#the chill is threat level midnight

[aheathen-conceivably]

Would love it if you made a personality quiz that says which Darlington you are. I want to know! - LGL

Okay okay LGL now you’re talking 👀

Like listen I am tempted but also like…these seem actually so difficult to write/make? Like mad props to anyone who’s made a real in depth personality quiz cause I feel like making the questions/answers relevant enough but also not super obvious is really tricky? But even still…

[dreadsuitsamus]

Day Zero | Kensei Muguruma x Reader |

author's note: i want him 🤷‍♀️

pairing: kensei muguruma x fem!reader

warnings: takes place during turn back the pendulum, canon-typical violence, light angst, comfort, established relationship

"Missing souls?" Your stare down with your much taller husband is fierce, despite his weariness and lack of time to do anything but gather his things and maybe even get a quick kiss before he goes on his mission.

"So you do know how to listen to me." He murmurs, avoiding answering any further questions that he really shouldn't be answering. You're his former lieutenant, not an active member of the Gotei 13 as a result of it, so you hold no official title to mark any claim on top-secret information.

But you're also his wife, and there's a very different fine line to cross when it comes to these situations. A happy wife equals happy life even in Soul Society.

"And why are you the one that has to do this??"

"You were a Shinigami once. You already know the answers to all the questions you're going to ask me!" Irritation bubbles beneath his skin, as his temper is quick to flare up as usual. But it simmers down just as quickly: you're just worried about him, as a good wife should be for her husband.

He sees the fear flickering in your eyes and takes your hand with exceedingly gentle care. "You trusted me more before we got married, I think."

"Souls didn't go missing when I was your lieutenant." You allow your husband's kiss to your palm, flicking away a stray hair from his eyes as he presses another to your soft skin. "Let me come with you."

"No can do." Kensei mutters. "If you were active duty, I would let you. This is a high level threat, and as out of practice as you are—"

"As long as my blade can cut anything or anyone, I can fight!" Your lips curl in a snarl and your husband feels your ire behind the smack against his chest. "Mind you, I only retired so I could marry you, bastard! I could be a captain now, if not for that!"

"And the significance is not lost on me!" Kensei circles your wrists easily with his long fingers, holding them tightly enough to your sides that you can't lash out again with ease. "I know what you did for me, for us. And we can have this argument later, for as long as you like. I have to go now."

The desire to argue burns your bones, if only for the sake of keeping him home just a bit longer. Souls don't just go missing! But his decision is final: you're not a Shinigami anymore, and thus you have no place in such a dangerous mission. It's your heart and your worry that compels you to tag along rather than anything close to a sense of duty, and such things wouldn't be recognized as a good reason to intrude on a mission by the head of the Gotei 13.

"Fine. Stay alive, otherwise you'll wish your soul had gone missing."

Kensei can't help but smile for you and lean in for your kiss. He claims they bring him good fortune, and while you see through such a bad excuse for his wife's love, this time you actually do kiss him with a sense of good luck behind it.

Sleep never comes easy when Kensei is away, but this time is different. It hasn't come at all, and your zanpakutō calls for you relentlessly as it nears an hour past midnight. Your husband's word lingers in your mind, an all-too annoying reminder that he was once your captain and in charge of you and as your husband, he still relatively holds that sort of power. Your Kensei is rarely wrong about these decisions, but this time…

He's dead wrong.

In a flash, you're wearing your old Shihakushō and your dear blade is buzzing with excitement as adrenaline rushes your veins. The moonlight is cold, chilling your bones just as much as the ugly scream that resembles only one sort of monster as you follow what feels like Kensei's Spiritual Pressure to the same area those previous souls were lost.

The group around it, made up of a rather odd pairing of individuals, ponder what exactly is going on with only a little bit of surprise at your approach. Captain Hirako gazes at you expectantly, eyes dark as he holds a wounded Hiyori at his side.

"Lieutenant." His joke holds no mirth, though he's certainly happier to see you here than not.

Praying that your voice doesn't shake as the overwhelming, imposing Spiritual Pressure looms over the area, you speak to the captain of the 5th Division with only one goal in mind."Where's Kensei?"

"You don't need me to tell you that, do you?"

There's another ugly, horrifying scream and as Shinji raises his blade to defend you, all whilst still holding the 12th Division's lieutenant, your impressive speed and decisiveness has already struck out and blocked the attack yourself. A mask covers his face, but there's far too much left, even with this transformation, for your dear husband to be unrecognizable.

"He should've let me come with." Your husband's strength is much more powerful now as he pushes against your blade, and certainly the Hollow before you doesn't intend to pull punches against his own wife. "Where's Mashiro?!"

Another Hallowed scream and the sounds of swinging blades and bursts of Kidō answer the question for you, and Kensei quickly overpowers your hold and kicks you squarely in the stomach, the agonizing feeling of your lower ribs cracking leaving you nauseated. Air harshly escapes your lungs and the cold ground beneath your back doesn't soothe anything as the Hollowfied man you married looms over you, the mask on his face betraying absolutely nothing even in the face of the one he's loved for a hundred years.

"Kensei…" Coughs splutter out as Love, yet another captain that's been caught in this mess, swoops in to pull you to safety just before Kensei destroys the ground you laid on with a single, all-powerful punch that reduces it to nothing.

"Attacking his own wife?" Rose responds with a swift blast of Kidō, anger evident as his brows knit together. "The Captain I know is far above something so scummy."

"It's not his fault." Your murmur of defense falls short: of course your husband would never lay harm to you, or to any woman. But this is no longer your husband, you determine as Hachi binds him with the strongest thing he can: Bakudō #99. Kin.

Kensei is pinned with ease, officially down and out now. The sight of the mask on his face, covering the sharp jaw and the warm eyes of the man you've spent countless decades with, makes your stomach turn with relentless nausea. He's a Hollow, and there's but one thing Shinigami are known for.

Clutching the hilt of your zanpakutō, you release it from its scabbard to the surprise of those around you. "Sharpen—"

"No!" Shinji's sword clashes with your own. "Do not kill your own husband."

"What do you presume we do?!" You growl, sneering right in the face of a revered captain without a care in the world. Kensei would be distraught at the sight, but not anymore than he'd hate himself for what's happening now. "He's not Kensei anymore!" Despite the strength you put on, doing your best to mimic your husband's usual demeanor, the breaking of your voice is heard clearly.

"We will find a way to save him." Shinji's promise is hardly heard before an inky darkness surrounds everyone on the battlefield, and you fall to your knees before your restrained, Hollowfied husband.

The last thing you see before nothing is the mask that covers your husband's face, and fruitlessly, you reach out to touch it.

There's far too much light as you come to, with a mix of murmured voices doing their best to remain quiet while ultimately failing to do so. The air around you is different— This isn't Soul Society.

Thin blankets fall as you shoot out of the bed and reach for your zanpakutō, but the dizziness sends you into a wall instead. How long have you been unconscious? What happened after Kensei was restrained?

The sliding door to the room opens and your vision clears as the room stops spinning around you. His voice is deep and his arms look strong, and that handsome face cracks a little amused smirk at the rare sight of you being caught off-guard.

"You're noisy."

"K-Kensei!" Your body feels odd and there are plenty of questions to raise, but damn does none of it matter more than making it across the room and tackling your dear husband in a tearful fit.

"Oof!" Kensei's arms encircle your frame, taking the brunt of the impact as his back hits squarely against the wall. "Control your strength!"

"Bastard!" His tank top is soon drenched in your tears and you're in Kensei's arms fully as he picks you up and encompasses you both in the thin walls of privacy your temporary bedroom provides.

He settles at the end of the bed, wiping your fretful tears away as best as he can once he's placed you beside him. "Crybaby… What do you remember?"

"You… As a Hollow."

Kensei sighs grimly. "In Soul Society?"

"Yes? What's going on, Kensei? My body feels strange— No, it's not just me… The world feels strange. Where are we?"

"In The World of the Living." Your husband murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. "We're in exile."

Flashes of the recent days come to life as Kensei explains further, his story no doubt the truth as your memory recovers. Captains and lieutenants alike, Hollowfied and cursed with such monstrous forms that give an inexplicable boost of strength and speed. Ousted from Soul Society and left to meander in this world you've sworn to protect…

"Are we Hollows?" The shaky whisper matches your unstable core, the feeling of something there that wasn't there before putting you on edge. You remember a fight in the same plane of existence your zanpakutō lives on, scratching and clawing and forcing your way to the autonomy you've always had until after what felt like weeks, you emerged with the victory.

"Urahara tried to undo what was done, to no avail. We're not Hollows… Entirely, at least."

"So what do we do?" You murmur, hands eagerly clutching his tank top as his warm arms come around you once more.

Kensei's lips find your forehead, a soft, lingering kiss saving him from a question he can't answer right now. He supposes the real answer is to just simply survive— even with Kisuke and Yoruichi's help, there's nothing guaranteeing that Soul Society won't come to finish the job. Or rather, there's nothing explicitly stopping Aizen from making sure those who know his true self take their information to the grave.

"So… You came to the battlefield." Your husband murmurs against your skin, no sense of anger or mirth alike in his tone.

"I did."

"I know you know how to listen to me." His deep chuckle dispels any ideals that he may be less than pleased with your insubordination, given your current situation would be far different had you remained home that night.

"You like a brat." Your teasing falls flat and silence fills the gap between you, the sounds of Shinji and Hiyori arguing in the other room preventing it from becoming too quiet.

Never one to mince his words, Kensei murmurs in a soft tone. "Is it true that you raised your blade to kill me?"

Your lips turn to a frown. Why the hell did Shinji tell him that? "I did. Are you upset?"

Kensei's arms squeeze tightly around you, encompassing you in his warmth and desperation for his wife's love. "You should've been faster. You were hurt because of me."

"Not you. The Hollow." Your arms hold your husband as tightly as he holds you, the scent of soap pleasing your senses as your husband accepts forgiveness.

"I'm sorry." There's an edge to his voice, a hoarseness you don't often hear from him; he's always been strong, so put together and brave that it's a tad frightening to hear him on the verge of tears.

"I forgive you. Will that help you forgive yourself?"

A smile pulls at your lips as you're pulled closer to Kensei, so impossibly close to his strong, scorching body that your arms loop around, and you press a soft kiss to his cheek before gazing out of the window as the sunlight rises. The world is upside down now and the future is more uncertain now than it was back when you were caught between a career or a love life, but the laugh bubbling up comes anyway.

You've at least got one helluva trump card for the next time you blatantly ignore Kensei's command.

"And no…" Kensei murmurs against the flesh of your neck, nuzzling in comfortably. "Being right once doesn't mean you can defy orders."

We'll certainly see about that!

[snipe-enthusiast]

who i think the ua staff’s kid would be:

We all know who Aizawa’s and Toshinori’s kids are, so I won’t include them in this post, but the rest of the staff is included! (also I will use both the hero names and real names of the staff) I also couldn’t find anyone for Nezu.

Midnight: OH DEFINITELY YAOYOROZU!! I headcanon that when Nemuri first joined the hero industry, she was very s3xualized solely for being comfortable as a woman. She certainly is a mom figure to every girl in UA but she sees Yaoyorozu as a younger Nemuri.

Present mic: lowkey was a tough one for me, but i think it would be denki kaminari! i can definitely see their energy matching perfectly and if im correct, denki’s best subject is english. i can see them bonding over pop culture too.

Vlad King: Monoma!! Their student-teacher energy is to die for, also their enormous love for class 1-B just make them the perfect duo! I remember in the books that had descriptions of characters (forgot the name) Vlad calls Monoma his pupil.

Thirteen: I’d say Uraraka! Uraraka mentioned she wanted to be a support hero so she could train under Thirteen as both of their quirks could be on a destructive level if not controlled correctly. Their personalites also match.

Ectoplasm: JIROU!! THIS IS MY FAVORITE HEADCANON IN THE WORLD OKAY. ITS CANON THAT ECTOPLASM LOVES KARAOKE AND HAS KARAOKE NIGHTS SO IMAGINE THEM BONDING OVER BANDS THEY LOVE AND MUSIC IN GENERAL. goth dad and goth daughter. perfect.

Powerloader: is this even a question? HATSUME! the fact that whenever PL is on screen it’s either with a cup of coffee or with Hatsume explains what we need to know about these two. tired dad energetic daughter.

Snipe: Hagakure! This was kind of a tricky one but after the final exams I like to think their bond kind of got stronger. Snipe just seems like the type of teacher to be a pushover for his female students and with Hagakure being so kind and bubbly -also seeing Mineta as a lowkey threat to her- he just kinda watches over her. Okay just imagine: Hagakure walking in the hallways alone and then Mineta comes, remarks something about her quirk or something. SNIPE WILL APPEAR OUT OF THIN AIR IF IT MEANS HAGAKURE IS SAFE.

Cementoss: Bondo!! I haven’t watched season 5 so im not sure about his personality but he seems the chill type aka the type that can get along with Cementoss. their quirks are also kinda similar in a way so i bet Cementoss would be a great teacher for him to work with.

Lunch Rush: Originally i was going to assign him Yaoyorozu but i think midnight and her go together better. So I thought about Sato! I bet Lunch Rush can teach him some recipes that are small in size but contain a lot of sugar and some classic dishes for the dorms! Sato may or may not be his personal taster from now on but you didnt hear that from me-

Hound Dog: Shishida! Not only are their quirks are similar in physical levels I like to think it also has the same mental effects. I headcanon (not even sure if this is a headcanon but just roll with me saying headcanon) that quirks with more physical effects that make people “non human” are looked down upon in society so I can’t not think about Ryo teaching Shishida to just embrace being yourself with your quirk and forget about keeping up with others expectations 24/7. Shishida seems more well mannered than most but he needs to let loose using his quirk and Ryo is the best for teaching that. ALSO FROM THE FANDOM/WIKI: “Jurota admires Hound Dog and wishes he could throw everything away like he does, but is unable to because of his upbringing.”

[troquantary]

Edward Cullen: That Boy Ain’t Right

So I was doing a reread of @therealvinelle 's collection of Twilight metas, as one does, and in "Edward, Denial, and a Human Girlfriend" she mentions that she doesn't believe Edward is sane. I thought, "ha, yeah, he's definitely not," and also, "but wait, what does that mean exactly, please say more about that." But since she's already inundated with asks, I've decided to use my own head-muscle and explore this idea. (TL;DR: I start out more or less organized, synthesize some points Vinelle has made across several posts (and have hopefully linked to them all where relevant but please tell me if not), touch a little on narcissism, then take a hard left into the negative effects of being a telepath.)

Just a couple things to note at the outset, though. Theses have been written already (probably) about Edward as an abuser. Edward being insane doesn't negate that at all; he's definitely an asshole and just...a disaster of a human being. (I find it more funny than anything, but YMMV.) I'm also going to try to avoid talking specifically about mental illness and how it relates (or doesn't relate) to abusive behavior -- that's territory I'm not really equipped to discuss, like at all. My starting point is "Edward has a deeply warped perception of reality," not "Edward has X disorder."

So: deeply warped perception of reality. The evidence? Goes behind a cut, because my one character trait is Verbose.

Vinelle provides a great example of it in the post linked above, which I'll just quote because she does words good: "[Edward] keeps acting like his romance with Bella is a romantic tragedy, and all the cast of Twilight are actors on a stage making it as sublime as possible." Edward's the one to pursue Bella, but he does so with the full belief, from the very beginning, that it will never last; Bella will "outgrow" him, go on her human way, and he can spend the rest of eternity brooding magnificently over his too-short romantic bliss. [Insert premature ejaculation joke.] Turning her is never an option, even though Alice, Noted Psychic, says that romancing Bella will either end with her dead (exsanguinated) or dead (vampire).

This framing, where he's a dark anti-hero in love with -- but never tainting! -- the pure maiden and eventually leaving her in a grand, tragic sacrifice to preserve her soul? It's fucking bonkers. Bella isn't a person to him in this scenario. As Vinelle points out, Bella's never really a person to him at all; he falls in love with his own mental construct, cherry-picking from what he observes of her behavior and her responses to his 20 (thousand) Questions to convince himself that she is the ideal woman.

Bella's not the only one who gets the projection/cardboard-cutout treatment. Edward sees everything and everyone through a highly particular, personalized lens. He filters his entire reality, which we all do to an extent, but the thing with Edward is that he starts with his conclusions and then only pays attention to the evidence that supports those conclusions. Often that evidence consists of what he admits in New Moon are only "surface" thoughts -- but recognizing that limitation doesn't keep him from taking those thoughts as representative of what people are. Edward then becomes absolutely convinced by his own "reasoning" and won't be swayed from what he has decided is Objectively True. It's obvious with Bella; it's also painfully obvious with Rosalie. (Vinelle explains this and brings up Edward's raging Madonna/Whore complex in the same post, so refer to that again -- she's right.)

He also catastrophizes. Everything. Bella's just vibing in her room, rereading Wuthering Heights for the 87th time? She's gonna be hit by a meteor, better sneak into her room while she sleeps. Bella's going to the beach with the filthy mundanes their human classmates? She's gonna fall in the ocean. Jasper's cannibal pals are stopping by for a visit, but know not to hunt in the area? DISASTER, DEFCON 1, ALSO FUCK YOU JASPER FOR EVEN EXISTING IN MY AND BELLA'S SPHERE YOU UNSPEAKABLE BURDEN. Edward must believe that Bella is vulnerable and in near-constant peril, to support the reality he has created in which he is the villain turned protector and maybe?? hero??? (!!!) for his beloved. So when the actual, James-shaped danger arrives, he goes berserk, snarling and flipping his shit and generally not helping the situation. His fantasy demands that Bella remain human, so instead of doing the very thing Alice, Noted Psychic, assures him will neutralize the threat (and not just a threat to Bella, either, but to Bella's family and any other human James might decide to include in the "game"), he vetoes it immediately, no discussion. Bella Must Not Turn, and he sticks to those guns despite James nearly reducing her to ground beef, despite leaving Bella catatonic with depression (but human! success!) in New Moon, despite Aro's order and his family's vote and, let's not forget, Bella's clearly and repeatedly stated desire to be a vampire. It's going to happen. But he doesn't accept it until Renesmee busts out of Bella like the Kool-Aid man and the poor girl's heart finally, unequivocally stops.

Sane people don't behave this way. I don't want to slap labels on Edward, but I can't help but note that he comes across as highly narcissistic. He's the only real person in his universe, the lone player among us NPCs. That probably has a lot to do with him being frozen in the mindset and maturity of a seventeen-year-old boy, but I think it's also just...him, on some fundamental level. His failure to connect with others and recognize them as full, independent beings with their own wants and priorities isn't like Bella's failure -- she's badly depressed. Edward is...something else, and I get the sense that his sanity has been steadily deteriorating over time. And a cursory google of narcissistic traits turns up some familiar-looking stuff. He's self-loathing, yes, but also grandiose; he hates himself for the monster he is (and hates most vampires besides Esme and Carlisle for their monstrosity, too) but still feels superior to humans, to the extent that he felt entitled to human blood and resented Carlisle for depriving him of his "proper" diet. He eventually returns to Carlisle, but he's far from content -- the beginning of Midnight Sun finds him in a state of ennui, bored and dismissive of (if not outright disgusted by) everyone around him, that has apparently persisted for years and years. He doesn't play the piano, he doesn't compose, he doesn't enjoy anything...at least until Bella comes along and then he becomes obsessed to a disturbing degree with her and his new, romantic tragedy spin on reality.

[Next-day edit: I’m not sure where else to fit this in, but the way Edward casually contemplates violence against people who have, at best, mildly annoyed him is...chilling. I have a hard time writing off his strategizing how to murder the entire Biology class as a result of bloodlust -- it’s so calculated, nothing like the blackout state of thirst Emmett describes when he encountered his own “singer,” and that is probably the default for when a vampire is extremely thirsty. But even ignoring the Biology class incident, Edward still does things like consider, with disturbing frequency, how he might grievously injure or kill Mike Newton, all because...Edward considers him his romantic rival (despite Bella barely giving the kid the time of day). He thinks about slapping Mike through a wall, which might be an amusing slapstick image, except as a vampire Edward’s actually capable of turning this boy’s skeleton to a fine powder. So it’s, y’know, kind of sick when you think about it.

But even worse than that, when Bella tells Edward about how she flirted with Jacob to get at that sweet, sweet vampire lore, Edward chuckles and then, after dropping Bella home, flippantly observes that now that the treaty’s broken, why not genocide? I’m not even kidding, it’s right there in Midnight Sun; he seriously thinks about the fact that he’d be technically justified now in wiping out the entire tribe because a teenager tried to impress a girl with a spooky story. That is fucked. Remember, Edward was there with Carlisle when the treaty was first established. He knows how remarkable it is that they even came to a truce in the first place, that it was only ever possible because Carlisle is...well, Carlisle, and that it marks a pretty significant moment in supernatural history. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t respect it, or he’d never think something like “Ha ha, if I went and killed them all, I wouldn’t even be wrong. I mean, I won’t do it, but I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Again: not the thought process or behavior of a sane person. (Or a person that respects life in general -- sorry Carlisle, big L.)]

Finally, whether he's a narcissist or not, I think the fact that Edward has constant, unavoidable access to everyone's thoughts is a powerful contributing factor to his instability. He can tune out the mental noise to an extent, but he can't stop it -- so he comes to rely on it like another sense. This causes issues with disconnect and lack of empathy, of course, but there's another facet to this shit diamond: he's basically experiencing a ceaseless flow of intrusive thoughts. His narration in Midnight Sun suggests that he "hears" the words people think, can "see" what they visualize in their mind's eye, and can sense the emotional "tone" and intensity of their thoughts. Therefore, perceiving Jasper's thirst through his thoughts makes Edward more aware of his own, "doubling" the discomfort. This would be a lot to deal with even from just his immediate coven members, but Edward gets all of this pouring into his head like a firehose on a day-to-day basis because the Cullens live right alongside humans. I know Meyerpires have galaxy brains or whatever, but that's a ton to process.

Besides the compounding effect on his own thirst when he "feels" the thirst of others, Meyer never suggests that Edward has difficulty separating his own thoughts from other people's; even when he was newly turned, he recognized Carlisle's "voice" in his head as Carlisle's. That would create a whole different host of issues around identity, but it looks like Edward's escaped that particular torment. However, I can easily imagine that what he does experience is just shy of unbearable nonetheless, with an eroding effect on his sanity over decades. He can't sleep to escape it; he's on a dishwater diet and probably (like the rest of his family) experiencing a perpetual, low-grade physical discomfort due to his thirst never being fully satisfied; and he's around far more people than is the norm for vampires -- even discounting all the humans, his own coven is unusually large -- meaning more noise.

Honestly, it would be weirder if he were all there, considering.

And even though I feel like I lost a sense of structure around where I started ranting about telepathy, I've written like 1.5k words about Edward fucking Cullen and I think that's enough for one post.

[thedragonnerd]

Ficlet: Betrayal

(Inspired by this lovely anon)

Namaari has never seen Raya so still.

She’s used to Raya being full of energy and tightly coiled reactions, running around finding things to do, people to spar with, or adventures to get lost within. Even at dinner, Raya cannot be motionless, instead jostling her leg or bumping shoulders with Namaari, and Council meetings are a lost cause when it comes to hoping Raya will sit quietly through the entire meeting without finding some reason to escape early.

But now she lies still, her eyes closed and her lips pale and drained of blood. Namaari keeps her eyes fixated on Raya’s breathing, where the slight up-and-down of her chest is the only thing that proves Raya is still alive.

The doctor has said that if she can survive the night, she will be much more likely to make a full recovery. Yet when Namaari places her palm on Raya’s cheek, the skin is cold to touch. Her other hand clutches onto Raya’s fingers, and she tries to share her strength through sheer determination, attempting to manifest Raya’s recovery into existence with her willpower.

-

‘Maari, are you almost dooone?’ Raya asks with a whine, her lips pouting dramatically as she flops down into the chair opposite Namaari’s desk. ‘I’ve been waiting for ages already.’

Namaari lowers her paperwork for a moment, peering across at Raya with a small smile on her face. Raya hates to sit and wait in her office, and the fact that she has been quietly reading for so long already shows her willingness to let Namaari work for the afternoon.

‘I’m sorry, dep la,’ she says with a sigh, wishing she could escape and spend time sparring with Raya instead, as she had promised. Duty always seems to call, however. ‘I have to finish signing off on these policies, and I’m only half-way finished.’

Raya groans, her head lowering to the desk until her forehead is resting on the table.

‘Why don’t you go and find something to do?’ Namaari suggests, recognising Raya will only get more and more restless from here on. Raya turns her head slightly, so she can peek at Namaari’s face through her hair.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks. ‘I don’t want to leave you alone with this tedious work.’

‘Absolutely,’ Namaari reassures her with a smile. ‘Go and have fun, and I’ll join you later.’

‘Great, I’ll go find someone to spar with for a while,’ Raya jumps up enthusiastically. ‘And if you haven’t reappeared in two hours from now, I’m going to come back and drag you outside. You need a break yourself too.’

She rounds the desk, grabbing Namaari’s face with both her hands, and kisses her deeply for a moment. Then she flees out the door with a backwards wave, Namaari watching her retreating figure with a smile.

Namaari throws herself into the paperwork with more vigour, determined to get it done so she can join Raya. She doesn’t even notice the two hours passing, so wrapped up in reading policy articles on fishing.

Raya never shows.

-

Virana comes to sit with her when the hour is nearing midnight, her arm resting around Namaari’s shoulders as they wait in silence.

‘I sent word to Chief Benja,’ she says softly after a while. Namaari nods, but says nothing else. Benja has trusted them – trusted her – to keep Raya safe during her visits to Fang. And yet here they are, Namaari without a scratch on her, whilst Raya fights for her life in the darkness. Would he ever be able to forgive them, if Raya dies? Would it cause a war between their lands?

Would Namaari ever be able to forgive herself?

‘I wasn’t even there to protect her, Ma,’ she chokes, unable to keep the tears from leaking out. The guilt is suffocating.

-

‘Raya?’ she calls, walking briskly through the palace. Dusk is beginning to move in; she feels bad for working so long without realising where the time went. Clearly, Raya also got distracted by her activities. Often when one (or better, both) of them are sparring, it draws a crowd of eager onlookers, so perhaps tonight Raya has decided to teach a lesson to anyone who wants to challenge her fighting abilities.

However, it’s been long enough that she’s also slightly concerned, especially when she sees most of the usual sparring partner culprits back in the palace, doing their guard duties or otherwise.

Still, her best assumption is that Raya will still be at the training grounds, so she hurries outside and makes her way over to the large open area.

‘Raya?’ she calls again, not seeing anyone moving in the evening light. It seems quiet…too quiet.

And then she sees a shape on the ground.

‘Raya, what-?’ she cries, racing forwards and dropping to her knees. Raya is lying still and pale on the ground, and it takes a moment for Namaari to realize the earth surrounding her is stained dark red from blood.

‘Raya…Raya, wake up,’ she pleads, one shaking hand sliding under Raya’s shoulders and cradling her close to her body, the other pressing down hard on the stab wound in her abdomen. The blood seeps through her fingers, trickling down her wrist as she desperately tries to stop it.

‘Somebody help!’ she screams into the night.

-

Ma leaves her at some point in the early hours of the morning, kissing her forehead before heading off to sleep. She doesn’t even try to ask Namaari to get some rest, knows that she won’t. Not tonight.

Not long after, there is a soft knock at the door, and General Atitaya peers into the room.

‘Princess Namaari?’ she asks quietly. ‘I can relieve you of your post if you wish to retire for the night. Keep watch over her, for you?’

It’s a wasted offer, and Namaari is already shaking her head before the other woman finishes speaking.

‘No thank you,’ she says, her eyes never leaving Raya’s face. ‘Her attacker is still out there, and I’m not going to leave her until they are apprehended.’

Besides Raya’s injuries, that is the worst part of this attack – that it must have been carried out by a Fang citizen, who has now willingly betrayed both their land and, on a more personal level, Namaari herself. She has dedicated her life to protecting her people, and the realization that one of her own could have done this leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, and anger in her veins.

Namaari doesn’t even notice Atitaya leave. Her two swords sit close, ready to reach in an instant if someone dares to try and attack Raya again, and she leans forwards, tension running through her muscles as she continues her vigil.

The rest of the night is quiet, with no-one else disturbing them besides the doctor, who checks on Raya sporadically.

And then, just as the warm rays of the sun begin to filter through the window, Namaari hears a sound.

‘Raya?’ she calls, up on her feet instantly and leaning over the bed.

Raya shifts her head slightly, emitting a slight groan, and then her eyes flutter open.

-

‘Maari, come back to bed,’ Raya grumbles, her voice filled with the scratchy tone Namaari only hears in the morning. She laughs softly at the sight before her: Raya’s disgruntled face peering out from beneath the covers, her hair in a massively tangled mess around her face, and her mouth turned down slightly in the corners as she sees Namaari already up and dressed.

‘I have a lot of work to do today,’ Namaari says apologetically, although she does take a moment to bend down and give Raya a proper kiss good morning. ‘Hours of paperwork that you’ll just find boring.’

Raya wrinkles her nose at this, and burrows deeper into the bed, dragging Namaari down with her, a tight grasp on her wrist.

‘Tell you what,’ Namaari continues, attempting not to faceplant into the bedcovers thanks to Raya’s pulling. ‘If you let me go now, I’ll try to get the work done as quickly as possible, and then we can go spar together this afternoon.’

‘Fiiine,’ comes Raya’s voice from the depths of the bed. ‘Go do your boring work. I’ll bring food and my own amazing company later. And after, you owe me a fight.’

-

She finds her in the barn, tying a heavily-laden bag to her serlot.

‘Atitaya,’ she calls, and the General spins around quickly, hand moving towards her weapon before she sees who it is and deliberately relaxes her stance.

‘Princess,’ she greets, head bowing in the appropriate manner.

‘You’ll be pleased to hear that Raya has woken up,’ Namaari continues, her voice deceptively light in comparison to the blood roaring through her veins. ‘Interestingly, she’s also able to identify her attacker.’

They stare at each other for a moment, neither willing to be the first one to flinch. Then Atitaya drops her gaze to the ground, and although Namaari had believe Raya instantly when she said the name, the confirmation still hits her like a stab to the heart.

‘Ati…Ati, why?’ she whispers, and this time she can’t help her voice shaking as she tries to hold back the horror and the tears. ‘We grew up together. I trusted you with my life – with HER life. How could you betray me like this?’

Atitaya’s expression darkens at this, and Namaari sees her mouth twist into an ugly grimace.

‘Because you betrayed us first, Namaari,’ she snaps, fists clenching. ‘You bring the Princess of our enemy into our land, into our palace. You trust her with all of Fang, share all our secrets. She is your greatest vulnerability, a threat to our people, and if I did nothing, I thought she would bring death to our doorstep.’

‘Raya isn’t a threat to us,’ Namaari counters. ‘She isn’t a spy; Heart isn’t our enemy. We aren’t at war any more, Atitaya. We haven’t been for a long time. The only person who risked changing that was you.’

Atitaya raises her chin in defiance.

‘I did what I thought was right for our people, no matter the sacrifice. Just like you used to be willing to do.’

Namaari always thought her anger ran hot, a passionate burst of emotion that drove her in fights. But in reality, her rage runs through her body like a chill, and her mind feels separate from her body as a deadly calm settles over her.

‘I should kill you where you stand,’ she says softly. ‘If Raya had died, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.’

For the first time, apprehension flutters across Atitaya’s face.

‘You’re lucky that Raya is more forgiving than I am,’ Namaari finishes, and then whistles loudly. At once, the barn is filled with soldiers, all training their weapons on their former General.

Namaari turns and walks away, refusing to look over her shoulder as voices ordering Atitaya to surrender filter up around her.

She doesn’t want to waste another minute here – she has Raya waiting for her, and she’s promised to entertain her through her mandatory bed rest, duties be damned. After all, Raya doesn’t like to be still for too long.

[sinkix]

Haikyuu!!│Obsessive/Yandere HC’s │

Warning - Contains dark themes, mentions of emotional and physical abuse & sexually suggestive/explicit (18+) content, reader’s discretion is advised.

Characters - Hinata, Kuroo, Daichi, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Oikawa, Bokuto, Tendou & Kageyama.

Important Note: This is in no way romanticising or normalising toxic/abusive behaviour, you should not do as such as this is incredibly dangerous and unhealthy. If you identify any of these in your own relationships please seek help from a member of authority, counsellor or someone who can remove you from and aid in your recovery from the situation. This is a great contrast from all my other work on here so please read with caution. Stay safe <3

Hinata - The Hell-bent Visionary

Danger level: 6.5/10

So you’ve caught the eye of Karasuno’s ray of sunshine?

Bask in it’s warmth while you can, for the sun sets and leaves a chilling dark in it’s wake.

When he becomes focused on something, it’s hard to break the dedication he has. It’s unyielding, firm and persistent. Once you light a fire in him, it’s near impossible to put out.

And you didn’t just spark a flame, you formed a whole inferno.

Blowing up your phone with texts, calls and the tapping of rocks against your bedroom’s glass from late night visits to your doorstep. Greeted with the sickening scent of blood-red roses filling your nose at a reminder of how firmly he has you in his hold that will never falter. The lingering scratch marks adorning the window panes that you could have sworn were not there the night before.

 He can’t get enough of you, and the more time he spends with you, the more addictive your presence becomes.

He’s hooked, reaching the point of rivalling his sporting passion.

He learns to balance the two equally, and any second that isn’t spent practising, he is by your side or doing everything in his power to be.

It’s tunnel vision. All he sees is you, and the ball, nothing else matters. Relentlessly chasing for both long after his lungs tire and legs give out.

 He is a dark, unwavering force of nature, itching to monopolise you and eradicate any threat on what belongs to him. Yet around everyone else, he's a bundle of lovable sunshine who wouldn't dare hurt a fly, and while he doesn't show an outright aggressive nature, you know there's something sinister lurking underneath that might one day snap. 

It’s his stare that haunts you the most.

That ominous, chilling stare which pierces through your heart and impales it on a stick, out on display for him to marvel at in all it’s vulnerable beauty. The level of intensity and sheer devotion glinting in his eyes is nothing short of haunting.

Luckily for you, Hinata will not cause physical harm, but it’s his presence and ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ nature which will slowly but surely chip away at you until your sanity is reduced to dust. The worst part? Since he is loved by everyone, no one sees the twisted side you do, and as a result left permanently in a state of self-doubt and second guessing. Your mind will eventually spiral into a descent to madness until your right where he wants you.

Be careful, for even the sun’s light burns out eventually. And when it does, you’ll be swallowed by the darkness.

Kuroo - The Devil’s Reciprocal

Danger level: 9/10

Ahhh, the bad boy who smells of cigarettes and sex, the one who lurks in bars long after midnight eyeing up his prey. This man gives Satan a run for his money. I hope you’re prepared. What did you do to catch his eye, anyway? 

Whatever it was, it’s doomed you to an eternity in hell on earth.

Or heaven, if you’re a glass half full kind of person.

Kuroo drew you in like a moth to a flame, you knew he had no glinting halo, but that was his appeal.

 He was the incarnation of everything your parents warned you about, and you couldn’t get enough of it. 

Hell, you still can’t. But that doesn’t minimise the damage done to you every second he turns the light on, reeling you in once again, further and further until there’s no escape, utterly blinded by his deceiving tactics.

He has many admirers, you know. So in his eyes he feels you should be privileged to be given so much of his attention, that once received would leave any sane person running.

Unfortunately, you don’t seem to be sane enough, and he recognises this. He knows he’s got you hooked on his every word, dragging out the syllables like a lullaby that leave you entranced and begging for more.

 What can I say? The man has a way with words, and you’re totally enthralled by every sentence. 

Kuroo recklessly waves his charm like a gun, never a moment of hesitation to utilise it in order to get what he wants. 

And he always gets what he wants. 

It’s so dangerous it will leave you down on your knees in an act of submission and prepared to do anything to please him. The tip of the pistol aimed at your temple as if daring your defiance.

He revels in seeing that doe-eyed expression, fully aware of how much control he holds over every cell in your body. All of them scream out for him, for Kuroo. To kiss you, touch you and whisper sweet-nothings into your ear that linger with his hot breath scathing your neck, burning his scent into your memory until it’s one you’ll never forget. 

With all that temptation comes  consequence though, because once you give in, you’ll face the sadists horns that lurk underneath. 

Intertwining your bodies and tracing a switchblade across your jugular, he’ll stretch his lips into a wide, cunning grin, slamming into you and rutting his hips until they connect with yours. Throwing your head back in ecstasy, your whine will be stifled and cut short by the piercing slit of a blade shallowly opening the skin of your throat, the sharp sting lingering as his tongue deepens the incision with delight.

He is incredibly possessive, so anyone he deems a threat will be mercilessly eradicated, soon to be forgotten though. He will never allow your thoughts to be consumed by anything but him. 

Grinding his body against yours, the husky murmuring of pillow talk he is all too skilled at will leaves your knees trembling and buckling before him, with the one question he will only ever accept one answer to.

“Tell me sweetheart, who do you belong to...?”

Shuffling the cards and dragging cigar smoke across his lips, he’ll sip that glass of gin snidely and lock you in place with his smouldering gaze. Forever a reminder there’s no escape from his enslaving curse.

Daichi - The Despotic Protector

Danger level: 6/10

Karasuno’s father figure and reliable captain rolled into one. I hope you’re prepared for a lifetime of suffocation, because he’s never letting you go.

He takes on an almost a parental role in the relationship, and a toxic one.

Controlling, overbearing and monitoring your every move. He will never allow you to do anything without his permission out of fear for your safety.

I mean, what if something happens to you while you’re not within his peripherals? 

That’s a thought he simply couldn’t bear.

He’ll lock you in the confines of his home if he has to. But don’t get mad sweetheart, it’s because he cares for you.

Soon enough Daichi will have isolated you from the world, never seeing the shining of sunlight unless your arm is looped around his in a crushing hold. 

Friends? You can forget them, he made sure to steer you far, far away from those. He just can’t risk them laying a finger on you or putting you in harms way, he would never forgive them.

Daichi desperately tries to convince you he has your best interests at heart, and unluckily for you, you fall right into his trap.

Your whole life is consumed by him, and only him. Watching the clock tick by aimlessly until you hear his footsteps up the driveway, scurrying to the door to greet him like an obedient dog upon his arrival.

Pulling you into a loving hug that threatens to squeeze the life out of you, you can’t help but let your mind roam and ponder the question lurking at the back of your thoughts.

Has he ever killed with these hands?

They seem too crushing. Like a brute, inhuman force. You can picture his fingers wrapped around someone’s throat and draining them of oxygen almost too easily.

Little did you know, your hypothesis was painfully accurate. 

An old childhood friend of yours, currently 6 feet under in the yard. Your bare feet trampling over his grave and none the wiser every time he allows you to set foot in the garden.

You’ll never know, though. It’s not like you can check your phone without his permission anyway, he’s already blocked their contact.

Days, weeks, months pass by of his constant monitoring and controlling behaviour. The CCTV’s scattered in every corner of the house, the social deprivation and loneliness that creeps in every time he’s not there as you roam the barren household, the purple finger marks roping your wrists from when he kept you in a paralysing grip,daring your disobedience.

and you can’t help but wonder,

Maybe the person you needed protecting from was him.

Tsukishima - The Mendacious Manipulator

Danger level: 8.5/10

How unlucky you are to be paired with this mentally destroying sadist. 

At first Tsukishima’s wit, sarcasm and clever quips were what allured you, never did you think they would be used against you. Wielded like a weapon with a blade sharp enough to slice you in two.

And I’m warning you, every cut hurts.

There’s no escaping from it, a string of degrading remarks whispered cruelly in your ear while holding hands in public, appearing to be a cute and affectionate couple, but a sinister secret lurks underneath that only you know of.

He’ll treat you like a dog, expecting you to be at his every beck and call, serving on your knees with a painted smile that’s woefully forced on with every ounce of strength you have left.

You are his puppet, his useless little play thing that he makes painfully aware of how disposable they truly are.

And don’t take him for a fool, he will discard you if he sees fit.

Unmerciful, cruel, snide, are the some of many words that can describe Tsukishima, and as you’ll soon find out none of them are pleasant.

He will craftily make you open up to him. Revealing your deepest insecurities,traumas and troubles then sheath it like a sword to your neck, holding you hostage to your own weaknesses in order to gain that empowering sense of control he oh-so revels in. Endlessly striving to achieve his selfish, favourable outcome. 

This Yandere is one of most intelligent of the bunch, and unfortunately for you, does not use his intelligence for charitable or good-natured purposes.

He knows exactly what to say to leave you curled up in a ball, tears streaming and wracked in emotional agony as you plead for forgiveness on something that isn’t even your fault. He knows this, but finds it comical and all too amusing to see you so broken over something when you weren’t the one to blame. He gets off to your mental anguish.

You’ll be left stumbling the streets at 2 in the morning, contemplating your life and everything as you know it, he will warp your perception of the world until he is the only one you can crawl to. After all, it’s your fault, right? He’s the only one who could tolerate you, everyone else abandoned you because you were so insufferable.

...is what he’ll have you believe. In reality, Tsukishima was pulling strings behind the scenes to ensure you would distance yourself from friends and family, resulting in them doing the same. Wrapping you around his finger and twisting your behaviour into one that’s volatile and unapproachable, until you’re left totally alone.

You’ll never know though.

That mental fortitude will soon shatter, and when it does, he’ll cackle at it’s pathetic remains.

Yamaguchi  - The Diffident Vampire

Danger level: 5/10

I’m sad to say, but your tween Twilight fantasies will be crushed when you stumble upon this mess of a monster.

I don’t mean to say he’s a literal vampire, but you’ll understand the use of this metaphor once we delve into some of his tendencies.

He is incredibly insecure, the walking embodiment of the very word.

Now that isn’t the reason you should be warded off, everyone has self-esteem issues. However, this trait of his plays a huge part in siphoning the life out of you.

He captured your heart with his soft and sympathetic nature, easily startled and somewhat skittish.

You didn’t see what was below the iceberg however, and once you did, he sank his teeth in and began to suck before you could escape, draining you dry until you have no more left to give. Nothing to spare until he is licking his lips in satisfaction, swelled with the abundance at the emotional dependency he has built up on you.

He needs reassurance like a life line, and while some might find this endearing at first, it undoubtedly becomes highly toxic and emotionally exhausting.  

Yamaguchi is incredibly volatile with his sensitivity, you have to watch your words and be sure he doesn’t misinterpret them and become dejected. He will read into everything you say and question every little detail. 

This is one of those Yandere’s that wouldn't do it intentionally I don’t think, but by the time he catches himself it’s too late, he’s in far too deep to stop and I don’t think he ever will once he realises how addicted he is to you, your words boosting his sense of worth and being the only form of confidence he’s ever felt in his life.

It’s quite sad, really. 

Don’t pity him too much, though. That’s the trap. That’s how reels you in until the teeth marks adorning your neck are a harsh reminder that you are nothing more than food for his ego.

If you ever think about leaving, he will have no qualms grovelling at your knees, razor to his wrists and begging you to stay. A cruel memoire at what keeps you tied here in the first place.

Pity.

Care.

The mutual empathy you saw in him that drew you in was now broken and one-sided, his selfishness far outweighing this trait of his and becoming your death-sentence. 

The marks will never fade. One day you’ll collapse to your knees and cave, but he won’t stop until he has bled you bare.

Oikawa - The Venusian’s Nightmare.

Danger level: 8/10

Oh charming Oikawa. The pretty boy with enough carnal seduction to rival his greek goddess counterpart. Hair smooth as silk, eyes glinting with mischief and a smirk that could bow you down on all fours. He has everything, or so it seems.

Sanity isn’t one of them.

He is VERY demanding when he craves your attention, which let’s face it is pretty often. If he doesn’t get it? Definition of a nightmarish brat.

He will whine, complain, blow up your phone. Still not available?

He’ll simply disappear.

For how long? Who really knows. He likes the thought of you on edge and anticipating his return, thoughts of him plaguing your mind to the point you question if you’re the one who’s obsessed.

Don’t worry though, when he returns he has enough sensual suave to make you forgive him ten times over.

You may think his bratty and sulking nature is the worst of it.

Oh how wrong you are.

Push him to his limits or the closest thing to it and you’ll face a cut-throat, teasing sadist who will tie you to the bed with a sickening sparkle in his eyes, marvelling at your skin jaggedly sliced open like a sheet of paper, tracing the wounds with his tongue and lapping up the blood before pulling you into a heated kiss which seems almost loving, if it weren’t for the metallic taste intertwining your tongues as a harsh reminder that you’re not here by choice.

He is definitely the type to mock you and howl with laughter as your body spams and writhes in pain, degrading you with the most vile remarks till tears spill from your eyes.

“Awh poor (Y/N)-chan, crying like a baby. Can’t handle the pain? What a pathetic little whore. Maybe if you beg enough, I’ll ease up the pressure~”

Sometimes he’ll leave you there wrist-bound to the bed post for hours, coming back in occasionally until your level of pleading satisfies him. 

His change in treatment is paradoxical in the aftermath, he will release you from your restrains and rub your skin with such tender care, it’s agonisingly deceiving.

One of the most dangerous things about him is his intuition, it’s damn near supernatural and makes for a natural born lie detector. Oikawa will sense the slightest shift in your mood, tone and body language. He knows you like the back of his hand, making it all the more unnerving to be in his presence.

This can be a positive if he is looking to fill you with ecstasy, since he knows every sweet spot, curl of his fingers and words to whisper that leave you trembling in mind-numbing pleasure.

Though you know once coming down from your high, your moments of heaven will slip through your fingers before crashing back down to reality.

He can read you like a book that he wrote with his own hands and it’s horrifying, he can predict what you’re going to say or do before you’ve even made up your mind. Which as you can guess, makes escape or wheedling out of a threatening scenario a null alternative.

If you decide to make the suicidal mistake of lying, your body will never quite function the same once he’s through. not to mention the plethora of emotional scarring that comes along with it.

After catching you in your mendacity and deeming your punishment enough, he’ll decorate your body in cuts, bruises and hickeys that throb from the abuse of his teeth. Laying you down in bed and tucking you in gently, wrapping an arm around in an act of ‘protection’ that was formerly wrapped around your throat in an act of threatening asphyxiation.

Eyes fluttering closed hours after he drifted off beside you, your heart rate quells and the tears staining your cheeks dry, preparing for the repeated cycle when the sun rises. 

How foolish to be lured in by such a facade, even the most beautiful of creatures can be hideous. 

Bokuto -  The Volcanoes Slaughter

Danger level: 9.5/10

The ticking of a time bomb, the cracking of the ground beneath your feet.

Once you are swept up in this man’s wrath you know there will never be an escape.

and he’s fucking terrifying.

His energy and vigour were what charmed you, his upbeat enthusiasm that while volatile, was very contagious and encouraging. 

If only you had known what kind of disaster was laying low under the surface.

Akaashi had tried to warn you, but you simply never listened.

He pities you now, for you’re in the same boat as him.

Eternally putting up with his violent tempers and erratic nature, which you often get the brunt of behind closed doors, left to cover the scars with a scarf and cheap pot of concealer.

His moods switch as quick as the direction of the wind, a gust too strong that leaves you flying back like a ragdoll against the wall.

Or that may just be because he actually threw you in a fit of rage, itching to see your limp body crack against the drywall to soothe his rage. Drowning the voices in his head with the sound of your soothing whimpers filled with agony.

While he may beat you black and blue whenever the overflow of emotions take over, he still does ‘care’ for you in his own sickening way, and would never have any qualms snapping a neck or two if it prevented anyone else laying a finger on you.

Though to be honest it’s the furthest thing from care, it’s downright monopolisation of something he deems his object.

How dare they hurt his personal punching bag, don’t they know you’re his and his alone to mark up in any way he pleases?

To everyone else, he seems like a very loving and protective boyfriend who has the occasional mood swing. If only they could pick up on the flinching of your body when his voice raises even a decibel, or the way you retract in fear at the swatting of a hand too close to your face. 

The anxiety felt when in his presence is indescribable, your whole body will soon become accustomed to trembling in fear, your fight or flight kicking in at the mere mention of his name. His voice sends every hair standing on end, bracing for the impact that may or may never come from his grazed fists.

Treading on eggshells and analysing every word before you speak will become second nature, even the tone of your voice or the way you arrange a question will be heavily thought over before even daring to let it escape your mouth.

You just can’t risk it, even hearing a word he doesn’t like will result in the tectonic plates shifting, getting closer to his impending eruption.

Once you hear the rumbling, you’ll know it’s far too late to run. Burned by the raging lava and consumed whole in a flood of pain and misery, it will destroy everything in it’s wake, even you.

Tendou - The Jesters Despair

Danger level: 10/10

You really opened pandora’s box with this one.

And once you so much as cracked it for a peak, just that little inkling of curiosity, the lanky arm of a redhead yanked your wrist and dragged you in with him.

Tendou’s eccentric and offbeat disposition was something you had always admired, it was what made your heart flutter.

Now? That eccentricity is put to the most horrifying of uses.

Mind games, manipulation, and unpredictability beyond your worst nightmare.

Tendou is the type to sink a blade into your skin and cackle maniacally while you cry and plead for him to stop. Edging himself and eyeing you up greedily at the painful fear in your eyes, blood trickling down your skin with each incision.

He’ll pull your hair back and slide his tongue along the cuts, his lustful gaze boring into your own as the pooling saliva leaves a chilling feeling on your skin, nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of his DNA entering your bloodstream.

He thrives on trickery and deception. He’s the type to say something incredibly warm and soft-centred, one that makes your pupils expand in newfound hope with the question of “...really?” rolling off your tongue. That inkling of hope sparking the thought that maybe, just maybe he’s changed. 

Only to burst into a fit of laughter at your naivety, teasing you relentlessly for how gullible and moronic he thinks you are. 

This yandere is incredibly incalculable. Here one minute, gone the next. Don’t even bother trying to figure out what he’s doing or where he is, you’ll never know. It keeps you on your toes in the most negative and unnerving sense of the expression, he gets a buzz off leaving you wondering, and takes great satisfaction in knowing you’re probably thinking about him.

 However, he expects you to be there whenever he needs you, regardless of circumstance. And if you’re not? You’ll have consequences to face.

I’m sorry to say, but there is no chance in hell you’re surviving this experience, there’s no doubt you’ll be murdered eventually. 

After all, he does get bored easily. Not so much as giving it a second thought on disposing of you once you are no longer a source of fresh entertainment for his sadistic desires.

With each passing day his treatment becomes increasingly brutal, searching for new ways to fulfil that empty feeling in his heart and cold, hollow look in his eyes. Don’t even bother trying to save him, not even he would know where to start.

Every night as you shut your eyes on the hardwood floor beside his bed, you can’t help but wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever close them.

And for your sake? You’d better hope it is.

Charming you with the humour of a Jester and putting on a show, he’ll make it certain every time you laugh, will be paid back with tears twofold. 

Kageyama - The Majesties Tyrant

Danger level: 7/10

Kneel before your highness or face his wrath. Kageyama Tobio is the most commanding of them all. Permanently trapped in his dictatorship with no hope of revolt. 

He doesn’t become set on things very often, but once he does it’s something he’ll never give up until he’s conquered it wholly.

Stubborn, moody, domineering and demanding. With just enough of a soft side he uses to persuade you back again. 

Fuelled by ego, pride, and a sense of superiority, he will never stop until he has your total obedience.

Being the dense man he is, this is usually achieved through simplistic means of intimidation and threats of aggression.

Kageyama will not hesitate to raise his fist and back you into a corner, cowering in recoil at his menacing aura that itches to do damage

You will do what he says, whenever he needs it, no if’s but’s or objections.

For such a hard headed ruler, he’s surprisingly childish and unsure about how to express anything other than abuse.

I think a part of him genuinely does like you, but it’s far too clouded by his toxic nature that it could never be seen as even slightly redeemable.

The most you’ll ever get out of Kageyama is the occasional hug, in which he squeezes you far to tight and resurfaces the pain of last nights bruises.

He doesn’t resort to physical violence often, as he is always reprimanded by the team to control his anger. If only they knew what he was like behind closed doors. I suppose you could credit it to Karasuno that he hasn’t accidentally killed you yet.

Yet.

When it comes to matters in the bedroom, he is focused solely on his own gratification, yours being a second thought he never so much as acknowledges.

Collared and threaded by  chain, you will crawl beside him and take it all until you’re gasping for air. The only thing he cares about is climaxing and leaving you with the cleanup.

He’s quite self conscious, so don’t expect much physical affection unless he’s chasing a particularly intense release.

Kageyama is highly jealous and frequently painted green with envy, so expect your social life to dwindle significantly once he has his hands on you, literally and metaphorically.

Thankfully, he won’t isolate you entirely, but it’s enough to leave you feeling segregated from the rest of the world. A lone member of his regime that you are forever trapped in with no chance of escape.

Bow down with a meek mutter of “Yes...master.” His crown will twinkle in the moonlight as a symbol of your everlasting enslavement.

The king of the court, and the ruler of your heart.

[theinkmage]

Heartbreak

hI guysss sO i gave myself a prompt  : The hero and the villain have been tasked with getting close to one another to obtain information for their respective teams, yet both are unaware of the other’s task. And one of them kills the other in the end. 

TW/CW : death mention, stabbing, blood

"Remember, your sole mission tonight is to eliminate the opposition. If you fail, don't even think of coming back here, or else it will be your head on the chopping block."

The hero threw an arm across the villain's shoulders, pulling them closer as a sudden bout of gusty wind blew across the dark street, adding to the sharp biting chill of the night. Winter was close, which meant that the hero's year-long mission was about to come to an end. The hero should be jumping for joy, really, that if they managed to pass this level, they would be promoted. But they couldn't find an ounce of happiness in them.

"Your job was to get close to this particular hero and extract valuable information that will be of utmost importance to us. I assume you have managed to get most of the data that we need to bring down the heroes, given your competence. If that is so, then we have no more use for them."

 The villain swallowed nervously, the cold metal of their dagger nudging uncomfortably against their arm, nestled snugly in its arm wrap, hidden out of plain view by the long sleeves of their coat. The villain might be callous, but only towards those who had wronged them. All that cruelty on the surface masked a deeply hurt and aching soul within, with friendship and love being its only salvation.

 "This villain is smart, too smart. And evil. A threat to society what with the manifestation of their destructive powers that they have chosen to harm people with. For all you know, they might be catching onto our little plan. Or, they might even have a plan of their own."

 The hero tightened their arm around the villain subconsciously as the two strolled through the almost-empty streets. Just ahead lay the park, herded by a small forest of trees and the usual pond. This was where the hero had asked the villain out for the first time. It was where their mission had first failed, considering the fact that they weren't supposed to catch feelings for the villain at any point in time.

 "I hope you haven't gotten too attached to your subject. That simply won't do. You are supposed to kill them tonight before they have the chance to strike, do I make myself clear? And if you were to hesitate, think about who took you in when you were starving and injured on the streets."

 The villain tried to stem the amalgamation of emotions that flooded their soul as their superior's words echoed in their mind. It was true that the villain had been abused and maltreated just because their powers were seen as destructive. The villain had never wanted to hurt anyone in the first place. They had hurt the villain first, and as a form of self-defence, the villain hurt them back. Years of hatred and tears and insults, all jumbled together into a huge roiling ball of anger and violence and revenge, set on destroying those who had made the lives of villains a living hell for something that they could never control.

 "I hope you bear in mind that I do not take failure lightly. I shall be awaiting your success tonight."

 The hero groaned internally, a deep nagging sense of dread coiling deep in their stomach. The air in the park was cooler, supposedly because of the many trees clustered around the area they were currently walking in. It was quiet, with the ducks bobbing silently in the clear blue water, the flies buzzing near the heat of the streetlamps, the slight rustle of rodents searching for food in the undergrowth. Peace settled over the hero as they tugged the villain onto a bench, plopping down onto it and staring up at the night sky. They wouldn't do it.

 "If you want to show those heroes that we are not to be trifled with, then you will do as I see fit tonight."

 The villain gnawed on their lip nervously, fingers sliding inconspicuously towards the dagger tucked in their arm wrap. Guilt sank its claws deep into the recesses of their soul, images of their dying friend and lover running through their mind. No, no, they would not be responsible for another death.

 "Return before midnight."

 The villain's fingers had been dancing nervously along their arm, almost as if trying to satisfy an inner itch that they couldn't reach. The hero leaned over, taking both the villain's hands in theirs, letting a smile appear on their countenance. God, they were so deep in already. Yet they had a duty to fulfil.

 "Return before midnight."

 The villain started as the hero grabbed their hands, rubbing soothing circles over their knuckles. Looking at the smile gracing the hero's lips, the villain couldn't help but let their lips quirk up in a little grin of their own. This was all that they had ever wanted. Yet they had a duty to fulfil.

 When the hero let go of the villain's hands to tug them close for a kiss, the villain's fingers immediately slid to the arm wrap beneath their sleeve, gripping the handle of the knife and yanking it out in one smooth, practiced motion. The hand that was holding the knife was quivering badly, caught in limbo between wanting to slide itself back into its sheath or plunge its blade right into the hero's body. A single tear slid out of their eye and curved a path down their cheek.

 As the villain released the knife, a sharp pain in their side made them yank away from the hero, hand clutched to their lower abdomen. Red seeped through the white shirt and pooled between their fingers, dripping slowly onto their lap. Betrayal and anguish tore through the villain like a hurricane as they gasped out shaking breaths, fingers curled slightly around the knife embedded deep in their stomach.

 Guilt and regret was plastered all over the hero's face as they gently lowered the villain from the bench onto the ground. They were crying, too. These big fat tears that didn't look right on them.

 "I…I'm sorry…" The hero choked out, holding the villain tight in their grip, hands clutching fistfuls of their shirt and hair, trying desperately to hold onto every single part of them.

 The villain shook their head, wrenching out a choked laugh from their throat that morphed into a silent cry of pain. Yes, pain from the inflicted wound on their stomach, but also pain that stemmed from their supposed friend and lover's betrayal. "I c…couldn't ki-kill you, you know?"

 At that, the hero sobbed even harder, tugging the villain closer to them, mumbling apologies over and over again even though there was no turning back. They rocked there, on the spot, for what felt like eternity, feeling the villain's blood drip-drip-dripping onto the floor, seeping into their clothes. Their limp shudders, small but close enough to be felt. Their sharp intakes of air, the grunts and whimpers of pain left unspoken and tears. The tears were the worst.

 The villain had just one last ounce of strength left in their body before they departed for good. Their body felt so cold, so numb, bleeding out on the ground.

 "H…hero." They gasped, panting for their last breath of air. "Th-thank you f…for eve…rything. I l-love you."

 And then, the villain was gone.

 The hero broke.

[thecreaturecodex]

Father Llymic

Image by James Zhang, © Wizards of the Coast.

[Commissioned by @tar-baphon. Father Llymic might be my least favorite of the Elder Evils from the book of the same name. I appreciate the Gerald Scarfe -like design (although do we really need multiple fat humanoids in the same book?), but his actual statistics leave a lot to be desired. He can inflict negative levels with his aura and all of his natural attacks, and those negative levels have special conditions for being removed. He can project an image of himself, and it’s a major plot point for the proposed campaign arc, but there is no mechanical information given about how it works. He has no means of communicating with his minions, even though that seems to be a big deal for his plot. And his light weakness as originally written means he’s automatically staggered by a 3rd level spell (daylight)--a devastating weakness in a game where action economy is everything. So this version is rather severely overhauled from a mechanical perspective.]

Father Llymic CR 22 CE Outsider This immense creature resembles a crystalline humanoid, with rocky plates growing along its back. Its head is flat and insectile, with three glaring yellow eyes above a fanged maw. Its arms end in long, mantis-like claws.

Father Llymic is an alien evil, trapped under the ice on the top of a polar mountain and working his influence subtly on the world around him. He is currently in a state of stasis, able to send an illusory avatar to interact with the world, but unable to move or battle. Father Llymic uses this avatar to lure creatures to visit his mountain, whereupon his soul chill aura can transform them into his monstrous children. He also uses this avatar to coordinate the actions of his existing minions, sending them on raids to increase their numbers. The more children of Llymic exist, the more his bonds become loosened, and eventually he will rise triumphant into the polar winter.

Sunlight is anathema to Father Llymic, and light of any kind weakens him. When Father Llymic is awake and active, he promises, the sun will never shine, and creatures of cold and darkness can take over the planet. In combat, he focuses on attacking as many creatures as possible, hoping to inflict his curse on any survivors to create more children in the coming days. Those he cannot afflict in such a way are scissored to pieces with his razor-sharp claws, or frozen solid with cold magic.

It is believed that Father Llymic was originally a creature of the Plateau of Leng, and was imprisoned on the Material Plane by ancient elven magic. Indeed, Father Llymic hates elves above other creatures, and his psychic avatar often takes the form of a ragged white-haired elf with blank eyes and teeth made of ice. In addition to the children of Llymic, creatures of the Elder Mythos such as Leng ghouls and Leng hounds may serve him, and the denizens of Leng keep a close eye on Llymic cults (although their individual goals vary). Some thematically appropriate creatures for Father Llymic to summon include child of Llymic moon giants (CR 17 each), child of Llymic ancient white dragons (CR 17 each), child of Llymic ice linnorms (CR 19) or child of Llymic Leng spiders (CR 16 each).

Father Llymic CR 22 XP 615,000 CE Huge outsider (chaotic, evil) Init +8; Senses blindsight 120 ft., Perception +33, see in darkness, true seeing Aura soul chill (30 ft., Fort DC 30) Defense AC 40, touch 12, flat-footed 36 (-2 size, +4 Dex, +28 natural) hp 420 (24d10+288); dark healing 30 Fort +20, Ref +18, Will +22 DR 20/epic; Immune ability damage and drain, cold, energy drain, mind-influencing effects, petrifaction, poison, polymorph; Resist electricity 20, fire 20; SR 32 (37 vs. divinations) Weakness light sickness, vulnerable to sonic Offense Speed 50 ft., fly 30 ft., ice walking Melee 2 claws +34 (3d6+12/19-20x3 plus 2d6 cold plus curse of Llymic), bite +34 (2d8+12 plus 2d6 cold) Space 15 ft.; Reach 15 ft. Special Attacks augmented critical, psychic avatar, rend (2 claws, 3d6+18 plus 2d6 cold) Spell-like Abilities CL 22nd, concentration +30 Constant—nondetection, true seeing At will—cone of cold (DC 23), deeper darkness, detect magic, dimension door, dream, greater dispel magic, nightmare (DC 23), wall of ice 3/day—quickened cone of cold (DC 23), greater scrying (DC 25), polar ray 1/day—energy drain (DC 27), polar midnight (DC 27), summon children of Llymic Statistics Str 34, Dex 19, Con 35, Int 24, Wis 27, Cha 26 Base Atk +24; CMB +38 (+42 sunder); CMD 52 (54 vs. sunder) Feats Cleave, Combat Reflexes, Great Cleave, Greater Sunder, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Improved Iron Will, Improved Sunder, Iron Will, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (cone of cold), Stand Still Skills Acrobatics +29 (+37 when jumping), Bluff +33, Climb +34, Diplomacy +31, Fly +32, Intimidate +33, Knowledge (arcana, planes) +32, Knowledge (geography, nature) +29, Linguistics +11, Perception +33, Sense Motive +33, Spellcraft +32, Stealth +21 Languages Aklo, Aquan, Auran, Common, Draconic, Elven, Giant, telepathy 1 mile (100 miles with children of Llymic) SQ no breath, planar acclimation Ecology Environment cold mountains Organization unique Treasure double standard Special Abilities Augmented Critical (Ex) Father Llymic’s claws threaten a critical hit on a roll of 19-20 and deal x3 damage on a successful critical hit. Father Llymic has increased this threat range with the Improved Critical feat.  Curse of Llymic (Su) Claw—contact; save Fortitude DC 30; onset immediate; frequency 1/day; effect 1 temporary negative level. Negative levels dealt by the curse of Llymic can only be removed through magic, and only if the creature is in natural sunlight. A creature that has as many temporary negative levels as HD from this ability is transformed into a child of Llymic over the course of one minute. The save DC is Charisma based. Dark Healing (Su) Father Llymic gains fast healing 30 whenever he is in an area of darkness or supernatural darkness. Flight (Su) Father Llymic’s fly speed is a supernatural ability. Ice Walking (Ex) Father Llymic ignores all difficult terrain and movement penalties from natural or magical snow and ice. Light Sickness (Ex) Father Llymic is sickened in an area of normal or bright light. He takes damage as if it were undead from light based spells and abilities that deal damage, such as searing light or sunbeam. In an area of direct sunlight, he must succeed a DC 30 Fortitude save every round or be paralyzed. Planar Acclimation (Ex) Father Llymic is never treated as having the extraplanar subtype. Psychic Avatar (Su) Once per day as a standard action, Father Llymic can create an illusory avatar and project it over great distances. This functions as a project image spell that lasts for 1 hour, except that it has a range of 100 miles, and Father Llymic does not require a direct line of effect to the area. Father Llymic can choose what the avatar looks like, as if affected by a veil spell. Father Llymic can use his spell-like abilities through the avatar, but all saving throws made against them gain a +2 circumstance bonus. Soul Chill Aura (Su) All creatures within 30 feet of Father Llymic must succeed a DC 30 Fortitude save every round or take 1 temporary negative level. Creatures with the child of Llymic template are immune to this effect. These negative levels cannot be removed except by magic, and then only if the creature is in natural sunlight. A creature that has as many temporary negative levels as HD from this ability is transformed into a child of Llymic over the course of 1 minute. The save DC is Charisma based. Summon Children of Llymic (Sp) Once per day as a standard action, Father Llymic can summon a CR 19 encounter worth of creatures with the child of Llymic template. These remain for 1 hour or until slain.

[glenandbrisketpowellsdogpack]

Favorite Books

Some Of My Favorite Books Could Fall Under Murder/Mystery, True Crime. I Included The Original Books Summary.

Past midnight, Chyna Shepard, twenty-six, gazes out a moonlit window, unable to sleep on her first night in the Napa Valley home of her best friend’s family. Instinct proves reliable. A murderous sociopath, Edgler Foreman Vess, has entered the house, intent on killing everyone inside. A self-proclaimed “homicidal adventurer,” Vess lives only to satisfy all appetites as they arise, to immerse himself in sensation, to live without fear, remorse, or limits, to live with intensity. Chyna is trapped in his deadly orbit.   Chyna is a survivor, toughened by a lifelong struggle for safety and self-respect. Now she will be tested as never before. At first her sole aim is to get out alive—until, by chance, she learns the identity of Vess’s next intended victim, a faraway innocent only she can save. Driven by a newly discovered thirst for meaning beyond mere self-preservation, Chyna musters every inner resource she has to save an endangered girl . . . as moment by moment, the terrifying threat of Edgler Foreman Vess intensifies.

When a professional military woman with a pristine reputation is found raped and murdered, a preliminary search turns up certain paraphernalia, and sex toys that point to a scandal of major proportions, The chief investigator is reluctant to take the case when he learns that his partner will be a woman with whom he had a tempestuous affair and an unpleasant parting. But duty calls and intrigue begins when they learn that several top-level people may have been involved with the "golden girl" - and many have wanted her dead.

A #1 New York Times Best Seller, Ann Rule’s The Stranger Beside Me gives us a unique perspective into the hidden world of Ted Bundy. Rule gives a chilling and intimate description of her time at a crisis hotline alongside her co-worker, the then charming, sensitive and trustworthy Ted Bundy, and the devastating realization that he was a brutal killer hiding in plain sight. After multiple arrests and an escape from jail, Bundy would later confess to the murders of at least thirty-six women and soon after was executed for three cases. Rule, a certified instructor for police training seminars, prosecutors and forensic science organizations, delves into how this savage killer -- a man she thought she knew -- could have fooled so many, including a professional like herself.

[onenerdtwonagas]

Outside Threats

(Warning: contains physical assault and attempted sexual assault.)

Uriah had recovered from his transition into elemental immortality nearly a year before, and he had begun learning how to adjust to his new innate abilities, but he certainly didn’t have a firm control over them. The members of the Council offered their assistance when they could, but even they had warned him it would take time and experience, since he wasn’t born into magic as the rest of them were. He was thankful that he was able to get away from the the human city to the seclusion of the temple belonging to Orpheus’s family to practice. Trying to learn how to master magic amongst humans wasn’t a bright idea, and he wouldn’t entertain it. But, even at the temple, he wasn’t so certain he was ready to be on his own the handful of times Orpheus’s new godly status called him away. Maybe it was just missing him, now that they were married.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, love,” Orpheus would promise him, before giving him a kiss and slipping through a portal. Uriah had said goodbye to him the day before in a similar manner. Something about territory disputes, Orpheus had said; it would hopefully be resolved within two or three days.

Uriah sighed and leaned heavily against a sturdy stone pillar, fiddling with the clothing he’d been gifted from the Council. He wasn’t sure if there was any significance or importance to them, but at least they were comfortable.

A soft chime got his attention, and Uriah looked up to see one of the nightbell sprites that served Orpheus’s family—those who had been night god, respectfully.

“Pollux?”

He held out his palms for the tiny creature to land in, watching it shake its furry body and sit up on its haunches to chime again.

“Sorry, I, uh...don’t speak sprite. Not yet, anyway.”

Pollux’s ears flopped. He waved a paw vaguely towards the entrance of the temple. Uriah quirked up one eyebrow and followed his gesture.

“Is somebody here?”

An affirmative jingle.

“Huh. Not Eden or Atheer, though, right? Aren’t you kind of Atheer’s pet anyway?”

The tiny creature mustered up as best a shrug as his anatomy allowed.

“Well, guess we gotta check it out.”

Uriah set Pollux on his shoulder and made his way through the temple, hesitating only when he heard movement from the receiving chamber towards the entryway. He questioned whether he should make his presence known. He himself wasn’t a god or deity, and all of Orpheus’s relations were away for one reason or another. No one else was with him if this visitor wasn’t the friendly sort...

“Hello? I have a matter to discuss with Night God Orpheus!”

Uriah glanced down at Pollux with an unsure frown. A violent intruder wouldn’t make themselves openly known, would they? And for the most part, the pantheon seemed to respect his position as a spouse of a god. Maybe he could handle this?

Uriah straightened himself and proceeded out. He was Orpheus’s husband. He should be able to handle himself whether his husband was there or not; it would be an insult to Orpheus’s position if he needed to rely on him for everything.

“Hello—“

“This is his temple, but I’m afraid Night God Orpheus is busy with other matters,” Uriah spoke up, descending the stairs that sat on either side of the throne centered at the top of the far side of the chamber. The stranger turned, and seemed to puzzle at him for a moment. Uriah took him in carefully: a naga, and most likely from an old bloodline seeing has he had horns and four arms as Orpheus and his relatives did. His scales were a midnight black, shining like obsidian, but his skin was pale. He had dark, piercing eyes and hair as dark as his scales. He could vaguely identify him as some sort of shadow deity, and he remembered Orpheus had warned about being cautious with them. Uriah kept stopped halfway down the stairs, standing between the throne and the visitor.

“If you’d like, I can deliver a message,” Uriah added. Pollux remained perched on his shoulder, quiet, whiskers flared as he sniffed the air. The naga looked at him quizzically.

“You look like a mortal, and yet...”

Uriah didn’t respond.

“Ah, you must be his husband, then, the one the pantheon keeps gossiping about,” the naga said. His tone seemed...cordial. Uriah wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“I am.”

“Well, then, it is a pleasure to finally meet the one that all the fuss is about!”

Pollux gave a small snort. Uriah glanced down at him, making note of the tension in his whiskers.

“And you are supposed to be...?”

“Forgive me, where are my manners? I am Erebos, heir to the Shadow God’s title.”

He slid a few paces forward and extended a clawed hand. Uriah didn’t move from his place, remaining skeptical.

“You were saying you had business with my husband, Erebos?”

The naga slowly retracted his hand. There was a hint of offense noted in his gaze. Pollux’s fur began to rise. Uriah raised a hand and gently stroked a finger beneath his chin, hushing him.

“Yes. A matter of politics. Is he here? I should like to discuss it with him directly.”

Erebos moved slightly to the side, and Uriah stepped over into his path, blocking him.

“I’m sorry, but my husband is busy at this time. You’ll have to come back later, or I can tell him you came by and he can meet you.”

“He’s busy, you said?” Erebos cocked his head slightly, eyeing Uriah. The man tried his best not to waiver in stature. “Then that means he isn’t here.”

He did not like that tone. There was something malicious in it. Dangerous. Pollux bristled, startling Uriah for a moment as he took off with a clear peal of a bell and zipped out of the chamber. When he returned his attention to Erebos, the naga had ascended the stairs, and was nearly eye level with him thanks to his height. Uriah stepped back instinctively.

“I told you that he can’t speak to you now. You need to go.”

“I heard you. But I also heard you offer to deliver a message in my stead. And I have quite the message to give,” Erebos said coolly, one pair of his hands folding behind his back as he slid around Uriah’s side, cutting him off and forcing him between the naga and the rest of his long, scaled body. Uriah frowned up at him and furrowed his brow.

“You need to leave. Now. I won’t tell you again.”

“And what, pray tell, do you intend to do to make me leave, hmm? Rumor has it that you’re still weak, still new. All that power and you have no idea how to use it...”

Erebos smirked down at him, reaching out and grasping his jaw firmly.

“But you are pretty, for a mortal. No wonder he likes you.”

Uriah slapped his hand away and scowled. His fists shook at his sides.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled.

Erebos chuckled.

“Do you know much about the Shadow deities, mortal? We have a long history, but a great deal of the world has forgotten our importance,” the naga drawled, briefly turning his attention to the throne. He ran a hand along its smooth, polished stone, tracing his claws along the edge of the arms, staring at it longingly. Uriah watched him carefully, all of his nerves burning.

“We used to have a claim to the powers of the night, you see,” Erebos went on, “until the family of that wretched husband of yours caused the split. How can we, beings of hidden secrets and all darkness, compete with those who have power over both the night and the celestial heavens?”

He turned his gaze on Uriah, sharp and cold.

“We’ve tried so hard, for centuries, to get back what we once had, but no. The Night gods always take what we want.”

“Clearly you’re going about it the wrong way,” Uriah retorted acidly. Erebos paused, smirked, and then erupted into laughter. It sent a chill down Uriah’s spine.

“Oh, how right you are!”

Before he could react, one of Erebos’s clawed hands lashed out at him. The back of his hand struck Uriah soundly across the face, sending him down. Uriah sprawled for a moment before catching himself, gasping at the raw, stinging pain that flooded his cheek. He felt something hot on his face, and after moving his hand, he realized one of Erebos’s claws had cut him. Uriah winced up at the naga as he began descending towards him.

“You have no idea how right you are, little mortal,” Erebos growled. “I’ve learned from my predecessors that going for the Night God directly simply isn’t enough. You have to hit them where it hurts.”

Uriah backpedaled from him. He remembered his magic. Maybe it could help him! He rose a hand and tried to feel the force both in him and in the temple grounds, visualizing a vine striking where he wanted it—but all that came was a thin root-like fiber that wilted almost as soon as it appeared. Erebos sneered.

“If there’s one thing I know about your husband, it’s his reputation as a lover. Did you know you managed to snag the most sought-after bachelor in the pantheon, hmm? He’s known to be fiercely loyal and romantic, and he takes heartache oh so heavily. Personally I find it a bit gauche.”

Uriah forced himself to his feet and evaded a strike from the naga, but stumbled and just barely caught himself on the throne. He turned over just as Erebos lunged a second time, cornering him.

“And I think, precious tiny mortal, that perhaps the best way to hurt your doting husband, is with you.”

Uriah threw a fist at his face, but the naga caught him by the wrist. Erebos tutted, and then slammed his own fist into Uriah’s face. He cried out in pain, doubling over as he felt a bruise forming over his left eye; had he been wearing his glasses, there no doubt have been glass in his skin. Erebos dug a hand into his hair and yanked his face upwards, staring down smugly. He seemed to ponder a moment.

“Though I do wonder... Perhaps there’s a better way to do this, hmm? Oh, I could kill you easily enough, but where’s the fun in that? Your husband would moan and grieve, but he’d move on eventually. But to make it last...”

Uriah panted and stared up at him in pain.

“How much would your husband writhe if I took what was his?”

No. No, no, no...

“G-Get off of me!” Uriah spat, squirming as Erebos pinned him down. He could feel his tail weighing on his legs, forcing him flat onto the stone beneath him.

“I wonder how badly it would hurt him, if every time he wanted to touch you, he could only think of me touching you instead?”

“No!”

“The more you struggle, the more painful this will be. Well, for you, anyway,” Erebos taunted, claws teasing at Uriah’s throat.

He didn’t care if Orpheus wasn’t there. He didn’t care if he was thousands of miles away. He needed him. It was instinct.

“ORPHEUS!”

There was a flash in the chamber, and the sound of the air itself tearing open. Uriah wrenched his face towards it even as Erebos’s hand held his jaw. A portal. Orpheus’s portal. The god himself materialized in the room, eyes searching for only a second before comprehending the scene in front of him. Uriah twisted in Erebos’s hold and drove his knee into his middle, causing the naga to falter.

“Orpheus!”

“URIAH!”

Orpheus’s voice was a roar. Before Erebos could recover, he darted up the steps and threw his weight into him, sending the two of them sprawling in a whirl of roars and fangs and scales. They snarled at one another like rabid dogs, teeth flashing at each other’s throats. Orpheus gained the upper hand long enough to throw Erebos off of him, his body tumbling back down the stairs as Orpheus placed himself solidly between Uriah and the offending naga.

“You come to my temple, on my family’s ancestral grounds, and you attack my husband?! I’ll tear you apart!” Orpheus spat, shaking with rage. Erebos didn’t have a chance to retort with more than a violent hiss and bared fangs before Orpheus went for him a second time, catching his claws before sinking his own into Erebos’s shoulder. Uriah weakly pulled himself up onto his knees, using the throne for support. The two nagas were tangled with another in such a blur that he could only tell their upper bodies apart by the contrast of their hair and skin.

Erebos hissed and lashed at Orpheus’s torso with his tail, flicking it sharply like a whip. Orpheus cried out as his skin tore from the contact, recoiling and glaring. Uriah watched with his unbruised eye as Erebos prepared to lash out a second time.

“Orpheus! Watch out!”

“I’ll kill you,” Erebos snarled. “I’ll maim you, make you watch me take your mortal pet, and then I’ll kill you!”

Orpheus swore in his native tongue, hissing so loudly it hurt Uriah’s ears. He’d never seen his husband so enraged. He had to help him, somehow.

“Please work, please,” he pleaded, pressing a hand down to the stones and feeling for the hints of moss between them. He could feel the tie between the greenery and the ancient soil. It was there, right there...!

“Orpheus, move!” Uriah shouted. Orpheus looked back at him, and then back to Erebos, just before the stones between them trembled. Orpheus retreated, and Erebos lunged, and a violent eruption of vines and roots burst up to snare him. The naga roared in fury, writhing before Orpheus took him by the throat.

“You will never touch my husband again,” he snarled. “If you even think of it, I’ll give you a permanent reminder of what’s to come.”

There was a bloodcurdling scream as Orpheus tore his claws down one side of Erebos’s face, blood pouring from his eye before Orpheus threw him back to the mouth of the chamber.

“My eye! You! You wretch, you took my eye!”

“And I’ll take more if you don’t leave! Now!”

Erebos glared at Orpheus with his remaining eye.

“The Council will hear of this—“

“You’re damned right they will! Don’t forget that you came here and attacked my husband! Now get out, or the trial will be about your death!”

Erebos hissed, and Orpheus responded with another roar and a flash of nightfire that ran the entire length of the chamber.

“GET OUT!”

Finally, Erebos slunk off. Uriah exhaled and felt the last of the tension leave his body, leaning heavily against the stone throne next to him. He could fully feel the pain from Erebos’s strikes as the adrenaline wore off, and he whimpered as his blackened eye throbbed. He hadn’t even been aware that he’d started crying. Orpheus slithered to his side, lowering down and reaching out carefully.

“Uriah, look at me. Let me see your face,” he said urgently, cupping Uriah’s face in two of his hands. Uriah winced as Orpheus brushed his hair back.

“He hurt you,” Orpheus growled, brows knotted together in both anger and concern. “Did he touch you? He was on you when I got here, did he—“

“No,” Uriah answered tiredly. “H-He tried, but no. You got here before he could—“

Uriah shivered.

“I-I tried to fight him, I swear I did. I couldn’t stop him, Orpheus...”

“I know,” Orpheus hushed, “I know you did, love.”

He held Uriah’s face gently and began whispering healing spells, brushing his fingertips gingerly along the bruise on his face. Uriah winced and shuddered, still unused to the sensation even after so many years with Orpheus.

“H-How did you know?”

“What?”

“How did you know something was wrong?” Uriah asked. “I-I couldn’t contact you.”

“Pollux found me.”

A faint chime rang in the chamber, and Uriah looked over as the little sprite settled down onto the stone beside both of them.

“Pollux!”

Uriah set a hand down, letting the sprite climb up his arm. Pollux nuzzled him and jingled softy.

“Good boy,” Uriah praised, bending his face into the tiny creature’s nuzzling. “Good boy, Pollux. Atheer trained you well.”

“Yes, he absolutely did,” Orpheus said gratefully, reaching up to stroke a finger down the sprite’s spine. “I’m sure Father will be wanting him back soon, though.”

He sighed suddenly and looked to Uriah, his face softened with worry and remorse. Orpheus brushed a hand through Uriah’s hair, and traced his slowly healing face. He didn’t even care about his own stinging wounds. He leaned forward and pulled him close, holding him so tightly Uriah could feel him shaking. Pollux fluttered down to the floor and watched with a sad whistle.

“I’m so sorry, Uriah.”

“Orpheus...”

“I should have taken more precautions. I was arrogant in thinking my title would protect you when I’m not there. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Uriah said firmly, even surprising himself. He held Orpheus back and squeezed. “That bastard came here wanting to start something. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were here, or if your family was here either. He wanted to hurt you.”

“And he tried to do it by harming you...”

Orpheus pulled his head back and looked into Uriah’s face. He felt so angry and ashamed seeing the bruises there, and knowing how helpless his husband would’ve been if he hadn’t been alerted in time.

“I’m going to ask my father if there’s a way you can reach me when I’m gone. I won’t leave you alone again, not until I have a better way to protect you. I will never let anyone hurt you again, I promise.”

Uriah brushed his hand against Orpheus’s cheek and pressed their foreheads together.

“There will be a trial. The Council will want to know what happened. Will you be alright facing him a second time?”

“As long as you’re there,” Uriah said, nodding. “Wait, my injuries... They’ll need to know. How will they if your magic is healing me?”

“Trauma lingers in beings’ auras. The Council will have someone gifted in such sight to determine if your injuries correlate to your story and mine. Words can lie, but your being’s energy will not. And I won’t stand for you being in pain any longer than you need to be.”

Orpheus kissed his forehead and helped him up, lifting him to avoid any further strain. They’d both need rest in order to recover.

—

The trial came as Orpheus had said it would. Facing Erebos a second time was unnerving, but Uriah carried himself well; his husband couldn’t have been prouder of him. Erebos was swiftly found to be wholly at fault, his rank and title stripped. The shadow deities would need to find a new heir to their leading god, now that he was banned from inheriting it.

As for the protection Orpheus promised, he was grateful to his father for informing him of a talented fortune deity who specialized in charmed items. Orpheus borrowed Uriah’s wedding band for only as long as necessary, returning it to him once a channeling charm had been placed upon it.

“You can call for me whenever you need me,” Orpheus explained, sliding the band back onto his husband’s finger. “I will hear you, and I will know where you are. You will never need to worry about being alone and unprotected. Whatever happens, wherever you are, I will come for you.”

Uriah admired the ring again. He would always be proud of it, of everything it meant. He held out his hand for Orpheus’s and slid his ring back on as well, raising it to his lips to kiss the band.

“We’ll be okay,” Uriah said soothingly, holding Orpheus’s hand close. His husband bent his head down and nuzzled him, squeezing his hands.

“Yes,” Orpheus sighed against him, “we will.”

[doubleshotofsomething]

Come Into My Life

Part one Part two ---

Song Prompt: “Entra en mi vida” by Sin Bandera

Warnings: swearing. That’s it. 

Author’s Note: so technology is finally cooperating with me. the remaining two parts will be out by midnight. which is in like...two hours here.

Summary: If the Horse won’t drink the koolaid. Then the Koolaid will drink the horse

--

“You seem to think this is something you can hide from.”

--

Part Three: Quiero que seas dueña de mi corazón

So...

Apparently...

The mountain decided to move out and stalk Muhammed.

Because, on your living room couch, sat the golden haired, blue eyed, mammoth of your self-proclaimed safety precaution.

"I hope you don't mind," Thor grins, hands stretched on the back of the couch. "I let myself in."

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Because, what the fuck?

"I used that bedroom window that you keep leaving unlocked."

You were on the penthouse floor of your apartment building. It was once owned by some millionaire that had trust issues when it came to banks, so their home security rivaled that of any Stark Industries offices. But then again, Stark Industries did create that security system.

So, you left your bedroom window unlocked. Because, unlike a certain ice capsule that slept through decades of technological advancements, you knew what a parachute looked like. You know, incase you needed to use a window on the top floor as an escape.

"I'm gonna pretend like I didn't just walk into my place, just to find you lounging around on my favourite couch, like you own the place--" You begin as you kick off your shoes. "--and then, I'm going to completely ignore the fact that your glorified knife is chilling on my coffee table, as if it contributed money when I was buying it. And then--"

"You're going to ignore my presence and hope I go away?" He cuts in, grin widening.

You glare. "You're a bad hair day on a work day piled up with meetings."

The grin falls off instantly and the purest look of confusion replaces it on his face. "Huh?"

"Get out of my house, Thunder Lord. I have super hero things to do." You sigh, taking off your coat and neatly folding it against the back of the chair.

You head into the kitchen, having expected him to be gone already, only to find him leaning against your fridge. Arms crossed and completely unmoving, Thor flashes you a grin.

"So--"

"--I said leave."

"I heard you," he nods. "Considered it for a moment, truly. But then, I recalled every attempt on your life since this world found out about you. I have to tell you, I had half a mind to take you away from this realm. Somewhere safer--"

He must have fallen and bumped his head, you're sure of it.

"--but this is your home. This is where you want to be and I could never hurt you like that. So, here I am." His grin widens, as if this is something to be proud of. "Your personal ironman suit. Here to stay, until all threats against you have been executed."

You narrow your eyes at him. "You mean eliminated."

He stares back. "No, executed. With an axe. Against the neck. Then they're head placed next to the external flame, or a spike, or hung on the walls of the living room--" he glances in the direction of said room. "--it could really use some colour."

"Hang on--" you blink. "--I think you're doing that thing again where you're telling me how to live my life and I tuned out. So, I might not have heard you correctly."

Sighing, Thor moves away from the fridge to stand in front of you. He gently cups your face in both hands, watching as your eyes widen -- because what the fuck? -- and gives you a gentle smile.

He knows you're not ready to hear what he has to say. He knows he can't force it all on you like this. But he can't sleep at night, not knowing if you actually made it to bed in one piece. And he can't always be there, watching over you, all the time. He'd love to, but he has work to do.

So, he chooses to grab the bull that you are by the horns. He chooses flight, over fight.

"I can have SHIELD agents following you, shadowing you, monitoring you every second of every day--" his thumb gently brushes your cheek. "--you know I can do it. You know there is nothing you can do to stop it. Or, you can accept the fact that I am your current security detail until further notice."

You must have had too much caffeine, because your heart just did a weird tap dance.

"Does Sam know about this?" You take a few steps back and push his hands away.

Thor chooses to ignore the way his chest tightened with those actions. "He said you're going to murder me in my sleep."

"Oh, so he was kind enough to warn you."

--

You had been expecting it.

The thought of an Avenger suddenly escorting you every where, or tailing you, had been something that crossed your mind. You knew, at some point, that Sam would get tired of your choice in security protocols.

You knew that Fury would consider you too much of a risk, to let you remain unsupervised. You were also aware of the fact that this 'deal' was his way of keeping an eye on the management of the company. The man didn't trust anyone, not even you. Not that you could blame him, it's not like you trusted him either.

So you kept all the assassination attempts, and occasional hostile take-overs, hidden. Even with Sam and Hope personally overseeing all security updates done at your home, you still managed to keep the death threats, attempts, that pressure plate bomb that found its way beneath your mattress, and the kidnapping attempts hidden.

If there was one thing you were Avenger-level good at, it was hiding things.

Not even Thor knew about all of them. And you were well aware of how hard that would be, considering how stalkery he has been since he witnessed you accidently hold that axe.

You expected this. Really, you did. What you didn’t expect, was him.

Thor. Odinson. God of Thunder. Pain in your ass. Bane of your existence. The bad side of all your jokes and jabs. That Thor, was the one assigned as your security detail.

“No, no-- Sam, you’re not listening.” You were late for a meeting, because the only hairdryer in your apartment had been considered a safety risk and was tossed out your bedroom window, and then struck -- midair -- by a lightning bolt.

“Sam, you asshole, listen. This idiot had the audacity to move himself into my apartment, make me take the stairs, invade all my meetings, rearrange my furniture--” your anger was getting stronger and stronger with everything you listed. “--he sits on my favourite couch, Sam. My couch. You know how hard it was for me to get that couch. You know--” 

“I’m sure he’s just looking out for you--”

“The stairs! Sam, he is making me take the stairs!” 

“I offered to carry you--” Thor adds from beside you. Unlike your practically-a-sprint jogging pace, your glorified Jarvis is casually strolling beside you, as you rush up the staircase to your office.

You choose to ignore him. “Give Bucky the phone. I wanna talk to him--”

“Y/N--”

“I just wanna apologise to him. Is that so wrong? I just want him to know that I’m sorry I used his arm to crack open his tub of ice cream. I just wanna tell him that I miss him and I’m ready to be the woman he needs--” 

“I am not swapping Thor with Bucky.”

“But we’re in love!”

Thor scoffs, opening the door for you.”You don’t even know what that word means.”

You don’t get to hear what Sam says. Because you’re hurling your phone at Thor before you even realise it and, just like your hairdryer, a lightning bolt slices it apart before it reaches its target.

He sighs. “We need to work on your aim.”

--

Tags: @nekoannie-chan​, @thorfanficwriter​

[catharrington]

1. Cream in my coffee

2. Honey in my tea

3. Rum in my cola:

Steve’s not in the best of shape to hit a party the next night, less than 20 hours from his walk of shame and he’s sporting bruises on his wrists and a migraine— but he’s a high school senior. Even if fallen from grace, has to keep face. Even if the only thing he’s had over the entire day was a couple cups of tea with way too much sugar dissolved inside the mug.

Steve knew if he drank on an empty stomach it wouldn’t take long to get drunk, and a part of him is counting on it.

The stainless steel kettle is still out on his stove top. The lights leading to his kitchen are all still flipped on. He doesn’t want to touch anything. Doesn’t want to disturb the cloud of cigarette smoke and bad boy attitude Billy left lingering when he came and went. Steve doesn’t touch anything for those 20 hours because it will feel too much like he’s trying to hold Billy’s hand.

Instead, he stayed in his room, washing his skin until it rubbed red and then washing it again. Running his fingers through his hair to work his organic, name brand product in fresh. No more somber burnt coffee feelings of itchy bed sheets on his skin.

Steve comes out of his bathroom with a towel tied low on his hips. He traces his hands over the back of his desk chair where he laid out Billy’s jacket. He didn’t ask to keep it, also didn’t offer to give it back. Just kept it.

That night, when he decides he is going to keep face and show up at the graduating class’ senior year bash, he reaches for the jacket again to slip it on. It goes on much easier than in the Camaro where he gingerly grazed it over open wounds. Now the marks on his wrists are sore purple and black, and less burning red, but he’s happy to have the longer sleeves to pull down. To cover up.

He backs his expensive BMW out his driveway, he flipped all the lights off so his house looks decrepit, abandoned, as he pulls away.

Tina’s house is big, not as big as his, but big enough to come to a party and go unnoticed if you tried hard enough. Steve’s plan was to swim in, drink some beer and mix it with harder liquior to get him drunk faster, say a few short quips to make someone anyone laugh, then leave where he came. Maybe stumble home and find a sickly grey, dripping blood from the knife edges of teeth it calls a mouth, demogorgon he can sink his boiling anger into.

But now, he felt along the floral wallpaper as he made his way to Tina’s kitchen. He gets there and wraps his hands around the bottle of a chilled beer right from the fridge when the remote control hits pause.

“Thought I might find you here,” a voice dribbles down the back of his neck like burning alcohol. “I’m happy you got home safe, Steve.”

The long sleeve shirt Steve picked for the night feels too high up on the collar for him now. Feels choking and painful as he hears that voice again. The voice that was disappointed, not mad, even when Steve wanted to fight.

“You gonna look at me?” The man asks. An uppity tone to his voice. Makes Steve whip around his head to level him with a glare. The bruises on his wrists move with how hard he’s gripping the neck of his beer bottle. If it was any weaker, if he was any stronger, he could shatter it in his hands.

“What’s to look at?” Steve says quiet. They’re mostly alone in the kitchen. But the fluorescent lights are much brighter than any light that should shine down on their relationship. “I told you yesterday, I’m finished.”

The guy sighs out, stirs his mixed drink he’s nursing before he pushes it towards Steve down the counter. Steve doesn’t touch it, doesn’t even think of touching it. If the little gesture has done anything, it’s been to make his teeth grind down.

“You’re really gonna throw this away,” the man says smoothly, scooting close as his drink.

“Yeah,” Steve flicks dark brown eyes from the drink to the man’s face, “I guess I’m just not cut out for what you want.”

“You don’t know that until you try. Experiment-.”

“We tried plenty, decided I didn’t like most of it,” and Steve’s vision doesn’t waver even if his voice slightly does, “decided I didn’t like you.”

The guy swallows thickly. Takes his plastic cup and takes a swig long and loud. He’s obnoxious in the way he gulps it down, licks his lips to chase the dark liquid from the corners of his mouth, and leans in close enough so Steve can smell the mix on his lips. Rum and cola, the easiest fucking thing. The cheapest fucking thing. He’s had it at lots of parties, now he just feels sick about it.

“Back off me, man,” Steve whispers.

“Don’t be scared,” he slurs, reaching one hand that isn’t swirling his foul smelling drink and uses it to cup over Steve’s arm. Slides his big hand down around his wrist, squeezes denim into bruises, drawls out a hiss Steve doesn’t have time to muffle. Squeezed again when he figures it out.

Steve yanks out the hold quickly, pulling his arm back to his stomach to protect it, the other one pushing his beer bottle between them as if that’ll protect him. Maybe he will smash it over this guys head. Maybe he’ll smash it over the counter and use the sharped neck to carve away the mold growing over this guys skin.

That would take all night, so Steve only throws a glare before he’s moving off the counter and into the party.

He gets lost in the waves of people on people, grinding and pushing and laughing and drinking all together. Steve bumps against a guy, dark hair and freckles on his face, gets a plastic cup poured down his shirt for his troubles. But Steve isn’t listening to the empty threats. He scowls, shoots a “fuck off, Tommy,” before he keeps going.

Ends up on the back porch, the nighttime air trying to curl it’s fingers into the warm denim of Billy’s jacket. It doesn’t stand a chance. But there are real fingers chasing the air. They wrap around Steve’s wrist again and again dig into his tender skin. He’s got the beer bottle still in his hand and it swooshes around as he grips it like he’s ready for a fight.

But when he turns around: it’s Billy, Billy Hargrove, curly blond hair and dark eyelashes. Groomed brows drawn to a straight line of worry on his face. His hand drops from Steve’s wrist quicker than Steve can drop the beer bottle with a clatter to the ground.

The amber liquid pours out like honey between the wooden deck to the grass below.

“Gonna take a swing at me?” Billy asks. His voice humored, gentle, infuriatingly relaxing.

“Don’t touch me, Hargrove.” Steve warns.

Billy holds his hands up in the air. He’s wearing a new jacket, soft brown leather that’s worn almost down to the thread, thankfully, he’s not missing his denim jacket that got adopted out too much.

“You can take a swing, I won’t punch back. But you’ll be stuck on full nerd car ride duty if I die so good luck with that, Stevie,” he says with a wink.

Steve doesn’t reply. Just glances around the porch until he finds a rail to lean against.

“Hey,” Billy keeps his soft voice low.

He follows Steve with the moonlight midnight blue dancing on his dark tanned skin. He lays a hand over Steve’s shoulder. One hand goes to touch his jaw so lightly Steve’s thinking he’s imagining it. Until Billy’s thick fingers slide up the bone and curl behind his ear. Tangled with the longest parts of his hair. It’s too familiar, far too familiar, for what little they are. But Steve can’t help but lean into the touch.

Coming to the party was a bad idea. He’s got half a beer in his stomach and a drink spilt down his shirt, and Steve’s already feeling sick enough to purr under Billy’s touch.

“What happened?” Billy asks. Steve doesn’t reply, lets his eyes slide closed and his skin soak up the warm fingers.

“It’s not... God- it’s not some monster shit again?” Billy’s voice is hushed.

Steve doesn’t know how to reply. No, he wants to say, of course not, but with the clawing rage building inside him mixing stiffly like a cheap drink with the fear he felt as he ran out of the kitchen; maybe it was a monster.

He doesn’t get to reply though, before the screen door to the porch is creaking open behind them.

“Steve?” the man, monster, calls out for him.

Opening his eyes, Steve sees the wild back of Billy’s hair, curled tight and sticky with hairspray, and golden, so fucking golden, in the single naked bulb on the porch. Steve doesn’t have to see him to see him. He’s been on the receiving end of Billy’s glare enough, just last night before he got in the Camaro. It makes his toes curl in his socks.

“Glad I found you, babe,” the man leaves the door open, the pollution of light and noise spilling out over Billy’s gentle touch. Turns his shoulders rigged. Steve wants to cup them as comforting as Billy did to him last night, but he can’t. Only holds his own hands, his bruised wrists in his cold fingers, while he watches.

Billy doesn’t step aside, says, “what’s it ya lookin for, buddy?” while blocking Steve’s view like a wall.

The man catches himself for a second, he’s older but not by much, not by enough. And nothing the rum in his cola wouldn’t have equalized. “Steve,” he groans annoyed, “let’s go, we need to talk this out. Like two adults.”

And that gets Steve’s skin itching, scratchy, wants to rip a bat hammered through with nails into something soft. “There’s nothing more I have to say to you, oh- except maybe one thing: fuck off!”

“Don’t be immature about this-,”

“Didn’t you hear him?” Billy doesn’t let him finish. Cuts off that tone of disappointment like he was made to do it. Sends a shiver down Steve’s spine. He sits up on the railing just enough to see the man over Billy’s shoulder.

He notices the way the open door let a few curious eyes gather. One red flushed freckled face and curly red hair stand out. Steve looks between Tommy and Carol and Billy’s lip turned up into a snarl.

“Pretty boy here said fuck off, bitch,” he snarls, dog like, and each word is angrier than the next.

Tommy smiles wide, Steve recognizes that more than he should. And it’s familiar in a familiar painful sort of way. He wishes he was back in his kitchen away from all this. With the Billy who made him tea. Now he’s with Hawkins High tip of pyramid, wolves looking out for their pack with the same fervor they have to taste blood on their fangs.

Steve doesn’t know if this is about him anymore, a part of him knows it is, a part of him wants to think Billy is doing this singuarilly to defend him, but a shadow from his past is creeping in the open doorways yellow light smirking as if it knows better.

“Let’s go, Billy,” Steve says. He’s tired of thinking so much. Exhausted from it. Just wants to sink into leather Camaro seats and upturn the collar of Billy’s jacket and smell again. “Let’s get out of here,” he repeats, stepping forward to get a hand on Billy’s back.

“Oh! You’re not going anywhere!” The man slurs out as he zeros in on Steve’s hand, but those were the wrong words.

Quicker than Steve can think through his headache, quicker than the man can see through the haze of alcohol, but just as fast as a high school student’s hyena laughter; Billy’s hand balls into a fist and cracks against bone.

Snap, and the man is lurching backwards, his hands flying up to cup around his nose. Blood pours down his face and between his fingers red like the plastic cup he dropped on the ground. More dark brown liquid sloshes around his feet.

Billy moves without mercy. He scoops the man up by the collar of his shirt, yanking him to attention, getting real close.

“No one tells me what to do,” he hisses.

Steve can’t fucking take it. He reaches forward again, this time getting a fist in Billy’s jacket and pulling the fabric tight to get his attention. Feels like he’s pulling on a wild animals leash but he keeps pulling.

“Let him go, Hargrove, he’s not worth it,” he tells him what to do. Voice quiet under Tommy’s laughter and Carol’s cheers.

“Let’s go,” Steve presses the point of his sharp nose into the soft spot behind Billy’s ear, whispers right to him.

It’s easy as pressing a button on the other boy. Billy drops the man heavy on the ground. Listens to Steve above all the noise. He turns into the touch, allows it when Steve’s hand slides from where his jacket is bunched in the back and down to his wrist.

Steve wraps his hand around Billy’s wrist and pulls.

They stumble together down the steps of Tina’s back porch. They stumble together across the dark grass in the middle of the night and search blindly for a baby blue Camaro. Billy finds it first, pressing his overheated skin against the chilled metal. Steve walks around the front, leading with his hands over hands across the hood to keep his balance. They drop into the leather seats. Steve takes a gulp of air that’s just as satisfying as lighting up his own marlboro red.

The engine starts to life, vibrating under his ass and pushing the blood through his slug stiff veins. Billy growls along with it. Throws his head back. His curly hair flattened on the back by his headrest as he opens his pretty mouth wide to holler. One hand gripping the wheel is skinned on the knuckles, blood just starting to drip out.

Steve lets his head fall back same as Billy. His chest heaving as hard as it was in the boys locker room showers, when his vision was orange glow and California sun kissed skin. And all he could think about was how mustaches feel when you kiss them.

Billy turns to him. Smug smile on his face. Trying to get a rise out of him.

“How’s that for fighting monsters, pretty boy?” he shouts.

Steve takes a second to breath. Closes his eyes and opens them slow just to make sure he’s got his head on right. Then he replies, “I fucking love fighting monsters with you, Billy,” and he means it.

[cherrybombusa]

GROUP ONE  - THE LIBRARY. SUCCESS.

PLAYERS:

THE ARTIST - Sloane Salt. THE ROMANTIC - Mac Walsh.  THE  FILMMAKER - Zev King.  THE MANNEQUIN - Lilli Montgomery.  THE BITCH - Zahra Jackson. THE WRITER - Noah Russell. 

PERKS EARNED: 

WALK IN MY SHOES: After Jamie Dyer spilled his secret to save his friends, he’s been rewarded with the ability to put other people in his shoes! If something happens to Jamie he doesn’t like, he has the ability to switch places with any character as if it happened to them instead. 

MEMORABLE MOMENTS: 

-MAC GOT TAKEN BY THE KILLERS.  -LILLI GOT GRABBED TWICE AND TAKEN.  -SLOANE ATTACKED A MAN ON LSD AND SAVED ZEV. -JAMIE SPILLED HIS SECRET TO CLARISSA - AND THE REST OF CHERRY. 

THE NARRATOR: It might not have been a quiet night, maybe not even uneventful, but the Gang found themselves grateful, at least, that the Candy Girl hadn’t shown her face. It was nearing midnight now, and with only Paulie Virginia checking on the kids before they fell asleep on the sand, and Lucas Bright left straggling on the beach with the Gang, they were sure to turn-in soon. 

They were gathered around the bonfire, talking and laughing - almost even letting their guards down - but the screech of three white vans pulling up to the shore interrupted every little conversation taking place around the bonfire. They didn’t want to think anything of it at first… College kids in this town were wild, and they were all piling back into town this week, after all. But when a group of masked, hooded figures with baseball bats, and kitchen knives galore began making their way out of the vehicles, and onto the beach - what were they supposed to do but worry?

OFFICER PAULIE: “Hey! Stop right there!”

THE NARRATOR: It was almost instinctual for the rookie to go right into barking cop voice, even with no back up  - stupid, of course - but another ‘Candy Girl’ stunt was the last thing he was going to let happen on his watch. The man reaches for the taser in his belt, just like he was trained to do, but just as he gets it free, the blur of a body rushing forward - Lucas Bright - distracts him for a split enough second to fumble. 

Paulie almost yells for Lucas to stop, but before he can get the words off of his tongue, the Bright kid nearly runs headfirst into one of the masked figures' fists. It’s shocking how hard he falls - makes Paulie wonder if he’s okay - but before he can wonder too much, he realizes too late that one of the hooded figures has gotten the jump on him. He’s half expecting the figure to reach for his taser - the oh shit moment of the century - but when Paulie feels a baseball bat connect with his ribcage… He almost wishes he had been tased. Might have hurt less.

CANDY GIRL: “Hello, my little freaks and geeks! Did you miss me and my little friends? Because I think tonight is about to get a little more fun.”

THE NARRATOR:  ...Uh oh. Maybe I spoke too soon about the Candy Girl not showing her face. 

It doesn’t take long to get the gang tied up - not with the threat of knives, and Paulie’s discarded taser at the hooded groups disposal - and the ringleader of this little group, the one bouncing around telling everyone what to do, seems absolutely giddy with her capture. What else are you supposed to expect from faceless psychos, though, right?

CANDY GIRL: “Here’s the game tonight, losers! We’re gonna split you up and see if you can pass our little trials. Those who do? They get to go home tonight! Those who don’t…. Well, you might end up closer to Lux than you thought you were before.”

THE NARRATOR: Candy turns toward one of the other masked figures - one that seems like her Helper - flicking her chin toward the Gang. It’s a cue, and that much becomes clear when one-by-one, each of them has a hood slipped over their face, obstructing their view nearly completely.

CANDY GIRL: “But first, we’re going on a little trip!”

THE NARRATOR: It’s hard for the Gang to know just how they’ve been split up, but as they’re pushed forward toward the parking lot - the sound of Paulie’s and Lucas’s far-off groaning in their ears - they know one thing. They’re completely fucked, and there’s nothing they can do about it with their hands tied behind their backs… Especially not when they’re about to be shoved into the back of those fucking vans.

Nobody’s really sure how long they’ve been driving - they’re all too terrified to try and keep count - but by the time the van finally slows to a stop, they’re all dragged right back out onto solid ground, and into… some old building. Just where, is the question.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE BEEN TAKEN BY THE CANDY GIRL TO CCU FOR A NIGHT OF FUN. DON’T DIE!

THE NARRATOR: Maybe it’s the heavy doors that give away their final destination, or maybe it’s the musty smell of old textbooks, but those who had ever stepped foot into the CCU library know right where they are at that moment. It’s a comforting place for some - one that induces only stress, or indifference to others - but it’s hard to imagine that it won’t be a place that brings anxiety after tonight; just as tainted as the boardwalk, or even walking along Lux’s and Harvey’s block might be. Now is no time to think about how they might feel in the future, though -- if they even make it that far. No, they’re going to have to make it through tonight first.

The gang is led into the room like lambs to slaughter - Jamie carried not-so-nicely over one of the maniacs shoulders - but once they’re situated, the hoods that cover the gang’s faces come off; they even cut the ropes off from around their wrists, but the knives, and baseball bats manage to keep everyone in their place. The library is dimly lit, with only it’s balcony lights shining down on the grandiose room; the bank of computers on the second floor is like a beacon, beckoning them forward. It almost seems normal for a moment, like they were just there studying after-hours, but the two figures heading the circle - Candy and her supposed assistant - shock them back into reality with a clap of their hands.

CANDY GIRL: “Like I said, we’re gonna play a little game tonight, boys and girls! But, you’re all oh-so-familiar with games, aren’t you? Especially after our special little stunt at the boardwalk.”

THE NARRATOR: Her voice could almost be considered familiar, but nobody in the room really knows where to place the memory of it. Did she actually sound like that recording on the beach? Was she someone they knew? The gang just looks at each other from any angle that they can; making eye contact at whatever cost, as if it might help them all jog their memory to know they’re on the same page. They don’t get another chance to listen, though, as the other figure - Candy's helper - begins speaking.

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER:  “She’s written some riddles!”

THE NARRATOR:  They pull a sheet of paper from their pocket.

CANDY GIRL: “And you’re going to solve them! Don’t worry about the doors -”

THE NARRATOR:  The movement is clearly rehearsed as a number of their captors - five, if you’re counting - head toward the door. Three of them leave, but the other two begin looping chains through the antique handles, locking them into the room with no real escape but up… And we know just how well this group does with climbing.

NOAH RUSSELL: Of course. They couldn't have one fucking night could they? Although what more could he have expected from the masked figure who thought a funeral was the time and place to play spin the bottle. The library of all places had a chilling feel to it in comparison to the beach. Almost theatrical like every horror book he'd ever read, and he sure as hell had read a lot of them. "I'm getting real sick of these damn riddles." He started as he thought about taking a step towards the door before thinking better of it. These people had knives, bats, and while on their own that didn't have to overly intimidating, this was the same person who only too recently before had blown up an entire carousel. "Anyone opposed to taking out the windows?"

SLOANE SALT: On some level Sloane knew that this was... a bad situation. There were scary people with what looked like weapons. Extremely tall people, some as tall as the ceiling, maybe and swaying.  The hooded girl's voice sounded kind of familiar, but considering the state she was in, she could hardly pin point who it was. She hadn't said much of a word on the way to the library mostly because she didn't really want anyone to know that she was feeling weird and now she was sitting on her ass, staring at her newly freed hands. "When did I paint these...?" She muttered to herself, turning her head entirely too slowly to look over at Noah as he spoke. As she took in his words, her expression quickly shifted to offence, her eyes widening and her mouth opening in fear. Those poor windows, they hadn't done anything to anyone. "No, don't hurt them!"

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER: “--Um, excuse me? You’re totally throwing us off our rhythm!”

THE NARRATOR: Candy’s little Helper interrupts the conversations with an annoyed tone, as if they’re the ones inconveniencing her night. It’s strange, how nonchalant it is, but Candy just just shushes her. You can't even see her face, but you can almost just tell she's rolling her eyes beneath the mask.

CANDY GIRL: “Will literally just say your line?

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER: "Fine! You need three keys, and three keys, exactly!"

CANDY GIRL: "Or you'll spend the night -"

THE NARRATOR: Maybe it’s the fear of the moment that kept all of their eyes focused on the two masked figures interacting with them - tunnel vision, of sorts - but it only makes the loud squish of blade entering flesh even louder than it should have been. The group of them flinching before Candy even has a chance to start shrieking through the pain of the blade in their side.

It was almost unbelievable that it had happened at first - did it even make sense that the Candy Girl’s henchmen were even turning on her?  - but the blood splashing against the tile had to have been proof enough that it wasn’t just some fucked up group hallucination… One that didn’t seem so expected by either Candy Girl, or the other henchmen.

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER: “What the fuck is wrong with you!”

THE NARRATOR: Fair question. And the attacker should have heard it - as loud as the second-not-so-in-charge-figure shrieked - but the knife-wielder didn’t even flinch as he dragged Candy toward the bookshelves; blood pouring from the wound in her side.

The other mask - Candy’s little helper - almost considers running for it, throws the note from her hands in anticipation of getting the fuck out of there…  but she hardly gets a chance when her own attacker - the other one of the maniacs who had chained the door - comes from behind her and squeezes their hulking arms around her fame. They have their own knife; one that plunges directly into her abdomen, but the Gang doesn’t have much time to watch as the attacker laughs and drags her toward his own row of bookshelves.

What. The. Fuck.

There’s only a moment of hesitation - it had all happened so quickly - but the gang wastes no more time before fleeing to opposite sides of the library, Mac helping Jamie as best as he can in the struggle. The sound of the woman’s dying screams echo across the space, shaking all of them to their core… but they all know one thing: they need to get their hands on that riddle.

If they’re locked in, then it might be their only way of getting out.

MAKE A CHOICE:  MAC, JAMIE, LILLI, AND NOAH ARE ON THE LEFT SIDE OF THE LIBRARY, HIDING BEHIND THE LIBRARIAN’S DESK. ZEV, SLOANE, AND ZAHRA ARE ON THE RIGHT SIDE, MAKING THEIR WAY UP THE STAIRS TO THE SECOND LEVEL.

MAC: Tonight is the first time in his life that Mac thinks he shouldn't have went along with one of Libby's ideas. How stupid of them was it to all gather in one spot in the middle of the night? They might as well have asked Sloane to paint perfect targets on their collective backs. He'd already been freaking out enough as it was, but the sound of that blade? The blood? If he made it out of here alive they were sure to be added to his ever growing list of nightmare material. A sudden rush of adrenaline as everyone begins to flee has him nearly carrying Jamie across the room, ducking under the desk, eyes searching to see if the rest of his friends had made it over unscathed. "What the fuck are we supposed to do now?"

NOAH: Even though he knew about the kind of antics the Candy Girl could have possibly gotten up to, there was a difference between knowing and seeing them first hand. Of course it wasn't the first time he'd seen blood drawn, but the blood from cut lips and faces after a brutal run in from home failed in comparison to what he'd just seen. Candy Girl was supposed to be their captor wasn't she? The one who'd been tormenting them since night one? The one who kept Lux fresh and at the forefront of their minds, unable to move on. Watching her fall to her knees, the screeches of pain that rang out behind them as they'd ducked for cover. It didn't make sense. Any trace of alcohol that had once been intruding his symptom felt faint in comparison as he hid beside the desk. "I don't know but we can't stay here. We're gonna be sitting ducks. We need to find those fuckin' keys, but looking in a library is going to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack." He added in a harsh whisper as he attempted to catch his breath.

THE NARRATOR: Split up and helpless. Fuck. Looks like they need that riddle if they're going to make it out of here alive.

MAKE A CHOICE:  SOMEBODY DOWNSTAIRS MUST RETRIEVE THE RIDDLE: WHO WILL IT BE?

MAC: Mac's eyes dart around the room, searching for the slip of paper he'd seen one of their captors pull out at the mention of riddles. He wasn't even sure if it would help them at this point, considering he was almost positive getting stabbed wasn't part of the plan, but it was their best option. Right? When his eyes finally land on the piece of paper his adrenaline once again kicks in, causing him to lunge across the room in an attempt to retrieve it.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS!

THE NARRATOR: Every step sounds like a symphony in their own ears, each and every movement too-loud, even masked by the sound of Candy and her Helper's screams, but somehow Mac manages to make his way back around the librarian's desk and toward where the riddle was thrown. He gets his hands on the blood soaked paper; the breath leaving his lungs as the sound of screaming begins to die - no pun intended - out. It’s not completely obvious what he should do next, but he makes eye contact with his friends behind the librarian's desk; with the few on the second level. 

They’re never going to make it out of this without each other, so they better think fast. 

They hear the sound of the killers beginning to stir from somewhere within the maze of bookshelves, and just like that a plan forms in their freaky little hive mind. Someone needs to distract the killers while everyone else gets upstairs. But who will it be?

MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEBODY MUST DISTRACT THE KILLERS WHILE THEIR FRIENDS GET UPSTAIRS. SHOULD THEY THROW SOMETHING ACROSS THE ROOM ,  SNEAK ACROSS THE ROOM AND KNOCK SOMETHING OVER, OR SHOULD SOMEONE UPSTAIRS THROW SOMETHING OFF OF THE BALCONY?

ZAHRA:  Zahra peered down at the half left on the floor below. Things had gone wrong so quickly and in so many ways and compartmentalising was the only way any of them were getting out of this in one piece, so she did her best to ignore the fading screams. Instead she turned her focus to her surroundings. There had to be something she could throw down to distract the psychos - there! Her eye caught on a computer plugged in near the edge of the balcony. Wordlessly, she hurried over to it and yanked out the plug. Then, with as much of a heave as she could muster, she threw it over the edge.

MAKE A CHOICE: FAILURE!

THE NARRATOR: It was a long shot, but as Zahra tosses the computer off the railing, only one of the killers turns their head to investigate. The other? Well, their gaze lands directly on Mac. 

It’s hardly a split second before they cross the room toward them, and as hard as Mac tries to fight, but it’s no use - the threat of the knife, and the feeling of it’s handle knocking against the side of his face is enough to give the killer the upper hand… At least they have time to throw the riddle in the general direction of their friend before they’re dragged away toward the maze of bookshelves. 

It’s enough to the rest of the gang all in place, but they know they have to get upstairs -  they have to get the hell out of there, and save Mac.. if there’s even time. They all book it as fast as they can, everyone helping Jamie along the way, and somehow they manage to make it up the stairs before they’re spotted - one of them even manages to grab the riddle, even if they were silently hoping it wasn’t Mac's last gift to them all. 

At least it might actually save them. 

Their hearts are pounding loud enough in their chests that they might swear they could all count each other’s heartbeats. Now is no time to check up on each other, though - not as they lay the first riddle out in front of them

.

If you want the first key, you’ll have to find Me,

I’m the keeper of the scrolls, you see.

Melvil named the system, and I check it twice,

Are you feeling naughty? Then here’s some advice: 

I’ll name a book, or maybe name three -

You’ll choose the one that speaks to the dream 

Of losing it all, or leaving behind 

That sweet, sane, little part of your mind. 

Maybe they fight it, or maybe they end it, 

Maybe the pick is the one your friend mentioned. 

Will your gang make it out? Maybe -  who knows.

But I wouldn’t count on it, unless you all know who glows.

HOODED MANIAC: THE KILLER IS HERE.

THE NARRATOR: The killer hardly sneaks up on the, but the Gang is surprised anyway - each of them gasping as Lilli is snatched up by his grasp. She screams - she's caught - but the rest of them have a choice to make.

MAKE A CHOICE: LILLI HAS BEEN GRABBED. DO YOU TRY TO SAVE THEM OR LET THEM GO?

ZAHRA: Yeah, things with Lilli had always been a little contentious but there was no way Zahra was letting her be dragged away. They'd already lost Mac and that was fucking enough. She lunged forward and grabbed Lilli as she was snatched up.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS!

THE NARRATOR: It’s a great effort, and though they don’t manage much real damage, Zahra's still successful in getting her ""friend"" the hell away from that monster. The whole group is terrified, but they’re quick on their feet as they move somewhere else that could be deemed even semi safe within the madness to solve the next riddle.... Watch out though. I think the killer saw where you were going.

MAKE A CHOICE: LILLI RUNS FOR THE KEY.

THE NARRATOR: Lilli runs as fast as she can - the gang all sneaking close behind - and with the correct location, it’s not hard to find the key taped to a shelf in the history section, along with the next part of the riddle. It should be easy to get back to their friends, but before they can even turn around, she feels hands grasping around her limbs and yanking them back through the bookshelves yet again- dragging her away toward the maze of a room to… She didn’t even want to think about it. She just knew they had to fight - but she can’t do it alone.

MAKE A CHOICE:  DOES SOMEBODY WANT TO SAVE THEIR FRIEND, OR LET THEM DROP THE KEY?

THE NARRATOR: The gang can hear Lilli trying to fight her attacker - her screaming echoing through the space  - and though the guilt eats them alive, they know there’s nothing they can do about it. They just have to hope that the fact that the screaming gets further and further away and doesn’t just abruptly end - just like it did when those two masked maniacs got stabbed earlier - is a good sign. 

The remaining members make quick work of grabbing the key and the riddle, and try to find another safe spot in the library.

If you want to get out, don’t Twist and Shout, 

It’s not the Candy Man locking you out. 

If you feel Clueless, then here’s your clue - 

You can find Me behind door number two. 

How to know you’re close? Just think of the times, 

The 90’s are ending, but gossip still thrives! 

Once you’re through, don’t look any further - 

Your key can be found in the one with no murder.

ZEV: Zev scopes out the Librarian's desk and makes a move for it, trying to keep down and quiet as he dashes, heart pounding in his chest.

THE NARRATOR: Zev sprints with everyone else not far behind him. The key is there, taped beneath Glenda Logan's desk along with the last part of their riddle, but at the very last moment - before the Gang can warn him - one of the killers comes and hits him over the back of the head with his knife. He's got a hold on Zev, and as hard as he's fighting, he's not going to be able to make it out alone.

MAKE A CHOICE: DOES SOMEBODY WANT TO SAVE THEIR FRIEND, OR LET THEM DROP THE KEY? 

SLOANE SALT: All of the running around and masked killers has mostly been Sloane moving in accordance with everyone else, eyes bugged out of her face as she tries not to trip over her platform boots. When Zev gets snatched, it's as if enlightenment comes over her and she suddenly becomes aware that one of her favourite people, someone basically a little brother to her is in danger. "Let go of him!" She screeches as she reaches for him, using all of her body weight to try and pull him away.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCESS!

THE NARRATOR: Maybe it's the LSD, or just sheer willpower, but everyone swears they actually see the Killer flinch as Sloane screams like a banshee toward him. They groan in pain as their shoulder is pulled nearly out of place, and in fear they run as far as they can in the other direction.

 The whole group is terrified, if not confident, but they’re quick on their feet as they move somewhere else that could be deemed even semi safe within the madness to solve the next riddle.

Here’s your third key - you’re almost there! 

Unless you can’t take a bit of a scare. 

Your clues can be found with Clarissa Teller - 

But she’ll only tell you if you can impress her. 

Somebody’s secret must be told.

 It’s only then that I’ll give her the gold. 

So, hurry along! But only choose one.

Oh, wow, oh boy!

Now this will be fun.

MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEBODY MUST TELL CLARISSA THEIR SECRET ON THE COMPUTER UPSTAIRS. WHEN THEY DO, THE LOCATION OF THE THIRD KEY TO BE RELEASED.

NOAH: The panic that had gripped his chest as the evening grew, only intensified as they read their final clue. Mac had been taken, Lilli had been taken, he'd watched helplessly as Zahra saved Zev, and perhaps the bit that was the most impossible to forget, he'd seen the Candy Girl murdered before his very eyes. And while he didn't see the life fleeing from her eyes he could picture it a little too well. "Zev you okay?" He asked, in an attempted moment of calm and partially to distract from the racing of his own heart. Waiting the moment for some sort of nod before turning to the rest of the group. "What the hell is she talking about? What doesn't Clarissa know already?" He asked, his voice soft with profound fear as he glanced around the room. The first two clues while challenging in their own right, they seemed to fall into place, but he dreaded what could possibly be meant by the third.

SLOANE SALT: Sloane was definitely riding on more than one high at the moment, one of the unidentified form, from that pill she'd taken and one from saving Zev. She was breathing heavily, leaning on the table in the study room as she looked around at everyone who was still with them. They needed to get through this, that was the only thing that mattered, even if even the furniture was kind of freaking her out. Throwing her arms around Zev, she turned her head when she heard Noah's voice. Her mouth twisted as she fought off the urge to say something, a sly smile forming on her lips. "Come on, she doesn't know lots of secrets." Her eyes widened as she emphasised the 'lots'. In the state she was in, she was tempted to just start blurting out everything she knew, but then her head turned to Jamie and she suddenly felt guilty. "What do we do?"

JAMIE: Jamie had been watching the crew from the jump, lingering behind the rest not only due to his leg but his own dwindling motivation to be part of some messed up game when two of his favourite cohorts had gone missing with no promise of survival. This was what Cherry was now, a mecca of lost, frantic young adults enslaved to the whims of someone other than themselves.  As terrible as they were, Jamie didn't believe any of them deserved to be forced to admit to something they weren't ready for. That was why he'd agreed to hide the note, wasn't it?

When Sloane's desperate eyes met his, he'd already made up his mind.

"I'll do it," he said, with little fanfare. "Can someone help me up the stairs?"

By the time he was seated at the computer, his heroic resolve had diminished. Words that normally came easy for him sat bated behind still fingers as he thought of exactly what to write when he'd never allowed the thoughts to come to real fruition.

𝐝𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞:  Dear Clarissa, the day has finally come where I have to acknowledge your existence but rest assured that it's not by my own volition. I have a secret to tell you that I'm sure won't come as too big of a surprise. 

Last semester, I snuck in and did the SATs for Cherry High graduates who had the means to pay. My family is in debt, thanks to my father and his frivolous new wife, and I thought I'd be able to pay it off. I couldn't, but that's not the point. The point is that I enjoyed every minute of it. The studying, the acceptance, the shining accolades.

I mean, I wouldn't have to talk to you if I just went to college, would I?

THE NARRATOR: It probably feels like a punch in the gut to be selling their own secret to the local paper, but as they press send on the keyboard - as Clarissa starts typing - the power goes out, and the room goes dark. It’s terrifying at first, enough to make the Gang clutch at each other, like it might be their last moment… But when the sound of chains dropping from the door handles echoes through the room - followed by the scurry of sprinting out of the library - they almost think to breathe a sigh of relief. Could that really be it? Could it be over? 

They don’t move for nearly an hour - or maybe it just feels like an hour - but when they finally decide the coast is clear, the group of them  - or what’s left of them - sprint down the stairs, and the hell out of CCU as quickly as they can. Maybe it’s a betrayal to not even look for their friends… or maybe their bodies. But how are they supposed to stomach the thought of it? How are they expected to stick around with those… killers still on the loose? 

Are their friends still alive? Is the Candy Girl alive? Who knows. They just know they need to get the police down here to help their friends as soon as they can... even if it means leaving people behind for now.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED YOUR PLOT EVENT. YOUR FRIEND'S FATES ARE UNKNOWN.

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 1

Hello all, I come before you with another chapter of Midnight Striga. Just to let you know, this chapter will mark a shift in the tone of the story. While this shift will not apply to every chapter, and certainly not every scene, things will now move a bit differently. Thank you.

With a sigh, Amity Blight, scion and heir-apparent to Blight Industries, tied back her hair into its usual short tail. And at that, she had officially completed her preparations for today, the day of the Covention. There, she would be presented by her Tutor, Emperor’s Coven Head Lilith, as a standard of excellence. While normally Amity didn’t particularly care to be used as a living advertisement, for a position as prestigious as the Emperor’s Coven, it honestly brought a small smile to her face, a sign that her skills were being acknowledged. Nothing like her mother’s annoying “Private Sales” she had to put up with.

A ding caught her attention. Turning to her scroll, she read off the new message.

Hope it goz great!! Gonna be watching, you rule!!! ~Skara

Amity allowed a soft smile to cross her face. She was surprised, pleasantly so, how much hers and Skara’s relationship had grown. A girl she had originally written off as a mean-spirited bully actually had a lot of depth to her; sure, she was catty, she could be bratty, and was an absolute gossip machine, but she was bright, funny, and always willing to help her. If Amity knew of a way to head back in time, she’d probably try and talk herself out of pushing away Skara. She frowned. Maybe if she had been a better friend to Skara, or at least tried to be a friend at all, Skara wouldn’t be so broken up over Boscha.

Amity scowled at the thought of the three-eyed Witch. She had never had a high opinion of the other girl, she honestly had a high enough opinion about herself for the entire city, but that day, any respect she may have harbored for her died in flames. She snorted at the thought, remembering those strange flames Boscha had been throwing around that day. She had heard the story from Skara, that Boscha wasn’t in her right mind; frankly, Amity didn’t care. Boscha had always been a certain level of difficult, but Skara owed the girl nothing, and still defended even her worst actions.

Boscha was lucky she had been avoiding everyone for the last few days; otherwise, Amity would’ve personally informed her of her… displeasure. Still, today was an important day for her future, no reason to ruin her mood thinking about painful things. Yet, Amity couldn’t help but have her mind wander back to that day; she had humiliated herself, acted rashly, and most likely ostracized herself even further from Willow, and she offended someone she had never even met before because she couldn’t control herself.

Amity’s eyes narrowed. That human girl was an oddity; her kind were not from the Demon Realm, so how did she get here? How did she stop Boscha’s rampage? Amity needed to know. The next time they met, while she would certainly apologize for her conduct, she wasn’t walking away without a guarantee to get answers.

Chomping down on her lighter’s flame, and wasn’t that still a weird thought, Boscha languidly ambled along, having gotten up and ready early so she wouldn’t have to interact with her parents. The Covention was today, one of the biggest events of the year, especially for Hexside Students. Boscha scoffed. She had never really gotten what the big deal was; before, her future was set on the image of being a professional Grudgby player, so the whole Coven thing was an annoying distraction at best. Even now, when she felt lost inside, she didn’t get the full appeal.

Although… she would admit to being rattled from her confrontation in the rain. A shudder crawled up her spine as she recalled the Owl Beast, it’s Witch-like face twisted into an animal’s leer. If something like that came to those who defied the Coven System, not that she necessarily believed it, then she would try to toe the line a bit, at least in public. But, when she recalled that fight, the way her blood pumped, her heart raced, the heady scent of fire filling her nose, she couldn’t fight the feral smile that crawled across her face.

Boscha wanted to fight again. It was something she just knew she had to do. Just thinking about it, the threat of violence and the clashing of strength and skill, made her feel so alive!! But… the screaming would come back if she fought for real, she knew it. She could even hear it now, the screaming, the accusations. Boscha slapped herself, forcing her mind away from the thoughts that were coming.

Still, it was a new day, something she should make the most of. She should probably check out the Covention today, if only to keep word spreading that she was a no-show. She couldn’t help but feel worried though. Would Willow be there? Would Amity? ...Would Skara? Biting her lip, Boscha trudged along, lost in her thoughts, heedless of the eyes in the shadows tracking her every move.

Eda sighed, bored out of her Titan’s damned mind. Business was slow today, but she couldn’t risk the possibility of missing out on a sail, even if it meant having to put up with Luz and King reading those Titan awful books. Seriously, that flowery language was a disgrace to magic!! But… she couldn’t ruin their fun, not after that night. She had just gotten the house all back together, to Hooty’s relief, and Luz had been making sure she had her potion taken every morning before she did anything else. It was sweet of her, if annoying.

Now if only she had something to get through this stupid BOREDOM!!! She let her mind wander to her newest tenant, one who had been rapidly worming her way into Eda’s jaded heart. She wasn’t sure how, but the kid had managed to eek out a soft spot with her, much to her bemusement; maybe it was the little hints of something not being right, the way she clammed up about her past, the oddly large collection of magic books and texts, or the strange injuries she had that, while healed over, seemed to weigh on her at times. 

The kid had secrets, and had shared barely nothing about them, but Eda wasn’t one to pry. But if those secrets got her hurt, then even if it made Luz hate her, she’d pry them out and do everything she could to keep Luz safe and hearty. ...Titans, she was going soft!! Better prepare a crime to keep herself nice and tough.

Hello, it looked like they’d have a customer after all! If she wasn’t mistaken, it was that one kid, the human fanatic that came around every so often, what was his name… Goops? Whatever.

“Welcome!” She cheered, putting on her most customer friendly voice. Her eyes scanned the two, taking note of the details, specifically the lack of uniforms even though it was a school day. A chill ran up her spine. “What can I interest you two fine Witchlings in today?” Maybe she was hamming it up a little, but she needed something, dang it!

“Um, actually, Miss Owl Lady,” The girl, a stout thing with a friendly look to her, a noticeable amount of fearful respect in her eyes. Normally, Eda would’ve found it amusing, if she didn’t now have a better understanding of WHY Witchlings looked at her like that. She was going to have words with Lily next time they met. “We actually came to see Luz?”

“Yeah! I would normally LOVE to buy one of your treasures,” The Goops kid said with his usual enthusiasm, if not tinged with disappointment. “But we really have some awesome news to share with Luz!!” He certainly rebounded quickly, Eda would give him that.

Eda opened her mouth to reply, only to close it as Luz came walking up, King trotting at her heels. He was doing that weird breathing thing again, something that helped with those crazy spells of his, and wasn’t that a thought! “Hey, Hexsiders!” Luz smirked cheekily as she walked up. “Willow, Gus, what brings you two here? Isn’t it a school day?” She asked.

“Nope, not today!” Willow cheerfully said, Goops nodding along beside her. “The Covention’s today!!” Ugh, that thing!? No wonder the market was abandoned.

“What’s a Covention?” Luz asked, looking confused, and just a bit bored. Eda was never so proud to see a child wilfully dismissive of authority before!!

“It’s when the Covens put on a big expo to show everyone what they can offer!” Gus cheered. He settled down a bit for his next. “We were wondering if you wanted to come with us?”

And there was the moment Eda needed to start intervening! “Oh no!! No tenant of mine is ever going to set foot in that den of conformist propaganda! Coventions are for people who have no ability to question their lot in life and blindly accept whatever crap that authority spoon-feeds them.” She stated firmly. At the affronted looks of the two kids, and Luz’s own flat look of disapproval, Eda huffed, but relented a little. “No offense to you two.” Hey, she wasn’t going to completely back down!

The girl, Willow, Eda thought, shook it off. “Well, maybe coming will help convince you to find a coven to join!” She said trepidatiously, giving a hesitant smile. Now, ordinarily, Eda would’ve used a spell to mess with her for saying that, but after learning what she had about her reputation… she decided to go with a gentler touch.

Eda sighed. “Look kid, there is no possible way I will ever join a Coven. Even if they forced me, I would literally rather die than be in one,” She stated bluntly, steadfastly ignoring the shocked looks her statement provoked. “I don’t know exactly what you kids have been told about me, not fully at least, but there is nothing a coven can offer me that I might want.”

“B-but a Coven gives you a place to belong!” Goops exclaimed.

“Already got one, it’s called my house.” Eda replied, checking her nails.

“It helps you make friends!” Willow followed up.

“I can do that without a Coven, and the kind of people who would be friends with me wouldn’t care if I was in one or not.” Eda said, summoning a file.

““B-But, But!”” The kids stammered.

“Look.” Eda snapped lightly, trying to hold in her temper. “I don’t need to be in a Coven. I am happier without one, and I always will be happier without one. I’m not gonna force my beliefs onto others, however much I might want to sometimes, so the least you two could do is respect mine, okay?” She finished softly. The two meekly nodded.

“I think we should go.” Luz offhandedly mentioned, piping up for the first time since the back and forth started.

“””What!?””” The three shouted, Willow and Gus in glee, Eda in shock.

“Yeah, we’ve got nothing better to do,” Luz shrugged, gesturing to the abandoned market around them, before continuing, “And it gives me an opportunity to check out more of the Isles. And Eda, are you seriously gonna pass up the chance to shake down a bunch of Coven Stands for everything you can get?” She grinned, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

“Using my pride against me, eh?” Eda mused, before snapping her fingers. “Ah nuts, you sold me. But,” she drawled, shooting a look at the two Witchlings, “Absolutely no talk of convincing me to join a Coven, got it?” She said gravely, getting rapid nods from the two. Eh, Eda was willing to milk her worse-than-realized rep for as long as she could.

As the group set off, they were utterly ignorant of the rustling in the trees behind them.

A bloody scream ripped through the Guard’s throat. Why was this happening!? He was just doing his job!! Did these psychos not realize who they were challenging going after a guard like this??

“Quiet.” A gravelly voice, like stone shattering and scraping against steel, drawled from the dark, twisting the knife stabbed into the guard’s ribs. He screamed again, only to be cut off by a hard slap against his mask, so strong he felt his jaw loosen. “We don’t want to hear a peep from you unless it is to answer our questions.”

“DO YOU NOT REALIZE WHAT YOU’RE DOING!?” The Guard demanded, fighting through the pain. “I am a member of the Emperor’s Coven!! If my body turns up with obvious signs of torture like this, the Coven will rip you to shreds for trying to challenge them!!” There… maybe that would get them to comprehend their position!!!

The shadowed group paused, as if in contemplation of his words. Then, one of them snickered, then another, and another. And the entire crowd, a veritable army really, started laughing to the heavens, as if what he had said was the funniest joke in the world, fit only for the Titan’s ears.

“Gilihihihihihi!!” An oily, sickly voice laughed from the shadows. “As if any of these backwater weaklings could challenge us?” A note of hysterical madness crept into the stretched out figure’s voice, when suddenly, his long thin arms darted forward. For a moment, the guard didn’t realize what had happened, until a familiar wetness dripped down his palm. He screamed. Giggling, the figure stretched his hand out of the shadows; resting in his palm, were four of the guard’s severed fingers, ripped directly off his hand. The figure lightly tossed the digits up and down… and threw them back down his gullet, a sick laugh ripping out of his throat after he finished swallowing and chewing the bits.

“Now, now, we need him alive to answer our questions, gentlemen.” Another voice peaked out of the dark, this one smooth, polite, and as cold as the coldest nights on the Knee. “We wouldn’t want him to feel stubborn enough to deny us, now would we?” The cold voice chided, getting solemn nods from the other two figures nearest to the guard, almost like children being scolded by their parent. “Now, my good man, we’ve been at this for hours! You’ve resisted our attempts at bribery, even spat into the faces of my soldiers. Why, we even had to remove that left eye of yours to make you realize we weren’t bluffing!” He proclaimed, holding up the eye in question, the guard’s own familiar tawny coloring staring back at him. The figure bent down, smirking. “Now, just tell us what we wish to know, and your suffering will come to an end, okay? Otherwise…” he sighed, gesturing to the chuckling figures behind him, many hoisting up cruel instruments, such as hooks and skinning knives, all aimed towards him. “We’ll have to use you as a message for the next guard.” He finished ominously.

“N-next!?” The guard whimpered, finally realizing they were willing to kill him, to torture him to death for what they wanted to know. And just like that, all the wind left his sails, his resistance crumbled. “I’ll tell you.” He whispered. “Anything I know. Ask away. If I know, I will tell you.”

“Good.” The figure smirked. As he rapidly rattled off his questions, gesturing to his cohorts to record the guard’s answers, his smirk grew more and more as the guard answered in detail. About the Covention. About the special guest. About all the people who came to see it. About what it meant for the Emperor’s Coven. “Thank you, my good man.” He sincerely stated. Then, without preamble, he slashed his dagger across the guard’s throat, relishing the shocked horror and betrayal as the life fled his eyes as his blood poured down his front. He could even divine the question. Why? “I said your suffering would end.” He whispered to the soon-to-be-corpse. “I never said you would live.” And with that, a look of utter despair coated the foolish guard’s eyes… and they turned lifeless.

Tossing his knife to the figure who had eaten the guards fingers, ignoring the sound of the blood being licked off the blade, he calmly ordered his men to move, the large group mobilizing around him. As they exited the dilapidated castle they had appropriated from the recent demise of that rotten Octopus, he grinned in satisfaction as strategically placed flames went off, consuming the structure, and any trace he and his organization were ever there. ‘We shall devour this world.’ He thought, chuckling darkly. ‘And not even their precious Titan and Emperor will be able to stand against us.’

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains: In Order from Most Aggressively Possessive (Top), to Least (Bottom).

Patrick Bateman: POSSESSIVE TO THE M A X. Do you see how mad he got about DORSIA?? A RESTERAUNT?? Well, now you know how bad he gets when it’s the only person he gives a damn about, being threatened. Wouldn’t put it past him to growl at any threats, if he were in the right environment.

Both Pennywise’: You do not have free will.  But still, even they are not as horrifyingly pissed off about it as Patrick.

Pamela Voorhees: You, are only one level down from Jason on her list to protect. That’s all there is to say.

Jason Voorhees: If someone tries to flirt with you, or worse, he will be so pissed. And he won’t get over it for hours afterwards, needing to blow off steam by killing, walking, or just fricken destroying something.

Billy Loomis: Is an aggro boy with abandonment issues, of course he’s possessive. He’s only under Jason because of Jason’s physical power, to be more destructive about this in comparison. They’re pretty even in how they feel (Even if, *Cough*, Jason has more logical reason to be).

Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie Hewitt: Like Drayton and Buckman he’s very old fashioned, and he’s also more horrible they either of them so he fits here. Just go eat your cheese toastie and drink tea with Luda Mae, he’ll be at it a while.

Jennifer Check: She’s a vicious demon, and the stereotype of a bitchy teenage girl, yes she’s possessive as hell.

Mayor Buckman: Drayton thinks old fashioned. Buckman is old fashioned. Also, have you seen the way he gets when someone insults the south?? Can you imagine how much worse it is when it’s his partner???

Chucky / Charles Lee Ray: Chucky isn’t aggressive about it, exactly, but he is the kind to stake his claim and then more then come through with threats if someone doesn’t leave you alone.

Thomas Hewitt: He was raised by (And isolated with) Hoyt and Monty. But, still, if he kills someone who was flirting with you it’s mostly to feed his family, and only 45 percent because they looked at you.

Jedidiah Sawyer: Is tired, and weathered. But he miraculously gathers the strength to full on make chase when someone, in his mind, threatens his place as your partner. He will protect you and keep you for himself with all the strength and intensity he does his home.

Chop Top Sawyer: Surprisingly, Chop Top takes the fact that you’re his sweetheart, very seriously. Of course, the smile doesn’t leave his face, but he will set someone on fire if they get too close.

Inkubus: He’s a dangerous mix of protective and possessive. You’re his mate, and he’s spent a lot of time on this earth without you. He doesn’t intend to spend anymore without you. So, any and all threats need to be removed from the living plane, immediately.

The Man (Hush): It angers him when someone puts moves on you when you’re with him. They will be his next victim.

The Midnight Man: Like Inkubus, but the Midnight Mans a trickster at heart and overall. He’d rather play a game with the threat instead of just boringly letting his emotions get the better of him and killing them.

Bubba Sawyer: He is mostly insecure like Carrie but more possessive, only because that’s how his brothers have taught him to treat the things that are his- including romantic partners. The Sawyer boys as a whole, took “You need to fight for the people you love,”, way too seriously.

Debbie Loomis: Her husband cheated on her and she took it very badly. Yes, she’s a bit possessive. Just enough to catch sight of someone who’s treating you a way she doesn’t like and come over and scare them off.

Mickey Altieri: On one hand, he’s pretty cool headed most of the time in the movie. But on the other, he’s freaken… really, taken leave of his senses, so, this may go either way. Flip a coin.

Michael Myers: I mean… he will kill someone over it, but… He’s kind of got a one-track mind, you know? Aggressively protecting his romantic life just doesn’t make the cut, sorry. He’s still surprised he has a romantic life.

Freddy Krueger: More jealous then possessive. He still treats you like you aren’t the legitimate light of his life, so he doesn’t act like you belong to him or anything, but he certainly doesn’t like it when someone else gets to flirt with you or anything else. Will kill a guy, but that probably goes without saying (Only reason he’s above Drayton).

Stu Macher: He’ll get jealous and insecure but, unless it occurs to him while he’s already killing (Like Roman), the offending person will survive. You may suffer 3rd degree puppy dog eyes though.

Drayton Sawyer: He’s very, very old fashioned in his thinking, in that he believes his woman belongs to him. So, he’s not exactly aggressive, but he is possessive in the way you are about your phone (A phone that you’re really emotionally attached to.). He won’t fight a guy about it (Unless he really oversteps, and even than his brothers will take care of it) but he will walk over and have a talk about kindly pissing off.

Roman Bridges: Roman is an artiest. He doesn’t have time to care every time someone makes eyes at his partner. But he will kill someone if he’s already at it and it comes to mind.

Jill Roberts: Jill’s pretty chill about this, actually. Girls got a whole homicidal plan and making Charlie think she actually likes him back on her mind, she doesn’t have time to worry about this when she knows you love and respect her. If you ask her to though, she can and will scare the pants off of anyone like she’s possessive.

Carrie White: She’s not possessive ^^ She might get a lil’ insecure (Or a lot insecure. She just won’t really show it as much as its really there) sometimes when she thinks you’re having a lot of fun with someone else, but other than that, there’s not much to say here.

Luda Mae Hewitt: I feel like… her male family members got all the vicious and mean, and she was just left with… all the chill, you know?

[junie-bugg]

The Heartrender - Chapter Two: Embers

Hey everyone!

Here’s chapter two, in which a truce is struck, crude jokes are made, and we learn more of Peeta’s childhood.

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3 (I suggest reading on AO3 because I add a poem at the beginning of each chapter that I feel fits nicely with the story’s themes or the chapter’s plot.)

Big shoutout to my beta reader @nonbinarypeeta​. You da best music💕

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

ALSO, I made a map! Yes, I am that level of writer nerd. (If you look closely, there’s a little Hunger Game’s reference in there. Let me know if you see it, lmaooo.)

Chapter Two: Embers

His commander had gone into the city for the night, leaving the crew on standby at the docks. Their ship, lovingly named The Bloody Rose, needed tending and Peeta, an exhausted soldier running on three hours of sleep, needed a drink. He longed for a pint of proper ale. Not the bitter swill that the ship’s cook had distilled. 

A chilled autumn wind whistled through the harbor, jostling netted shrouds and furled sails. The white and blue flag of Sjorkden snapped proudly above the crow’s nest where Thomas Jaclin quietly kept watch. There was a muted hush about the night, as if the world were holding its breath in anticipation, knowing something was about to happen. At this point, with his chores done and nothing left for him to do except lose another round of cards or go off to bed, Peeta wished something would. 

He was nursing a cup of moonshine and chatting with his friend, Yasser Pjengo, when they heard the sounds of a scuffle. He and Yasser crossed the deck and looked down onto the dock that the ship was moored to. 

There, struggling to drag someone up the gangplank, was the commander. 

“Commander on deck!” Peeta announced with all the authority he could muster, hoping his voice carried down to the lower levels to rouse the men from their games. Peeta had only recently been promoted to lieutenant, and he was going to prove he deserved it. He felt a rush of pride swell within him when the crew emerged from their sleeping quarters, blinking both the mist of alcohol and the gleam of gambling from their eyes. 

Commander Snow was of medium height with a thick beard and hard blue eyes. Though the hairs at his temples were gray, the way he carried himself was young. He spoke softly but commanded the kind of respect that caused listeners to lean in and catch every word. He now dragged a young girl with him onto the ship. Her red dress was torn and low cut, revealing the hollow between her breasts. A few strands of hair had been pulled from a tar-black braid to hang limply in front of her face. She had a blooming bruise on her jaw and a cut above her eye but otherwise seemed unharmed. 

“Men! Say hello to our newest addition. From what I’ve seen so far, she’s sure to be a feisty one.”

Some of the crew had laughed and hooted, including Peeta, but the girl snarled as she twisted and spat in the commander’s face. In return he sent a heavy punch to her gut, causing her to whimper and double over in pain. 

“I have to warn you all. This here is no ordinary witch. She’s a Heartrender.” 

Peeta sucked in a breath and felt a chill pass through the assembled crew like a breeze passes through dead grass. 

“A Heartrender…” 

“One of her kind cursed my uncle. Turned his feet backward.” 

“I heard they could snap your neck with a flick of a finger.” 

“They don’t just stop hearts. They cut them out and eat them.” 

Peeta had heard of Krellian Heartrenders. The rarest of the witches, Heartrenders could use their magic to manipulate bodies: peel the flesh from bone, collapse lungs, knot intestines, burst eyes in their sockets. He could only imagine what she would unleash upon them if her hands weren’t locked into those metal hand caps. 

Snow cleared his throat to quiet the men. A hush fell over the deck. 

“I see you’ve all heard the stories. If you let her out of those shackles, we’re all dead. I want at least one guard on her at all times.” His eyes shifted to Peeta in the front row. “Mellark, you take the first watch. Gerholt will take over at midnight, then Dawson, then Pjengo. This will be a rotating schedule. You’ll all get a chance with her before this voyage is over.” He twisted her arm, throwing her into the semicircle that Peeta and the crew had formed around them. She collapsed onto her stomach, a wilted heap of red dress and chains. “Now get her out of my sight.” 

Peeta and a few others bent down to lift her up as the commander retired to his quarters, but she swung out her arms to ward them off. 

“Don’t touch me,” she spat in Krellian. 

“Get up and walk or I’ll drag you, witch. Your choice,” Peeta growled. His accent was thick, but he knew by the way her nostrils flared that she’d understood him.

She stayed crouched on the ground, her metal covered hands in her lap. 

Peeta’s anger erupted. 

“Fine,” he snapped. He wrenched her off the floor, threw her over his shoulder, and listened to her screams the entire way down to the brig. 

X

During their slumber, the witch had commandeered his arm. 

She lay sound asleep, his bicep propped under her cheek like a pillow. He only awoke when his hand had gone numb, the blood trapped, circling and pricking within his fingers like a swarm of wasps scrabbling to get out from under his skin. He watched the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the pulse that fluttered at her temple. She looked peaceful. Almost innocent. But he knew what she was really capable of. 

Her head smacked the ground with a dull thud when he took his arm back. 

“Ow!” 

The witch glared at him as he massaged the feeling back into his palm. She made it a point to rub the tender spot on her head dramatically so that he’d feel bad. 

It didn’t work. 

“Get up,” he rumbled. 

The witch turned over and curled in on herself. “Five more minutes.” 

He rose from the nest of furs, grabbing one and wrapping it around his waist to cover his nakedness, then moved to sweep the curtain out of the doorway. From the watery yellow sun high in the sky, he determined it was noon. 

“Get up,” he growled again, injecting more anger into his tone. “We need to keep moving.” 

“Why? We found shelter,” the furry lump on the ground said. 

“If we want to find civilization we’re going to have to move. We need to get home as soon as possible.”

She turned on her side and rested her head in her hand. Her eyes gleamed like freshly polished silver in the light pouring past the curtain. “You’re letting me go home?”

“I meant my home,” he corrected, allowing the curtain to fall and shrouding them in dusk-like darkness once more.

There was a tense moment where both knew the time to act was upon them. Either kill the other or let them live. Both were risks. If Peeta killed the Heartrender, he’d be left to fend for himself. There’d be no magic to keep his blood warm. But if he hesitated and let her live in the hopes that he could return her to Sjorkden and have her tried for witchcraft, there was a chance she’d kill him down the line. It would be so easy to reach out and crush her windpipe, deaden those bright eyes, neutralize the threat. She may have magic but she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Peeta had height, strength, and military training on his side. He was arrogant enough to assume the odds were in his favor.

He thought she was thinking along the same lines because she eyed his muscles warily. He was broad-shouldered and obscenely muscular, the product of a decade doing hard physical training at the academy. She couldn’t crush his heart if he lashed out and stalled her hands first. He may be heavy but he was surprisingly quick. After all, he hadn’t become a witcher for nothing. 

She pursed her lips as if considering something. “I think we’d both sleep better at night if we made a truce.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Your word is as valuable as a campfire is to a fish.”

She scowled slightly, a deep line forming between her furrowed brows. “This isn’t a promise that I’ll never harm you, just as I know you won’t agree to never harm me. You are a witch hunter after all. Bloodshed is your life. But let’s make a pact that until we make it out of this, we help each other.” She paused a beat and looked away as if ashamed. “After that, all bets are off.”

Peeta had nodded, but this truce didn’t mean he trusted her to stick to it. In fact, it made him even more suspicious of her. What kind of demon agreed to the drawing out her own demise? He thought her gamble unwise and surmised she had some angle to play against him. He’d have to be especially careful from here on out.

 They faced away from each other and put their clothes on quietly. She still wore the red dress, the one from The Bloody Rose. It looked looser on her now, but the sleeves were elegant, poufed at the shoulders, and fitted down to the wrists. The skirt was still full, even after she had spent so much time sitting in her cell and thrashing about in the sea. She would have looked ready for a party if the dress wasn’t so dirty and torn. 

 She caught him watching her and winked. “Like what you see?” She twirled and the skirt flared like the petals of a blooming rose, twisting and shimmering in the low light. 

Peeta grunted as he did the last button on his dusky blue jacket. His undershirt was still damp against his skin. “It doesn’t fit you where it counts.” He gestured towards her breasts. 

 She had snorted then, happily surprised he was loosening up. 

They set out with empty hands, only having the clothes on their backs and the furs wrapped around their shoulders. The witch had taken a liking to the black one. She stroked it between her thumb and forefinger like a child would clutch to a blanket for comfort. 

The briny scent of the sea permeated the air and even so high up as they were on the cliffside, Peeta felt the fine spray of the waves collect on his cheeks. The constant rushing of wind blew his hair back and whipped the fur about his shoulders. 

They had been walking for hours when the witch asked, “What do you miss most about home?” 

Peeta wished they could just be quiet. 

“A bed to myself.” 

“Right,” the witch crowed wickedly. “I can feel how much you hate sleeping next to me. I felt it pressing into my hip last night.” 

Peeta’s cheeks flushed scarlet. He had never been with a woman. He was a member of the Order: chaste until he earned his talisman and won the right to choose a wife. For his service to the Order he’d be allowed the hand of a nobleman’s daughter. Pretty, young Sjorkden maidens with hair of palest gold and soft, supple bodies. Daughters of the nation raised in the ways of womanly charm and domestic knowledge, basket weaving and child-rearing, dancing and singing and carving. 

He had been dreaming of what his future wife would look like, what their first carnal encounters would entail, the holy honor in producing a child. As a father, a former witcher, and the husband to a woman with status, he would be granted an official seat on the council of Rjaka. His first solid foothold on the ladder of power. It was a lower rung, but it was a start. If only he could get back to his post and fulfill his service, then he would be given his freedom and permitted to marry. 

Those dreams, full of glory, sex, and fatherhood, were the source of his arousal and frustrations, not the witch’s soft skin against his body. Her deep complexion and ebony hair were not of Sjorkden. Her lips were too large, her nose too wide, her body too slender and bony. She looked as if she had spent years scrounging about for meals, with ribs and hips that protruded like sticks in a canvas bag. He liked rounded women with pillowy bosoms, not scrawny little birds. 

Or so he told himself. 

“Why do you say such lewd things?” 

“Because I can. And because I like when you turn red. It does wonders for that pale complexion of yours, valkrӕlla.” 

Valkrӕlla. 

Barbarian.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You like it,” she teased and continued walking, swaying her hips beneath the cloak of fur clasped at her throat and sweeping a glossy curtain of hair over her shoulder. Even here, in the permafrost fields of the tundra, she still smelled of moss and jasmine, as if the misty forests of Krell dwelled within her pores. 

Peeta scowled. He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. 

Not even a little bit. 

X

They walked in the hopes of finding a fishing village, or maybe a trading outpost, somewhere with an inn they could stay at. But as the day dragged on and the sun dipped precariously close to the sea, Peeta started losing hope. The witch stumbled behind him, making her way over embedded boulders and paling tufts of dead brush sticking out from the snowbanks. She squinted against the burning red sunset staining the landscape in bleeding color.

“Maybe we should head back,” she said, though they both knew this wasn’t an option. They were many hours from the whaling camp and turning around now meant they’d just be back at square one, with no food and no fire. 

 Peeta hadn’t been hungry last night, but his adrenaline had burned off, leaving his body weak and watery. He salivated at the thought of rosemary crusted mutton and boiled potatoes, buttered peas in ceramic crockery, honeyed mead, and angel cake with lemon filling. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the vast stone dining hall of the academy, laughing with Yasser through full mouths of meat and drink. After a feast, all the boys would tell stories in large circles or spar each other for prizes. Peeta had been one of the best hand-to-hand fighters among his peers and as such had accumulated a treasure trove of their makeshift awards. The wishbone of a chicken. A fork with a bent prong. A pearl someone had found in an oyster. When he had tired of winning, he would climb the stone steps to his dormitory and sleep dreamlessly on a goose down mattress. He’d wake to the rising sun and Yasser’s deep snores and know that he’d have a day of training ahead of him. Advanced lessons in combat, weapons handling and upkeep, survival skills, sailing, and instruction on foreign languages. He was a well oiled hunting machine, as he was raised to be by the masters. 

 But that was the past, a boyhood he would never return to. Peeta was a man now, and nobody was coming to instruct him. He was on his own. 

 Well, not entirely. He looked back at the witch. Her skin glowed deep bronze in the fading light and her dark hair whipped loosely about her angled face. She caught his eye and winked. 

 No, he thought grimly. I am not alone. 

X

Peeta had only been seasick once. It had been his first time on a ship, sailing from his birthplace to his new home. As the other boys “oohed” and “aahed” at the gray stone towers of the academy rising up from the mists, Peeta had vomited over the banister. 

The others had made fun of him for it. Groups targeted him in the corridors, tripping him or pulling on his hair. Others mocked him, knocked him down hard in training, and then pretended to retch dramatically as he struggled to his feet, fighting to hold back tears. They called him ‘Greenie’, for the color of his skin on that first voyage.

It was better than ‘runt’ but he still resented himself for it, ashamed he had shown weakness. He trained hard after that, alone if he had to. Classes would be over, dinner would be served in the great hall, but the masters would find him in the training rooms practicing his punches on a dummy, or throwing knives, or moving through his stances with a blade. The hours of solitude paid off, and once the students were old enough to compete for rank in the sparring circles, no one came close to Peeta’s brutal technique or raw ferocity. 

And after he broke Geoff Tonson’s leg, no one ever called him ‘Greenie’ again. 

Peeta climbed down into the bowels of the ship, feeling the slight sway of the ocean lapping against the hull as he descended. The Heartrender had been on board for two weeks now and hadn’t earned her sealegs. He shriveled his nose as he came upon her cell. The acrid scent of vomit filled the compartment.

“Time to switch?” Wilhelm asked from his seat in the corner. 

Peeta nodded. He hated guarding the Heartrender. She was in her own cell, isolated from the other witches he and the crew had captured. At least when you guarded the others you could eavesdrop on their conversations. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

Wilhelm Larone, a fresh-faced recruit on his first-ever witcher voyage, rose and stretched languidly. He hadn’t been able to grow a full beard, but his top lip held some promising peach fuzz. “I thought a Heartrender would be more entertaining,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling as a thought occurred to him. “Hey!” He rattled her bars. “Lift up your dress.” 

The witch slumped in the corner, her skin waxy and coated in a film of sweat. Her hair was matted and oily. She blinked slowly at the wall and ignored Wilhelm’s racket. 

He sighed like a disappointed child at the zoo. “I thought the commander said she was feisty.”

“That was before she had vomit on her dress,” Peeta said dryly. 

The witch responded to Peeta’s voice, turning her head slightly to watch him between lanky strands of hair. A chill ran down Peeta’s spine at the intensity of her gaze. They hadn’t spoken since the first night when he had thrown her over his shoulder and dragged her into this very cell, but she remembered him. 

Peeta tore his eyes away. 

Wilhelm had placed his foot on the lowest step, moving to leave when she croaked: “Water.” 

“When was the last time she was fed?” Peeta asked. 

Wilhelm turned, a confused look on his face. “I don’t know. Ask the commander.” 

“At least get her a cup of water before you go to bed. We want to keep her alive for the trial.” 

Wilhelm smiled wickedly. “I have a better idea.” He jumped off the stairs and sauntered over to the Heartrender’s cell once more. “You thirsty, witch? Here, drink up.” 

Peeta watched in horror as Wilhelm unbuttoned his pants and began pissing through her cell bars. Wilhelm’s eyes, which Peeta thought were too far apart in his head, darted up to the older man’s face. “You owe me two gold pieces if I can get it in her mouth.” 

The witch made a strangled sound of disgust and tried to move away, but she was already in the corner. There was nowhere to go and her dress was soon soaked a deeper red. 

“That’s enough,” Peeta said, but Wilhelm’s stream only grew stronger. “I said that’s enough!” he barked and shoved Wilhelm away. 

In his surprise, Wilhelm sprayed the wall. “Damn, Mellark. It's a joke. Dawson’s right. You are no fun.” He shook the last drops of piss from his cock and then stuffed himself back into his pants. He turned to the witch and winked. “Maybe next time you can drink straight from the source. If you promise not to bite of course.” He then fixed his uniform and lumbered up the stairs. Peeta watched him and his half-mustache go. 

“Krą khiăh,” she whispered after the creaking of Wilhelm’s steps faded. 

Thank you.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Peeta snapped. “It was unsanitary, and your kind deserves hellfire, not some quiet death on a ship.”

Peeta spent the remainder of the night sitting on the chair in the corner, breathing in the scents of piss and vomit and misery. He hid his annoyance when the witch started sobbing. 

But the next time he reported for guard duty, he brought her a cup of water.