#pst: mistake murder

[imasallstars]

SR/SR+ 【Reverse Mystery! (Nurse)】Kotoha Tanaka

FOCUS STAT 　　　7043/7887 VOCAL TOTAL APPEAL 　　　16325/18285 Skill:「Slapstick Trick」 　　　(Combo Bonus) For every 11 seconds, there is a 30~40% chance that you will gain an extra 20% COMBO BONUS for 6 seconds. Center Skill:「Princess Harmony」 　　　 All PRINCESS-type cards gain a 60% boost in their VOCAL stat.

※ this card is available through ranking in the Top 50000 in the Platinum Star Tour-Bingo ~Mistake Murder!~ event. You are able to get a higher rank of this card, by ranking in higher tiers of the event

※ you are also able to obtain this card by reaching 30k points in the Platinum Star Tour-Bingo ~Mistake Murder!~ event.

[melancholy-of-nadia]

the a(myg)dala (explicit) | myg

title: the a(myg)dala (explicit) pairing: mafia leader/detective! agust d x right handman! f. reader ; gang leader! yoongi x right handman! f. reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , thriller , smut ; haegeum au , my agustdverse summary: You wake up in a lavish bedroom with no recollection of memories of who you are. The only person who holds the key to this mystery is the owner of the house, Agust D, a mafia boss masquerading as a police detective. He claims you’re his right hand (wo)man and that he needs to protect you from someone who’s after you, as well as a treasure he’s searching for. With danger lurking and your memories a blank slate, can you trust Agust D to uncover the truth, or is there more to his story than meets the eye? note: i have been planning this in my head (like the delusional girly i am) since daechwita came out in 2020, but it wasn't until 2023 with the haegeum mv that it truly solidified me wanting to put together my thoughts to create this. i started out with Distraction and Infatuation as test one shots to gauge at the interest, and now it has lead me to create the first actual chapter of this series. this series is dedicated to my bestie the biggest yoongi smut luvr i know @daegudrama and to my favorite yoongi fic writers @jcoles and @theharrowing. also this is kinda unedited i apologize for any mistakes sndksfjladsafbjka i will edit later on. warnings: the following series is intended for a mature audience and may contain graphic language, graphic violence, weapons (guns/katana swords/chopsticks), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, gambling, murder, gang activity, memory loss/amnesia, sassy and on guard reader, unreliable characters, haegeum!agust d, haegeum!yoongi, tale of two MYGs technically, LMAO, TEAM SUGA! appearances as mafia men, assassins, slow burn, fight sequences, power imbalance, future smut scenes that may contain some bdsm elements, multiverse implications, tattoos, etc. drop date: october 29th, 2024, 9:00pm pst word count: 5.5k – –

The world slowly comes into focus, the haze of unconsciousness lifting like a dissipating fog. You blink, your eyelids heavy as if weighed down by lead. The room around you is unfamiliar, dimly lit by a lamp on a nearby table. The scent of damp wood and something herbal lingers in the air. You try to move, but a sharp, throbbing pain in your head forces you to stay still.

Panic surges through you. Where are you? Why can’t you remember anything?

You glance around, the room’s details gradually becoming clearer. It is small and sparsely furnished, with wooden walls and a single window covered by a thick, faded curtain. But the strangest part is that you can't recall how you got here or what happened before. Your mind is blank, a void where your memories should be.

Well, almost blank.

Two things are certain in your mind: your name—whatever comfort that brings—and the image of a man, his face marked by a prominent scar, entering this very room. Yet, in the memory, the man looks different—his features more vivid, his clothing distinct. He is wearing a green jacket. You cling to that detail as if it were a lifeline in the sea of confusion.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the creaking of the wooden floor. You turn your head—slowly, cautiously—and see him. The man from your memory stands at the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and relief.

“You’re up? You’ve been asleep for a couple of days now.”

His voice is deep, carrying a warmth that contrasts with the sternness of his appearance. The scar on his face is unmistakable, and yet something about him seems off, like a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit.

“Who are—” you start to ask, but the words catch in your throat as a sudden, stabbing pain shoots through your temples. You wince, pressing a hand to your forehead as you try to steady your breathing.

The man’s eyes narrow, his concern deepening. “Easy, doll, don’t strain yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”

Doll?

His tone is soothing, but it only heightens your unease. Why does he look so familiar? And why does the memory of him in that green jacket feel so significant?

“I... I can’t remember… why can’t I remember?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your fear and confusion. “I can’t remember anything, except your face. But you looked different... the green jacket...”

The man frowns, clearly troubled by your words. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if trying not to startle you.

“Listen,” he says gently, grasping your cheek. “You’ve been through something traumatic. It’s normal to feel disoriented. But you’re safe now, alright? We’ll figure this out together.”

His reassurance does little to ease the growing tension in your chest. As he speaks, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something he isn’t telling you—something important that lies just beyond your grasp.

But for now, with your head pounding and your body weak, all you can do is nod and hope that the answers will come soon.

His phone rings, the sound slicing through the uneasy quiet of the room. The man glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before pulling the phone from his pocket. He answers it without a word, his face hardening as he listens to the person on the other end. After a tense moment, he turns away, stepping out of the room.

The door creaks shut behind him.

You wait, the minutes stretching into what feels like an eternity. Ten minutes pass, then thirty, and still, there is no sign of his return. Your unease grows. Why hasn’t he come back yet? What was that phone call about?

The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as your anxiety gnaws at you. You try to stay still, but the silence is suffocating. You need to get out of bed.

With some effort, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as your body protests the movement. Every muscle feels sore, as if you’ve been through something physically draining. Your feet touch the cool floor, and you slowly stand, swaying slightly as the room spins for a moment. Steadying yourself, you look around, eyes settling on the door.

You have to investigate. You need to understand what is happening.

Just as you take a step toward the door, it swings open with a soft creak. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a new figure enters the room.

It is a woman, dressed sharply in a tailored black suit that contrasts her bright orange bob cut. She moves with an air of quiet confidence, her eyes locking onto yours with a steady, calm gaze. She seems close to your age, though something about her presence feels more mature, more composed.

“Hello,” she says, her voice smooth and professional. “My name is Adora. Apologies, as Mr. Agust had to step out unexpectedly, but he kept me up to speed with everything going on and told me to help care for you in the meantime.”

You blink, taking in her words, still processing the situation.

Mr. Agust? That’s his name?

Adora approaches the small table by the bed and sets down a neatly folded bundle of clothes. “I’ve brought you some clothes,” she adds, gesturing toward the bundle. “I imagine you’d want to change into something more comfortable.” She glances at you, wearing a white spaghetti-strapped nightgown. Yeah, you need to change out of this.

“Who… who is Mr. Agust?” you ask, your voice hoarse from disuse. The question has been burning in your mind ever since you woke up.

“Oh! The man who was just in here before me. Agust D,” she says happily. “He’s been looking after you since… well, since the incident.”

“The incident?” you repeat, confused. “What happened to me?”

Her smile fades, and a shadow of concern crosses her features. “I’m afraid that’s something only Mr. Agust can explain to you. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

She steps back, giving you space, and nods toward the clothes again. “Go ahead and take a shower before changing. I’ll wait outside if you need anything.”

And once again, you are left alone.

You grab the bundle of clothes, the fabric soft under your fingers as you unfold them. A white, long-sleeved collared shirt, a plaid skirt, and knee socks—an odd combination. Your brow furrows. Is this a school uniform? The thought seems out of place, considering everything else, but you push it aside. Right now, getting cleaned up and dressed feels like the first step toward reclaiming some control.

There is a small door beside your bed that leads to a bathroom. You open it and are greeted by a modest, clean space. The tiles are cool beneath your feet as you walk toward the shower. Your mind feels murky, still clouded by the lack of memory, and every detail around you seems both unfamiliar and strangely mundane at the same time.

As the hot water sprays down from the rain showerhead on the ceiling, you stand still for a moment, letting the warmth wash over you. It feels good, the steam wrapping around your sore muscles, loosening the tension that has built up since waking. Slowly, you begin to move, running your hands through your hair, watching the water swirl around your feet. You glance down at your body, your movements still careful, as though you fear something is waiting beneath the surface of your skin.

And then, you notice them—bruises. Small, fading marks dot your legs and arms, some yellowing at the edges, others still dark purple. Scrapes, too, healed over but unmistakable, mar your skin. You gently touch one on your forearm, wincing at the slight sting.

What happened to you? Frustration bubbles up inside you, making your throat tight. Every mark tells a story, a piece of the puzzle that should be obvious. But all you have are fragments, and none of them make sense.

You close your eyes, trying to summon any trace of a memory, something that could explain the bruises, the scrapes, the pain in your muscles. But there is nothing. Just emptiness.

Your hands shake slightly as you rinse off, the water turning from soothing to overwhelming. You finish quickly, the hot steam doing little to quell the storm of confusion and frustration rising within you.

Stepping out of the shower, you catch your reflection in the small, fogged-up mirror. You wipe it with your hand, staring at yourself, but the person staring back looks just as lost. No answers. No clarity.

With a sigh, you turn away and dry off, pulling on the strange outfit—first the crisp white shirt, then the plaid skirt and knee socks. The uniform fits well enough. Did you used to wear this before as well? You're left wondering too many things...

After slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers that you find beside the bed, you step out of the room for the first time. The hallway greets you with a soft, dim glow, revealing that evening has settled in. Shadows dance across the walls as you cautiously make your way forward.

Adora is sitting in a chair by your door, casually scrolling through her phone. At the sound of your footsteps, she looks up, her orange hair catching the light.

“Miss! All done? Do you need anything?” she asks, standing up swiftly with an attentive smile.

“Yeah, all done,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... want you to show me around. I’m having a little trouble recalling some things.” You hesitate, wary of revealing too much. If people know about your memory loss, they could use it against you. But surely Adora had been informed by Agust D beforehand, right?

Adora’s eyes softened. “No worries, Mr. Agust did mention this detail to me.”

You’re correct.

“I’ll show you around and get you updated on the things I’m cleared to inform you on,” she adds.

Cleared? The word hangs in the air, making you wonder just how much is being kept from you. Still, you nod. “That’s fine.”

Adora leads the way down the hall, and your tour begins. The mansion is far larger than you anticipate. As you move from room to room, it becomes clear that this place is no ordinary home. The architecture is grand, with high ceilings and long corridors lined with dark wood paneling and expensive-looking art. Every room seems carefully designed, exuding luxury and power.

Your bedroom is relatively simple compared to the rest of the mansion—modest in size with muted tones, though the bed is large and soft. Across the hall, Adora points out Mr. Agust’s room. Unlike yours, it is locked, and she makes no attempt to open it. The door itself is dark wood, with intricate carvings around the frame. You can only imagine what is inside.

Next, she leads you to his office. It’s a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a grand desk made of polished mahogany, and a large window overlooking a courtyard. Papers and files are neatly stacked on the desk, though Adora makes no comment about what they contain. The room has an air of importance, almost like a command center.

The kitchen and dining area are expansive. The kitchen, spotless and gleaming, is staffed with a few workers who nod politely as you pass. The dining room is more formal, with a long table capable of seating at least a dozen people. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, casting warm light across the room.

The living room is one of the most impressive spaces—a large, open area with plush leather sofas, a marble fireplace, and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The windows here are larger, revealing a darkening city skyline.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in Bangkok. Thailand.”

Bangkok? You know what that place is, but it’s not a location you expected to be in.

As you explore, you begin to notice more people moving through the mansion—mostly bodyguards, dressed in black and stationed at various points. Most of them seem to be Korean, their stoic expressions and quiet movements blending into the background. It’s strange to see so many of them here. A mansion in Thailand, filled with Koreans—it doesn’t add up.

Your curiosity gnaws at you, but you know Adora isn’t the right person to ask. Whatever this is, it feels delicate. You’ll have to wait for Mr. Agust.

After what feels like hours of walking through corridors and staircases, Adora finally leads you to the dining room, gesturing for you to sit at the long table.

“I received word that Mr. Agust has just arrived,” she says, offering you a gentle smile. “You’ll meet him here. The staff has set out some tea and desserts for you while you wait.”

You look at the table. A silver tray holds a pot of tea and an assortment of small pastries. The aroma is sweet and comforting, but the anticipation makes your hands tremble slightly as you reach for a cup and serve yourself some tea.

“I’ll come back to join you two, along with some of the other guards,” Adora continues. “Mr. Agust will be here shortly.”

Interesting. You’re not sure what to make of this situation.

The dining room grows quieter as you sit alone with your thoughts, nibbling on a cookie to stave off the nerves.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes through the hallway outside the dining room. You freeze, your pulse quickening as the door swings open. A group of men enters, all dressed in dark suits, their expressions stern and composed. They move in unison, fanning out to take seats around the table, but one man stands out from the rest.

Agust D

He strides in with a commanding presence, his sharp eyes surveying the room as he walks. There’s an air of authority around him that makes the space feel smaller. His dark hair is slicked back, his expression unreadable as he takes the seat at the head of the table.

The sleeves of his shirt are stained red… You don’t want to know if that’s blood, but it’s the only thing you can assume.

 Adora re-enters the room soon after, gliding in with her usual grace. She takes her seat across from you, her calm demeanor unwavering as she folds her hands in front of her. The tension in the room is thick, though it seems invisible to her.

Agust turns to you, his gaze piercing but calm. "I hope you’re feeling a bit more settled," he says, his voice low and even.

Yeah, sure, settled, you think, fighting the urge to laugh. Settled is the last thing you feel in this... “house.” 

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on you. “Yeah, I suppose,” you mutter, unsure how to respond. You reach for a cookie from the tray in front of you, more out of nervousness than actual hunger.

“I know this place might be overwhelming,” Agust continues, leaning back in his chair. “This is no ordinary home, as you’ve probably gathered by now.”

You swallow hard, the cookie crumbling slightly in your hands. No ordinary home is an understatement. The size, the guards, the secrecy—it all screams something far beyond the normal.

“To formally introduce myself, my name is Agust D. I’m the chief detective for the Asia-Pacific Police Force here in Bangkok. Comprised of officers from all Asia investigating international crime,” he says, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as if daring you to believe him.

You nod slowly, though something about it doesn’t sit right with you. “That’s... interesting,” you begin carefully, “but I don’t think that’s all. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Smart girl. You’re sharp, I’ll give you that.” Agust’s eyes gleam, and a chuckle rumbles from his chest. “No, that’s not all.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “I am a leader of this mafia family you’ve been seeing.”

Your hand freezes mid-bite, the cookie slipping from your fingers and falling onto the table. Your heart skips a beat. Mafia? Your mind races. Organized crime? How the hell did you get involved in something like this? Fear snakes up your spine as your hands begin to tremble slightly. You can feel your throat tightening, your body responding to the panic rising inside you.

Agust’s eyes soften just a fraction, as if sensing your fear. “Relax,” he says, his voice calm, almost reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you... you’ve been working for me for quite some time before all of this, after all.”

“Working for you?” you echo, incredulous. None of this makes sense. You shake your head, unable to comprehend. “Me? I... I don’t think so. I mean why would I–”

Agust’s smile returns, and he leans back in his chair, his hand disappearing beneath the table. “It is you,” he says firmly, interrupting you. Without warning, he tosses something across the table.

You flinch, instinctively reaching out to catch it—your hand closing around the handle of a heavy object. What the— A sword? Its weight is oddly familiar in your grip. You stare at it, eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. The scabbard is intricately decorated with a blossom pattern that triggers something deep within you, something familiar.

You’ve seen this before... You’ve used this before.

Grainy and fragmented memories burst through your mind of a time when you’d used this. “Go ahead,” Agust says, his voice quiet but commanding. “Try it out.”

As if under a trance, your fingers move on their own, sliding the blade free from the scabbard. The polished metal gleams in the low light, its sharp edge whispering of battles fought and blood spilled. Before you realize what is happening, you have gotten onto the dining table, moving with fluid precision toward Agust that startles even you.

The bodyguards around the room react instantly, rising from their chairs and drawing guns, all pointed at you. But you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Your body moves on its own, and within a second, you are standing over Agust, the tip of your blade mere centimeters from his throat.

The room is dead silent. Agust doesn’t flinch. He merely raises a hand, a calm gesture to his men. The bodyguards look at him in hesitation, but slowly lower their weapons, keeping their eyes trained on you.

A chuckle escapes his lips. “Did that jog your memory?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with amusement, as if he has been waiting for this moment.

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I... only a little…?” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the sword in your hand feels so familiar, so right, but your mind is still a blur of confusion.

“So much bloodlust you’ve got hidden in those eyes. Are you going to cut me down this time, doll?” he asks, his voice teasing, yet there’s a glint of seriousness behind his eyes.

This time? What does he mean by “this time”? 

Despite the odd question, your heart skips a beat.

“W-What?!” you stammer, not understanding what he means. You pull the blade away, stepping back and lowering it to your side. Your hands are still shaking.

Agust smirks but says nothing more about it. Instead, he leans back, seemingly unfazed by how close he has come to death. “So, do you want some of the answers I can provide?”

Enough of this cryptic stuff.

You blink, still trying to process what just happened. “Are you actually going to answer me this time?” you ask, your voice sharper than intended.

Agust chuckles, clearly enjoying this more than you are. “That depends on what you want to know.”

“Hmm…” You hesitate for a moment while Agust signals his men to sit back down. They sit down, resume their positions, and the tension in the room seems to dissolve as if nothing happened just moments ago.

“Now tell me, doll,” Agust says, leaning forward, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory intensity.

“First of all, who am I? Why do you keep calling me ‘Doll’?” you shoot back, your tone sharper than intended.

Agust lets out a deep breath, almost as if your question bores him. “You don’t have a name, as far as I know, so I call you doll. It’s cute, isn’t it?”

You give him an exasperated roll of your eyes, and he chuckles, as if he expects nothing less. “But besides me, everyone else calls you ‘Dove’—your code name.”

“Why am I here?” you press on, hoping for a more substantial answer.

Agust’s grin grows wider. “Great to see you moving on to this point,” he says, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “I’m protecting you. Your life is at stake, actually.”

You scoff. “Protecting me from…?”

“Someone.” His tone is vague, and your irritation flares at his refusal to offer more.

“Could you be any more vague?” you mutter, rolling your eyes again, daring him to give you something concrete. “Who is it?”

Agust’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening slightly. He clearly isn’t used to being questioned like this. Just as he opens his mouth to respond, one of the bodyguards at his side, a man with sharp features and an intense gaze, speaks up.

“I don’t think you should ask that right now,” he says firmly. “Just for the sake of your life.”

“Yijeong,” another bodyguard—a much older man with long black locks of hair—warns in a low voice.

Yijeong shrugs, his eyes unwavering. “I’m just looking out for her safety.” It doesn’t sound sincere, to be completely honest.

Agust gives a subtle nod, silencing the exchange with a single glance. Then he turns back to you, his gaze slightly softened. “Anyway, it’s exactly as I said,” he continues, his voice smooth, almost practiced. “As part of my daytime role, I’m a detective. And I’m also an underground mafia boss.”

You stiffen, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a shroud. He isn’t done. “The person after you wants something that you hold the key to—something that we both want.” His tone is steady, a faint glint of ambition in his eyes. “I met you a few years ago and decided to let you live here, by my side, in hopes of finding it.”

You take a shaky breath, your mind reeling as you try to process this. “And I’ve been here ever since… as your right-hand man?”

Agust leans forward, his voice low yet intense. “That’s right. You were essential to our operations. I need you back in action, though. There’s a lot at stake here. We need to find this thing as soon as possible and get rid of this other person trying to kill you.”

You try to wrap your head around the idea that you’ve been living a life entrenched in the shadows of the criminal underworld, working closely with Agust and his organization—yet you can’t remember any of it. The weight of it presses heavily on you, disbelief twisting in your gut.

“So, you’re telling me,” you begin, your voice slightly unsteady but determined, “that I’ve been involved in this… mafia life all this time and now, because of some freak accident that you won’t disclose, I have not a single memory of it?”

“Precisely.” His eyes are fixed on you, unwavering. “Once you start easing into things again, I’ll tell you,” he says, his voice gaining an edge, “but now, I need you to decide.”

The frustration bubbles up within you, and without fully realizing it, you blurt out the most pressing question in your mind. “And what if I refuse?”

“Refuse?”

“Yeah, I mean, this sounds great and all… but I’m not about this mafia life and fighting whatever gang rival you have. Maybe you are mistaken about me.”

“Then…” A dangerous gleam flashes in Agust’s eyes, and before you know it, his hand moves beneath the table. In one swift motion, he pulls out a sleek, polished handgun, the metallic click echoing as he cocks a bullet into the barrel. You flinch, eyes widening as he aims it in your direction, his expression dark but laced with amusement.

“I’ll just kill you right here.” He pauses, letting the threat hang in the air before he lets out a dry laugh.

Holy shit.

What the fuck is that switch-up!?

You knew this man is insane, from the moment he handed you a katana and nearly let you cut him down.

He chuckles softly, an unsettling sound that made your heart race even faster. “Honestly, this could work in my favor anyway.”

Agust tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he keeps the gun trained on you. "Then he will never get his hands on you. Ending it here sounds like a fine choice, doesn’t it?” His tone is almost casual, as if he were discussing nothing more consequential than the weather.

Your throat feels tight, but you hold his gaze, refusing to back down. His words hang in the air, blending with the heavy silence of the room. The other men seated at the table look on, stone-faced, while Adora remains calm, her eyes studying you carefully. You can tell she’s a little worried for you.

“You really think you can just kill me off?” you manage, trying to mask the tremor in your voice. “All this talk about me being your right hand, about me holding the key to something you need. If I’m that important, you can’t just get rid of me. Then you’ll never find what you’re looking for.”

Agust’s lips curl into a smirk. “Oh, doll, I like that fire,” he says, lowering the gun ever so slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. Great, just what you need—a compliment from your potential murderer. “You’re right. I can’t just let you go that easily.”

He leans back, his gaze unwavering as he places the gun on the table, almost within reach yet tantalizingly out of yours. “Let’s make something clear,” he continues, his voice softening yet holding that sharp edge. “You’re right. You’re valuable to me, too valuable to throw away—at least for now.”

For now? That’s comforting. What does ‘for now’ even mean in this context? You thought you were friends for a long time by now. Doesn’t sound like it from this.

The tension in the room lessens slightly, though your pulse is still racing. Agust’s words feel like a reprieve, but only just; you know there’s always another game behind his every sentence, and the stakes are dangerously high.

“Alright,” you reply, forcing a bit of calm into your voice. “Then tell me more. You say I’m the key to something… What is it exactly?”

Agust shrugs, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable. “For now, let’s say it’s a treasure—one that’s extremely valuable to both me and… other interested parties.” He gives a small, almost lazy wave of his hand, brushing off the details as if they’re minor inconveniences.

“Other interested parties?” you press, sensing he’s holding back. “Like the person you’re supposedly protecting me from?”

Agust’s eyes narrow slightly, as though debating just how much he wants to divulge. He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair, and gives a curt nod.

 “Yes, exactly like that person. But don’t worry about…them,” he says, his voice dipping lower, almost like a threat wrapped in reassurance. “With me around, you’re safe. They won’t touch you. Besides, doll, you led them on quite a chase right before the accident that happened to you….And now, they know better than to mess with one of the biggest mafias in Bangkok, especially one that has the police wrapped around its finger.”

The words settle over you like a heavy blanket, the weight of the implications sinking in. You haven’t just ended up here by chance, nor is this some benevolent offer of protection. The people after you aren’t merely rivals—they’re people who chased you, people you evaded in the past. And now, you’re under the protection of not just any organization, but a criminal empire with authority woven tightly into Bangkok’s very fabric.

“Wrapped around your finger?” you echo, incredulous but with a hint of fascination you can’t suppress.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair as though he’s merely recounting a successful business venture. “Yes, Bangkok’s finest wouldn’t dare cross me. I’m a chief detective, after all. It’s all very convenient, don’t you think?”

Right, because every girl dreams of being involved with a chief detective who moonlights as a mafia boss. What’s next? A romantic comedy?

You feel your pulse throb in your temples in disbelief. “So that’s why they won’t come after me here?”

“Exactly,” he replies, his tone almost smug. “To come after you here would be a death sentence for them. And they know it.”

You mean, you can’t argue with that logic. Guess you’ll have to stick around this madness for a while.

You slowly slide off the table, feeling the lingering tension in your limbs as you settle back into your seat at the far end of the dining table. Agust watches you with that familiar smirk, clearly pleased with the subtle shift in your demeanor. Once seated, you exhale, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze again.

“And if you continue to stay here,” he begins, his tone softer but laced with intent, “there’s a chance your memories will eventually come back, piece by piece. Trying to leave and figure it all out on your own would be… risky, to say the least.”

He’s giving you an out, it seems, yet he isn’t. The faintest hint of a choice dangles in front of you, a chance to regain who you are—or escape before you learn too much.

Agust’s gaze never wavers. “If you want answers—if you want to understand what’s locked away in that mind of yours—staying is your best option.”

Adora’s gaze is unwavering as well, as though silently urging you to take Agust’s offer. You glance at the others around the table, all of them still and watchful, a powerful, immovable force surrounding you.

“And if I don’t stay?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs, though his eyes hold the barest glint of amusement. “Then I suppose you’ll be putting all that fire to good use. Running from a lot of people… including me.” His smirk softens, but his words are as sharp as ever. “The most dangerous game. It’s your choice, doll. But remember, what’s waiting for you out there isn’t likely to be as welcoming as here.”

Nice way to put it. A warm welcome with care followed by a bullet?

You lean back, trying to process everything. It’s surreal—being told you’ve been living some double life as the right hand to a mafia boss, that you’ve led people on a chase through Bangkok, and now, because of all this, there are people actively out to get you. Just yesterday… well, whenever “yesterday” is, you have no memory of this life. And now, Agust is offering you a choice. Either stay here and trust him to help you find yourself again, or leave and risk everything on your own.

You look down, hands fidgeting on your lap as you think it over. Realistically? You don’t have a lot of options. Even if you leave, where would you go? How would you survive with no memory of who you are? Just the idea of stumbling around Bangkok, a city you barely even remember, trying to outwit… whoever is after you seems like a suicide mission.

Besides, there’s something oddly reassuring about Agust, even if his methods are a bit terrifying. He doesn’t look like he’s about to pull any punches, and for some reason, that makes you trust him more. He isn’t hiding who he is or what he’s capable of, and he isn’t sugar-coating the risks. The entire mafia thing is insane, sure, but something in you stirs with a strange familiarity when he speaks about it. It’s as if you’ve known all along, buried somewhere deep down.

You steal another glance at him, noting how he’s watching you, calm and expectant. He isn’t pushing you, just waiting for you to come to a conclusion.

Finally, you sigh and look up, meeting his gaze. “Fine,” you say, exhaling as if to release the last bits of resistance. “I’ll stay. You protect me, and I… I’ll do whatever I did before and help you get what you’re looking for. If this is my best chance at getting those memories back, then I’ll take it.”

A satisfied smile curves Agust’s lips. “Good girl. I knew you’d come around.”

Adora, who’s been watching from across the table, gives a small and excited nod, and the other bodyguards exchange glances. The tension in the room eases, like the whole crew has been waiting for your decision.

“All right, then,” you say, half to yourself. “Guess I’m back to… whatever this is.”

Agust chuckles. “Welcome back to the family.”

–

–

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for this series! ➸ a(mygdala) pilot one shot #1 - distraction and one shot #2 - infatuation ➸ all fics masterlist

a/n: thank you so much reading! apologies for the very dialogue heavy first chapter in this series as I needed to set up the vibe and expectation of reader and Agust D. We'll get more into the mafia bitty gritty in the next chapter as well as eventual smut in later chapaters for these two before shit goes down hehehehe im sorry it'll be a bit of a wait since it's slow burn... but there will be a ton of charged up tension leading into it heheheheh

i had planned to release this earlier this month but after a very intensive job hunt for the past year + 7 months, i finally found a new job! yay! cries... so future updates will take some time. but please please feel free to send me your thoughts or suggestions on things you'd like to see in this series in the future and i will make sure to incorporate it. :) until next time!

[lonestar-s5countdown]

This week, we’re focusing on Redemption, another very important Lone Star theme! Every season of the show, we get characters learning from their mistakes, seeking and earning forgiveness, and proving themselves. We have plenty of past episodes that feature redemption, and it’s quite likely we can look forward to that theme playing out in season 5 as well:

Both Owen and Carlos did things in the finale that they may have to reckon with going forward (or the show will forget all about it and the fandom can take care of it via fic and head canon!)

Paul and Marjan will be fighting to prove themselves worthy to take on Judd’s lieutenant position, just as Nancy likely will be when she takes on the paramedic captain role. 

Wyatt will likely have to prove himself at his new job at dispatch.

Carlos will be struggling to solve his father’s murder and may have to seek redemption when he gets in too deep.

We’ll have a tag game, a poll, fic recs and character metas for you later this week, and on Wednesday at 5 pm PST/8 pm EST, there will be a group watch of 2x11–Slow Burn and 3x13–Riddle of the Sphynx.

Join us for Redemption-themed fun all week!

[team-frightfur]

Love how Yuri pretends to be evil to fuck with the boys but with the girl he sidles up like "pst I won't card people anymore or abduct you again." and it's like his tiniest way of saying sorry.

Like the Yuboys all want him to be good so bad and because he's a spiteful bitch he REFUSES and endlessly deflects about not murdering people. But he is very slightly apologetic to the girls so he expresses that by admitting he's not evil anymore. BUT HE'S STILL FUCKED UP AND NASTY! DON'T YOU EVER MISTAKE HIM AS OTHERWISE! And actually saying 'Sorry' is far, far too low and pathetic for him he would NEVER.

[kani-miso]

mini analysis on route 1 ch 3

@hectorthedoggo

alot of words = alot of lore drop

tw : child neglect, child abuse, murder

THIS IS SO GOOD AND AMAZING OMG MY GOODNESS 5K??? ILYSM/P

pst, as per usual

red colored words= important but not about the keyring/jackalope

bolded words=keyring/jackalope information

italic words= reusing from fic

p_1

'Her defensiveness reminded them of Jackalope, when he- wait, what did he do again? He did something bad, but…'

They stopped their thoughts before they could think something they shouldn't think.

(i think jackalope is narcissistic, here's why: narcissistic people tend to be defensive of their own opinion caused by their sense of superiority.) alright, what the hell did he do. es' sense of morality is black and white if its someone close to them (jackalope). if so, then that means jackalope did something pretty bad for es to think of that.

'They stopped their thoughts before they could think something they shouldn't think.' something makes me concerned by the way es just disregarded that memory. they're trying to make a pure and clear image for jackalope due to their closeness. victims of abuse by family members/guardians usually stay silent about their situation fearing they were responsible for the abuse they endured or that speaking up can cause physical harm to their abuser (which some victims dont want to happen).

p_2

“Humans are bad influences, of course. I shouldn’t be here right now.” Es repeated the previous thought that wasn't quite theirs.'

“Humans are bad influences, of course. I shouldn’t be here right now.” they are always teached by jackalope that they shouldn't, no, mustn't interact with any other being that is not jackalope (especially humans), why though? im guessing its a. because jackalope does not want es to find a new guardian to latch on. b. jackalope has a poor relationship with humans (john/mikoto's attack at the tower) or c. some sort of traumatic event that happened to them due to abusive human behavior which causes jackalope to become more defensive and cautious about es' safety (< previously abused theory), but with the way you write jackalope, it's very unlikely to be c., it'll probably be b. imo.

''Es repeated the previous thought that wasn't quite theirs.' aha, there it is. es' thoughts are based off of jackalopes ideals as they do not have free will. this could possibly affect the growth of their mindset and brain with irreversible changes.

p_3

'Everything about that statement was strange. Form their own opinions? That would only lead to disaster, didn’t he know that?

They didn’t remember why that was true, they just… knew.'

'Form their own opinions? That would only lead to disaster' oh!/neg. more proof of them not having any free will. from this sentence, it sounded like they have done a mistake of forming their own opinion which caused something horrible to happen. es is an obedient child so one time punishments could change their whole perception on said subject. no wonder they always follow jackalopes ideals and opinions even if they have no idea if its right or not.

'They didn’t remember why that was true, they just… knew.'' uh huh. for me, it has some parallels with the previous chapters (e.g : ch 2 'Es never really questioned the origin of the keyring, just knew that they should always have it, no matter what.'). when a naive child is told something crucial, it WILL be implanted in their mind.

p_4

'He had been nothing but nice to them, probably just because he was in a good mood right now. But what if they induced a bad mood? Es didn’t know what his bad mood would look like, but-'

'He had been nothing but nice to them-', more parallels?? (route 2 ch 3 These people had been nothing but nice to them, and this is what they traitorously thought.) i know its from a different route, but it still feels so similiar.

'-probably just because he was in a good mood right now.' ouch, the eggshell parenting is parenting/negnegneg. how much more toxic could es' relationship with jackalope??? first, he's a neglectful guardian. second, he is an eggshell parent. third, he socially isolates them. (they cling to him, like he's their savior, yet they're scared of him, like he's a monster.)

'But what if they induced a bad mood? Es didn’t know what his bad mood would look like, but-' omg, the survival instinct is instincting. when children are in unsafe enviroments, they tend to recognize the daily patterns of their predator/abuser, such as: their footsteps (if there are multiple predators), sleep schedule, and their emotions based off of physical appearance. since es only knew shidou for like, less then 2 days, they cant read what his emotions are since they're yet to recognize his patterns.

p_5

It was more of a question. The color was all over their overly formal clothes, so maybe? They preferred the slightly different shade that made up the tie around their waist.

'Hm… Jackalope didn’t give that to them, did he? It didn’t exactly match their uniform, and it was a little off-color. Who gave-

One of the keys around their neck warmed up in recognition of the thought.

They decided that it was time to stop thinking about that topic. They didn’t want to remember it.'

'Hm… Jackalope didn’t give that to them, did he? It didn’t exactly match their uniform, and it was a little off-color. Who gave-' what.. i think i have a theory for this. lets start with

'who gave this to them?' : i suspect it might be from their past abusers

'what's the purpose of it?' : the tie on their waist is tied into a knot. many cultures including japan use knots to symbolize unity. es and their past abuser will always be tied into a knot together because no matter where they go, the abuse stays. it either continues from another person, or the previous scars of abuse never heal (both physically and mentally)

'the tie has 2 ends, what's the meaning?' : the number 2 usually symbolize the duality of two subjects, the ones that are important to note are : yes/no, true/false, and yin/yang. yes/no, true/false are self explanatory, yin/yang on the other hand. 'yin' represents coldness and darkness (< es' uniform overall colorscheme is cold representing yin, mind you this is give by jackalope). and 'yang' represents light and warmth (< es' tie on their waist is a warm color, this is given by their past abusers). i wonder if this is implying that es still cares and resonate warmth from their past abusers and feels coldness and a sense of darkness when getting taken care of by jackalope..(no wonder pain is nostalgic for them) also, in japan, 二 (ni). It represents creation, time (past, present, and future)

'why does the end of their tie look like a teru teru bozu?' : a teru teru bozu is a traditional japanese talisman used to bring good weathers and to stop or prevent rainy days. rain is essential when growing crops, so it symbolizes the growth of a new family (found family and biological). the fact that they are using a teru teru bozu that prevents rain implies that they are being held back in finding a "new family" :(.

'One of the keys around their neck warmed up in recognition of the thought.' woah okay were getting there.. usually the keyring gets warmer because of the mention of jackalope, mind you, the WHOLE keyring. then, when a past abuser is mentioned only one of their keys get warmer. jackalope can be taken as the embodiment of all of the abusers, down to the manipulation, neglect, physical abuse (?), emotional abuse, and domestic abuse.

'They decided that it was time to stop thinking about that topic. They didn’t want to remember it.' this has become the fugue es™ movement omg. i dont remember how many times they did this but its definitely more than 3 times.

p_6

'Their feelings were taken into account; that was new. Es took a second to consider the choice

He patiently waited for them to make a choice, which was another foreign action.'

'Their feelings were taken into account; that was new.' 'He patiently waited for them to make a choice, which was another foreign action.' ARE YOU KIDDING ME IM GONNA CRY IN THE CORNER. more of the 'victim falls to good hands and is confused' type of thing. i guess this implies that jackalope is also very impatient, this idea clashes with the canon autistic es here. people with autism needs others to be patient due to their different mind set and thinking pattern with neurotypicals. its really bad if you force a person with autism to be quicker because that could overstimulate them. (again, im not good with these topics so correct me if anything bothers you)

p_7

'This line of thought was getting dangerous, but Es lingered on it for a bit before trying to shut it down. Jackalope wouldn’t like them thinking like this.

However, their traitorous emotions still supplied a craving for a different life. Some teens about their age passed by, laughing with some ice cream, something Es never remembered tasting.

Would they have been with those teens, in another-

Get back to the tower. Get back to the tower. Get back to the tower. Get back-

A sharp pain shot through their head, and they let out a little whine. Of course this would happen, they thought too much, after all.'

'Jackalope wouldn’t like them thinking like this.' everytime they think of something, they will always prioritize jackalopes feeling first.. even if its something they want, something they crave, something they NEED.

'Would they have been with those teens, in another-' no, no they wouldn't. if they were never taken by jackalope, they'll never escape from the hell hole of abuse (if the theory's true). when they were taken by jackalope, they have no other choice but stay in the tower for eternity. both choices are a lose lose.

'Get back to the tower. Get back to the tower. Get back to the tower. Get back-' the more i read it, the more it doesnt feel like es' thoughts. especially from the previous chapters and other routes, everytime it (e.g. they should always have it, no matter what. 'But, they decided to think about it, idiotically, so their head started throbbing. They let out a little pained yelp.')' they should always have it, no matter what,' that sounds like jackalopes orders, same thing with 'get back to the tower'.

A sharp pain shot through their head, and they let out a little whine. Of course this would happen, they thought too much, after all.' also, im kinda doubting that the reason they feel the sharp pain is because of overthinking, it feels like jackalope is controlling their mind during those moments and when he's done possessing them, they'll feel pain.

p_8

'They didn’t deserve to be forgiven like this. They were having bad thoughts, thoughts that Jackalope wouldn’t like, so Shidou should hate them, too. He assessed their pathetic state, then reassured in a calming voice. “It’s alright.”

How come his expression showed no hints of anger? His voice was nothing but gentle, no annoyance hidden by his concern.

p_9

Guilt clogged up their throat. So, he must not have noticed their bad thoughts. That was the only justification for why he wasn’t mad.'

'They didn’t deserve to be forgiven like this.' oh, abuse victims usually feel a sense of burdening others and feeling guilty about it (omg forgiven and guilty milgram reff/j)

'thoughts that Jackalope wouldn’t like, so Shidou should hate them, too.' due to jackalope being the only living being es knew from the very start of their life (from waking up of the coma-ish state) they thought all adults would act the same just like jackalope. also, just because they had bad thoughts jackalope hated them? wow im gonna burn him 🌹

'How come his expression showed no hints of anger?' dont tell me jackalope also gives them the sarcastic smile treatment. even below his smile, they can feel the anger in him (because of the emotion pattern recognition)

'So, he must not have noticed their bad thoughts. That was the only justification for why he wasn’t mad.' the fact that they only think he didnt get mad was because he didn't feel their aura makes me sick. maybe they've gotten away with their bad thoughts once for them to think this is the only justifiable reason (or not)

'How did he know they were scared that he was mad at them?'

istg shidou is a mind reader you cant convince me otherwise or maybe its just because of es' obvious vulnerable state that makes them look like a pathetic scared child (just like the past)

p_10

'Jackalope usually didn’t cook his meat that much but did cook it some so that it was edible. Es preferred it cooked.

IM SORRY DOES JACKALOPE SOMETIME FEED THEM RAW MEAT??? i swear the neglect gets crazier from chapter to chapter. '-but did cook it some so that it was edible.' key word: some. ARE YOU KIDDING ME, SOME?? he is giving them the bare minimum, the only one essential for living.

p_11

She growled, “I’m sorry, I guess. You showed clear signs of neglect, I had to get you away from that place! But here-”

“There’s no way I’m going back to your cave! I’m staying with these people!”

“These people are dangerous!”

“How? Is it some sort of wild assumption that you made?”

She took a breath, and with a face and voice full of hatred, she said,

“Of course they’re dangerous.

They’re murderers, Es.”'

thank you for reading this, have a reward

WHAT

'You showed clear signs of neglect, I had to get you away from that place!' she was the only one who knew.. im crying

“Of course they’re dangerous. They’re murderers, Es.”' omg ARE YOU KIDDING ME THEY WILL NEVER TRUST A SINGLE HUMAN BEING EVER AGAIN, NOT EVEN KOTOKO.

me(es) when reading this chapter

(did not proof read lol)

[aita-blorbos]

(TW SUICIDE, DEATHS, AND MURDER 🦈🦈🦈

Aita for getting mad at the gods of the universe and stuff?

 I’m leaving this off anon so my moots can say what they wanna say >:3 like plushii did lol

My brother (M/16), and I (F/16[we are twins]) sometimes get into fights, yknow, usual sibling stuff. To make up for a recent fight, he wanted to go on a walk through a forest. We went birding, as it’s one of my favorite activities.

You see, he has a bit of a thing where… he sometimes goes insane. We’ve tried to get an explanation, with little to no explanation. Usually these episodes have him doing violent things, we have a room dedicated when this happens. (Dw, we clean it when he’s done lol)

And when I was looking for birds, HE FUCKING BACKSTABBED ME, LITERALLY… I have a huge scar there now, ouch…

Okay yada yada… realizing, holy shit I just killed my twin! He does a murder suicide! Leaving the both of us dead, there, right there, DEAD. 

So yeah, we die, we get to the afterlife, yknow, Apparently the heaven hell concept is real! {pst! The author of this doesn’t really believe btw! :>} and once at the pearly gates, I see my brother. We hug and stuff. But he is allowed in, while I get dragged to the pits of hell. Actually ain’t that bad. Surprisingly fun. BUT. Yknow… I don’t belong here? Like maybe I did some bad stuff, but nothing worthy of being damned to hell. 

Apparently the gods have a meeting, where they realize, hey! We messed up! Those 2 twins… yeah they’re at the wrong spots, Woopsies! 

So while I was burning in hell, my brother was up in heaven, and that wasn’t even where he was supposed to be. But at the same time, I didn’t want him to be in hell… so the gods above decided that we should have a second chance. We died too early, we were swapped, and it wasn’t our full potential. So they sent us back. Back at our house like nothing happened. 

Now we’re working towards a better life. The only evidence of this happening, besides our memory, is I now have devil horns, and he now has halos. Plus our scars.

Anyways yeah… the gods made a huge mistake…

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: Arrow Pronouns: She/They Age: 31 Timezone: PST

IC INFO

Character Name: Artemis Ryan Character Age: 26 Character Birthday (with year): March 2nd, 1998 Gender & Pronouns: Nonbinary; they/them Affiliation: Church of the Lost Occupation: Mechanic & Muscle for the Church of the Lost Faceclaim: Liv Hewson

BIOGRAPHY

TW: massacre, brainwashing, emotional abuse, grooming, cult/religious themes, murder

The Ryans were a small but mighty clan, with hair as red as the sun and the temper and drive to match it. The Ryans were equally a story and a warning to any who dared to challenge Conall MacCabe. The Ryans were fierce and powerful, and like many others, went out in a blaze of glory.

They remember only flickers of that night. A man (their father) shoving them into a closet with a pistol clutched in their tiny hands, whispering at her to stay quiet. The deafening bangs as gunshots flew about, shouts and screams as a family gathering turned into a bloodbath. They remember shouting out in alarm as a gloved hand sank a blade into her father's throat, and then getting dragged out of the darkness by their hair. They remember watching the house they had lived in going up in smoke, and someone finally silencing them with a blow to their head.

The Church of the Lost takes them in, for certainly, they are lost. At first, they resist, biting back with the ferocity of a wolf, but they are still a child. Slowly the memories of the Ryans and their fiery nature fade, only to be replaced by the sermons of the Church. There is no father, no mother, no kindly aunts or uncles or cousins. There is only the Leader and Her touch that vacillates between gentle and cruel. The world narrows to a single point that begins and ends with Her, and they learn that Her attention is all that they crave.

She is the one to give them their name, the first semblance of an identity that they are allowed to have in years. Artemis. Goddess of the Hunt. She shapes them into a perfect weapon, a feral animal in the skin of a youth. They are fourteen the first time they murder someone for Her. He doesn't see them coming, the silent, scarred child that quietly hovers at Her side. When he tries to humiliate Her in front of a group of his men, a single twitch of Her finger is the only signal they need before they are leaping over the table. A well-aimed blow with the crown of their head breaks his nose, and in a matter of seconds, they have him on his knees before Her.

No one is eager to test them again.

As years pass, they become a fixture in the Church. Not quite elevated to the status of one of the lieutenants or the overseer, but a above the rest of the flock. Newcomers mistake them as favored, but over time, most come to see the reality. They are a vessel, meant to embody exactly what She needs at any given moment, from sacrificial lamb to vicious predator and all that lies in between. She tells them that the scars that adorn their face and body are proof of their devotion, and they have no reason to question Her.

Violence is the language they become most fluent in, followed by the language of engines. They learn how to drive and care for vehicles, maintaining the Church's private collection and acting as Her driver, as well as Her guard. When they are allowed to roam the city, they have been known to participate in street races, even sometimes returning with a new car to add to the garage. They remain clueless to the presence of the murderer within their ranks, but would not tolerate change if their way of life was threatened.

[cyarskj1899]

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Man Lunges at Buffalo Supermarket Gunman Payton Gendron Before He Gets Life Sentence for Massacre [Video]

February 15, 2023 10:18 AM PST

A man has been escorted out of the Erie County Courthouse in New York Wednesday after rushing at Buffalo mass shooter Payton Gendron during his sentencing hearing.

via: ABC 7

A white supremacist who killed 10 Black people at a Buffalo supermarket was sentenced to life in prison without parole Wednesday after listening to relatives of his victims express the pain and rage caused by his racist attack.

The sentencing hearing for Payton Gendron was disrupted briefly when he was charged by a man in the audience, who was quickly restrained. It resumed after about 10 minutes, with more emotional testimony from people who talked about losing loved ones in the attack.

Peyton Gendron, whose hatred was fueled by racist conspiracy theories he encountered online, cried during some of the testimony and apologized to victims in a brief statement. The judge imposed separate sentences of life without parole, one for each victim, to run concurrently. She also denied giving Gendron youthful offender status, which might have given him a chance to reenter society.

“There was nothing hasty or thoughtless about your conduct. There are no mitigating factors to be considered,” Judge Susan Eagan said.

Gendron pleaded guilty in November to crimes including murder and domestic terrorism motivated by hate, a charge that carried an automatic life sentence.

Gendron, 19, wore bullet-resistant armor and a helmet equipped with a livestreaming camera as he carried out the May 14 attack with a semiautomatic rifle he purchased legally but then modified so he could load it with illegal high-capacity ammunition magazines.

Gendron also faces separate federal charges that could carry a death sentence if the U.S. Justice Department chooses to seek it. His defense attorney said in December that Gendron is prepared to plead guilty in federal court as well to avoid execution.

The sentencing in the attack, which was fueled by racist conspiracy theories he encountered online, resumed shortly after the disruption, which happened as Barbara Massey Mapps excoriated him for killing her 72-year-old sister, Katherine Massey. As Mapps shouted and pointed at Gendron, a person in the audience took a few steps toward him before getting held back.

“You don’t know what we’re going through,” a man shouted as he was led away by court officers. For several minutes thereafter, family members hugged and calmed each other.

Eagan then ordered Gendron back in and let the proceeding resume after admonishing everyone to “conduct ourselves appropriately.”

“I understand that emotion, and I understand the anger, but we cannot have that in the courtroom,” she said.

The sentencing was a chance for loved ones of the dead, as well as people wounded in the attack last spring, to pour out their loss, anguish and ire.

Some, like Massey Mapps, angrily condemned him; others quoted from the Bible or said they were praying for him. Several condemned him for his deliberate attack on a Black community far from his nearly all-white hometown.

“You’ve been brainwashed,” Wayne Jones Sr., the only child of victim Celestine Chaney, said as sobs rose from the audience. “You don’t even know Black people that much to hate them. You learned this on the internet, and it was a big mistake.”

“I hope you find it in your heart to apologize to these people, man. You did wrong for no reason,” Jones said.

Kimberly Salter, the widow of security guard Aaron Salter, explained that she and her family were wearing “red for the blood that he shed for his family and for his community, and black because we are still grieving.”

Christopher Braden, a Tops Friendly Market employee who was shot in the leg, said he was haunted by seeing the victims where they lay as he was carried out of the store.

“The visions haunt me in my sleep and every day,” he said.

At one point, Gendron began crying himself.

Gendron, now 19, wore bullet-resistant armor and a helmet equipped with a livestreaming camera as he carried out the May 14 attack. He killed his victims with a semiautomatic rifle, purchased legally but then modified so he could load it with high-capacity ammunition magazines that are illegal in New York.

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After terrorist and mass murderer Payton Gendron reads his statement, a woman from the gallery yells “YOU DON’T MEAN NONE OF THAT SHIT Fuck Outta Here!” The amount of pain in her voice when she screams… I cannot.

His only regret is that he got caught. Sociopaths can’t feel regret.

[shesvanny]

        ──   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐈𝐒   𝐍𝐎𝐓   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓   𝐓𝐎   𝐁𝐄   𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐌𝐘   𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

#𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 : private 𝗏𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗒    𝗏𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺,   of    𝗍𝗁𝖾    𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾   𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍'𝗌   𝖺𝗍   𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖽𝖽𝗒   𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗌𝖾.   video   game   based   with   a   sprinkle   of   movie.   glitched   by   elias, formerly   known   as   genesis,    he/him,   25+,   pst. 

  |  |   ──   RARELY   FOLLOWS   FIRST.   THIS   ACCOUNT   IS   FRIENDS  /  MOOTS   ONLY.   I   WILL   ONLY   FOLLOW   BACK   PEOPLE   WHO   WRITE   WITH   ME   ON   OTHER   BLOGS.

𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒   𝐎𝐅   :   manipulation   and   mind   control,   losing   your   agency,   loss   of   a   parent,   survivors   guilt,   depression   and   crippling   anxiety,   unhealthy   coping,   murderous   tendencies,   feminine   rage,   blood   of   those   who   wronged   you,   not   letting   your   past   dictate   your   future,   you   are   not   your   father's   mistakes,   keeping   calm   and   carrying   on,   becoming   a   pawn   and   childhood   trauma.

                            ¹  𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃    |    ²  𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍    |   ³  𝐏𝐒𝐃   

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑  :   i  am   strictly    game canon only !   well   i   use   the   movie   faceclaim,   my   vanessa   is   based   on   the   video   games.   i   have   a   movie   verse   for   movie   characters   only    or   by   request.   furthermore,   this   is   an   selective   activity   blog   based   on   my   mood.   do   not   attempt   to   interact   if   inconsistent   presence   bothers   you.

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓   𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓   𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖   :   (exclusives)  @coriverse ── 𝗌𝖺𝗆 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝐅𝐀𝐙𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐑   𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓   :   (mains)

[eurekaspringshq]

welcome to eureka springs, JASON PETERS & NOAH TAYLOR. rob thomas & kane brown are now taken !! please send us a message within 24 hours to receive the link to the discord.

( rob thomas / 52 / cismale /he/him. ) i heard that JASON PETERS is a/an LEAD SINGER AND FOUNDER OF RYDER’S STORY. they have lived in town for whole life. i also heard that they are CHARMING AND HARDWORKING but also NEGLETIVE AND CAREFREE. there’s a rumor THAT HE LEFT HIS FAMILY BECAUSE HE WAS AFRAID. HE DID'T KNOW HOW TO BE A REAL FATHER BUT FEELS LIKE HE MADE A MISTAKE, but you didn’t hear it from me. ( nolan. he/him. 31.pst. )

( kane brown / 28 / cismale /he/him. ) i heard that NOAH TAYLOR is a/an COUNTRY SINGER. they have lived in town for ONE YEAR. i also heard that they are SWEET AND LOYAL but also BLUNT AND INSECURE. there’s a rumor THAT HE IS IN PROTECTIVE SERVICES BECAUSE HE SAW A MURDER HAPPEN AND WAS AFRAID THEY WILL COME AFTER HIM, but you didn’t hear it from me. ( nolan. he/him. 31.pst. )

[petrifyhq]

welcome back to hogwarts, asil civan pasha rabastan lestrange. a lot has changed since we last saw you around  —  you’ve got twenty - four hours until your next class starts up. mert yazıcıoğlu is now taken.

( mert yazıcıoğlu, twenty one, cis male ) hey, is that ASIL CIVAN PASHA RABASTAN LESTRANGE wandering the halls without a companion? the SEVENTH YEAR is getting bold. and here I thought the SLYTHERIN was always more introspective, driven, & strong. but then they are also known to be possessive, unstable, & abrasive, so maybe that makes sense. these hard times are enough to change anybody, I suppose. and did you hear people are saying they’re in THE KNIGHTS? rumors fly when people are cooped up.  here, I’ll show you — RABASTAN always reminded me of a beautiful smirk obscured by the gentle fabric of a hoodie, the well-formed outcast stalking through corridors like a bird in flight. or, perhaps, a famous murderer in the shadows. he is the first sip of coffee to a caffeine addict: scalding and worth it. the mess on your bedroom floor that you can’t bear to clean. the smell of rain accompanied with the beginnings of dehydration. a shot of whiskey and a slap on the ass, firm and heavy. your favorite record scratched by the most feral of cats. a mistake you just can’t wait to make. and I’ve heard HE IS THE PRODUCT OF INFIDELITY. let’s hope the PUREBLOOD doesn’t get attacked by the beast. or let’s at least hope that rumor doesn’t get back to them before they do. ( kit, 29, pst, she/her )

[imasallstars]

Mistake Murder!

　Lyrics: Keita Miyoshi 　Music&Arrange: Keita Miyoshi

[sodone-withlife]

icarus fell, and blood stained the ground

i'm back!! (but not really—the new school year literally starts in an hour and it will be back to my pathological dependence on academic validation. at least i can say i've technically published another fic before summer break ends)

anyway, here's the fic in response to part 1 of sumayyah's post. i published a companion poem for this some time ago. as per usual, i gave up on proofreading so hopefully any mistakes don't detract from the story. also, i hope the formatting and jumping back and forth between italics makes sense—let me know if it doesn't, though it might be easier to read on ao3 (it should go up on there by 4pm PST because school)

warnings: murder, major character death (may potentially be classified as suicide-by-proxy, depending on your interpretation), guns, canon typical violence, slight gore at the end, mentioned substances

word count: 1.9k words

The damned man thought of everything, Jessica thought as she scowled at the damned folder that sat innocuously on the large mahogany desk.

The desk that would soon be cleared, all traces of the previous owner gone.

She lifted a shaky hand and brushed it through her hair, shuddering at its greasy and unkempt state that hinted at the state she had been in recently. Weary to the bone, she forced herself to sit back up and grab her phone, dialing the number that was written on the sticky note placed on the inside cover of the folder. It didn’t surprise her to hear an unfamiliar female voice answer the phone with a “Ms. Brooks?”

He had thought of everything, after all.

Really, the only thing she was surprised at was the sheer extent of his connections—but thinking back to her phone calls with Haley back when he was still practicing law, the talks about extravagant offers from top corporations and firms, she really wasn’t surprised. Thus, it made sense that her call to the top law firm in the state would be answered within two dial tones and by someone who already knew who she was.

And within minutes of talking with the woman who introduced herself as Ms. Stevens, Jessica became even more aware of just how prepared her brother-in-law had been before he walked to his dea—

Not an in-law anymore—her brother. He had long since earned that designation, that spot in her broken family, no matter how much self-flagellation he put himself through in regards to her sister’s murder and no matter how much abuse her father hurled at him in the years before the man who once viewed him as a son succumbed to dementia.

Hours later, despite having already reached her limit twenty minutes into the call, she finally hung up the phone with only funeral arrangements as an immediate concern. Slowly, she stood up from the chair and mechanically made her way into the tiny bathroom that had once been a familiar sight, when her nephew was still a child—

She forced her mind away from that minefield; she wasn’t willing to spend another sleepless night thinking about what had gone down in the past month, what had happened a week ago in that apartment, what her nephew was doing and thinking in the cell that only seemed to become colder and crueler the more she thought about it.

How many prisons had he visited? How many interrogation rooms, holding cells, general population cells, max security cells, death row cells? Did he ever get used to it? Could he allow himself to get used to it, to forget that these people are also human no matter the crimes they’ve committed?

A careful hand fell onto Jessica’s shoulder, and she shuddered under the warmth that seeped into her body, a warmth that had been lacking from her life for a long time now. She turned to see Morgan staring back at her, concerned.

“You didn’t pick up your phone,” he explained neutrally, flicking his eyes towards her phone—and sure enough, there were ten missed calls, each from a member of the team. She looked back up but avoided his concerned gaze only to latch onto her reflection in the mirror and internally winced at her haggard appearance.

“Did you—“ she coughed, clearing her throat, “have you figured out what happened?” Morgan’s unspoken question about her well-being went unanswered, and she continued to avoid looking at him.

She watched the man shake his head through the mirror, unsurprised and once again cursing her brother for his incessant habit of playing his cards close to his chest, especially when it came to personal issues.

How else is—was—he one of the best at poker in the bureau, often even beating Reid?

“He hasn’t talked, either,” Morgan informed her quietly, saving her the pain of asking the question herself. “Forensics is still struggling to put together a cohesive picture. To be honest, I doubt we’ll ever find out what actually happened in that apartment.” He shook his head, frustrated at the man he considered his brother.

If either of them bothered to ask, they would have found that both were truthfully unsurprised at this outcome, given what they only recently learned about the factors and circumstances that led to it. The few established facts about this case in addition to speculation based on systematically organized notes left in an even more meticulously organized folder painted a clear enough picture of the events preceding the fall.

But it wasn’t really an accidental, flailing fall.

In all truthfulness, he didn’t fight it.

Icarus let himself fall to his death in an attempt to compensate for his hubris, to suffer the consequences of his mistakes, and it was both a cowardly attempt to escape the hellish burns caused by the boiling, melting wax and a selfless attempt to teach posterity to avoid ending up like him.

Jessica remembered the warmth of Morgan’s embrace when he ignored all protocol and took it upon himself to inform her of what had transpired in the past two months, regardless of the still-ongoing investigation. It didn’t do much to soothe the cold that had threatened to swallow her whole as she listened to the details in silent horror.

He had sat her down in her apartment, the one she had taken care of her ailing father in before he finally died and the one she couldn’t bear to move out of for all of the memories that had been formed inside—with her father on his good days, with her brother, with her nephew

“A week ago, we were invited by MPD to consult on a series of killings that happened over the course of a month. We had an eye on the situation since the second murder, and there were two more victims in the span of a week before we were finally called in,” he began quietly.

He had suspicions as to what was happening by the time the team was invited in on the case at the personal request of the MPD chief. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had come across this profile before, but there were simply too many puzzle pieces with matching edges for the connections to be brushed off as a coincidence.

“Based on the rate at which bodies were popping up, we anticipated another one within two days of us being called in, but the killer had gone suspiciously silent. We went through crime scenes, forensic reports, and things weren’t adding up.”

"It’s a local case and we’ve coordinated with MPD multiple times, they know the drill. I’d like to take a personal look as well, the brass has been all up in my business about this case given its proximity to the Hill."

That’s what he said to the team regarding him suddenly taking the initiative to go to the crime scenes despite his responsibilities—it had been a while since he last went out to crime scenes, often taking care of the office politics and coordinating the investigation back at whatever precinct or office the team had taken over.

“There were odd inconsistencies, missing pieces of evidence… There was evidence to show that the killer was an amateur, but ultimately the profile we ended up building was nowhere near as detailed as we hoped it could be—but it ultimately went a long way in helping us figure out what was really happening.”

Old case files going missing from his home office, growing interest in his job, sudden mood swings happening long after the worst of puberty, increased isolation, dropping grades…

Absentee fathers of Georgetown students being stabbed and shot to death as if the killer was unsure about what to do, an innocuous Jack-in-the-Box takeout bag sitting near the last three bodies…

Numerous signs, and yet it was the outwardly irrelevant piece of trash, perhaps a sign of the killer’s gluttony—a sick joke that only he could have recognized—that led him to put all of the horrifying pieces together. It’s been over a decade, and yet the memories of that damned day remained as clear as ever, dogging his every footstep. Nightmares in which the worst happens still often visit him in his sleep, sometimes even combined with the effects of Peter Lewis’s drug concoction, effects lingering even after all these years.

“Somehow, we completely missed the fact that he fit the victimology. Maybe it was because of his efforts to distract us… If we had put it together earlier we might have been able to figure it out much earlier, and maybe everything could have turned out differently.”

Only after intensive counseling and careful editing of his case reports was he allowed to continue in the bureau after Lewis and his targeted attacks, and yet he knew he was still being watched. It was with that thought in mind that he made a decision on how to handle the situation. Either way, his life would be irrevocably changed, and there would be casualties alongside him.

All he had to do was figure out how to minimize them.

“He never came in that morning; Reid was the first to notice the lights off in the office. We were headed towards his apartment complex as soon as we saw a cleared-out office with a retirement letter being the only thing left on the desk. All of the pictures, trinkets, law books, messy stacks of paperwork—gone.”

A retirement letter for formality's sake, one copy emailed directly to the director and one printed on his desk, to simplify some things for the bureau and to ensure that Jessica and his son get his pension should the worst happen. All of his decisions, meticulously recorded and justified, except for this last one to protect the team from the consequences of his choice. All of his notes, all of the claimed evidence, carefully stored in the file box he left next to the retirement letter back in the office. Favors accumulated since law school called in, contacts throughout the local justice system ready to step in and deal with the fallout.

All of this, an attempt to compensate for the mistakes he’s made over the years and his hubris, to protect the remnants of his family and the team.

Morgan couldn’t finish telling Jessica what had happened, voice somehow caught in his throat and refusing to cooperate. He simply shook his head, and she folded in on herself, the weight of the last week too much for her to hold up. Slowly, he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back but not doing much more to soothe her.

This is a wound that wouldn’t ever heal.

The story ends like this:

Icarus burned, and Aaron Hotchner said nothing as the hand that held the gun against his temple shook with uncertainty. Everything he wanted to say was written—one might call him a coward, but writing had always been so much easier for him—and he knew that he would be the final casualty, that the killings would stop after tonight.

Icarus fell, and Aaron Hotchner was flung sideways, the unyielding bullet from his gun fired by his own son shredding the brain that thought had of everything but the emotional and psychological effects his final decision would have on his family and friends.

Daedalus grieved over his son’s crumpled form, and Jack Hotchner would be found with his father’s dead body in his shaking arms as he stared blankly at sights unseen to the team, who had come hours too late.

Blood stained the ground, seeping into the cracks and crevices of grasping fingers, and nothing would ever be the same.

[snitches-at-dawn]

draco fucking malfoy pt 2 || d.m.

a/n: thank you all so much for the gorgeous reception you gave part one of this fic- it honestly means the world to me.

this fic is a fair bit longer than the first part, mainly because i didn’t really want to drag this onto 3 or 4 parts.

this is specifically for the wonderful nonnie who asked me for a part two and a happy ending, i am sorry this is bittersweet instead of happy like you had requested. to make up for that, i’ll be posting a small happy alternative ending in a reply to your comment just for you titled “Draco Fucking Malfoy Pt 2 - Alternative Ending”

i finished it a bit early so i thought i’d post it now and the alt ending later around 1pm pst.

i hope you all like this and are safe, wherever you are. 

word count- 3.1k

part 1 to draco fucking malfoy

alternative ending

“nope. nope nope nope nope nope,” you said repeatedly to yourself as you continued pacing up and down your room, as if the combination of the words and actions could change the name on your left wrist. a soft knock on the door made you stop your pacing. you heard hermione’s excited voice float across, “(y/n), have you got a name yet?”

“fuck me,” you groaned and put your head in your hands wondering how harry would take this news. your best friend had a hard enough time adjusting to draco when you were dating, you had no idea how he’d take the news of having to deal with him for the rest of your lives. you remembered his reaction when you told him that draco had asked you out in your fourth year before the triwizard tournament.

~flashback~

“erm...harry?” you said nervously as you entered his dorm.

“i know, (y/n), i just need five minutes then we can go for dinner,” he replied as he rummaged through his trunk for something.

“not that,” you said, “can we talk?”

“sure,” he said distractedly, waving towards the foot of his bed indicating that you should take a seat, where you dutifully perched yourself.

“so erm, draco malfoy asked me out,” you rushed out, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater.

“bit early for a hallowe’en prank isn’t it?” he laughed.

“harry. i’m not kidding. he asked me out,” you said more confidently this time.

harry stilled and then swivelled around to face you, “say that again.”

“draco asked me out.”

“are you having me on?” his voice was suspicious.

you shook your head, tucking your hair behind your ears so harry could look into your eyes and see that you weren’t joking and you repeated, “draco asked me out.”

“draco?” harry asked incredulously, “since when do we call malfoy ‘draco’? and what d’you mean he asked you out? why would he ask you out? you’ve never even spoken!”

“erm well actually, remember how last year you couldn’t come to hogsmeade,” you paused as he nodded, “well at some point it started snowing really hard i lost ron and hermione, so i went into madam puddifoot’s to find someone else to walk back with because the three broomsticks was empty, but draco was the only other student there. everyone else had left by then, i guess.

“well, we ended up walking back together and he told me he had been stood up by daphne greengrass. it was a bit awkward at first- i didn’t know how to comfort him really. he changed the topic soon enough to quidditch and he turned out to be nice and we got along well enough. then i started seeing him everywhere. he was talking to me at every party, sitting next to me in potions once in a while, walking down to care of magical creatures, that sort of thing. we sort of became... friends,” you trailed off as you saw harry wanted to speak.

“and how come neither of ron, hermione or i realised? i think we would have known if you were talking to someone we all hate- or hated in your case.”

“hermione did. she and i started spending alot of time together because of her fight with ron- that’s when we got close. she’s known about us since the first day we spoke actually- she’s been... surprisingly supportive. you were so preoccupied with the whole sirius situation you didn’t notice which was totally understandable of course and she agreed that telling you would only wind you up. ron... well- ron’s just always been a bit oblivious,” you answered.

harry grunted.

“right well, we just ended up spending alot of time together last year and wrote to each other a fair bit over the summer. at some point we started liking each other i guess,” you shrugged.

harry looked at you sharply, “you fancy him then?” to which you nodded.

“hang on- is that where you snuck off as soon as we got to the world cup campsite? when you showed up near the bulgarian’s site? the three of us reckoned you had got lost or something.”

“yeah, we had planned to meet up in front of his tent weeks before.” you said fondly, “that’s where he told me he fancies me and-”

“alright i don’t need to know if you snogged there,” he interrupted you hastily but your blush gave you away, “oh c’mon (y/n), you snogged him?”

“no,” you heatedly replied, “we just kissed.”

“you couldn’t have found any other boy, (y/n)? you have a line of boys who’d line up to date you. merlin’s sake you don’t even have to look outside my dorm- seamus and neville would kill for a shot at you.”

you scoffed, “they only like me because i play quidditch. draco,” you voice softened, “draco likes me for the music i listen to, my sarcasm, my horrid jokes and all the stuff that annoys most people.”

he sat down wearily next to you, “and you really like him?”

once again you nodded.

seeing he looked just as bewildered by your choice you said, “look it won’t be long. i’m a half blood. there’s no way his parents will let us date long once they find out.”

harry considered this for a moment. he sighed, “well, that’s true. go on then. he’d better treat you alright, (y/n). i’m not having him screwing with my best friend,” and he slung his arm around your shoulder.

“with any luck he’ll be screwing your best friend rather than screwing wit-”

“yeah just don��t tell me about your sex life alright?” he interrupted you again.

you hugged him hard, “thank you for understanding, harry. i know you can’t be too happy with your best friend crushing on someone you hate.”

he awkwardly patted your head in acknowledgment. 

hermione walked in to see you laughing at the pathetic irony of your situation. looking at you confused, “(y/n)? who is it?”

“draco fucking malfoy,” you mumbled from between your hands which covered your face.

“come again?”

you sighed and put your hands on the bed on either side of you.

“it’s draco,” you exhaled

hermione laughed too, “no really, who is it?”

resignedly you showed her your wrist. her face fell, “no.”

“my thoughts exactly. it’s like some kind of cosmic joke.”

“what are you going to do?” she asked.

“commit murder possibly,” you said marching out of your dorm and to harry’s ignoring her calling your name, presumably trying to talk some sense into you.

“the map. give me the map,” you snapped at harry once you had barged into his dorm, ignoring the other boys crowding around you asking who your soulmate was.

“why? who’s your soulmate?” harry asked.

you shoved your wrist under his nose. he stared in shock, “i don’t know whether to feel bad for you or laugh at you.”

“you’ll give me the fucking map unless you want me to hex you into next year.”

he produced the marauders’ map from the depths of his trunk which you snatched and proceeded to exit the room once again to the sound of your name.

“oi! (y/n)!)” harry called again jogging after you.

“what?”

“why d’you want the map?”

“i need to talk to him,” you replied.

harry nodded, understandingly but called after you when you had turned around.

“what?” you asked more irately this time.

he hesitated, “(y/n) don’t- don’t do anything stupid. as much as i’d love for you to hex him till his mum couldn’t recognise him-  he is your soulmate whether you like it or not. even though we all hate him, he’s who you’ll spend your life with. don’t say anything you’ll regret in the future.”

a small smile tugged at your lips, “i thought i was supposed to get wiser when i got older.”

turning you attention back to the map, you saw the little dot labelled ‘draco malfoy’ in the girl’s lavatory on the second floor and purposefully stalked out of the gryffindor tower to moaning myrtle’s bathroom, not even wondering why he was in the girl’s lavatory.

you didn’t even remember the walk down, just how blindingly angry you felt. angry at the universe. angry at harry for not stopping you from dating him two years ago. angry at draco for not telling you why he broke things off. angry at draco for being your soulmate. angry at... you weren’t angry at draco for being your soulmate. 

you saw a flash of platinum blonde hair in the mirror you stood in front of, and whirled around.

he was leaning against the wall behind you, watching you with calculating eyes as he tried to predict your next move.

your rage re-surfaced as you walked across the bathroom to him, shoes squelching and robes dragging in the standing water until you stood so close to him your noses were almost touching.

“you,” you said with as much disgust as you could muster in your voice.

“yes?” draco asked pleasantly as though you had said his name to get his attention.

“fix it.”

“fix what, darling?”

you stabbed your wand into his chest, “don’t you call me darling you prick.”

“alright. what d’you want me to fix?”

you had started to walk away from him but spun around at that question, “what d’you mean ‘what d’you want me to fix’?” for the third time that hour, you shoved your wrist under someone’s nose.

“this,” you hissed, “fix this.”

“and how can i fix this?” he asked, baring his own wrist to you.

something about seeing your name on his wrist made your anger concentrate into a tiny ball in the center of your chest, rather than the disorganised feeling you had earlier, and you felt your head clear a bit.

“there’s some kind of mistake. we’ll go to mcgonagall tomorrow and have her arrange for us to get to the ministry so we can get this sorted out,” you said in that same low voice you had used that night on the astronomy tower. your mind was racing as you muttered under your breath, trying to think of ways to break the bond you had forced on you.

“(y/n).”

your attention shifted to draco who was standing right next to you.

“(y/n), do you really think this is a mistake? i mean really? we were amazing together. yeah our parents didn’t like it, yeah we had alot of people talking about us, but that didn’t affect us,” he said. when you didn’t respond he continued, “we were good for each other. i calmed you down when your temper flared up. you’d keep me in check if i started bullying someone. we worked together to get better in our classes and it worked well. we made each other better in every way.”

“yeah we did work well, until you dumped me for no reason. it’s been three months and i still have no idea why you up and left. if things were as peachy as you make them sound, then why the fuck would you get out of the relationship?”

you didn’t know how to address him. ‘draco’ was too familiar and ‘malfoy’ was too distant.

he shrugged and returned to the wall he had been leaning against.

with the moonlight bouncing off his white hair, the water just covering the soles of his shoes and the way his robes were draped around him, he looked like some kind of ethereal spirit floating an inch above the ground.

you hated that.

draco seemed lost in his own thoughts, so you jerked him back to focus on you by snapping your fingers, “well?”

he laughed lowly, “you wouldn’t believe me if i told you, my darling.”

“try me.”

as he looked at you, you could see the cogs turning in his brain, considering your words and the ramifications of telling you whatever the reason was. 

the right cog must have clicked in place.

“promise me you won’t judge me.”

“no.”

“(y/n), i’m not kidding,” he said wearily.

“nor am i.”

in response to his silence you continued, “ i reserve the right to judge you after how you dumped me.”

his face contorted in anger. “fine,” he snapped, “fine.”

he moved towards you and wrenched up his left sleeve for you to see his arm. the dark mark. the dark mark ruining his alabaster skin.

“there. that’s why i broke up with you,” he spat.

his voice was deadly quiet and shaking.

“no,” you whispered, all the anger seeping out of your body. your hands grabbed his arm of your own volition and made as though they were trying to wipe off the mark as though it were drawn on.

it wasn’t.

“no, you’re just sixteen you aren’t even of age. there’s no way this is real,” the last sentence was posed more like a question which you looked at him to confirm.

he nodded, “it’s real.”

“did... were you forced?”

he extricated his arm from your grip and let his sleeve fall back down,  silently watched you, gauging your reaction.

“draco...” your voice trailed off. you had no idea what to say. or what you wanted to say.

after a few moments of silence he said, “i have to kill dumbledore.” his voice was quivering again.

you looked at him in abject horror.

“what?”

he nodded and leaned over the sink, choking out through sobs, “with dad in azkaban... he would have killed mum if i hadn’t take the mark when i did. i did what i had to. now i have to finish off the job and he’ll... he might spare mum.”

your mouth was agape, your brain sluggish.

“that’s why i broke up with you. i knew i’d have to take it over the summer. it was easier to have you hate me than love me; it wouldn’t make you a target.”

everything made sense now- why he looked so sleep deprived the week leading up to your break up, why he was so evasive and jumpy after the article in the daily prophet publicising his dad’s arrest.

you tentatively turned him around and when he didn’t resist, you reached out to touch his face. he leaned into the touch and you pulled him into you. your arms around his neck with his face buried in the crook of yours, this situation felt comfortingly familiar- at least it would have been if his shoulders weren’t shaking with silent sobs.

you couldn’t seem to feel any of the resentment that you had felt towards him for the last three months anymore as you stroked the nape of his neck in an attempt to calm him down. you just wanted to protect him. hide him from the cruel world and to let him breathe.

you guided him to the corner of the bathroom, drying the floor with a murmured incantation before sitting the both of you down.

“there’s going to be a war, (y/n),” draco said into your neck with his arms wrapped around your waist as you held him protectively.

“i know,” you whispered back.

“your side will lose, darling, he’s too strong. if you’re it for me, you’re the one i’m to be with, i need you alive after this war. hell, even if you weren’t it for me, i’d still ask you to come to his side.”

“draco,” you exhaled softly looking at him, “you know that isn’t possible. harry-” your voice trailed off.

what would you tell harry? would you tell him about draco’s mission? you shook your head. harry was a problem for later. right now, draco needed you.

“leave him,” he said hoarsely, gripping your wrists, “i know he’s your best friend but (y/n), you can’t die on me. i refuse to let that happen.”

“oh darling,” your voice broke as your stroked his face.

the both of you sat there, intertwined for a few silent seconds before you pulled draco against your front as you leaned against the wall.

“doesn’t this feel familiar?”

draco laughed softly, “i couldn’t count the number of nights we spent like this on the astronomy tower if i tried.”

“let’s be there then. let’s forget all the prophecy bullshit and who’s going to win the war. let’s be a couple of fifteen year olds again, yeah? fill me in on the last few months, sweetheart.”

“i don’t want to be fifteen again.”

you smiled internally that he was playing along with your ploy to distract him.

“alright,” you stroked his hair, “we can be sixteen in an alternate universe. we’re still together and we haven’t got our soulmate marks yet. how’s that?”

his nose wrinkled, “is that from the crap muggle book you tried getting me to read last year?”

“so you were listening to me!” you laughed.

“i always listened to you.”

“i’ll listen to you now. let’s be sixteen in an alternate universe with no war. tell me about your last three months, love.”

draco filled you in on the time you had spent apart, all the light and happy things- not the significant and dark stuff.

you were only half listening. your mind was in overdrive as you thought about how to extricate him from the mess he had been thrust into by his father’s incompetence to keep himself from getting caught by the ministry. 

maybe you’d convince draco to defect and to go to dumbledore for help. dumbledore wouldn’t turn him away.

if that didn’t work, you’d force him into hiding somewhere, somehow. if it meant using the imperius curse on him, so be it. he wasn’t having his soul ripped to pieces at sixteen. 

how had this happened? an hour ago you would have jumped at a chance to ridicule him, harm him - anything to make him feel the hurt you felt for three months. you had marched to him with the intent of somehow getting your soulmate changed, consequences be damned. now all you could think about was how cruel the world had been to the boy in your arms, how unfair it had been. how you were hell bent on being his safe haven and hopefully the answer to his problems.

“let me in, (y/n),” he said knocking on your temporal bone lightly, calling on an old inside joke you had of letting each other into your thoughts when lost in them.

“it’s nothing important,” you dropped a kiss on his head, laughing at the irony of how a week ago in a conversation with harry, ‘nothing important’ referred to him.

you pulled him closer to you and asked, “so what did narcissa say after that?”

as he continued his narration of a painful dinner he had had to sit through, you pushed every thought to the back of your mind.

reality was a problem for tomorrow.

right now was about draco.

draco fucking malfoy.

tag list-

@chaotic-fae-queen​

@champagneand-strawberries​

@booknerd-3000​

[reveliohq]

welcome back to hogwarts, RABASTAN LESTRANGE ! enclosed here you will find all the necessary equipment for the upcoming school year. we await your owl by no later than twenty-four hours from now, or else you will lose your spot ! mert yazıcıoğlu  now taken.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎

(   *  💀  /  mert yazıcıoğlu, cis male, he/him  )  —  is that rabastan lestrange i just saw rushing down the corridor? i hear they’re a twenty-one year old slytherin, returning for their sixth school year, but their friends would tell you that they are introspective & driven as well as possessive & abrasive. if you want to know more about them, i guess i could tell you that they’re pureblood, and from what i hear, they’re currently allying with the death eaters. when our divination professor looks into their crystal ball, they see: a beautiful smirk obscured by the gentle fabric of a hoodie, the well-formed outcast stalking through corridors like a bird in flight.  or, perhaps, a famous murderer in the shadows. he is the first sip of coffee to a caffeine addict: scalding and worth it. the mess on your bedroom floor that you can’t bare to clean. the smell of rain accompanied with the beginnings of dehydration. a shot of whiskey and a slap on the ass, firm and heavy. your favorite record scratched by the most feral of cats. a mistake you just can’t wait to make.   —  ( kit, she/her, 28, pst. )

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

BASTARD Rabastan is a bastard  ...  but no one knows (save for his family, of course). He was a product of a mistake       luckily said mistake happened between sheets that belonged to another pureblood woman, leaving the boy a true lestrange despite the nature of his conception. So to allow some woman to raise him, barring the fact she was his mother, would be a mistake. She was sent off with copious amounts of money and a threat lingering above her head. No one could know.

That being said, she was able to reach Rabastan a few years prior. The two have secretly been in contact, Rab having told no one. Most certainly not his half-brother.

PERSONALITY The man is infamous and rightly so. But despite his reputation, Rab has been known to isolate himself more often than not. Reasonably eschewing human interaction, he uses this time to reflect on himself, his body and its warnings. This is called interoception, and Rab requires this level of perception in order to control his anger and shift it into something more positive. Helpful. With this understanding he is able to exercise full consciousness, therefore limiting the times he allows his temper to roam free.  Furthering this point, this helps guide him when understanding others emotionally. When he is able to better understand his enemies, he is able to view their hopes and aspirations. To know them is to know how to defeat them.

He is constantly at odds with himself. He prides control over mostly everything and yet he struggles with intense anger issues. He becomes malicious and vindictive, almost blind to the world around him. When Rab sees red, no consequences exist. This is, once again, why he tries his best to remain isolated - until he is needed, of course.  Switching back and forth between emotions is tiring, and he often disappears for long periods of time following an intense change. People are unaware of where he goes, and they don’t try to find him.

Even the most feared of loyal workers know to give him his space.

[hoaxhq]

welcome to hogwarts college, BENJY FENWICK,  RABASTAN LESTRANGE,  CARADOC DEARBORN,  &  EMMELINE VANCE! a lot has changed since we last saw you around  —  you’ve got twenty - four hours until your next class starts up. lucas jade zumann,   mert yazıcıoğlu,  luke pasqualino,  &  nicola peltz are now taken.

( lucas jade zumann, twenty, cis male ) hey, was that BENJY FENWICK passing by? I didn’t think the PUREBLOOD was a student, but I’d recognize HIM anywhere. rumor has it they’re working as a PSYCHIC/CONMAN, so who knows what they’re doing here. they always reminded me of SMOKE AND MIRRORS BY GOTYE . I’ve also heard they’ve been recruited by THE BANNERET OF BELTANE. but despite all that I think they’re still WITTY, EMPATHETIC & LOYAL and PROUD, MANIPULATIVE & IDEALISTIC. and the RAVENCLAW alum still reminds me of jewel-toned silks and autumn scented candles; melted wax dripping eerily atop a vintage candelabra. whispers amidst the air and a chill running down your spine. a loved one lingering behind you, invisible: mute. a ouija board made of beautiful fir wood hidden in a darkened corner. bad things happen when it’s used. he is mysterious by design, not by choice. a bad acid trip you can’t escape from despite the once inviting nature that pulled you in. he is the future. bleak and uninviting. he is also the present. kind and only wanting to help. well, then, I guess some things never change.   ( kit, 28, pst, she/her )

( mert yazıcıoğlu, twenty one, cis male ) hey, was that RABASTAN LESTRANGE passing by? so much has happened recently; I haven’t seen the PUREBLOOD in forever, but I’d recognize HIM anywhere. rumor has it the THIRD year is studying to be an OBLIVIATOR. they always reminded me of FAMILY BY BADFLOWER. I’ve also heard they’ve been recruited by THE DEATH EATERS. but despite all that I think they’re still INTROSPECTIVE, DRIVEN & STRONG and POSSESSIVE, UNSTABLE & ABRASIVE. and the SLYTHERIN alum still reminds me of a beautiful smirk obscured by the gentle fabric of a hoodie, the well-formed outcast stalking through corridors like a bird in flight. or, perhaps, a famous murderer in the shadows. he is the first sip of coffee to a caffeine addict: scalding and worth it. the mess on your bedroom floor that you can’t bear to clean. the smell of rain accompanied with the beginnings of dehydration. a shot of whiskey and a slap on the ass, firm and heavy. your favorite record scratched by the most feral of cats. a mistake you just can’t wait to make. well, then, I guess some things never change.   ( kit, 28, pst, she/her )

( luke pasqualino, twenty five, cis male ) hey, was that CARADOC DEARBORN passing by? I didn’t think the HALFBLOOD was a student, but I’d recognize HIM anywhere. rumor has it they’re working as an AUROR, so who knows what they’re doing here. they always reminded me of IM A PLAYA BY TECH N9NE. I’ve also heard they’ve been recruited by THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. but despite all that I think they’re still FREE, DASHING & BRILLIANT and AIMLESS, RECKLESS & ARROGANT. and the GRYFFINDOR alum still reminds me of a charming smile that leaves you breathless. cheap scotch sipped from an expensive glass, listening to smooth jazz while resting on a velvet lounge chair. fresh silk against smooth skin, diamond cufflinks and golden rings. the promise of a phone call and the heartache of never actually receiving one. he is the living epitome of a cliff hanger; wanting to know what he will do next, but having no fucking clue. uncertainty that is both fascinating and terrifying. he is the frustration that follows wanting to hate something, but being unable to do so. well, then, I guess some things never change. ( kit, 28, pst, she/her )

( nicola peltz, twenty, cis woman ) hey, was that EMMELINE VANCE passing by? so much has happened recently; I haven’t seen the HALFBLOOD in forever, but I’d recognize HER anywhere. rumor has it the THIRD year is studying to be an AUROR. they always reminded me of SHE'S A REBEL BY GREEN DAY. I’ve also heard they’ve been recruited by THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. but despite all that I think they’re still HEADSTRONG, INDEPENDENT & SKILLFUL and IMPATIENT, STUBBORN & CRASS. and the GRYFFINDOR alum still reminds me of a motor oil and grease stained manicure; beautiful, but tainted by dirt and unseemly things. stolen boxer shorts matched with lacey bras. knotty ponytails and a pair of filthy converse. the wind in your face as your tattered motorbike speeds up, no other people on the road as you break law after law. stolen fits of laughter and swigs from near empty tequila bottles. middle fingers up in the sky! she is wild and free, yet trapped at the same time. well, then, I guess some things never change.  ( kit, 28, pst, she/her )