#overseer dangerous shelter

[cabinetofquriosities]

A Room for the Night

Agatha x Fem Reader (the old classic of Only One Bed)

Warnings: Smuuuut

“Only one bed? Are you kidding me?” she grumbled, tossing her bag onto the chair at a small table by the window.

You wrung your hair out before walking inside. Agatha had wanted to push through the weather to find the next witch for her coven, but as day turned to night, it became more dangerous. The sheets of rain had blinded you to everything but the neon glow of the motel sign. Several people had taken shelter there, only leaving them with one available room.

“Stop complaining,” you sighed, earning a glare from the witch.

“Well, excuse me for wanting my own bed to rest in before going on the Road. I still don’t understand why you couldn’t have muscled through.”

“And if we crashed? What, would you use your reserves of magic to heal us?” you taunted, causing a spark of anger in Agatha’s eyes at the mention of how powerless she currently was, “You are the one who tied me up in your closet. You are the one who needed help finding witches who won’t run from your background.”

“And YOU were the one who found me for help getting on the road,” she spat back.

You were both locked in a charged stare, holding it before finally sighing, the both of you too exhausted to bicker any more.

After taking a shower, you walked out to the room. Agatha pushed past you, saying, “You better have left me some warm water,” before slamming the door shut.

A part of you bristled at her attitude, almost regretting breaking her out of Wanda’s spell. The woman was centuries old and out of patience. You supposed that your 34 years could hardly compare to her lifespan. Still, almost everything about her rubbed you the wrong way. You needed her, though. If you couldn’t reach the end of the road, you wouldn’t have a chance of getting your sister back. You were doing this all for her.

You put on boxers and a tank top before crawling into bed. Your wet hair dried against the pillowcase. After a bit, you felt the bed dip. Agatha laid down next to you in an oversized T-shirt, not feeling the need to wear anything beneath it. Underwear was always unnecessary to her when it came to pajamas or dresses. A holdover from the older times.

She turned away from you, hogging the blankets for herself. She cuddled up to them as if needing to feel the safety of holding something. You waited for her to drift off before yanking them back to your side so they at least covered you both.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. You felt warmth around you, the comforting rhythm of a heart pressed against your back. You tensed up at the feeling before realizing where you were, still disoriented from your slumber. You realized that Agatha was holding you. One arm draped around you, her hand against your abdomen. Her other absentmindedly played with your hair. You wanted to hate it, to be above wanting such a dangerous and unpleasant woman, but it just made the initial pull you had to her impossible to ignore.

The heavy, slow breathing tipped you off that she was still asleep. Her face was tucked into the crook of your neck. You felt your pulse quicken at the press of her cheek against it. It was as if it alerted her to your presence when it raced. You could feel her stiffen, realizing the position you were both in. You didn’t want her to untangle herself from you. As she was about to move her arm away, you moved her hand over your abdomen again, holding it there. You could feel her freeze before relaxing once again.

The energy had gone from a natural, unconscious comfort to a wary attraction. You were both awake and trying to resolve your feelings with your position.

You felt her nuzzle into your hair, her lips brushing accidentally against your neck. Your breath caught at the intimate touch of them. She thought a moment before turning her face a bit, more directly kissing your pulse point. She could feel the flutter of it against her pout. Her thumb traced patterns over your stomach, finding the sliver of skin between your shirt and your boxers. You lightly dragged your nails along the back of her arm before raking them lightly back down to her hand. You could feel her breath shiver at the gesture, her body pressing more firmly against your own.

She wordlessly kept kissing your neck, feeling her tongue dart out against the sensitive skin. You let out a soft sigh, your foot hooking around the back of her calf, tangling yourself further into her. Her hand moved slowly down, sneaking its way beneath your waistband.

Agatha hadn’t spoken or looked you in the eye. She moved slowly, as if any sudden movements would break the delicate balance between you two. You drew in a sharp breath as her fingers found your sex. They traced your lips before circling your clit. Your hips rocked, searching for friction. She slowed her ministrations, clearly teasing you like the temptress she was.

You let out a soft whine that pulled at something deep within her. She slipped a finger within you, crooking against the most sensitive part of you. Your toes curled as she began to fuck you. One, then two fingers stretching you with each thrust. Every breathy moan seemed to stoke the embers in her chest.

You could feel her latch onto your throat, sucking your pulse point between her teeth. She held your heartbeat in her mouth as she marked you. Your eyes rolled back as the heel of her palm ground against your clit. Your cunt squeezed around her fingers as pleasure washed over you, a cracked moan leaving your lips. She kept moving, stroking and teasing you through your aftershocks.

You both lay there in a moment of peace, both of you breathless. You reached down, pulling her hand out of your shorts. She began to pull back, thinking that you had enough of her, much like most of her previous lovers who would leave immediately after, but you held her close. Lacing your fingers with hers, you pulled her hand up to your lips, pressing them against it. You could feel the burn of her blushing against your neck, her body so unused to affection. You smiled softly, feeling Agatha drift off against you as you both had sweet dreams for the first time in years.

Remember to reblog if you liked the story ♥️

[soap-ify]

nsfw below , minors dni.

obsessed!ghost with lack of self awareness worms are invading my head.

tw : kidnapping, breeding kink, simon is insane.

-

You were supposedly the younger sibling of one of the men Ghost was assigned to capture for interrogation, and since he only found you, he captured you instead, believing that you would have some important information for him.

He was really the bad cop, taunting you throughout while you were helplessly restrained on a chair, fat tears running down your cheek, shivering under his harsh words and demands.

Though he never raised his hand on you for some reason, not hurting you in any way besides his words. and soon enough, he came to the realisation that you truly were innocent, not having know what atrocities your fucked up brother and his group were commiting around the world. You were just a poor sibling that happened to get caught in this mess. A lost lamb.

And Ghost couldn’t help but feel infatuated, relishing the faint glimmer of hope in your teary eyes once he calmed down and begin to undo your restraints, only for you to black out once he injected something on your neck swiftly, causing you to fall unconscious.

The next thing you knew was that you were in a bedroom you had never seen before in your life, waking up with a faint headache, your head spinning while your vision tried to adjust itself to the surroundings.

You were even wearing some different clothes now — a cozy pair of oversized shirt alongside some sweats that were clearly big on you too.

“Looks like you woke up, love.”

A gruff, terrifying familiar voice snapped you out of your momentarily curious state as you whipped your head to meet those stern brown eyes that made your skin crawl, your breath hitching anxiously.

Ghost. Though instead of his skull mask, he wore a simple balaclava, and also some casual attire.

It was almost as if you both lived together.

“W-Why am i here?!” Your first instinct was to shriek out, your body going into the flight mode as you tried to get off the bed in haste, only to be stopped by a pair of strong arms wrapping around your chest, trapping you.

“I am protecting you…” He growled, an unintentional waver in his voice while his eyes took in the way you were so scared of him. It made his heart ache.

Why would you be so scared of him? He was literally trying to protect you from the rest of the team that would probably find you through the connections of your brother. Ghost could never have that happen. Especially to a pretty thing like you who was clearly innocent. He wanted to save you from the ultimate doom, and what better way was there other than to keep you all to himself?

Why couldn’t you see that?

Also since he had taken such a liking to you, a feeling no one had ignited in his cold lonely heart. And now he was fully commited to you. Insanely and devotedly.

The next weeks flew by and you were still reluctant on warming up to him, flinching away from every little touch he tried to make, quietly obeying whatever he would ask you to do. All you could remember was the scary lieutenant who harshly tried to get information out of you that day.

But this Ghost was so different, and you couldn’t help but feel confused. No, you can’t even trust him. All you want to do is go home and sleep on your bed. But he had said that you would be in severe danger if you would get out of his house.

Was he saying the truth?

Though Simon felt as if you were actually beginning to trust him now, blissfully unaware of the raging storm in your head. After all, why wouldn’t you trust him? He was giving you food, shelter, even care. He was so kind to you, so it was only fair for you to be kind to him as well, yeah?

All he wished now was to knock you up, breed you with his babies so you would be stuck with him forever, being his lovely little spouse. That'd be the best way to keep you safe and happy.

[dyns33]

Strange way of life

No, it's not about my sweet Pedro (I'll let Silva be happy with his cowbow), it's a new Cooper Howard story, yaaaaaay !

Her cousins ​​had gently teased her when the name had appeared on her wrist on her eighteenth birthday.

It was nothing unusual, it happened to everyone, even if what was once a joy was now the memory of a lost world. It was very rare for two soulmates to be in the same vault, very rare indeed. Legends.

And unfortunately for Y/N, she was no exception.

If Lucy and Norman were snickering, it was because of her reaction when they read the name.

"… Cooper Howard ? My soulmate is the actor Cooper Howard ?! The famous Cooper Howard ?!"

"Uh, no, I don't think so."

"He would be over two hundred years old. Sorry, Y/N, but he's long dead. Maybe he's his descendant, or a guy with the same name."

"But I love Cooper Howard ! I've seen all his movies ! That would make sense !"

"Not really, no." Norm said, visibly a little sad at his cousin's excitement.

Sure, maybe the great Cooper Howard was still alive, in a hibernation chamber, in another vault, and waiting for her.

But even if that was the case, there was little chance that they would ever meet. There was no indication that it would be possible to come out soon, and so the rule was to ignore names when choosing a partner.

If not, humanity would have died out long ago.

Unfortunately for Vault 33, most of the young people were quite romantic. Her brother could try to be reasonable, Lucy stopped mocking to hug her cousin, saying that it was wonderful that she was destined for such a wonderful man.

They had been fans of the cowboy since childhood. At the same time, there weren't many other movies to watch.

A few years later, Lucy had her name, which wasn't that of an actor. At least, not a known actor in the vault, even if it was special. Titus Maximus.

Norman noted that it sounded like a name from Ancient Rome. He joked that his sister and cousin probably had soulmates who could travel through time.

While Y/N wanted to wait as long as possible before making a decision about her love life, Lucy sadly accepted that she would probably never meet Maximus, asking to meet a man from Vault 32 to get married. This pleased neither young Norman, for security reasons, nor Y/N, for emotional reasons. Besides the fact that he could be a dangerous cannibal, ugly and mean, there was nothing to say that Lucy and him would love each other. She could wait for her Titus.

"No, I don't want to wait anymore. I want love, real love. I can't keep dreaming and having fun with Chet…"

"Chet ? Your other cousin ? That's disgusting, Lucy !"

"I know ! That's why I need a husband. And if I ever meet Maximus, I could always divorce him. You can wait for your Cooper if you want, cowboy or whatever. I understand and I don't judge you. So don't judge me either."

That wasn't enough to prevent the massacre that followed. It was only because she had retreated to her room that Y/N escaped death, not seeing Overseer MacLean being kidnapped either.

More than this idea of ​​marriage, she found that leaving the shelter to go looking for him was very bad. She had never really loved her uncle, finding him strange. Her parents had also always been wary of him, even more so after the death of her mother's sister who they followed here before the plague.

But Y/N loved her cousins, both Norm and Lucy, and so there was no way she was going to let her go alone.

The poor widow drugged Chet because he would have been a burden, she already knew that her little brother would only help her get out, and when her cousin insisted on coming, she couldn't say no.

They were probably among the smartest, bravest and most skilled people in the vault. Together, they had a better chance of surviving outside.

However, nothing could prepare them for this devastated world. It was nothing like what their teachers had said. The sun was hot, the air full of dust, the earth barren, and the people rude.

The worst was that mercenary in the city of Philly, who started shooting at everyone while laughing, ready to kill Lucy because she was defending the poor man whose leg he had blown off.

Y/N didn't really want to get involved. She admitted that the treatment inflicted on the one who seemed to be a doctor and his dog was not normal, and that in other circumstances she would have intervened.

But they were not there for that, and if they wanted to find Lucy's father, it was probably better to avoid trouble.

This misadventure was not in vain, however. Because not only were they saved by a man named Titus Maximus wearing a huge sparkling armor, but they also recovered the doctor's head which could be used as a bargaining chip against Henry MacLean.

And above all, they had crossed paths with this ghoul dressed as a cowboy, exactly like in Cooper Howard's films, who spoke exactly like in Cooper Howard's films.

Since the atomization, meetings between soulmates were very rare. So double meetings ? Impossible.

Until a monster ate the head, Lucy kept jumping up and down like a child, terribly happy, immediately forgetting her failed marriage and a little bit about the reason for their presence near this radioactive lake. Even if she hadn't had time to give Maximus her name, there was little risk in saying that their savior was made for her.

"It's him ! I know it's him ! I only saw his face for a few seconds, but he's so handsome, so brave ! Did you see how he didn't hesitate for a second to jump in front of us and take the bullet for us ?"

"Yes, I did."

"I wonder why that horrible mercenary wanted to take that poor man, and what he was going to do to him. Do you think he has a soulmate ? Oh, do you think the doctor had a soulmate ?!"

"I don't know." Y/N sighed, trying to convince herself that it wasn't because the mercenary looked and talked like Cooper Howard that he was the actor, or her soulmate.

She could have asked him the question, when he caught up with them without too much difficulty, while they were wondering how to get the head back. Because without the head, there was no way to save Lucy's father.

Her poor cousin tried to explain it to the Ghoul, while he plunged her again and again into the water, while Y/N could only watch and beg, tied to a pole.

The plan he had put in place to attract the beast worked well, too well, and in the end, in addition to losing what he was looking for, the mercenary had his bag snatched, which obviously contained important things.

"Fuck… Fuck !" he yelled, pointing his gun at Lucy, as if the poor girl was responsible.

He didn't shoot. Visibly changing his mind, he took them both, forcing them to walk without water or food for days, to an unknown destination.

Several times, Y/N hesitated to give her name, to see his reaction. When he asked them after putting a bullet in Roger's head, her cousin answered first and he jumped, not giving Y/N time to speak.

He had understood that they were cousins. He must have thought that they had the same name, MacLean. Not Y/L/N.

She could have said it. Several times. But saying it was getting an answer, and she didn't know which one she wanted.

Either this man wasn't her soulmate and they were going to die. Or they were destined. And Y/N couldn't believe that this abomination, this heartless monster, could be for her. Even less that he could be Cooper Howard, the good sheriff who punished the bad guys and saved damsels in distress.

No, it couldn't be him. She was almost certain of it when he cut off Lucy's finger with a smile.

Arriving in front of the Super Duper Market, it was a surprise to be untied. Then he announced that he was taking two women in more or less good condition, in exchange for vials.

He hadn't killed them, just sold them.

No, he couldn't be her Cooper.

It was totally impossible.

But as Lucy walked through the store trying to stay dignified, holding back her tears, Y/N couldn't help but turn to the Ghoul. If she was going to die, she had to know.

He frowned, waiting to see what she would say, probably in an attempt to gain his pity.

"Are you Cooper Howard ?"

The question surprised him for a moment. Something flashed in his eyes, indicating that it had been a long time since he had heard that name. But he quickly resumed his closed demeanor.

"Not anymore, sweetie."

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

The doors of the Super Dupper automatically closed before Y/N could say anything else or see his face. It probably wouldn't have made much difference anyway.

[emmcarstairs]

The Heroine's Journey: Lucy MacLean

“The feminine journey is a journey in which the hero gathers the courage to face death and endure the transformation toward being reborn as a complete being in charge of her own life.” — 45 Master Characters

In her book 45 Master Characters, Victoria Schmidt outlines the steps and phases in the Feminine Journey as seen in many traditional stories such as myths and fairy tales. Unlike The Hero’s Journey, which focuses on the external, The Heroine’s Journey is about inner exploration.

In the following analysis, I will examine Lucy MacLean’s journey so far in Fallout (2024). I believe it will be interesting to identify at what stage she is by the end of S1 which will give us an idea of what likely awaits her in S2.

Note: This analysis is written for fun. It is my own reading of the character and her journey. You’re welcome to have your own. Spoilers ahead!

Schmidt’s Heroine’s Journey has nine stages:

ACT 1 Containment:

1. The Illusion of the Perfect World

2. The Betrayal or Realisation

3. The Awakening or Preparing for the Journey

4. The Descent – Passing the Gates of Judgement

ACT 2 Transformation:

5. The Eye of the Storm

6. Death – All Is Lost

7. Support

ACT 3 Emergence:

8. Rebirth – The Moment of Truth

9. Full Circle – The Return to the Perfect World

The Illusion of Perfect World

ACT 1

2. The Betrayal or Realization

In the first episode, we meet Lucy content in Vault 33. We are shown a whole montage of her perfect life in her perfect shelter. It’s designed to protect her. Outside is dangerous but in her bubble, she is safe and sound. But is this good enough?

Despite her obvious naivety, we get a sense she is after something else. In her first scene, she applies for marriage, which is telling of her being on the threshold of adolescence and adulthood. Now, if marriage is really what she is after, or if it is something she relies on to fit in the community she lives in, is up for debate.

The thing is, the heroine knows deep down that her little world is not perfect. And she subconsciously seeks freedom so she can exercise her growth. Perhaps the prospect of marriage is the closest to freedom she has known in the vault. Or perhaps it is the thrill of meeting someone from outside her containment. In any case, she wants change; her shelter has turned into a cage.

Here comes the moment when Lucy’s perfect world is shattered. On her wedding night, right after the consummation of marriage (the symbolic passing to adulthood), she is betrayed by her husband. This is the so-called “inciting incident”. He turns out to be a raider from the surface. Now, not only is she betrayed by him personally, but she is betrayed by her idea of the outside world. He is her first conscious contact with the world outside the vault. And it is a far cry from what she has believed in.

Not only that but the danger has breached the walls of her shelter; she can’t ignore it. It turns out that her perfect world and the system she has lived in are broken. Her attempt at freedom ends with her husband’s hands around her neck. The history and ethics lessons have done little to prepare her for this. So a part of her begins to wonder what actually lies out there.

To top it off, her father, who is an Overseer and the biggest authority by her glass bubble’s standards, is drugged and taken hostage before her own eyes. She encounters the villain for the first time in the face of Moldaver. With her convictions shattered and her dad gone, she must make a choice.

3. The Awakening, or Preparing for the Journey

Lucy’s world is in ruins, metaphorically and literally. The others’ refusal to send a search party only reinforces the idea that her world has let her down. This is her awakening. She decides to take the active road and do something about it herself, hoping to rebuild what was lost.

From the story’s perspective, she has to find her dad. But as screenwriter Robertson-Dworet puts it: “As much as she leaves to find her father in the pilot, she also wants to fuckin' know what's out that door.” Moldaver also remarks in the final episode that Lucy’s curiosity greatly motivates her to leave the vault.

Given the raiders’ attack and with no established authority to prohibit her from doing so, she ventures to do just that. With the help of Norm and Chet, she gathers tools and prepares for the journey. What she isn’t aware of but will soon find out is that no material tools will help her with what’s waiting outside. She has yet to learn to trust herself and her qualities which will ultimately help her. It’s time for the trial by fire.

4. The Descent – Passing the Gates of Judgement

ACT 2

The descent may not be a literal one. In Lucy’s case, it’s ascent. She looks behind her as the door is closed and locked. There is no way back, only ahead. Often, the descent is about passing the gates of the Underworld. One of the first shots outside the vault shows us bones and a skull on the ground. The Wasteland is very much portrayed as the Underworld with its own set of rules.

From here on, the real journey begins. The heroine faces the consequences of her life-changing decision in the form of tests that will determine her worth. She might be advised to return to her perfect world, as Dr. Siggi Wilzig does after she lights the bonfire. After she refuses, he tells her that she will have to adapt and become a "different animal altogether," summarising the point of this stage of transformation in her journey. 

She will then try to use the tools she has at her disposal—literal and metaphorical—but they won’t work. With each encounter, she will lose weapons or belongings until she is left with nothing of the things she thought would help her. Think of the filtered water Lucy loses or how her dart doesn’t work against the Ghoul. She begins to look progressively worse as her jumpsuit gets dirtier and bloodier. She even loses her trigger finger. 

The heroine may also face societal prejudice. Lucy is stunned by people’s opinions about Vault dwellers and Vault ideals in general. She is being proven again and again that her sensibilities, HR manuals, and ethics don’t work in the Wastes. 

The heroine has to rely on her courage and instincts. She must let go of all control and surrender herself to the descent. After being stripped of everything, she must face her demons. Lucy strives to always do the right thing, but she needs to embrace the fact the fact that the right thing doesn’t always come in a neat little package. The world is more than right and wrong.

I believe the scene that best illustrates the first time Lucy actively trusts her instincts and by doing so, survives on her own, is Super Duper Mart. She uses threats, uses a makeshift weapon, holds a hostage (it’s a robot but still, it’s a big step for her), and most significantly, for the first time, murders another to ensure her own survival. Even though Martha had no humanity left, her murder is important in Lucy’s journey because her death becomes synonymous with doing the right thing, not for a cause or the greater good, but for Lucy herself. 

5. The Eye of the Storm

She emerges victorious with her bloodied face and tank top, and this is the most disheveled state in which we have seen her. By helping out the Ghoul, she is the victor not only in terms of survival but also in terms of morality. She shows him that she is morally superior to him. She’s successfully beaten her demons this time without losing sight of her golden rule. 

Still, it has taken a lot out of her to survive. The heroine feels weary, reminiscing about easier times. She seeks to find the familiar comfort she once had and may consequently settle for something she doesn’t really want. 

After this mini-climax, the heroine evaluates and comes to terms with what just happened. She concludes that she handled things well. Having survived the danger, she gains a false sense of security. In Lucy’s journey, this stage coincides with her meeting Max and their experience in Vault 4. 

Finally, Lucy finds a person she can trust. The world feels a tad bit better with someone by her side. At the same time, she dreams of going back to her own perfect little world. It’s so lucky that they end up in another vault!

While Max discovers the joys of living a simple life, it’s interesting to observe Lucy’s behavior. Although she feels safe for a moment, she starts noticing the people and things around her. She’s become more perceptive than before. Try as she might, she can’t go back to her old ways due to her experience on the surface. She wants to feel safe, she wants to sleep with Max; she wants life to be simple again. But she can’t help but look twice over her shoulder. She feels uneasy and grows suspicious of everything around her. It’s the newly found survivor in her screaming at her to get out. 

Eventually, Lucy learns that she has made the wrong assumptions about Vault 4 because of her ignorance and her raw instincts. They leave the vault unscathed, with Lucy fantasizing about a future with her and Max living together back in her perfect world. Soon they find the head but are forced to separate. Lucy gets the head, the kiss, and the promise that Max will find her in Vault 33. It looks like the journey is nearing its end. But it’s only the beginning. 

6. Death – All Is Lost

The heroine believes that her journey will soon be over, but it is time for her to face her biggest fear yet. Lucy delivers the head and finds her dad, thinking they can safely go back to how things were. Then, all of a sudden, her world is spun on its axis once more. 

Schmidt notes that few female protagonists make it past the stage of their “death”. Some of them die in the literal sense, some go back to their old lives defeated, and others fall into a spiral of depression. I believe this is Lucy’s final stage in S1. What will become of her in S2? Let’s speculate!

She learns about her mother’s fate and about what her father did to Shady Sands. And perhaps most jarring to her is that her father really believes that he’s done the right thing by dropping a bomb over a thriving city. Lucy’s role model turns out to be a fraud. The ideals she has lived and fought for, too. And it’s Moldaver, the villain, who seems to be on the right side of the story, despite her murdering her fellow people. It looks like the world isn’t simply divided into right and wrong after all.

This is the ultimate betrayal that leaves the heroine’s thoughts in inner turmoil. She feels humiliated and confused. All this time, she’s lived in a perfectly constructed lie. The events build up to her mercy killing her own mother, which is exactly what the Ghoul did to Roger in front of her. Purnell says: "She's learned from him. She has turned into him." She faces the death of her old self.

7. Support

ACT 3 Emergence:

The heroine’s journey is about building bridges between the individual and the group. Her inner awakening leads to her being more open to the help of others and helping them in turn. She isn’t afraid of betrayal anymore because, at the end of the day, she has herself.

In Lucy’s final scenes in S1, we actually see the beginning of this stage with the Ghoul offering her to travel with him and find out more about the past. She leaves Max behind and goes with the Ghoul. According to Schmidt, it’s during this stage that the protagonist will accept herself as she is and go on to share her knowledge with others. She will define her own world without an external authority. Her journey of self-discovery will guide the others around her to make amends with their own problems. 

We have already seen the Ghoul’s influence on Lucy. In S2, I believe we’ll see how Lucy affects the Ghoul for the better by balancing his sharp edges. But before that, she will need his help to get herself up on her feet so that she can be reborn and come full circle in a new perfect world.

Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

both you and your anons need to stop because I am so invested in his daughters dating life now?? why am I imagining and whole saga of this up and coming merc joining KorTac after being spotted in an underground fighting ring wrecking HAVOC and being constantly told he's just as ruthless as the colonel when he was younger, running into a girl in a night club and hitting it off well maybe even a few make out sessions or two, slowly falling in love with this absolute firecracker of a girl who takes shit from no one. one day he has to go into his Colonels office and he sees a picture of his family and oh no...

them trying to date in secret and hoping the König doesn't manage to find an oversized leather jacket in his kids belongings...

Gaaaahh the saga of the rich spoiled daddy’s girl x poor underdog merc! I want a fic (or a sitcom) made of this 😭

Big bad biker guy grew up in a VERY similar setting as König… Harsh conditions, neglected as a child, comes from an abusive home, he tried to make money in these underground fights and got spotted by a headhunter, now he’s a rising star at KorTac’s and finally making something of himself.

The Colonel hates him somehow, bullies him, even, but at least he got this nice cute girl who’s the sunshine in his rain! An absolute princess, comes from a good family (although he’s detecting some daddy issues which is probably why she ended up with him in the first place...), he can tell she’s been sheltered all her life because she absolutely lives for danger.

She’s starstruck when he takes her for a ride, drools all over his tattoos, wants to make out in public and demands him to fuck her nasty style in his small, ugly flat – she’s an angel who happened to stroll into his hell, a crazy little princess he would die for <3

Disguised as this innocent, multitalented sweetheart, she’s in truth a hellraiser and a psycho at heart, and takes a liking to his knives. He just has to give one to her: of course she picks the biggest, dirtiest one, and says it reminds her of him. His heart is hers after that, and he returns to work, whistling, doesn’t even get too stressed about the Colonel summoning him to his office at 8 AM sharp.

He opens the door, still smiling, but it gets wiped away the minute he sees there’s a knife stuck on the Colonel’s desk. It’s the same big fat ugly weapon he gave his princess yesterday...

...and he briefly puts 2 and 2 together before the atom bomb called Colonel König goes off.

“Is this yours?”

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Nick Torres: I Told You Not To 

My first NCIS attempt. I just started watching season 14 and I LOVE Nick Torres. This is set before he joins the team. Let me know how I did in catching Nick’s character. I’m still learning his personality.  

You didn’t know it was possible to be this on edge while simultaneously feeling so fatigued. The fatigue was soul-deep and not something that would be fixed with even the best night's sleep. You felt completely wrung out. It made the hypervigilance that you couldn’t turn off much more unsettling. You have been running for almost two months now. There was the constant fear of being found and killed, or worse. You didn’t have the skill set to be on the run. You didn’t know how to dodge and redirect the dangerous people trying to find you. You didn’t know how to shoot a gun or protect yourself. You were a humanitarian. You came to Argentina to volunteer at an orphanage that doubled as a battered women's shelter.  

You were well aware that you did not have the skill set necessary to protect yourself in the situation and it had never occurred to you that you might need to. Helping people without using the correct channels had never come back to bite you in the ass this hard though. Granted it had always been in America where you had the home advantage. When the woman had come and asked you for help escaping her abusive husband with her young son in tow, how were you supposed to know that everyone else had turned her away in fear of the repercussions of a powerful man. A man who ran an underground child sex trafficking ring. 

The only thing that stood between you and him was an undercover NCIS agent, Nick Torres. He had saved you after his cover had been blown and had been dragging you around since. The man was paranoid, or so you had thought in the beginning, and on constant vigilance. He was sure of a mole in NCIS and didn’t trust anyone. It left the two of you in this constant state of motion. At first, the ordeal had been frightening, a constant rush of adrenaline. It had now turned into a constant uncomfortable prickle of anxiety and suspicion of everyone and everything. It was chronic mental exhaustion. If it made you feel as bad as you did, you could only wonder how bad it was for Nick.  

He was the one who could keep you both alive. You had watched his strange humor which had the desired effect of lightening the mood in difficult and often uncomfortable situations turn into a stoic silence for the last week, maybe two. You weren’t sleeping much but it was nothing compared to him.  

You had scoffed when he told you “I don’t sleep” but had soon found it near close to the truth. He barely slept over the last two months, the last few weeks being the worst. When he did drift off it was light and fitful. Every noise or movement woke him, and it would only be after a complete recheck of the area that he would try to sleep again if he chose to even try. Most of the time he would shake himself more awake and persist wherever he was leading you to next. 

Nick was a handsome man, but he looked rough, sitting next to you on the commercial bus. His body language read exhaustion as did the dark circles underneath his eyes. They showed prominent even over his dark skin which was starting to take a more yellow jaundice undertone. Not that you were judging. You were sure that you looked like a hot mess express. You had been living in Nick’s oversized clothes and showers weren’t a frequent thing. Your hair had been in a braid for almost a week because you couldn’t stand how greasy it had gotten. Most of it was covered by Nick’s plain black baseball hat that he had forced on your head, bill pulled down low to cover most of your face. He liked you as hidden as possible saying you looked out a ghost in the land of the living. A pale white girl who couldn’t hold a conversation in Spanish in a sea of fast-speaking Latinos. It was rude but you couldn’t disagree. 

The bus had just taken off, and Nick was slumped in his seat when a chill went up your spine. You had the eerie feeling of being watched. You knew the drill, no quick movements, you had to make checking your surroundings look natural, causal.  

It was easy to spot him the man. He was a few seats behind you and openly staring. It seems too blatant to be one of the men that you have been running from, but your body tenses and you feel the blood start to pump faster through your veins. “Nick,” Your voice is low and tense. It catches his attention, and you can feel him become more alert and sit up straighter next to you. “Do you see that guy a few seats behind us? He is watching us.” Nick did a much more casual job of surveying the surroundings and when he was done, he chuckled before relaxing back into his seat. You furrowed your eyebrows at him in confusion. 

“He isn’t watching us,” Nick stated flatly. You give a scoff of disbelief and go to object. You may be getting paranoid, but you can still tell when someone is staring. Nick cuts you off before you can get a handful of words out. “He isn’t watching us. He is watching you.” It takes a moment for the words to process. A soft oh falls from your lips when it finally clicks. 

Nick leans into your space, his hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. You exhale in surprise, but the touch is light and not unwelcome. It floods your body with a tingling warmth. “Is he still looking?” You search Nick’s face before looking back at the man. His attention had broken off you and he was now slumped against the wall staring out the window.  

“No,” His fingers brushed your cheek lightly catching a strand of hair that had come loose and securing it behind your ear.  

“Yeah, most people get uncomfortable with public displays of affection. Just like most men will respect another man when they realize that the girl they are trying to flirt with is taken.” He gives you a long look before glancing down at your chest and whispering, “I told you not to wear that.” He dropped back into his seat.  

You made a face at him, you two had gotten into a small argument at the station where you had refused to wear one of his long-sleeved shirts. It was hot and the bus was a hotbox. You had been sweating for days and washing up in the skin hadn’t tackled the problem. You just wanted to be comfortable for your trip. You had snagged a white wife beater out of his bag to put on instead. It was tight in the chest, but it felt much lighter and cooler. Nick had wisely said nothing when you came out in it. 

His comment made you look down at the shirt. I was tight and clinging to you like a second skin but the top where it was pulled tightly across your breast you saw the problem. You had been sporting a bright red bra when you left, and it was the only one you had. Because your boobs were so large there was no way of forgoing it. The flimsy white shirt that had been great for the purpose of keeping you cool did nothing to hide your bra’s florescent color nor the outline of its lace. Your cheeks flushed bright in embarrassment. You were a hot mess and gave quite the show. 

The two of you rode in silence for a while. Nick's eyes were open just a sliver as he tried to keep himself awake. It was a losing battle. He would start to doze, and his head would slide to the side waking him back up. “We have three hours until the next stop, right?” 

“You have to go to the bathroom already?” You glare at him. He had made a point to complain about your need to use the bathroom more frequently than him. “Yeah, about that.” He agreed. You nod in decision and turn to put your back against the corner where your seat meets the wall, your knees turned more toward the center aisle. 

“You should get some sleep,” He looks ready to object, “You’ve already checked everyone out on the bus, and I’ll wake you up before we hit our next stop or if anything weird happens.” He still looks hesitant, but his brown eyes have a heavy exhaustion cut deep into their depths. You pat your lap urging him to rest his head. “You’ll sleep better if you lay down.”  

“I’ll be okay,” He shimmies against his seat trying to get comfortable. The seats are hard and sleeping upright is uncomfortable in the best of circumstances. Nick is stubborn and even with everything he has done for you doesn’t want to ask for any small favors or comforts you can give him. You grab his shoulder and pull him forward to lay down, even with objections on his lips he allows you to maneuver him to lay with his shoulders and head in your lap. Nick, who had complained one too many times about you getting yourself in trouble by being too selfless chuckled lightly into your thighs as you assured him.  

“Don’t worry I’m doing it for purely selfish reasons. If you are sleep-deprived and miss something or get hurt, it will be all over for me.” You tease him, even with the truth of your words ringing in your ears. 

Nick is stiff laying in your lap for a few minutes, but it doesn’t take long for him to readjust and get comfortable enough to fall asleep. When he does, he is out cold. His body is a heavyweight against you, and he starts snoring. The physical contact felt nice. You were no stranger to his touch. Nick had been pulling, pushing, leading, and on occasion dragging you around. All of it had a purpose and none felt like real physical contact. The warmth of his body that lay on yours was soothing. You tried not to examine that feeling too thoroughly.   

Nick being relaxed enough to sleep made your own anxiety settle slightly. You still made sure to look out the window and be aware of what was going on around you, but it wasn’t as needling. You silently wondered if you two had been feeding off each other's nervous energy for too long. That paired with a lack of sleep made for a volatile combination.  

The first hour went by in a blur of Nick’s snores and passing scenery out the window. By the middle of the second hour, your ass and legs were getting numb from sitting in the same position for so long. You were trying not to fidget or shift because Nick was getting some real sleep, and you didn’t want to risk waking him. Another fifteen minutes in you couldn’t take it anymore. You set a hand on the middle of his back and started slowly shifting trying to move your leg. You had moved maybe an inch when you felt the slight jolt of movement from Nick. This body was tensed, you could feel the strong muscles in his back flex under your palm.  

“It’s okay, we’re still over an hour out.” You whisper to him running your hand down his spine. “I just need to sit a little different.” His half-lidded eyes meet yours as he lifts his body a few inches allowing you to pull your leg up onto the seat. You press your back more directly into the wall rotating the way you were sitting on your butt. He half moves half slides up your stomach as you slide down the wall. He ends up draped across you, his head on your stomach his torso resting in between your thighs. One of his hands smooths up your thigh and stops to rest there as he passes back out. 

Your hand still rests on his back. He has a hole in his dark shirt that you fiddle with for something to do. You notice his shirt has ridden up leaving a few inches of tan olive skin showing between it and his pants. The man’s body is all firm muscle. You would have to be blind not to notice how attractive he is, only exacerbated by his cocky attitude and smartass remarks. You try your best to stamp down that thought-examining the way he makes you feel would be a disaster. The only way you want to see him is as a protector. A man who is standing between you and those who want to hurt you. That's all it can be. The rest you know to ignore. You smooth down his shirt where it has bunched around his broad shoulders. You absently continue the motion rubbing his back. His back is a mess of tight knots and muscles. 

You spend the rest of the bus ride alternating between loosening the knots and resting your hand on his back and feeling it rise and fall as he breathes. You noticed the man who had been staring at you earlier kept taking quick glances at you. He quickly would avert his gaze if you happened to look his way at the same time.  

You see the sign for the first stop five miles out. You rub up Nick’s back, he hasn’t moved at all since he fell back asleep. You don’t want to jerk him out of his sleep like last time, so you set your hand over his on your thigh and squeeze it a few times. You whisper his name and see the flutter of his long dark eyelashes. “We are about five minutes out.” You expect him to immediately sit up and start his causal special agent surveillance mode. What you didn’t expect was him to lay there languidly.  

He rolls his neck, and shoulders, and then stretches. You heard a few loud pops, and he groaned in satisfaction. He then rolls onto his back and makes eye contact with you from where he is lying. He has his normal cocky smile back on his lips. The few hours of uninterrupted sleep had done him a lot of good. He seemed to be in much better spirits. You quirked an eyebrow at him in question. “Finalmente encontré tu fuerte (I finally found your forte). You make a fantástica pillow.” 

“I’m glad you approve.” You tease sarcastically. He doesn’t move to get up, so you rest your hand on his stomach, the other on the back of the seat. When the bus stops people make their way off. The man from earlier who had been watching you stops by your seat before he exits. He says something in Spanish. You catch none of it, but Nick does and clearly didn’t like it. His body is still relaxed against yours and his tone is teasing with an undercurrent of hard warning as he answers. The only thing you catch is- Entender amigo. Understand friend. The man glares at Nick before storming off the bus. “Do I even want to know?”  

“Sólo sabes cómo causar problemas (You just know how to cause trouble).” Nick watched as people started to file onto the bus. You sigh and are about to ask him to translate, silently cursing yourself for opting for ASL in school instead of Spanish. Nick’s gaze turns back to you and looks down at your chest which is now basically at eye level before redirecting up to your eyes. “I told you not to wear that shirt.” He repeats. “The next stop is ours. I squirreled away some of my own money there before I went under. Just in case. You can never be too careful, ya know? How does a hotel room sound for the night?” 

You moan in delight at the thought, “Sounds like a hot shower and a real bed. Heaven.” Nick chuckled before readjusting on your lap. 

“We have two more hours before our stop. You mind if I catch a little more sleep?”  

“Knock yourself out. Apparently, I’m a certified pillow.” You smooth his hair out of his face. It’s supposed to be a teasing gesture, but it ends up being a lingering touch. Soft. Comforting. Affectionate in a way that wasn’t intended. If Nick closes his eyes again and leans into the touch you ignore it. Just like the butterflies that are trying to awaken in your cold traumatized stomach. 

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Let me know what you think xoxo 

[kaynanarie]

JourneyTober! Day 4 - Bear

            It took days to climb the mountain, hurtling every obstacle and defeating any and all demons that blocked their path. The monkey proved to be an exceptional fighter, taking on every threat with an unshakable determination. With such dangers lurking around every corner, Jen was thankful he allowed her to travel with him. He never spoke but also never rejected her company; as long as she kept up and stayed out of the way, her presence seemed tolerated. Jen only hoped whatever mission he was on would aid in her own quest to find a way home.

            Countless struggles later, they reached the top of the mountain. One of the demons had put up a challenging fight but retreated as a dark cloud once Monkey gained the upper hand. Crumpled stone steps led the way to a once magnificent temple, now left in ruins on the mountain peak. High walls of stone encircled the space, cracked and covered in creeping vines. Ancient trees loomed along the path, gnarled and twisted from the roots up. In the center of it all was a towering pagoda, and overseer to the temple’s decline. To make the desolation worse, everything had been set ablaze, filling the air with smoke and overwhelming heat.

            A booming voice echoed off the walls, taunting and cackling as the black gust of wind returned. When it crashed to the ground, the shape it took wasn’t the manlike demon from before. Instead, a giant bear, dark as night with bloodred eyes, roared before thundering towards them. Jen only had time to see a raised paw before she was shoved to one side, Monkey dodging the other way. The bear demon crashed into the arched gateway, collapsing the entrance and trapping both of them inside.

            Within seconds, Monkey had recovered and launched into the fight, leaving Jen to find a hiding spot. Between the fire, the smoke, and the constant tremors of the warriors trading blows, it was hard to navigate the battleground, much less vacate it. As the fight escalated, Jen took shelter behind one of the burning trees.

            The bear was the size of a building, each heavy step shaking the ground. But while he was larger, Monkey using his smaller size to his advantage. Every dodge and strike from his staff irritated the demon more and more. Until his composure snapped. Stomping his massive paws, the ground quaked and plumes of fire exploded all around like fiery geysers. One close to Jen’s hiding place sent her scrambling out of reach with a yelp.

            Too late, she realized her mistake. She was sprawled out in the open, nothing to hide her from the demon’s glowing red eyes. A menacing grin was Jen’s only warning before he lunged. Terror froze her in place; she couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t even scream. Flame covered claws slashed down at her, the light and heat stinging her teary eyes.  

            At the last second, the paw was struck by Monkey’s staff, diverting the attack. A second strike landed on the bear’s nose, staggering him back. Before he could recover, the golden light of Monkey’s freezing spell held him in petrified rage.

            Jen had barely blinked before she was scooped off the ground and rushed across the flaming courtyard. Monkey hurried into the pagoda, stopping inside the doorway to set Jen on the ground. His dark eyes held a newfound concern as they scanned over her shaky form.

            “I’m fine,” Jen mumbled, just as much to herself as to him.

            Outside, the spell broke with a sound like tinkling glass. An enraged roar followed. Glancing between Jen and the door, Monkey looked conflicted, his tail lashing in agitation.

            “Go, I’ll be fine,” Jen said, forcing a small smile. Monkey frowned, not quite convinced so she gave him a small shove. “I’ll wait here. Just be careful, okay?”

            Nodding in agreement, Monkey gripped his staff and disappeared out the door to finish the fight. Soon enough, the bear was on the ground, groveling in utter defeat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------(More Black Myth Wukong specific stuff. This was a fun one to write but I was so tired by the end. I'm enjoying getting to develop Jen's character through these. Everyone else's OC have been so fun to see, it makes me wish I could draw.)

[mathanlin]

Hero AU where villain!Tommy can summon illusions of someone’s worst fears.

The Angel’s reaction isn’t surprising — crying over his son’s ruined bodies as Tommy spits, “Leave me alone, or this is what’ll happen.”

It usually works.

But the Angel comes back.

“Tommy, right?”

The Angel’s voice echoes through Tommy’s hideout, a half-collapsed warehouse. Tommy scrambles to his feet, bristling. “I told you to get out the fuck out—”

“I brought groceries.”

He’s… not lying.

The hero’s arms are full of food. Blankets, too, far nicer than anything Tommy’s ever scrounged up. Surely it’s a trap.

But the Angel just sets them on the floor, inches away from where Tommy’d forced him to watch his sons bleed out.

“Here ya go, mate.”

And then he just… leaves.

It’s the opposite of everything the League’s tried. Gas bombs, stun batons, even mini seiges, all trying to force Tommy out of the only shelter he’d found.

So Tommy keeps his guard up, prepared for the worst.

And it doesn’t come.

The Angel visits frequently, always with an armful of stupid gifts.

Stuffed animals, homecooked desserts, even clothes — “My sons had to grow out of them eventually,” he laughs, as Tommy drowns in an oversized sweater.

And Tommy’s guard starts to falter.

The last straw is the Angel’s hand.

He’s sitting next to Tommy, completely at ease — a danger in itself. Relaxing, smiling, even laughing at Tommy’s snarky jokes.

And then the hero tucks a blanket around his shoulders, ruffling Tommy’s hair on the way back.

Contact.

It’s the whole reason the Angel’s in this mess. Tommy’s powers work best through touch, as many stupid heroes had learned while trying to pin him down.

But the Angel’s just humming quietly, arm still tucked around Tommy’s shoulders.

And Tommy lets himself lean in.

When he wakes up, the Angel’s gone.

Tommy refuses to let himself miss the man. He’s back with the League, obviously. Or worse, spending time with his sons. The ones Tommy’d watch die, the ones whose old clothes he’s currently warmed by.

The ones the Angel actually loves.

Right then and there, Tommy should’ve known.

The Angel would do anything for his sons, that much is clear. And that includes getting rid of the villain that’d threatened to kill them — Tommy.

But Tommy’s guard is still down when the League arrives.

With the Angel leading them.

At least, that’s what it seems like.

The Angel’s the first to arrive, fully armored & battle-ready. Tommy shoots to his feet, heart lurching as the blanket falls from his shoulders—

“Get out of here.”

The Angel yells it, eyes wild. Tommy stumbles, jerking back as the man flings out a hand. 

“Now, Tommy, *go*—”

Tommy hesitates. The League must’ve known he’d do that.

Because a whole team of heroes crashes in after the Angel.

Tommy barely makes it out.

It’s a nasty battle, one that barely leaves Tommy standing. Nightmare after nightmare leaps from his hands as the heroes try to pin him down. In the chaos, he manages to slip away, leaving the warehouse in ruins.

But the Angel catches up.

“Tommy—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy shouts, whirling. Blood dribbles down his temple, and the Angel’s eyes follow it, softening in… pain? “You did this, I know you fucking did.”

“I would never,” the Angel says, taking a step closer. “Tommy, I’d never hurt you.”

He reaches out, eyes still soft. One hand lands on Tommy’s shoulder. Soft. Comforting. Anchoring.

Tommy sneers & grabs his wrist.

And lets every ounce of fear loose.

The Angel’s eyes widen, then fill with tears, breath catching.

Tommy knows what he must be seeing. His sons, broken on the street, bleeding out. His greatest fear, made real.

“No. No, no, Tommy, please—”

“This is what you get,” Tommy spits, “I *told* you—”

The Angel’s arms close around him, cradling. Gentle, though Tommy can feel him shaking like the world’s ending.

And… he’s looking right at Tommy.

Or rather, the bullet wound in his chest.

It’s an illusion. Nothing more.

But Tommy's breath still shudders out as the Angel lifts him, holding him close and shaking with sobs.

“Please, Tommy. It wasn’t me, I swear I’d never hurt you. Please stay with me, kid, c’mon.”

It doesn’t take long for the illusion to fade, though Tommy fights to keep it up — how else would he get this? The soft hold & the tears, like he’s… cared about?

That the Angel loves him like a *son?*

“Tommy?”

The illusion slides away. Tommy goes limp, his true bruises & cuts revealed. Nothing fatal. Nothing important.

But the Angel doesn’t stop cradling him. Nor does he lash out at Tommy’s attack, his lie.

No.

He just murmurs, “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

[rev-xce]

The third death is that moment, when your name is spoken for the last time.

i felt like drawing a older worldbuilding concept i made a few months back with my friends. This world has been torn apart by war and strife and demons are rapidly born by the minute through the strong emotions of living creatures.

Humanity has given up on the older gods, and through their desperation, birthed a new "god".

Demons(general): Born of strong emotions, feelings or memories. Will have a core of some sort which when destroyed, kills the demon.

The "god": Born out of humanity's need and want for a saviour, Is able to destroy existences. There is a very messy line between what the "god" considers a crime, and anything it considers a crime is unforgiveable. The offender will be reduced to a Intruder, nothing more than a shadow.

The "god" is also very hellbent on destroying/absorbing demons and the current world outside the hotel is being purged as it deems fit.

The liminal hotel: a entity that offers shelter to demons it deems worthy/contracts for upkeep. Demons fight for a spot in the hotel as the outside world is dangerous for them.

Hotel demons: are assigned to different sections such as: the lounge, front desk and halls, casino, pools, etc and their job is to rid any intruder that steps foot into the hotel.

Hotel demons who are not able to carry out their duties will be kicked out and their spot given to another demon. Some hotel demons are powerful, gaining the respect of the hotel. These few demons are left untouched as they may be useful.

Intruders: Humans stripped of their colors and names. They are left with only their shadows and form which resembles their physical body but are solid black with white eyes. They are tasked by the "god" to retrieve useful demon cores.

If exposed to the sun, their existence will be destroyed permanently, if they return without a core to the "god", they will also be destroyed.

Foxbell, the hotelier(designed for star), Core: one of the flowers on her body

Foxbell is the result of a demon merging souls with a girl. The original demon's birth cause is unknown, but Foxbell's motherly personality stems from the girl being raised by a kind mother. She may still have to dispatch Intruders but she feels particularly sorry if it is a child Intruder.

She is also one of the oldest demons to stick around in the hotel for duty as she is very efficient at upkeep. Many hotel demons respect her for her prowess as well. (P.s. she is prone to sparing "hot" intruders)

art done by @lil-starshooter

Moss Father and Moss Babies(designed and created by star)

Liminal space: Hotel lobby/hallways

Moss Father is a old demon which resides upon the roof garden of the hotel. He generally wanders around occasionally, all the while dripping dirt and moss everywhere. This in turns creates these little mosslings whom are very harmless and more likely to try to play with the Intruders. But ever since Foxbell lost her shit at Moss Father for dragging dirt everywhere, he has remained spooked and begrudgingly tries not to mess up any clean floors.

Foxbell has also taken custody of all the mosslings(they have dessert names)

Droupe, the lounge overseer

Droupe is a demon who was born through a butterfly's strong desire to be let free of a closed off room, they have a calm demeanour and is passive to the other hotel demons. Their stained glass wings cast colorful shadows as they soar above their section.

Liminal Space: A hotel lounge that appears to be exposed and falling apart, frozen in a starry night sky. Gumball and vending machines litter the space and even potted plants are perfectly still in time.

Droupe's powers are time based and their core is that of a stopwatch.

The above characters are the most outlined with refs, there are more characters but they will need a proper follow up post with more ironed up info. But here are some more art from me, star and @denziru of hotel demons^^

characters to be expanded upon in a diff post: Sire and Madame, Duskdare, RatKing, Estelle

[the-real-rain-world-confessions]

On one hand, discoursing about the morality of wanting to fuck the aproximately 54x20 amorphous blob of pixels that we call the slugcat is bound to be fruitless On the other hand, I simply wish to point out that slugcats posses the ability no one but Homo Sapiens Sapiens and perhaps Neanderthals did- the use and understanding of complex pictograms, paintings, symbols. No animal on earth unprompted starts to paint or draw. They can be taught by humans to slather paint on a canvas, but that is not the same as creating art with understanding of what you are doing. Art and use of decorations are widely used as a point of proof of when modern human behaviour has emerged. The most blatant example of this is Gourmand, who in the ending cutscene straight up just makes cave paintings that clearly also tell his story to the curious onlookers. This also indicates that Spearmaster doodles with his needles due a trait natural to their species, and not due to their genetic alterations- not that SRS would have a strong incentive to give Spearmaster the ability to draw if their purpose is just to efficiently deliver a pearl from point A to point B. Even without the more slugcats expansion, the overseer communicates to survivor by displaying the simple contours of a slugcat head, or something even more abstract like the shelter sign, direction arrows, and I'd even say pointing motions require a more complex understanding of language. Presumably, the overseer would not waste it's energy displaying abstract icons of a concept if the slugcat could only respond to direct pictures and maybe eventual association, even more so when the overseers appear to be able to display complete pictures in game. Slugcat might not inherently recognize the danger and food signs, but neither do you because it's simply a foreign script. To most of you the experience would be nigh similiar if you saw anything in Arab or Cyrillyc script flash. What does this say about the fuckability of slugcats? Idk man and I don't really care, it's just basic and bland furry porn the normies are pearl clutching over yet again, this is an argument about the slugcats's intelligence for the sake of the topic being intresting on it's own right.

.

[karume-everything-else]

Flufftober 2023

Day 22: Dancing in the rain/ snow/ falling leaves [Reader x Broly] {Dragon Ball Z/ Super}

Broly wasn't the kind of person to just go out into nature. But this was a special trip of sorts. Something Goku and Gohan had suggested, insisting that Vegeta try it with Bulma as well as Broly accompanying you.

Though he wouldn't admit to it, Broly was interested in you. Gohan had mentioned that it was called a crush, but that sounded dangerous... Broly just wanted to spend time with you, not crush you.

And yet, here he was strolling through a large open field covered in wildflowers. Broly could only hope that you couldn't hear how hard his heart was beating, that you weren't going to notice his hand brushing against yours. Or how often it seemed to happen...

"It looks like it might rain soon..." You sounded a little disappointed, "We should think about heading back soon. So we don't get sick."

Broly followed your upturned gaze, "H-hopefully it doesn't though. I... I'm... this is very relaxing."

He sincerely hoped that the soft hum from you was one of agreeing with him. How else was he going to tell you he liked your company without outright saying the thing Gohan said. That still sounded painful, crushing on someone...

"I think we're a little past the point of no return."

Broly snapped back to reality as the rain suddenly poured. He was still getting used to how many different ways Earth's weather just happened but this was ridiculous. Both of you were soaked before you could even think about getting out of the rain.

You found yourself caught by the wrist by Broly as you attempted to dash off. He was extremely gentle for someone as large and muscular as he was.

"[Name], please. Just... just a little longer?" He was almost like an oversized puppy, "I... I don't want to leave just yet."

"But we'll get sick." You tried to protest, "We need to find a shelter to get out of this."

He knew you were right, scooping you up and flying quickly toward a small gazebo. Hoping this was fine with you, he just wanted to keep spending time with you...

"Is... is this alright?" Broly was very timid around you, it was kind of unnerving, "So we can just wait out the storm? Or maybe someone could come with a vehicle?"

"As long as we aren't in the rain." You were wringing out your hair, "We can just wait here for awhile. Depends on how long it rains..."

Broly didn't know how to admit to you why he was being so weird, but... "If... if it'll help... maybe we should... uh... c-cuddle? I think that's the right word?"

"We're... We're both soaked though. Unless you have a way of drying off quickly That could only make us sicker."

Scratching the side of his face, Broly considered powering up. The excess heat might help... There was one way to find out.

You were once again, violently reminded that you hung around a bunch of aliens that only looked human. Interplanetary fighters that had so many weird abilities it was a miracle you were able to act so calm. But Broly was much warmer, the water seemed to be evaporating off him... You forced yourself to look away.

You didn't need to be caught staring at his abs like this...

Broly was worried for a moment until he noticed how you were blushing. Maybe he had a better chance of being with you for more than just small moments... It certainly helped him be confident in putting his arms around you. Doing his best to help you dry off as well. Only staying powered up long enough to make sure you were dry.

But he didn't want to let go, even as you had been surprised by him hugging you. You were able to relax a little, staying in his arms. A little taken aback as he started swaying back and forth on his feet. But you weren't worried, the one thing you knew was that you weren't in danger like this.

[cottoncandyfreckles]

🌈CAREGIVER POPPY PARTRIDGE HCS🌈

🌈BEST MAMA EVER seriously she's so loving and gentle

🌈she loves calling you her baby chick

🌈 works amazingly with baby regressors

🌈she worries about you so much she doesn't want her baby to get hurt

🌈your constantly almost giving her a heart attack if your really energetic

🌈you can help her bake but your never allowed near the stove or anything that might be dangerous your mainly incharge of mixing and tasting

🌈she will knit so many onesies and oversized sweaters fo you

🌈 she tends to shelter you a lil too much but she really means well she just paranoid

🌈her feathers are so so soft so she's great to cuddle

🌈if your having a bad day she'll making your favorite sweets for you

🌈she has so much little gear in her house for whenever you might regress

🌈she'll mainly trust sally to babysit

🌈in short poppy might a lil to paranoid and protective but hey thats what a mother hen does

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Civilian AU - Is this a date?

I wrote this back in May for @glitterypirateduck 's #GhostChallenge, so I recommend you to read it first.

And since then I've been heckled and harassed to keep writing about this stupid small little AU

So blame this foolishness on @sofasoap @eenochian and @nrdmssgs thank you very much

Small explanation: All of the characters are civilians at the moment this is happening, but the boys had a military past. They just retired already and are inserted into civilian life.

Edit: Fuck I forgot. The fake texts were made by @eenochian ❤️ thank you so much

The house was fancier than he had expected. A quaint little townhouse, in a quiet street. Fancy.

So quiet that he could even park right by the small stairs leading to the quaint patio.

Simon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking what the fuck was he doing there in that neighbourhood. Why that pretty little thing went out of her way to keep going to his shop was beyond him. Sure there were other butcher’s around.

But his mum’s nagging voice was still ringing in his ears, as it had been since the day she last came into the shop and he offered the bones for the dogs at the shelter.

I didn’t raise you to be this daft!

Well. Surely she didn’t raise him to be a coward either.

Simon grabbed the bag of bones from the boot of his car and locked it, before heading towards the door. He’d knock, enjoy her pretty face and beautiful eyes, maybe he’d even get one of those shy smiles that made his knees weak and his jeans tight, and then he’d be on his merry way.

Faint TV sounds from behind the door. He looked around the small patio, with three identical doors, and then knocked on hers.

~

~

Christine tossed her phone on the desk and sighed deeply while rushing to the door. She had been working on some papers for the museum that she was behind schedule on, in the small room by the front door that she had furnished as her office.

And her cats’ dwelling.

She looked briefly at herself on the entry hall’s mirror and almost scoffed. She looked like a mess. Messy hair in a low bun, kept in place with a pencil, dark leggings and a simple oversized sweater. The idea was at least to look presentable when he called beforehand to set a time, but she got too caught up with the paperwork.

Fucking sexy, Vega, you idiot.

Unable to come up with an excuse to disappear and not face him, Christine opened the door before he had the opportunity to knock again and smiled.

Fuck, she could feel her ears and cheeks burning.

‘‘Hi, beautiful’’ Simon offered her one of his usual lopsided smiles, and her heart started beating faster.

If anyone asked (and her friends definitely had asked) why she had such a huge crush on the butcher, not even her could explain it. He wasn’t definitely magazine cover worthy (but he was good-looking. At least to her). He had some facial scars that some people might have found unsettling. He was tall and looked strong, with broad shoulders and a broad back, and…

Focus.

‘‘Hi, handsome’’ What the fuck. Why did she say that??

To her surprise, he blushed. His ears turned as red as hers surely were, and there was a bit of blush on his cheeks and nose that for some reason made her heartbeat quieten.

If he was as nervous as her, that surely meant something, right?

‘‘Brought you the bones’’ Simon lifted the bag with one hand, effortlessly, although it seemed bigger than she had expected. ‘‘Bag’s heavy. You might want help to bring it to the… Oi, boy, where are you going?’’

He laughed, looking down, and Christine followed his gaze just in time to see, and feel, an orange furry form trying to scurry out of the door, only to be stopped by a big black boot.

‘‘Orion!’’ She gasped, and bent down to pick the cat up, feeling the cuddly creature start purring right away and nuzzle his head into her neck. ‘‘I’m so sorry, he has no sense of danger, and loves exploring’’

‘‘It’s ok, luv’’ Now it was his turn to feel smug with the way she blushed, trying to hide it while dealing with the furry feline, who was twisting like a noodle in her arms, purring like an engine. ‘‘Looks young’’

‘‘Around nine months, or so the shelter said’’ Christine huffed when Orion licked her nose, and tried to hold a sneeze in. It’d be absolutely great if she up and sneezed all over Simon’s black button down shirt. ‘‘Nobody wanted him because he’s a handful and a rascal’’

‘‘Bullshit’’ Simon shook his head, and reached out to gently scratch Orion’s ears, and the cat immediately bumped its head into the palm of his hand, nuzzling. ‘‘He’s a good boy’’

‘‘Do you like cats?’’ Christine smiled, seeing how her kitty seemed to not be scared in the slightest of Simon’s big hand almost engulfing his head.

‘‘Yeah. Dogs too’’ He shrugged, wondering to himself if he had scored some points, given the way her eyes lit up. Those beautiful blue eyes would be the death of him. He already saw them in his sleep, as an anchor among the nightmares. ‘‘I like animals better than people’’

‘‘So do I’’

They stood there, like two idiots while the cat purred into Simon’s palm. A not so distant horn honked in one of the neighbouring streets and startled them.

‘‘Well’’ Come on, Riley, out with it, you idiot.

‘‘Well’’ Oh, God, I’m such an idiot. He’s dressed nicely, surely he has a date lined up already. ‘‘I… I guess you have to go…’’

Simon swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down and for some reason it hurt. Why was he so nervous? He used to be able to chat girls up, long ago. It had been a long time, and a long time since he had felt something that gnawed at him like… longing. Need. Something raw and desperate and that was clawing at his insides.

‘‘I… saw a nice pub down the street. Within walking distance’’ Shit shit shit.

Christine blinked, looking up at him while holding the cat, trying to avoid a paw in her mouth.

‘‘Uh… I think it’s called The Plump Cod? I pass by it almost every day. Nice food’’

‘‘I was thinking… maybe you’d… fancy a drink?’’ Simon rubbed the back of his head, praying to God he just felt like he was sweating and not actually sweating the nice shirt that Tommy had lent him with the promise of telling him absolutely everything.

‘‘With you…?’’ God, the way she looked at him. He wanted to believe that she looked hopeful, with her beautiful blue eyes open wide, and that shy, sweet smile that had ruined him the first day she stepped into the shop with Freya.

He found himself nodding like a fool. Johnny and Kyle would have a field day if they saw him. He’d never live it down.

‘‘With me. If you’re not busy or… or you have plans’’

‘‘I only need fifteen or twenty minutes to change’’ Christine smiled, feeling like she was floating. No way. No way he had just asked out. God, the girls wouldn’t believe it. Oh God, they’d be insufferable.

‘‘Change?’’ Simon looked puzzled, and for the first time he seemed to take in what she was wearing. Dark leggings and an oversized jumper that obviously had seen better days, clawed and covered in cat hair. ‘‘Well, I don’t think they’d be happy at the pub, but you look good’’

‘‘Don’t be stupid’’ She stepped inside and held the door open, keeping Orion in her arms, and giggled. With one of those shy giggles that he had learned to cherish, each time he could drag one out of her. So different from the way he had seen her laugh with Freya or Johnny. ‘‘Wait inside, and while you’re at it, could you put those bones in the fridge? Kitchen is on the right, living room and office on the left’’

Simon stepped inside her home, ducking by instinct just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time he hit his forehead against the lintel. He looked around briefly to get his bearings, closing the door, while Christine left the orange cat on the floor and headed to the stairs.

‘‘Oh, by the way’’ She turned at the foot of the staircase, excited and nervous. ‘‘I have another cat, Polgara… Miss Pol. She’s most likely napping on one of the armchairs. I’ll be right back’’

‘‘Promise?’’ He teased with a chuckle, and his smile widened when he saw her blush again and nod, scurrying upstairs like a excited squirrell.

Sighing deeply and trying to calm his own nerves, Simon peeked inside the kitchen. Functional, small but cozy. Apparently recently renovated with modern appliances. It even smelled like painted recently.

After leaving the bag of bones in the freezer he couldn’t resist taking a look inside the fridge too, only to find it well stocked with fresh vegetables, eggs, dairy products, and fish. The only meat packages were from his shop, and he felt a strange feeling of pride inside, and right after that, he felt stupid.

Simon headed to the living room, followed closely by a purring Orion, listening to the faint sounds coming from upstairs. Drawers opening and closing. He only stopped to look inside a tiny room that looked like an office, and then stepped inside the living room.

Just as cozy as the kitchen, and looking just as recently renovated. With a small fireplace that seemed not used recently, comfortable sofa, two armchairs, one of which had a big cushion on it, and on top of it, a grey cat that seemed deeply asleep.

He considered sitting down, but he didn’t want her to think he was making himself at home too soon. Also, cat hair. Just the thought that she was upstairs, getting changed, was enough to make his blood rush south and leave his brain, and suddenly, he felt a cold sweat running down his back.

What was he doing there?

She was beautiful, and educated, and smart and so goddamn sexy, and why, why did he even think that she’d be interested in him. Maybe she was just being polite.

Christ, maybe she felt threatened by the towering git at her door and was just going along.

His heart was beating so hard that he was sure she’d be able to hear it from upstairs. Hell, he wasn’t sure how the grey cat was still sleeping, while Orion was happily rolling on the rug, playing with a squeaky toy.

Before he could stop to think, his phone was in his hand and he dialed a number, keeping his eyes on the living room’s door.

As always, Price answered right away.

‘‘Simon, are you trying to park? The match is about to start, Johnny, Gary and Kyle are here already’’

‘‘The match… Ah, fuck’’ Simon muttered, almost startled when Orion jumped onto a shelf and purred while rubbing his head against him. ‘‘I forgot, I… Price, I did it’’

‘‘You did what? … You need bail?’’

‘‘No!’’ He kept his voice low, scratching the insistent kitty behind the ears, and somehow, the purring soothed him enough so he could explain. ‘‘I asked her out. The girl from the museum’’

‘‘Oh! Good man’’ Price sounded genuinely glad, and that made Simon’s heart both swell and ache. ‘‘What did she say?’’

‘‘She said yes! What do I do??’’ Christ, he sounded hopeless. When he was in his early twenties, chatting with a girl seemed way easier.

‘‘Do ye need instructions about what to do with a bonnie?’’ Johnny’s voice drowned Price’s, as if he was yelling right by the speaker. ‘‘Can tell ye a thing or two!’’

‘‘Price, for fuck’s sake, you put me on speaker!?’’

‘‘Our fault, mate’’ Kyle’s voice sounded as giddy as Johnny’s for some reason, and Simon promised himself that he would throttle them both at the first opportunity. ‘‘Why are we whispering?’’

‘‘She’s upstairs! I don’t want her to hear me yelling on the phone like a stupid twat!’’ Simon covered part of the phone with his hand, and shushed softly Orion when the cat meowed at him.

‘‘Upstairs… where are you?’’ Price sounded confused, and Simon wanted the ground to open and swallow him. He could still hear her faint steps on the other floor.

‘‘In… her living room. She’s getting dressed’’

‘‘Already?? Man, ye work faster than I thought’’ Johnny’s giddy voice made him grit his teeth. He could almost imagine his shit-eating grin, along with Kyle and Gary. He’d kill them.

‘‘To go out, you unfunny, miserable wanker’’ Simon growled into the phone, gripping it so hard he could swear he heard the case crack. ‘‘I brought her the bones for the shelter, she was wearing… clothes to be at home, comfortable! I asked her to the pub down the street, she said yes, and she’s getting changed!’’

‘‘Ok, son, give me the phone’’ Price seemed to wrestle the device from one of the boys, and then he could hear his heavy steps, the voices of the others dying down in the background. ‘‘I’m alone now’’

‘‘John, I don’t know what I’m doing’’

‘‘Yes, you do. As we rehearsed. Breathe. Go over the plan, son’’

The voice of his Captain always managed to bring him down from the edge. To soothe and calm the beasts of his mind, the beasts all of them had experienced during their time of service, before retiring all at the same time to try and live a bit before it was too late.

Simon breathed deeply, scratching again the orange cat’s ears, focusing on the soothing purr that came from the small feline.

‘‘Scout the neighbourhood, choose a place, close to her home so we don’t have to use a vehicle. So she doesn’t feel threatened being in a small space with me, in my car. A public place, so she is comfortable. No alcohol, I have to drive home. Walk her back to her door’’

‘‘Exactly’’ Price approved, chuckling lowly. ‘‘You have this, Lieutenant’’

‘‘You think?’’ Simon scoffed, looking around the room. Bookcases, souvenirs, a couple of paintings, but barely any photos. Nothing that could tell him anything personal about her beyond what he already knew by their short talks at the shop. ‘‘What if I fuck it up? I’m not exactly a charmer’’

‘‘You are a damn fine lad, and I’m sure she thinks so’’ His friend chuckled again. ‘‘Now stop wasting time on the phone with me. Let me know how it goes by the end of the night’’

‘‘I will’’ Simon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but had to resume scratching Orion’s ears because it started yowling. ‘‘Sorry for the sound, she has cats. I… Thank you, John. I’ll text you later’’

He hung up before the conversationn turned mushier than it already was, and sighed. He could do it. Enjoy her company for a couple of hours at most, allow her to discover how different they were. That it wouldn’t work.

Steps down the stairs. Oh, fuck.

Orion ran towards the main hall, meowing, and Simon felt stupid but followed the small creature, as if lured by some silent music.

Christine was going down the stairs, with her shoes in her hand. Heels, high but not too much. She was wearing an off the shoulder, knee length dress, in a dark red tone that made her pale skin glow with the light. Her hair was still down, but now it seemed brushed and hairstyled a bit, wavier than before.

He forgot how to breathe for a second. Until then, he had only seen her wearing smart but comfortable clothes, surely what was expected from her at the museum, and her hair up. When she got to him, he noticed her makeup was barely noticeable, like her usual. He was used to see her wearing just mascara and a bit of eyeliner and lipstick, and he was glad she hadn’t caked up in it.

‘‘Did I take too long?’’ Christine smiled, a bit nervous yet. It had taken a lot of thought and doubts and checking with the girls to decide on what to wear. Nothing too fancy, they were just going to a pub down the street. Nothing too shabby, she didn’t want him to believe she made no effort to look good.

But she didn’t have too many clothes to choose from to start with, and she had settled on the dark red dress that Leni and Freya forced her to get a couple of weeks before during their last shopping spree. And Olya had approved of it eagerly, so she had had to get it.

‘‘Not at all’’ Simon swallowed, feeling the knot in his throat go down inside his chest and all the way down his gut. And lower. Shit. ‘‘You look bloody beautiful’’

She blushed, delighted, and leaned against the banister to put her shoes on, one by one. Orion was meowing and rubbing against her legs. Simon bent down and grabbed the furry creature, chuckling when it immediately started to purr, and stepped into the living room momentarily to leave the cat on a cushion while she grabbed a blazer and her purse.

They said nothing as they stepped outside, and Simon waited patiently while she locked the door. Then, when she turned around to face him, he offered her his arm.

Feeling like a fucking idiot, but Heather had insisted the night before when he had been at Price’s.

Offer her your arm if she’s wearing heels, Simon. Not your hand, she might find it too forward. But your arm is the perfect middle.

Maybe Price’s wife was onto something, because Christine held it right away, accepting his help down the small steps in front of her house.

‘‘Is that your car?’’ As if she hadn’t been spying on him while he parked.

Simon looked at his slightly banged Jeep Wrangler. And dirty. Fucking shite.

‘‘Yeah. Big and reliable’’

‘‘Like you?’’ Christine smiled, blushing again, and he felt his heart doing sommersaults inside his chest.

‘‘Well, I sure hope so’’ God, why was he grinning like a sodding twat. If Johnny, Kyle and Gary saw him, he’d never live it down.

‘‘Well, Johnny says you are’’ She shrugged lightly, and he grimaced, trying to imagine what kind of things the bloody arsehole could have told her. He knew they had been friends since they were teens, when she spent her summers in Scotland.

‘‘Johnny says a lot of things’’ Simon grunted, and that made Christine giggle. And in turn, the sound had him grinning like a fool again, as they walked down the street towards the pub.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all.

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSOM SHADE

Chapter 04

Dangerous Games

Trigger warning

Everybody's looking for something.

Some of them want to use you.

Some of them want to get used by you.

- ( The song of the chapter is ''Sweet Dreams" by Eurythmics)

Everyone needs to learn from Khushi Sen Gupta how to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It's practically her speciality now-a-days.

It's like she has a knack for getting caught up in situations she shouldn't be anywhere near.

If she ever writes a book about her life, she would name it "Idiot's Handbook of How to Be in the Wrong Places Willingly." She's certain people would line up to read it. After all, how many mob daughters have the audacity to expose their chaotic lives for public consumption? It could even top the charts, if she manages to live long enough to put it on paper. But right now, survival feels like a long shot. With the way things are spiralling, she's not even sure she'll make it out of this evening alive, let alone back home in one piece.

Her gut twists into a tight knot as each unsteady step brings her closer to the deserted construction site, likely once intended for a farmhouse. Her footsteps echo eerily in the silence.

The grim-looking, dilapidated, half-built structure and its rusting steel beams loomed on the outskirts of the shady neighborhood. It only has roofs and pillars, with no walls around it. The ground is uneven, littered with debris, discarded materials and overgrown weeds.

She prides herself on her intelligence, but right now, all she can think about is how unbelievably stupid she is. A world-class idiot. The type who, despite her intelligence, follows the instructions of a stranger on the other end of the line without thinking twice.

''How did I let myself get dragged into something so reckless?"

In her defense though, she was trying to believe in humanity. Damn it.

Maybe she's just overthinking it. Who would even bother to set a trap for her? She's a nobody. If they were to kidnap her, then they might secure a hefty amount of ransom from her father, but that would clearly be a death sentence for them. Nothing is more valuable to his father than his reputation, not even his own daughter.

For her father, it's less about her safety and more about his obsession with control, over his men, over her, over her actions, over the leverage against her.

She has long since stopped feeling disappointed. It leaves her in a space that hovers between fearless and reckless.

Just like how she told her father she was heading to the shopping mall. Then She slipped away before his goons could catch up. She did this enough times to earn nothing but disapproving glances from him.

Shaking off the distracting thoughts, she squares her shoulders and moves toward the half-built structure as quietly as possible. The gravel crunches beneath her shoes. The site is spine-chillingly quiet, save for the occasional groan of shifting metal or the distant hum of the city, muffled and distant.

As she makes her way through the debris and broken equipment, her heart pounds, her hands feel clammy. The air is heavy with the smell of dust and decay, so is her breathing. Her chest feels tight, weighed down by the unnerving vibe of her circumstances.

Once inside, she takes shelter behind a pillar. Pressing her back against it, she hides while sharply scanning the area, her eyes darting for any sign of movement.

Khushi opted for a bold red shirt today, feeling unusually daring. The vibrant hue gave her an unexpected surge of confidence. She paired it with a high-waisted, faded jeans and pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. A pair of oversized sunglasses sit on her face, an attempt to hide her identity just a little. Her favourite sneakers are on, ready in case she needs to make a quick escape.

She takes her sunglasses off, slipping them into her jeans pocket. The thought that this might all be a trap refuses to leave her mind, making it nearly impossible to focus. It's like gnawing at her.

Before, she never had to worry about someone trying to trap her. But now? Didn't she just unintentionally make an enemy? Yeah, she made an enemy out of an enemy. Brilliant.

Do the Eagles really care enough to lay a trap for her? Just last week, she walked right into the den of the Eagles, had a face-off against the notorious Vulture and came out intact. She knows they have no interest in igniting a mob war. If they did, Arnav Singh Raizada would have exposed her little stunt that very night. But he didn't. He let her go.

But what if he changed his mind?

Shit, why didn't she think of that sooner?

It still stuns her that she was at the mercy of Arnav Singh Raizada.

The Arnav Singh Raizada.

He had her pinned against the wall, her own knives at her throat. And yet, he let her go. In fact, he even arranged for his manager to drive her back to her dorm.

Unnoticed, unharmed.

The walk from his door, down the stairs, and toward the front gate felt endless. With every step, she heard her heart pounding in her ears.

What did he say?

That he owned her.

That he'd collect his debt.

Fuck.

How could she possibly repay someone like Arnav Singh Raizada?

At the gate, two guards blocked her path but immediately stepped aside when a shadow from the first floor loomed over them. She glanced back. There he was, standing in front of a glass window, one hand in his pocket, and with a flick of his fingers, he motioned for the guards to let her pass. His eyes were never not on her.

A surge of overwhelming rage pushed aside her irritation, embarrassment, and mortification.

A man came out from the bungalow beside the main building, dishevelled, as though he had haphazardly thrown his clothes on.

"Hello, Miss Gupta, I am Aman Mathur. I'll be your driver today," he greeted her politely, a little breathless. He had an unexplainable calming aura about him.

Khushi couldn't help but offer him a small smile. "It's okay, you don't have to. I can manage."

"Oh, trust me, Miss Gupta, both of our lives would be a little easier this way." At the implication in his voice, her eyes snapped to the figure still watching them like a hawk. She felt her lips set in a hard line as his twisted just a little at the corners. And it's gone as soon as it appeared. Her fist clenched mirroring the anger in her eyes.

"After you," Mr. Mathur led her toward a car and, like a true gentleman, opened the door for her. Taking a deep breath, she went in after sparing a last glance at the first-floor window.

The entire ride had been a blur of disbelief. Disbelief at her own audacity. Disbelief at her failed attempt. Disbelief at how close she'd come. And most of all, disbelief at Arnav Singh Raizada.

A cool breeze brushes against Khushi's skin bringing her back to the deserted farmhouse, sending a faint tremor down her arms, goosebumps prickling her flesh in response. Yet, it's not the chill that unnerves her, it's the unsettling stillness like the air itself is holding its breath.

The sun hovers low, on the verge of slipping beneath the horizon, casting just enough light to stretch the outlines of the building into dark, haunting shadows across the ground. The fading light appears to play tricks on her eyes, making the shadows shift and twist as if they possess a life of their own.

She looks down at her watch.

5:38 PM

It's way past the scheduled time set by the informer. Her hand hovers over the Glock 43 in her pocket. It's a gift from her father on her twentieth birthday. She's never had to use it before. But never say never, right? That seems to be the ongoing theme anyway.

She's a minute away from walking away from all these shenanigans. The urge to run, to abandon it all, tugs at her stronger with every passing second.

The crunch of gravel beneath someone's shoes sends her nerves into overdrive. Her hand tightens around the gun. Just then, her phone buzzes in her pocket.

She soundlessly puts the phone in her ear.

"Are you here, Miss Gupta?"

"Yes."

"Where are you? I don't see you. Did you come alone? Did you bring the money?"

She feels a pulse of anxiety at his questions. "You'll only get the money after you tell me what you know."

"Miss Gupta, you can come out now."

"I'm not moving a damn inch until you explain why you brought me here," she demands firmly, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

He pauses, the silence stretching between them. "I'm unarmed. Please come out so we can be done with this."

His tone is almost pleading and she can hear the underlying desperation. The shadows around her feel alive and she knows she has to tread carefully.

She peeks around the corner of the pillar to see a young man with his hands raised above his head, a gesture of harmlessness. Maintaining her grip on the gun still in her pocket, she steps out.

As soon as she comes face to face with the guy, his eyes widen. His face twists into horror as if he has just seen death in front of him. However, his gaze is focused on something or someone, behind her.

Everything happens in a blur.

She feels a rush of air brush past her hair. The warmth still lingers in the air. And the man drops to the ground with a gaping hole in the center of his forehead. His eyes are still open.

"There you are, Bitterheart."

Her breath hitches.

He is here.

With his fucking deep and deliciously husky voice, that has whispered the dark secrets of murder to her, not too long ago.

The voice, dipped in poison and sin.

It has entwined itself around her thoughts and refused to let go since their last meeting.

"Sorry, I am late. I have been looking for you everywhere. " The barrel of a gun presses against her forehead as his breath trickles her ear. "Really, Miss Gupta, A red shirt. You look like a target even from a mile away. You should have just worn black."

She spins suddenly pressing her gun at the level of his heart as she comes face to face to face with the vulture.

Molted chocolate meets her hazel brown.

"And you should have stayed out of my business."

His eyes narrow slightly, though his face remains stoic. For a few tense moments, they stand in complete silence, just guns aimed at each other, eyes having conversation in secret codes.

He smirks without any amusement reaching his cold orbs. Before she can react he presses a certain point in her gun and the magazine just falls down.

She huffs. Great. There's no way she's getting on her knees in front of him to pick it up.

"You have a unique way to say hello." He cocks an eyebrow at her.

"We both know you're not sending me to heaven anytime soon like you did with this poor soul, Mr. Raizada. So, could we stop pointing weapons at each other every time we talk?" she suggests, pulling back her magazine-less gun.

"The taste of your own medicine is pretty bitter, isn't it? Make sure next time, to toss in a sprinkle of humility. Might help it go down a little easier."

He steps into her space, invading it completely. She feels the urge to take a step back but holds her ground. He trails the barrel of the gun down her cheek, then her neck and presses it in between her breasts. The material is cold against her heated skin.

The scent of his cologne, mingled with his sweat, is intoxicating. It wraps around her like a dark cloud. His face is close, so close that she can feel the heat radiating off his skin. His breath against her skin is warm as well, a stark contrast to the chilly wind swirling around them. Even in the dim light, the sharp flecks of orange and green in his chocolate brown eyes seem to ignite, burning through the darkness.

"There are places on your body I know better than you do, Miss Gupta," he says as his free hand slides around the back of her neck, forcing her to tilt her head upward, his grip strong. "Places you've never even heard of. Places that need only one touch from me." The gun rests heavily against her racing heart. "To send you straight to heaven or hell."

She holds her head still, refusing to break eye contact. His hand cradles the back of her neck while he towers over hers. His voice drops dangerously low. "Not everyone who dies goes to heaven, Miss. Gupta."

Duh, doesn't she know that? It's just a common phrase people use.

The grip tightens ever so slightly around her neck, a silent threat in the way his fingers flex against her skin. "Don't ever make the mistake of thinking you know me," he murmurs. "It might be your last."

"Is that a threat?" her eyes narrow.

"Does it sound like a compliment? "

What the fuck does he think he is?

Years of enmity boil in her blood, intertwining with the unsettling realization that this man not only possesses the fruits of her hard work but also has the audacity to manhandle her. He's the one who has shot her informer as well.

Her heart hammers in her chest, like a hummingbird. She grits her teeth, fighting the urge to snap at the sheer arrogance rolling off the man in waves. Her breathing speeds up as her lungs struggle to keep pace with the adrenaline surging through her. How is it that every man she meets seems determined to prove they're the biggest jerk in the room?

She steps into his personal space this time, pressing her hands against his solid chest. Her fingers splay wide as she solves him with all her strength, forcing him to stumble backwards.

Triumph flares within her as she catches the fleeting surprise on his face. In a split second, he steadies his stance, moving with a grace that might have impressed her, if he were anyone else. But she isn't finished yet. She charges at him again, only for him to catch her wrists, guns and all, in both hands. In one swift motion, he presses her against the nearby pillar, pinning her hands above her head.

Irritation, frustration, and a wave of overwhelming rage surge through her as she finds herself right back in the same infuriating position.

She tries to knee him between the legs, but he senses her move, swiftly blocking her leg and locking it in place with his.

She seethes at him, eyes blazing with fury. Her voice drops to an icy growl as she spits out her words through gritted teeth, "Never make the mistake of thinking you scare me. It might be your last as well."

His jaw tenses. The air between them crackles. The tension is so thick as if the atoms have come alive. He remains cold and unyielding, while an unexplained fiery heat surges through her veins setting her skin on fire.

"Believe me, Miss Gupta, the urge to kill you is fucking killing me right now. But you are more useful to me alive than dead. And I promise you, when your purpose is served, the last face you'll see before you die will be mine. "

He releases her wrists and steps back, sliding his gun into the waistband of his dark jeans. Meanwhile, she messages her sore wrists, shooting daggers at him.

Khushi's mind erupts with a whirlwind of curses, each one sharper than the last. She bites her tongue, barely holding back the barrage of insults ready to spill from her lips. She has a whole dictionary of words she could use right now.

Arrogant prick, Cold-blooded Bastard, jackass, douchbag, Evil Monster, Son of a ---no, too mild.

You fucking piece of shit, self-obsessed, vile, three-named motherfucking rakhsas. Fuck you and fuck your twisted God complex and your smug little threats, you egoistical Asshole.

The flood of fury pulses through her veins. She mentally cycles through every foul word she's ever known in any language. The urge to unleash those curses claws at her throat, each one begging to be set free.

Despite the seething rage that fuels her every thought, she feels an involuntary tug of curiosity pulling her gaze toward him.

And against her better judgment, She lets her eyes wander slowly, tracing the sure, steady fingers up to his forearms, exposed beneath the rolled sleeves of his black shirt, each one roped with muscle. A tattoo on his left forearm, she couldn't make out that night is now visible, peeking through the fabric.

A burning rose.

She shifts her gaze from his broad shoulders to his face. The stubble lining his sharp jaw defines his jawlines even more. It casts a shadow over his high cheekbones that models around the world would weep for.

It's infuriating to think that a man who looks like he steps off the cover of a GQ magazine can be such a colossal asshole. Such a waste!

Growing impatient, she scans the area, noting the absence of any other living souls nearby. Great. Here she is, at an abandoned construction site, with a notorious asshole from a rival mob family, who has lured her out here for a reason.

"Why am I here, Mr. Raizada?" she demands, frustration lacing her voice as she grapples with the chaos of the situation, desperate for clarity. "Why did you bring me here? And why did you kill your fucking pawn?"

He crosses his arms over his chest. "I didn't set him up, but he played his part brilliantly. He came here to tell you that NK is one of the Eagles and that he's underground now."

Her mouth falls open in disbelief.

"Why did you kill him then, if you were just going to give me the information yourself?" she exclaims, arms thrown up in frustration.

"He was breaking the rules."

"And you aren't?"

"I am the rule, Miss Gupta. No one dares to cross me."

She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at him. Best not to push her luck too far today.

"I wanted to meet you without setting off any alarms," he says after a moment. "That's why I let him lure you out here instead of killing him somewhere else."

"How considerate!" She taps her feet on the ground, turning her head to look at anything but him. "Why do you want to meet me?"

"To talk about the hacker you mentioned."

"What about him?"

"You are under the impression that I've brought something from him." He met her gaze evenly, or at least as evenly as possible with those eyes that always seemed to be dissecting her every move.

She fixes him with a piercing glare, her eyes narrowed to slits. "I don't just have the impression. I know you have. I hacked his server. It all leads back to you."

"Except I didn't even know who he was until you so kindly enlightened me."

"Right. And I'm supposed to just believe that?"

"Yeah."

"And why's that?"

"Because I haven't killed you yet." His eyes are hard and dangerous.

"Yet? What's stopping you from doing it right now?"

"Well, as much as I'd love to, I don't feel like starting a war today. Despite our families' little blood feud, the truth is, neither of us can afford a war right now, especially with the CBI continuously after our tails."

She doesn't want to believe him, not for a second. But then, why would he go to such lengths to meet her here? The gears in her mind start turning.

"You don't have the evidence?" she asks eyeing him suspiciously.

"No."

"So you're saying someone went to the trouble of elaborately framing you, even down to forging transaction details, knowing full well anyone could trace it back?"

"Something like that."

"And why would he bother doing that?"

"I'd love to know that too," he states shrugging his should, eyes still locked on hers.

Frustrated, she crosses her arms over her chest, watching as Mr. Raizada's eyes flicker at the action before landing on hers once again. "So now what?"

She wants to snap at him and instil some manners in him. Staring at a woman like that is very rude, Mr. Raizada. Instead, she just stares right back at him. Hard. Two can play the same game.

"You're going to work for me."

Author's note: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Things are really starting to heat up, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts on what's going to happen next! Any guesses on what's in store for our love birds?

Until next time, stay awesome!

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@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @msbhagirathi @titaliya @arshiradio

[lordgrimwing]

Sheltered #01

[for Maedhros and Maglor week, hosted by @maedhrosmaglorweek]

“What’s out there?” Elrond asked, shaking beneath the blanket Elros and he huddled under on the bed. His dark eyes darted toward the gray window and away again, frightened of what he might see out in the storm.

“Nothing to worry about,” Maglor murmured from where he sat next to them, one arm resting on the blanket. “Just rain and wind.”

The trees howled. 

Elrond ducked back under the covers and pulled them closed around him. Elros curled tighter against him.

Maglor listened to the trees. The way they creaked with the strain of the rushing wind. The way their branches moaned as they rubbed against each other. Distantly, he heard a tree break and fall. Was it the old hollow Burch near the stream where the roots were half exposed from last spring’s runoff? He wondered. The one he and his brothers climbed up inside like oversized raccoons? 

“Something’s out there.” One of the twins insisted from their hiding spot. “Is it doing this?”

“Maybe,” Maedhros said from the doorway. He’d been there for some time, watching his brother's cautious attempts to comfort the two boys they found lost in the forest a few days ago.

Maglor frowned at him. They did not need to feed into any fears the children had. Severe storms weren’t uncommon around this time of year.

Maedhros shrugged. Lying would do them no favors. Something took the boys’ parents, and Fëanor was sure it wanted them, too. He enlisted all of his sons at one point or another over the preceding days to help him strengthen the protections around the house and glen and make charms for the twins to wear to hide them from what was out there. What was the point in hiding the danger when the foundlings already suspected it?

“But,” He relented as his brother continued to glare at him. “If that is the case, you’re in the safest place you could be. We’ve been living with this thing since before you two were born. Our pa knows more about how to keep it away than anyone. Do what we tell you. Don’t go out in the storm. It’ll be alright.” 

The lump under the blanket shifted. “‘M never going outside,” Elrond muttered. 

Maglor smiled sadly, recalling fourteen-year-old Celegorm, all awkwardly long limbs and pale hair, expressing similar sentiments after his own close call. Now, the sun couldn’t set without him craving to run free in the trees and disappear for days on end to hunt and roam. 

When he looked at him, Maedhros appeared lost in thought, brows drawn in consideration. Not so long ago, his youngest brothers, also twins, were this age. Amrod and Amras, bright and happy souls in the ever-growing and twisting shadow thickening the forest. The shadow had grown teeth as of late and become something none of them could deny even if they did not sense it as sharply as their father. Even if they kept these new twins out of its reach, he wondered if they would ever be freed of its presence.

He tilted his head to the side when he noticed his brother watching him from the bed. He blinked back at him and let a smile pull at tired lips. “I’ll bring super when it’s ready.”

[dabiconcordia]

Twin Fawns

Their summer brown coats sprinkled with white spots glisten in morning sun.

On nimble legs, tiny, taut bodies with oversized ears, tremble through their world – precious and innocent – between the pasture and the oaks, filtered like falling snow.

Their mother is teaching them: teaching them trails to take for survival, where to find food beneath pecan trees, lying still in tall grass when danger approaches – teaching them when to go to water, when to shelter

teaching them to respond to her snorts, teaching them to obey instinct, teaching them not to trust.

Each day, they run a little farther, a little faster – white spots fading into green – dark, forever. by Ken Hada