrow growls. “You don’t want to? I don’t think you have a say in that.”

Marrow unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the flask to Oath’s, holding his jaw tightly, tipping the container back. “I. Said. Drink.”

The liquid spills down Oaths' chin and he chokes, sputtering as the bitter liquid floods his throat, almost too fast for him to swallow.

Marrow takes the flask away before it’s emptied, leaving Oath to hack and wheeze, spit and whiskey dripping down his chin. Gasping in fresh air and hacking, he doubles over with every cough. The taste of it coats his tongue and throat, hand in hand with searing pain.

“Was that good?”

Oath stifles another cough.

“W-wonderful.” He doesn't want any more trouble.

“Then surely you'll want more.”

“No no no —”

Marrow dumps the rest of the flasks contents on Oath. The alcohol drips down his forehead, into his eyes and down his cheeks, and for a minute, Oath is too stunned to speak. His mouth fails to form the words.

His body is so warm, the drink is like lava across his skin, washing him away as it dribbles down his face.

“Aren’t you just drowning in excitement? I know I am! I’ll be rid of you and someone else will have to deal with your bullshit.

“Someone stupid enough to sign a contract over you.”

Oath goes rigid.

“I only have so long to whip you into shape, now. So maybe you’d best behave.

“I know you’d hate to spoil all of this for yourself.”

[vikingsbigbang]

Let's Round 'em Up!

We'd like to apologize for the small delay in our round-up post. We have now collected every fic, teaser and art in one handy post for you to find! Take a dive in (beneath the 'readmore') and please leave our writers and artists some love!

1. The Shepperd and The Lamb by @heavenlymorals, art by @nothingtolosebutweight

Category: Gen Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word count: 9,3k Warnings: none Summary: Instead of honoring their promise of sending the young heathen, Ivar, back to Norway, the royal family instead put him under the care of the warrior bishop, Bishop Heahmund, to shed his heathen ways.

2. Strife within London by @emma-ofnormandy, art by @therealvikingstrash

Category: F/M Rating: Mature Word count: 11,2k Warnings: none Summary: Determined to prove those closest to the crown are responsible for the shrinking coffers in London, Emma brings the evidence she has gathered to Canute’s attention, expecting they both would come together and make a plan. Instead, she is reminded that London has not changed as much as she had thought under the reign of her second husband and it will take a certain touch to mend the bridge that was burned.

Author's promo can be found here!

3. The Lost Daughter by @northernxstories, art by @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog

Category: F/M  Rating: Explicit Word count: 22,5k Warnings: Character Death, Pandemic Summary: In this modern AU, Angrboda was lost to her family when a pandemic swept the world shortly after her fifth birthday. They became trapped on opposite sides of the wall that cut off the territory of Kattegat from the rest of the world. One of a dozen Sealed Territories around the world, Kattegat is assumed to be a dead city almost two decades later. When a team of scientists plan to breach the wall, Angrboda or Bodi as she is now known, schemes her way into the group with the help of her adopted sister, Sumi, and in order to do so, Bodi must hide her connection to the community. Once there, Kattegat is nothing like she expected. Faced with new information and unexpected connections, Bodi must decide if she'll remain true to the life she has built or find her home in Kattegat once again.

Author's promo can be found here!

4. veild the pole by @cerberusian, art by @nothingtolosebutweight

Category: M/M Rating: Explicit Word count: 6k Warnings: Dub-Con, Violence, Incest Summary: He thought he was dreaming when Ubbe came in. Ubbe had no reason to be here, except that Hvitserk wanted him here; so he must be a figment of Hvitserk's imagination.

5. Down With The Dust by @ulfrsmal, art by @underragingwaves

Category: M/M Rating: Explicit Word count: 11.5k Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, consent issues Summary: Stranded in Constantinople and in dire need of money to return to Norway and claim what was rightfully his, Harald hadn’t thought twice before pitching this idea to Leif – there were few things more delectable than admiring the raw power in his half-naked Greenlander – yet now Harald could see what bubbling rage could do… and started to doubt whether this had been a good idea after all.

Author's promo can be found here!

6. Pale On Pale by @bouncehousedemons, art by @therealvikingstrash

Category: F/F Rating: Explicit Word count: 6k Warnings: Violence, Gore, Character Death, cannibalism Summary: Kwenthrith does not remember going into the woods. She simply remembers waking up with an insatiable blood lust and a peculiar feeling that she is something "other". What Kwenthrith is not aware of is that she is now a succubus. It will take the deaths of many men and the ultimate test of her friendship with Judith before she realises she must either seek salvation or learn to live with her curse.

Author's promo can be found here!

7. Seafarer by @sigridsdottir, art by @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog

Category: F/M Rating: General Audiences Word count: 3,2k Warnings: none Summary: One day Ubbe's childhood companion realizes that perhaps she feels more for him than she originally thought and only when they are separated do they see how desperately they need one another. 

[bitchfitch]

A friend had alerted me to the fact I don't have any Classic "come be my queen of evil" type characters Despite being a Gothic Romance Guy. That's like a Goth owning no black clothing or a punk with narey a single embroidered patch. What's Wrong with me.

Anyways. The inspiration is Villainous Thing by Shayfer James thank you squid, and to a lesser extent This Fic which it plus it's sequel and some of the other stuff this person has written will be in my head forever, (It's labeled as Mature, It's Turbo Not. That's a Hard E rating if I ever saw one, for the gore alone.)

Let's go.

Delusions are the theme of the week. Starting there. Our singer is welcoming a stranger in from a storm in the song and deeming them their Villainous Thing... A castle and a storm aren't right. They're too Done.

it's the apocalypse. No. It's after the apocalypse. The green is coming back. Communities are rising from the rubble but they look nothing like what came before. It's not a castle, it's an old bomb shelter. The singer isn't a vampiric monster or fae. He's a man, irradiated and sick like so many others. He had money, money doesn't matter much anymore. The country on his currency got wiped off the map along with all the others. His bomb shelter is still so luxurious in its decay. He's alone in it and refusing to come out until the world is Better. He will Make It better. He wasnt even alive yet when the bombs dropped, but his parents told him of a world where he ruled as something more than a king.

The Villainous Thing... He's one of the people born long after the worse of the radiation left the air. After the communities learned to handle it. He's not as he would be in a pre nuclear and lab created disease world, but hes the only person who looks like the people in the Rich Man's old magazines. Beautiful in how utterly normal he is.

Clearly this was meant to be who the Rich Man ruled with. This was who would help him eliminate all those twisted by the radiation. They will clean the world together. He just needs to make the Villainous thing See that this was clearly what was meant to be their fate.

They don't meet in a storm. The Villainous Thing is severely hurt running from him. The Rich Man says that proves that he was right. The earth itself conspired to bring his darling down so that they could begin their work.

[cewyll]

hii! i found your blog by accident and i'm mesmerized. i used to play rp on twitter and i really wanted to start doing the same here but idk where to start. could you please give me some tips?

oh hey, thank you so much for reaching out! :D i'll admit i'm not as active on this blog as on others, but it makes me happy to have reached you nonetheless. <3

i'd be delighted to give you some tips to start out! it's definitely a process that feels a bit alien at first, but over time you get a feel for it. :>

i am soooo sorry in advance, this is going to be super long — you picked a wordy bitch to ask 😂 but i'll try to format this in a way that's easier to read!

take your time to go through stuff & no need to read or absorb it all right away. feel free to keep this post bookmarked to look back on whenever you need it as well.

💖 welcome to raine's stupidly-long guide to starting tumblr rp! 💖 qualification: i've had this blog for 11 years. fml disclaimer: still all just from my perspective, i'm just one gal with opinions hehe

start out by making a new blog for your character. (i wouldn't recommend starting out with a sideblog personally, since you can't send asks from them). choose a url that feels relevant. i'm always a fan of the ol "smush two words together that sound nice" technique — ie, my other blogs are huntershowl and icarusplunged — which never seems to fully go out of style. really you can do whatever feels right to you :)

the most important part of setting up an rp blog is creating a rules page and, if you're writing an OC, an about page. the rules set up your boundaries, your wants and don't wants, anything you want someone to know before they follow you. the about page should give new partners everything they need to know about your character — personality, appearance, setting/lore, any backstory you want to display publicly.

feel free to look around at different rpers' rules pages and use them as inspiration! as long as nothing is copypasted and everything is your own original content, which brings me to etiquette.

etiquette!

'tis largely an Unspoken Thing in the rpc (rp community), and breaching it can def make people feel uncomfortable (even though that's something that Should be in rules pages, most of us forget haha). here are the things i can think of off the top of my head:

the way to reach out to new people is simply to follow them. that's all you gotta do! if they don't follow back, don't push, just unfollow them after a few weeks and move on. it's almost never personal!

in that vein, if someone's blog is private/selective/mutuals-only, wait to interact until they follow back.

once they do, it's up to you how you want to move forward — usually i'll wait until they post some sort of interaction call for you to like. a starter call, a plotting call, orrrr if they reblog an ask meme (which is like a list of sentence prompts! you can choose one from the list and send it as an ask, which they can use as an rp starter.) you can also just IM them though :)

don't reblog non-rp content (ask memes, quotes/imagery, etc) directly from another rp blog, it clogs up their notifications! just reblog from the original post instead.

don't interact with other people's threads (liking or reblogging, but feel free to read them and talk about them ooc!), and only respond to a starter if it's labeled as open — otherwise it was probably written for another rper specifically.

try not to prod people too hard if they haven't responded in a while. some folks are okay with being reminded about a forgotten thread a few weeks after replies stall out.

always tag nsft (not safe for tumblr, the other acronym gets flagged/hidden) and very upsetting content — gore, SA or abuse mentions, etc. i've seen some people starting to use "dead dove do not eat" as a catch-all for super dark content, but honestly that phrase gives me the heebiest of jeebies so i prefer to go with individual tags

general platformless rp etiquette rules apply: don't steal other people's content, don't assume or control the other character's actions/thoughts/etc.

be kind to each other, most of all. communicate when you have a problem with someone, rather than making a vague/callout post about them. that being said, i'm a proponent of the block button — blocking people is okay! it's not a big deal. this is a hobby space and no one is entitled to you. advocate for yourself!!

okay that was a long section, whew! lil break. take a sip of water. have a snack mayhaps.

now: RP STRUCTURE (the fun part)

we don't really do "script" style rp on tumblr — it'll usually, if not always, be in prose/paragraph form. formatting is a fun touch, but not necessary. as you can see, i'm using small text here with some little chunks of text in bold/italic or regular size text to add some visual interest. again, not necessary! experiment, figure out what you like!

lots of people will use icons of different sizes — 100x100 is the most common, but they really do vary. i would suggest going smaller rather than bigger (like don't use full post-width gifs or icons, try to keep them under half the size of the post? that's the most common vibe at least.)

icons can be used to "illustrate" your character's expression among a bunch of text, if you want Visual Spice. but they are soooo not necessary! totally up to you.

here are some examples of my icon styling!

there are lots of rp resources out here for cool coloring psd's and graphic templates for ya blog. create something fun and pretty that you like! <3

to reply to a thread, reblog it and add your post.

important: i highly recommend downloading and installing XKIT in your browser. it's an extension that lets you trim posts to the last two reblogs (common around here), customize your blog experience, and just makes it a lot easier to exist on tumblr haha.

ummmm i think that's it actually! you're finally free of my rambling. i really hope this helped!! please let me know if you have any questions, and gimme a follow when you start up a blog — i'd be happy to help you out however i can.

[ahsofficial]

“Welcome to the AHS! We’re happy to have you!”

--Warning--

This blog contains writings and imagery containing some blood, gore, and other zombie-related content. If this kind of content disturbs you, do not continue.

__________________________________________________________

“To say it’s the end of the world would be inaccurate. The human race is far from nearing extinction, but it's no secret that we are smaller, with oceans of the dead separating us for many miles. While the governments of old are still out there, whatever they’re planning will likely occur long after I’m gone.”

This blog belongs to @aves-arts and covers the zombie au of my oc universe! Vick Pavlova and Jennifer Thompson emerge from their bunker to find the city of Nuevo Recinto in shambles. Together, they navigate the new post-apocalyptic world that was thrust upon them and face the logistics of managing a community.

__________________________________________________________

Synopsis

Vick Pavlova was the head of an organized crime syndicate that operated around the globe. She’s the type to always have a plan for any situation. 

When the outbreak jumped across the pond and made its way to the east coast, Vick sent an emergency alert to her facilities and those who would be useful in a disaster situation. Underneath her offices was an expansive underground facility that could house several hundred people in an emergency. Once the final day to enter came, the office entered a full lockdown. Sealing itself from the outside.

The military scrambled to set up defenses against the undead hordes, but the sheer number of people meant that no fortification could hold out forever. 

While they were underground, members of the Cobalt bunker would be sent out into the city through the subway tunnels to scout the city and scavenge supplies on occasion. For months on end, they bided their time for the perfect time to emerge. 

When the day came, the world they returned to was unforgiving. The deteriorating barricades and empty safehouses told a story they’d soon be a part of.

When the military abandoned the city, some of those left behind banded together. The Clique was a group dedicated to working alongside each other and helping as many people as they could. Safehouses were established, makeshift hospitals were maintained, and an aura of hope brewed in those who wanted to bring back some semblance of normalcy. 

However, The Clique began to stretch themselves thin. It became harder and harder to keep up with the responsibility placed on them. The dream of a better future died when those most capable of maintaining security defected from The Clique. The last of the group were wiped out at the Griffith Observatory safehouse by the newly formed Marshals.

Formed from the remnants of the Nuevo Recinto Police Department, The New Marshals are the dominant force in the city. Once fighting to restore order to the city, they regressed and resorted to more aggressive tactics long before those in the Cobalt bunker returned to the surface.

Once those from the bunker established the Cobalt Refuge - the Marshals resorted to recruiting lowly raiders as nothing more than cannon fodder to bolster their numbers against the Cobalt Refuge. Getting into conflict with Vick’s group has caused the number of actual former police to dwindle even more.

Outside of these conflicts, the city of Nuevo Recinto is still home to many survivors. Despite the outbreak, it is not uncommon to come across others in your travels through the city. Along with this, the former military occupation has left the city with an abundance of supplies and equipment. 

Needless to say, Nuevo Recinto is a city bursting with opportunity. With the headache The Marshals have proven to be, Vick has to make the tough calls between her group and theirs - not to mention what other groups may exist outside of the walls of the Cobalt Refuge.

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Tags to use

Posts on here will be placed in relevant tags for convenience! Whatever you’re interested in looking into, the list will be laid out here.

#🤺-Groups of Interest  (Faction related lore/content) #🕴️-Persons of Interest (Characters in the Zombie AU) #🧟-Afflicted Individuals(Lore about the infected themselves) #🗺️- Global News (Lore about Nuevo Recinto and the world itself) #🏠- Points of Interest (Location related lore/content) #🎨-Outbreak Creations (Zombie AU artwork) #✏️-Written Accounts (Stories about Zombie AU) #🧾-Salvaged Intel (Posters/signage/etc from the outbreak) #📟-Cobalt Documents (Lore about Vick’s group) #📈-Day 0 (Relating to the beginning of the outbreak) #📉-Day 100 (Relating to the post-apocalypse) #🔮-Unreliable Intel (Non-canon to Zombie AU) #🧑‍🤝‍🧑-Familiar Faces (Characters originating outside the AU) #👪-Strangers (Original Zombie AU characters) #🎬-Related Media (Relating to other zombie media)

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Final Words

Thanks for stopping by on my little blog! I've always been a huge fan of zombie media of all kinds. This blog is a labor of love that I hope interests other fans of the genre. If you have any asks feel free to send them my way! If you make any zombie or zombie-related artwork or ocs I'd love to see them!

[sorryxsimon]

Is that JOSHUA BASSETT? No, that’s SIMON STONE. The 21 year old LIGHTNING MOON - GRIZZLY WEREBEAR OMEGA MALE is a MUSICIAN. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be CREATIVE & HUMANE, but beware, they’re also known to be ANXIOUS & APPREHENSIVE. Their friends also say that they’re into PRAISE & BODY WORSHIP but don’t you dare trying GORE, BATHROOM PLAY, & BLOOD with them.

Basic Information

Name: Simon Gregory Stone

Nickname: Si (pronounced Sigh)

Age: 21

Species: Werebear

Moon: Lightning Moon

Secondary Gender: Omega

Pronouns: He/him

Occupation: Musician

Pack (born): Rose (dame), Adam (sire)

Appearance

Height: 5'10

Weight: 138 pounds

Build: lean

Hair Color: Dark brown

Eye Color: Brown

Tattoos: A small cluster of music notes on his left wrist

Piercings: None

Distinguishing Features: Hair (curly as can be most days)

Personality

Positive Traits: Creative, Humane, Humble

Negative Traits: Anxious, Apprehensive, Circumspect

Sex

Kinks: Romance, Praise, Body Worship, Hair Pulling, Vanilla

Anti-Kinks: Gore, Vore, Ageplay, Anything under the bathroom umbrella, Feminization, Anything that could present a danger to himself or his partner

Safeword: Crescendo

Biography

TW for violence

Music has been part of Simon's life for as long as he can remember. From the lullabies his parents sang when he was young to singing along to the radio countless times. Picking up a guitar or sitting on the piano bench at the local music store, relishing in the feeling of belonging. Like he was meant to be here with the guitar in his hands or with his fingers on the keys.

He looked forward to making the bell above the door ring after finishing his homework. He could not wait to learn new songs on each instrument. Maybe he would give writing songs of his own a try some day?

It was thanks to these frequent visits to the local music store he strengthened friendships with two kids in his class. Grant Sullivan and Jake Richards. They already knew of each other through their town's small supernatural community, but music played a great role in bringing the three of them together.

Forming a band was always a wild idea. Something to joke about. After all, the three of them were just goofing off and performing mostly covers. They had ideas for original songs, but those were carefully hidden away in a notebook.

Until one summer, a classmate reached out in a panic. The DJ for their graduation party had backed out at the last minute. Rumor has it that the trio only needed a few moments to look at each other before they agreed to play. One request to play at an event became three. Three requests to play became seven. It wasn't long before their summer was booked and they needed to come up with a band name.

Then some of their performances ended up on social media. Attendees were loving the covers they did of beloved songs and sharing the recordings with friends who sent them to more people. Fact or Fiction had gone viral!

While they were working on their original songs one afternoon, the trio received a phone call. A record label wanted to arrange a meeting and that could only mean one thing. Their hopes were confirmed when the meeting ended with an offer to sign the band.

Of course, nothing could have prepared the band for what came next. Betrayal.

Three years after the ink dried on their contract, they performed at an award show. One of music's biggest nights! When they checked into their hotel after attending some after parties, a member of their security team crept into Simon's room and attempted to attack him. He did manage to stab Simon, but thankfully Grant and Jake showed up just in time to say goodnight. Jake tackled the attacker while Grant helped Simon up, started healing him with spells.

It turned out the now former security team member was a hunter. One who had somehow learned Grant, Jake, and Simon were members of different supernatural species. While they likely would not have to worry about him for awhile, the three of them could not help but fret over the other possibilities. There was a real risk of the band being dropped from their record label and having this dream come true end abruptly. Not to mention the risk of other hunters they don't even know about possibly having this information.

They needed a safe place to stay. Where they could get their thoughts together and recover from this revelation. Only one place came to mind - New Haven.

As far as the record label and their fans are aware, Fact or Fiction is taking a brief hiatus to take care of their mental health. They will miss this dream job, one they are incredibly lucky to have. However, their present and future safety is the issue weighing on their minds. The trauma of that night still haunts the three of them. Returning to touring and making music can wait. The safety of Grant, Jake, and their fans from all walks of life is infinitely more important to Simon. There is still healing to be done - a process that will hopefully come easier while Fact or Fiction is here in New Haven.