#they knew the dangers and kept secrets accordingly

[whippedcloudsofcream]

Ahsoka S1E2: Toil and Trouble

[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Mini Series

FEVER (teaser)

pairings: hyung line x reader

synopsis: while in a relationship, you caught the attention of another person and gained yourself a new lover. it says one lover is enough and having another one will complicate everything.

disclaimer: this series doesn’t reflect the member's personality. the said events/situations are purely from the writer’s imagination.

warnings: cheating, mention of cheating, members loving the same girl, r18 stuff (not yet sure). the warnings will be updated accordingly.

note📎: i got inspired by the lyrics of enhypen song’s fever. since the greek myth is finished, i decided to post this teaser. i hope you’ll look forward to it and support it. thank you so much in advance. let me know about what you think and send me some asks. i love you. 🤍

© 2023 eeunoia — all rights reserved.

lee heeseung › here

— “hyung! who’s that?” heeseung looked over his friend, sunghoon, when he heard him asking a question. at first, he didn’t understand. but as he follow his line of sight and it ends onto you, he knew. he knew that his younger friend was into his best-friend.

— he thought it was okay. his friend is a very nice guy. he will surely treat you right. introducing you both will be okay. so he did. he thought he did something good, but little does he know, he will be in a complicated situation because of it.

— “want to hang out friday?” heeseung asks you as you both open your work books at the page your teacher asked you to. you glanced at him and gave him an apologetic smile. “can’t at friday. i have to be at sunghoon’s practice.” you said.

— as you slowly drift away from him, the more he realized what he truly feels for you. heeseung was torn. he wants to pursue you, but he doesn’t want to hurt his friend. it was noticeable though, for you at least.

— “what’s up with you lately?” you asked, worried. feeling a bit guilty that you’ve been too focused to your boyfriend that you kind of neglect your best-friend. heeseung kept this gaze at you. it made your heart race, awakening the lingering feelings for him that you tried to push at the back of your mind.

— “i’m in trouble, y/n.” he starts and gulped. he was struggling to talk, like as if he has too many to say that it all got messed up inside his mind. “w-why?” you asked, nervous as you try to take a step back, but heeseung held you captive.

— “i think i can’t hide this feelings anymore. i’m afraid it’ll ruin two friendships.” he uttered too dangerously as he caress your skin using his thumb sending shivers towards your spine.

park jay › here

— “where’s heeseung hyung?” jay asked jake when he saw him sitting by the couch. he can see how his friend was holding his head, discomfort present at his expression. “in his room? i don’t know man. i have bad hang over.” jake answered that made him chuckle.

— being friends for a long time develops a bond that is very hard to break. it came along with some unsaid rules such us they should always be there for one another and to keep each other’s secret. but when jay found out about what heeseung did, he just couldn’t let him get away with it without learning a lesson.

— “dude, you fucking slept with hana. what do you think will y/n feel?” jay looked upset. heeseung seemed bothered as well, but the boy chosed to shrug it off. “whatever. as long as she doesn’t finds out.” he said and as if on cue, you entered their frat house with those big bright smile.

— at first, he just wants to be there for you. to comfort you whenever heeseung treats you badly and stood you out. but the more he get to know you, the harder he fell. the bigger his feelings developed.

— “hyung, why did you let y/n go without getting her breakfast?” jake asked innocently as he bite onto his sandwich. heeseung’s brows furrowed in confusion. “y/n was here?” his tone has a hint of shock. jake nodded. “yeah. didn’t she slept in your room?”

— heeseung was confused, very confused. he was sure you’re not in his room last night. his heart thumped and chest started to tighten. both of their heads turned over to jay when he suddenly appeared. “she slept in my room.” he revealed that made the atmosphere heavy.

— “no she didn’t.” heeseung said, trying to deny the reality that his girlfriend did stayed in his best friend’s room. jay smirked, “she did. you stood her up for hana so i thought she can stay with me instead.”

jake sim › here

— “jake, you’re late again.” sunghoon exclaimed as he rolled his eyes jokingly at the newly arrived friend. jake chuckled as he bro fist most of them, instantly noticing that they’re not yet complete.

— “yeah and i guess jay’s late too?” he asked. heeseung snorted. “he’ll be here in a moment. he’s coming with his girl.” his tone has a hint of teasing that caused their friends to laugh along with jake.

— “oh was that today? man, i forgot that he’ll be introducing the girl he’s been seeing for a while now.” he said as he sat down. just as he settles down, they heard the familiar clings of the door to their favorite restaurant followed with ni-ki’s ‘jay hyung’s here.’

— jake won’t deny he’s a bit curious of the girl that caught jay’s attention. their friend’s too busy with school life and also party so they knew he don’t do serious relationships, but this girl may be his exception.

— his smile was wide as he stood up hearing their friends greeting them. he turns his head ready to tease his friend, but all those thoughts drifts away after meeting your eyes. mirroring his reaction, your wide smile faltered a bit after seeing him again.

— “and this is jake, babe. one of my closest friends! the one i was talking about.” jay’s excited voice ringed over jake’s ears and so he snapped back to reality. you smiled awkwardly and accepted his hand, acting like you didn’t know jake. like you didn’t date him for a long time.

— “y/n, take me back. please. i can’t take it anymore. seeing you being held by another man will make me crazy!” jake sounded so frustrated and so are you. “j-jake, i’m scared...” you whispered, being honest about what you feel after a long time of denying it. jake sighed and slowly pulled you closer to him into a hug. “i w-will think of something. okay?”

park sunghoon › here

— “i’ll be gone for four months dude.” jake said and sunghoon can hear how sad his friend was. he sighs, trying to lighten his mood. “well time passes by very fast. you’ll be back even before you know it.”

— “can you do me a favor?” he asks. “yeah sure. what is it?” sunghoon was determined to do whatever it is when he said that to his friend. jake smiled, “take care of y/n for me while i’m gone. look after her and be in my place for four months.”

— sunghoon was lost of words, unable to talk right away. he felt a lump over his throat as he tried clearing it while glancing away. “y/n’s not five man. i’m sure she’ll do well.” he said.

— “i know, but i don’t want her to feel lonely.” jake said. “she hates me.” sunghoon tried stating a point, but jake just chuckles over it. “no she doesn’t. you just tease her too much.”

— and so trying to be a good friend, he do as he told. at first it was not easy. you two argues a lot and your differences just rubs off towards each other. but as time passes by, something ignites between the sleeping feelings that were just sitting at the corner of your minds.

— you bite your lower lip as you try to walk out from sunghoon’s room, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. even before you can make it outside, a hand catches you pinning you at the wall. “sunghoon, please. let me go. t-this is wrong.” you said, you yourself are afraid of your own feelings.

— sunghoon's burning eyes pierced at you, he clenches his jaw. “you think i don’t know that? y/n, i’ve tried to fight it. trust me, i did. but we both know it was there the whole time. we were just too scared to light the fire.”

——————————

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[friendlylocalwhumper]

It's going well, this mission. Quinn has been undercover for two weeks and already they have trade secrets stuffed into their waistband, a dozen eight-digit file numbers memorized, the personal cell number of the CEO's right-hand man, and a rapport with the head of security.

They stiffly tighten their ponytail, flexing aching fingers in their compression gloves, and then return to scanning security camera footage with the guard lounging in his desk chair.

When the door bursts open behind them, Quinn doesn't flinch. They watch the visitor to the security office in the reflections on their monitor, still urgently scrubbing through footage. There was a break-in earlier and everyone's been on edge today trying to find who or what tripped two alarms in a row. Sometimes a bird gets in through the vents, so...

"Got 'em," Says the reflection of the standing figure, and Quinn spins in their chair to see another guard with his fist twisted in some dirty, bloody guy's hair. They know instantly that this is the intruder, and that he was trying to hide for hours, then tried to fight his way out. There's a wild panic in his eyes, his breaths escaping as hisses through gritted teeth, and his sneakers scrape across the floor as he tries and fails to get to his feet.

Sneakers?

As the victorious guard and the lazy guard discuss what to do, Quinn frowns. Loafers or dress shoes if you're pretending to be someone official, boots if you're playing the role of a cop or a fed, bare feet if you're a pitiful captive. Sneakers? You wear those if you know you'll be running, relying on your own speed to survive, not a team. So he's alone. Why did he break in? Running, alone... if he knew he'd need to be fast, he must've known exactly where to go and what to grab. There's no backpack on him, no tool belt, no devices to communicate with backup, just a watch. He knew how to time it, but something screwed up his plan. He was only going to grab something small, he didn't need a bag to hold it - papers? Evidence of some kind?

In the three seconds it took Quinn to scan the intruder with their eyes and assess his intentions, the victorious guard drew his gun. Aware that their reactions need to be kept locked down, Quinn bites the inside of their cheek and shrugs when asked what they think.

"Well. He doesn't look dangerous. Standard to take him to-" This place doesn't have interrogation rooms or cells, like some of the other places they've infiltrated in the past year. They adjust their vocabulary accordingly. "-a room with a door that locks, with no files or computers in it. Find a supervisor, bring in an expert on cor-, uh!" Quinn startles, standing jerkily when they see the intruder's head being yanked back and the gun being shoved up under his jaw. "-Corporate espionage, um, should you be doing that?"

They just lost some interpersonal rapport by saying that, they think, as the other two guards look up at them with furrowing brows and skeptical sets to their jaws. Quinn imagines an "Everyone disliked that" notification at the top corner of the screen in their mind. Could be worse, not ideal.

"You're right," Says the impatient and armed guard, letting his arm fall so the intruder can lower their head. No more immediate threat of death. Quinn lets out a slow breath that won't be as obvious as a sigh. Trigger-happy enemies are risky, okay, this situation is disruptive to their plan and since death isn't an immediate threat-

Something in the small, dark room cracks and flashes light. Two cracks, actually, so loud that Quinn's hands fly up to their ears. They're blinking and zeroing in on the gun as the source of the alarming sensory input right around the time that the intruder makes a struggling-to-process-this whine and then arches back to gasp-keen-scream.

Dark stains blossoming and spreading at his left knee and right thigh. He can't run, he could bleed out, what if he's someone important, why did he wear sneakers?

"-Knox," Someone says, and Quinn blinks up at the lazy guard, recognizing their alias for this mission on the third or fourth time that it was aimed at them. "Fuck's wrong with you?"

The spy blinks and then meets the guy's wary gaze before checking on the speed of the spread of blood on those cargo pants. "Um. Nothing. That's-"

"You didn't know what we do to intruders and spies?" Says the guard still lounging in his chair, and Quinn knows that either they've been found out, or they're in danger of it, so they swallow their distress and shrug, muttering something about not knowing they meant this during training.

The gun moves, the tip pressed to the center of the writhing spy, and Quinn watches with hawk eyes. The guard's finger moves to the trigger ready to send a bullet tearing through a heart- "No!" Shrieks Quinn, standing and shoving their chair back, lunging forward to shove the guard away, or pull the intruder closer, he knows something and he could have any encrypted or incomplete secrets in his pockets and he was here for a reason and he's just like them!

Another too-loud crack, and a flash, and the body falls the rest of the way to flop onto the floor with a new dark stain spreading at its chest, but it's still moving oh no the intruder didn't die instantly, he's reaching for their ankle and choking on blood and Quinn feels the world flip violently, and knows distantly that they're fainting.

[wingless-thrush]

Impossibly Imperfect

(The following is an edited version of a personal blog originally posted on 10 May 2012.)

I lived in Asheville, North Carolina for a couple years while growing up, which is located in the mountainous western part of the state. Our neighborhood was perched on the side of Beaucatcher Mountain, and was comprised of a lot of hilly, windy streets. One particular neighborhood street was especially steep, with a sharp S-curve at the bottom of a long, straight hill. Just beyond the S-curve, the terrain dropped off dramatically into a rugged, wooded ravine. If the street had been a busier road, it would be one of those notorious stretches of highway that has a nickname like Death Hill or Blood Alley.

As it was, the street didn’t have very many houses on it and was lightly traveled by cars, so it became a favorite spot for us to play. I’d pull my red Radio Flyer wagon to the top of the hill, climb on board, and then ride at top speed down the hill, with the wind blowing in my face. The feeling of flying downhill was as ecstatic as the first big drop on a roller coaster, but was tempered with the very real danger of missing the curve, flying off the pavement, and ending up broken and bloodied at the bottom of the ravine.

The memory of flying down that hill in a Radio Flyer wagon at high speed, with a near-certain bloody and painful death at the bottom of the hill rapidly getting closer, has become somewhat of an unfortunate metaphor for my love life over the years. The whole realm of relationships and sexuality has been a very difficult one for me, and it’s not without a degree of hesitation that I write about it here.  While I do a pretty good job at maintaining close friendships with quite a few attractive women, things always seem to fall apart whenever there’s a hint of romantic feelings involved.

Part of it may have to do with the uptight Calvinist background I grew up in, where sexuality was hardly ever discussed except in the context of there apparently being far too much of it on television and in popular culture. And then there’s the fact that I was sexually abused as a child, by an older neighborhood kid who promised to allow me into his “club” if I performed certain acts down in the woods behind the house. Somehow my membership card to his secret club must have repeatedly gotten lost in the mail, because I kept having to go through the initiation process over and over again.

I'm also mildly autistic with some related mental health issues like anxiety and depression, and that no doubt plays a big role as well, even though I never knew I was on the spectrum until I was well into adulthood. Nowadays I can do a pretty good job of pretending I’m at least somewhat normal, but as a kid I was clueless. Nobody really had a name for my condition at that time; I just assumed I was a weird misfit due to some horrible character defect on my part. While my classmates were playing with their Transformers or G.I. Joe action figures, I was usually off in the corner sketching pictures of bridges and spaceships. A few years later when they were having their first sexual experiences, I was still sketching (slightly more refined) pictures of bridges and spaceships. It’s not that I didn’t have sexual feelings or wasn’t incredibly attracted to certain girls at school; it’s just that I was too chickenshit to actually act on those feelings. My classmates assumed I was gay or asexual, and bullied the living shit out of me accordingly. During bus rides home in 5th grade, a few of the popular kids would corner me in the back of the school bus and ask me invasive questions about my sexuality. If they didn’t like my answer, one of them would give me a swift punch in the stomach.

As you might imagine, relationships and sexuality – things that, in an ideal world, should be sources of joy and happiness for those involved – had come to be strongly associated with feelings of guilt, shame, rejection, and violence in my mind. When you crash the Radio Flyer wagon into the ravine too many times, you start to dread the idea of hauling it back up the hill for another ride.

Fast-forward to this past week, when a random bit of news during my workday brought back vivid memories of a time when I flew down that metaphorical hill way too fast, and ended up crashing into the ravine in a most spectacular manner.

As it turns out, a former crush of mine is getting married on Saturday, and not to me. You’d think I’d be over it after almost a decade, but this one really stung. For a few months in late 2002 and early 2003, “Jennifer” and I had developed what I considered a pretty deep long-distance relationship, which culminated in her flying to Philadelphia and meeting up with me during her spring break.

I’ve always had a pretty specific picture in my head of what my ideal partner is like, and it was uncanny just how close she came to that mental image, in a number of important ways: her intelligence, her emotional maturity, her overall great looks, and so forth. Nobody else before or since then has come quite so close to my idealized version of Miss Right. I was much more religious back then than I am now, and I was convinced she was the gift from God that I had been praying for almost my entire life.

I’ve always been drawn to the unique and unusual. In a neighborhood full of bland McMansions, I’m the guy who would buy something like the Mushroom House. Whenever I’d get a handful of candy corn around Halloween, I’d always pick out the mutant pieces and eat them first, because they were special and stood out from the others. I was somehow convinced this made them taste better.

Likewise, for as long as I can remember I’ve been fascinated by and found beauty in people with certain unique physical characteristics – even something as relatively minor as having a pair of webbed toes – but particularly with people who are missing one or more limbs, either by birth or through circumstances later in life. Jennifer wasn’t the first amputee I’d felt romantic feelings toward, and she likely won’t be the last. The first crush I ever had was toward Carol Johnston, a gymnast who was born without part of her right arm. Her story was the subject of a Disney film I saw on TV while growing up, and I was enthralled with the shape and movement of her partial arm, which ended with a small, round stump just below her elbow. (Carol is almost old enough to be my mother, but she appeared much closer to my age in the film, which had been produced a number of years before I saw it.) Jennifer was completely armless, not unlike Simona Atzori, an Italian artist and dancer who was also born without arms. No stumps or even scars, just perfectly smooth shoulders where a pair of arms would normally begin. Her use of her feet for daily tasks was as fluid and natural as most people’s use of their hands. I’d gladly pick somebody like her over any number of plastic-looking supermodels.

There’s a lot more to it than just the physical attraction, though. What I find equally appealing is the fact that people like Jennifer have a unique story to tell, that they know what it’s like to be different and to overcome obstacles. My favorite people in the world are those who strive to overcome life’s challenges with grace and humor, and who embrace their own uniqueness. This might be the one element that all my closest friends have in common, regardless of how many limbs they have.

An army of therapists could spend countless hours speculating on all the reasons why I have these feelings, and still not come up with a satisfactory answer. I wouldn’t really call it a fetish, although sexual attraction is certainly one part of it. I’ve always felt different throughout my life, and I think maybe I find a kindred spirit in somebody who is as different on the outside as I am on the inside, and who has spent a lifetime overcoming obstacles and dealing with other people’s stares and clueless comments, as well as more mundane things like a lack of wheelchair ramps or doorknobs that are difficult to grasp. To be clear, the attraction has nothing at all to do with any hardship or suffering that comes with being an amputee. I’ve had a few close friends over the years who are amputees, and I wouldn’t wish those phantom pains, ongoing medical issues, or the cost of a prosthetic limb on anybody.

As you might imagine, being attracted to amputees brings forth a lot of conflicted feelings that include heavy doses of shame and guilt. Pop culture values physical perfection to an obscene level, and people don’t like to be reminded that they might someday lose a leg in a car accident, or give birth to a child that has less than ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. Veterans who lose limbs in combat are either swept under the rug and ignored by the people who sent them into combat in the first place, or are maybe put onto a pedestal and briefly worshipped as folk heros – but never portrayed as the guy next door who lost his legs and a couple of close friends to a roadside bomb, and who still has nightmares about it. But I didn’t choose to have this attraction any more than Jennifer chose to be born without arms, and I reject the notion that I should beat myself up over an aspect of my psyche that I never willingly signed up for.

Soon after high school, my family got a computer, and I was introduced to this new thing called the Internet for the first time. After dialing in to AOL and doing a couple of creative searches (I’m really dating myself here), I soon discovered that I’m not the only person who has this attraction; people like me are typically referred to as devotees within the community. (The phenomenon also has a very dry technical term: Acrotomophilia.) Personally, I find the terminology inadequate – the term admirer has also been tossed around, which I find more apt – but for better or worse, devotee seems to be the accepted label.

How do amputees typically feel about this attraction? Opinions vary widely. Some find it very flattering and liberating; a common sentiment is that it’s nice to be seen as an attractive woman with no caveats, as opposed to being seen as attractive despite a disability. Others find it extremely repulsive and threatening, feeling that devotees are getting their jollies from what for many amputees is the most painful and traumatic episode of their lives. Most amputees’ feelings probably fall somewhere between those two extremes, perhaps accepting of the attraction despite some reservations. As a gross generalization, my experience is that amputees who were born that way tend to be more accepting of the attraction than those who lost a limb later in life due to trauma or disease. It’s a very controversial issue within online support groups and other amputee-related communities, with very passionate feelings on all sides of the issue. The purpose of this post isn’t to change anybody’s mind about it, but to simply articulate my own feelings.

Back in the 90’s there used to be a small online community of devotees and devotee-friendly amputees, mostly on IRC and an email listserv. There were even occasional real-life gatherings, and a number of marriages have come from those meetings. With a fairly intimate community it was easier to keep the predatory elements away, of which there are unfortunately quite a few. In the amputee-devotee subculture, the bad apples usually consist of guys who get off on some sort of power trip by being with somebody they perceive as helpless, or people who live out their fantasies by pretending to be amputees online.

Unfortunately, with the explosion in social media such as MySpace and then Facebook over the past few years, what used to be a fairly tight-knit and self-policing internet subculture has become a free-for-all, with some devotees pursuing amputees with all the grace and chivalry of the Nazgûl pursuing the One Ring, and ruining it for those who have better social skills and more honest intentions. There are still some vestiges of the old community left, but it’s a pretty small and isolated group with relatively little in the way of new blood.

I know of a number of amputee/devotee couples who couldn’t be happier. I also know of devotees who have gone their entire lives without finding their ideal partner to settle down with, and I know of others who ultimately married non-amputees only to find themselves depressed and frustrated, and their marriages failing. As for myself, it certainly makes things difficult because my ideal dating pool is a tiny fraction of the general population. I can go months or years at a time before seeing an attractive female amputee out in public, and the whole online scene is a crapshoot. On the rare occasion I see an attractive amputee out in public and I fail to make any kind of meaningful contact with her (which is almost always the case – I universally err on the side of keeping a respectful distance and doing nothing, rather than annoying her with any awkward advances), it can haunt me for months or years after the fact.

Mind you, I’m still very attracted to able-bodied women as well. The longest relationship I’ve had so far was with somebody who wasn’t an amputee, and I don’t regret a minute of it. But in looking for a long-term relationship or marriage, I face a bit of a dilemma. When I was in that relationship, there was always a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wasn’t being true to my feelings and that I was “settling” for something that was less than my ideal, and I was overcome with feelings of guilt. I didn’t feel like I was being fair to either her or myself. Nobody likes to be told they’re a second choice.

Jennifer seemed flattered by my unusual form of attention, and I was thrilled with the idea that after so much longing and searching, I had finally found somebody to share my life with. But the day after she arrived in town and we first met face-to-face, she called me up at work just a couple hours before we were supposed to meet again, and slammed the brakes on any notion of a relationship. She never did give a clear reason, but seemed to imply that she wasn’t ready for a relationship and that the chemistry didn’t feel right.

On one level it was understandable, as there was a pretty significant age difference between us, we had different backgrounds and ambitions, and lived a couple thousand miles apart. At that moment on the phone, though, I felt like a bomb had just been detonated within my already-fragile psyche. I blame myself for getting my hopes up too high in the first place, but that euphoric feeling of being head-over-heels in love was incredible while it lasted. For a brief few weeks, I felt like I was racing downhill in that Radio Flyer wagon, and the S-curve and ravine were no longer a threat. I haven’t experienced anything like it since then, and part of me wonders if I ever will.

She said she wanted to remain friends, and held out the idea that maybe sometime in the future, things might work out between us. But it never happened. The phone calls and online chats became less frequent, and then stopped altogether. My greetings went unanswered, and after a lot of heartbreak and depression on my part, I eventually moved on. She became somewhat of a minor media celebrity with her motivational speaking gigs and other accomplishments, and I continued quietly making slow but steady progress toward my academic and professional goals.

I had pretty much put that episode out of my mind until now, but learning that she’s getting married this week brought it all back. In all honesty, I wish her the best, and with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, I can now look back and see about a million reasons why things never would have worked out between us. As painful as it was for me, she probably did the right thing by breaking it off sooner rather than later.

So now I’m spilling my guts here, mainly just to get it off my chest and hopefully gain some catharsis, but also to shed some insight into an aspect of my life that, until now, I’ve kept pretty private. No doubt some parts of this blog entry dove pretty far into TMI territory for some, but I’m hoping the benefits outweigh any negative blowback. A few of my closest friends already know about this side of me, and seem generally accepting of it, even if it’s impossible for them to fully understand it.

One of my resolutions for the new year was to try and let go of some emotional baggage that I’ve been carrying around my neck like an albatross, and this is part of that process. With people all over the country being denied equal rights and bullied to the point of suicide because of who they love, it seems hypocritical for me to champion their rights while keeping my own sexual proclivities safely tucked away in the closet, out of danger. Maybe some good will come of this blog post, and there may be some negative consequences as well. But I think I’ve reached the point where I’m finally willing to stop living in fear of the what-if scenarios, and to let the chips fall where they may.

[conspiracymaybe]

In the world of dystopia, the government was a shadowy entity that lurked in the shadows, pulling the strings of power from behind the scenes. Its corruption ran deep, seeping into every aspect of society like a festering wound that refused to heal.

The ruling class was made up of the elite, who enjoyed lavish lifestyles at the expense of the downtrodden masses. The people had no voice, no representation, and no hope. Their lives were a never-ending cycle of poverty, oppression, and despair.

The government officials were ruthless and cunning, always looking for ways to consolidate their power and maintain their grip on the population. They used fear and intimidation to control the people, creating a climate of distrust and suspicion that kept the masses in check.

In this world, corruption was not just a way of life – it was the only way to survive. Everyone had their price, and the government officials knew exactly how to exploit their weaknesses. They used bribes, threats, and coercion to keep people in line, and anyone who dared to speak out or resist was quickly silenced.

The media was completely controlled by the government, serving as nothing more than a mouthpiece for its propaganda. The people were bombarded with lies and misinformation, and anyone who tried to spread the truth was labeled a traitor and punished accordingly.

The government officials lived in opulent palaces, surrounded by luxury and decadence while the people lived in squalor. The streets were filled with crime and violence, and the government did nothing to stop it – in fact, they often encouraged it as a way to keep the people divided and distracted.

In this world of dystopian corruption, there was no hope for the future. The people were trapped in a cycle of poverty and oppression, with no way out. The government was the enemy, and the people were powerless to resist its tyranny.

The government's power was absolute, its reach extending into every aspect of life in the dystopian society. But with great power came great corruption, and the ruling elite was not immune to the lure of personal gain.

In the corridors of power, deals were made in secret, alliances forged over champagne and cigars. The people were kept in line through propaganda and fear, their voices silenced by the state's ruthless suppression of dissent.

But the true extent of the government's corruption was hidden behind closed doors, shielded from public scrutiny by layers of bureaucracy and secrecy. At the highest levels of government, officials took bribes and kickbacks, embezzled public funds, and used their power to enrich themselves and their cronies.

Meanwhile, the people suffered, struggling to make ends meet as their hard-earned taxes were siphoned off into the pockets of corrupt officials. Healthcare and education were neglected, while the government poured money into lavish palaces and monuments to its own power.

For those brave enough to speak out against the government's corruption, there were harsh consequences. Dissenters were disappeared, their families threatened, their lives ruined.

The government's corruption had become so entrenched that it seemed impossible to root out. The people had lost faith in their leaders and their institutions, resigned to living in a world where those in power took what they wanted and left the rest to suffer.

But there were whispers of rebellion, of a movement growing in the shadows. The people were beginning to see that the only way to end the government's corruption was to tear it down and start anew.

As the dystopian society teetered on the brink of collapse, the people rose up, their voices united in a chorus of defiance. They demanded accountability, transparency, and a government that served the people, not itself.

And though the road ahead was long and fraught with danger, the people knew that they had no choice but to fight for a better future. A future free from corruption, where the government served the people, not the other way around.

[purecantarella]

Kiss Me

request : I don’t know if your still taking requests , could you write , Jennie who has always been scared to be in a relationship but then meets female reader and tries to tell her how she feels 💋 i definitely am taking requests and this came around a year ago as well but i've had in in my drafts for so long that it's time to start it!! i hope you all enjoy!! kim jennie x reader disclaimer/s : some angsty fluff for your reading pleasure, of course some cursing, i'm sorry. also slight nsfw ?

It was no secret that as an idol, she had eyes hot on her all the time. Jennie's public image needed to be spotless. She needed to be the sweetheart in the media's eyes. She had to fit into the standard even if she loathed it.

She had no room for error or to indulge anything that didn't fit her idol image...then you happened.

It was all a happy coincidence when you met. Jennie had been traveling often, and it was emotionally and mentally draining to her. It had been one flight after another and by the time she was on her returning trip to Seoul, she was always falling asleep.

Coffee, candy, and blasting loud music were doing nothing for her so her only hope was to get to her gate early and take a short nap there. That was until her flight got delayed another four hours. Jennie knew it was far too risky to haul out at a hotel, so she was shackled to the airport seats.

She kept herself awake as best she could but couldn't stop her eyes from drooping, the nearly empty coffee cup tipping dangerously in her hand. "Might be good to spill the coffee in your mouth rather than the carpet of an airport waiting area, ma'am."

The intruding voice made Jennie squeak and jump awake. You smile at her amused with yourself. She grit her teeth but still smiled at you, holding back the snarl that threatened to break the surface. She couldn't risk you being a gossip reporter and talk about her in the tabloids or on your site.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to anger you." She is initially shocked that you see past her usual idol persona, again you see the quick shift of her emotions. "I'm a photographer, not that you were asking, but that's how I could tell your emotions. It's part of my job to read into the subject's emotions and adjust them accordingly."

You point to the empty seat beside her, and in spite of her better judgement, Jennie nodded. You place your bag down beside hers and stretch your neck out. Noticing how the woman beside you was still drifting off into sleep, you offer, "I can watch your bags and you can get some rest if you'd like."

She turns to you, looking rather offended and you couldn't help the chuckle that fell past your lips. You raise your hands in defeat. "I get it, some stranger approaching you asking you to sleep." You pause and fully turn to look at her. "Then I'll keep you company."

The rapper quirks a brow at your bold behavior, she couldn't tell if she found it appealing how confident you were or if she was disdained that you just sat beside her and planned to probe into her life. Then again, it was better than falling asleep and getting taken advantage of.

"Alright." She responded curtly.

Your smile brightens, "So what brought you here? To the country I mean?" Jennie laughs to herself, you tilt your head to the side as you patiently waited for her answer. "What haven't I done while I was here. Photoshoots, public appearances, filming at one point." She is shocked with herself but quickly regains her composure. "It's nothing though. It was for my fans anyway."

You chuckle softly, "I didn't ask what your work was here. I know who you are, superstar." Jennie opened her mouth to protest the newly given nickname but you cut her off. "I asked what brought you here. There must've been a dozen people asking you to come to events or shoots...why here?"

Jennie is speechless for a moment but can't help the laugh that erupts from her chest. "I guess I never thought about it. My management, I guess?"

"Not much freedom then I take it?" You ask quietly. Jennie takes off her shades and exposes her eyes to you. She notices how your shoulders raise a little and your breath hitches a little. She thought it was rather cute. "Not as much as I'd like, no."

"That's a real shame, wasting all that potential and talent being placed in a box." You lean in close and whisper, "You all deserve better if you ask me."

Again, Jennie laughs, "You're a fan then?"

"It's hard not to be." You say seriously, making Jennie's smile grow wider, her cheeks becoming sore from the sheer act of smiling as wide as she was. "Good to know..."

The two of you talked through the four hours, time flying by and before Jennie knew it, she wasn't even sleepy anymore. All she wanted to do was listen to your terrible jokes and your work. It was weird, she could have run into you at any point during her trip, but it had almost been serendipitous that you both met then and there.

As you told her a story of one of your problem clients on your trip, the PA System blared to life and announced your flight was boarding in five minutes. You looked down at your watch, picking up your bag and shuffle around for your passport and boarding pass.

"Thank you." Jennie said hastily, trying to get your attention again. "I...I enjoyed talking to you."

You look down at her lifting your hand up to offer her a thumbs up. "It was a pleasure to speak to you. I'm glad I got you to stay awake while waiting." Jennie smiles at you and looked down to grab her phone to ask for your number but when she looks up, you were gone.

As she sat comfortably in her compartment, Jennie couldn't shake the thought of you. Tentatively looking around to see if you were anywhere and to her disappointment, you were no where to be found. The rapper was about to pluck her airpods out of her bag when a flight attendant approached her.

"From a passenger up front, Miss Kim..." The flight attendant whispered quietly, slipping Jennie a pack of gum and a handwritten note. She bowed to the stewardess with a smile before she skimmed over the note.

Jennie stifles a giggle as she reads the messily written note on a tissue from the coffee you were holding earlier. 'Didn't get my name or number? Here ya go! Chew the gum so your ears don't pop. G'night superstar. - Y/F/N'

She looks around again and spots you staring at her from one of the seats further in the front. You offer her a salute before settling into your seat. Jennie rubs your name in the ink, thinking of you fondly and brainstorming ways to see you again when you both land in Seoul.

Soon after you two landed, she contacted you, practically bouncing off the car walls as you teased her about her eagerness to call you. Jennie verbally complained but she didn't exactly deny it either.

It didn't take long for you two to get close either.

You two had become practically inseparable in that time, being seen together and posting about one another on your social media pages. But of course, you two were just friends. At least thats what you both always said but it never felt that way.

In spite of that conclusion you both had, the people around you often disagreed. Whenever Jennie would stop by to drop off food at one of your shoots or if you came by the dorm to hang out, at least one person would point out that you two seemed like a couple, and a rather cute one at that.

Though nothing became of that suspicion, until one night.

It was one of those nights when you lay on Jennie's couch while watching one of those movies that Jisoo recommended when she scooted from her corner of the couch to cuddle up to your chest. You smiled and wrapped your arm around her waist, your cheek pressed against the top of her head.

You'd been feeling it for a while now. The butterflies when you were around her, the happiness that was unparalleled when she smiled at you and only you, the instantaneous calm when you held her in your arms. But concealing it as to not ruin the friendship.

Instead of thinking of such feelings, you focus on the warmth she offers you, the flowery scent of her shampoo wafting in the air, so much so you almost miss the faint giggle that fell from her lips. As you pull away to better look at her, she props her chin on your chest, the gummy smile on display making you grin in return.

"Your heart is beating so loud, I can hear it so well." Jennie points out teasingly, making you toss your head back in a nervous yet full laugh. When you moved your head to look back at the screen, thinking that she would just brush it off like you always did, you find her staring straight at you. Her lower lip trapped between her front teeth while her hands moved up to hold your cheeks in her hands.

You freeze up, shock and awe taking over your body. You blink rapidly, assuming you were imagining it but she only drew closer with each time you opened your eyes. Finally, she is a breath away from you, you muster out, "Am I dreaming...?"

Jennie smiles down at you, her nose slotting beside yours, eyes never breaking from your gaze. You two sit there, allowing the moment to ruminate for a second, turning to a minute, turning into far too long for you to restrain yourself. Leaning forward you capture her lips between yours. Her arms snake down to wrap around your neck as your hands weave their way through her dark hair.

She opens her mouth and probes your lower lip tentatively. As you lower your jaw, her tongue meets yours shyly, wrapping the muscles around one another. As your lips found their own rhythm, your hands lock around her tresses making her groan against into your mouth.

Jennie pulls away, tugging your lower lip back. Her cat-like eyes opening slowly, as a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. You are too stunned to speak, merely staring at her with your mouth ajar. She giggles again as she leans down to peck your lips again quickly.

You offer her a dazed and dopey smile saying, "You are amazing, superstar..."

The rapper blushes before jokingly slapping your shoulder. She gently nuzzles against your neck before returning to her spot on your chest. Only now she peppered light kisses over your neck and collarbone.

"So...what are we now, Jen...?" You ask while you play with the ends of her hair and smoothing it out right after. She doesn't speak for a moment, and you prepared yourself to press for an answer, when she replies, "I would say we're two people who are happy in each other's presence."

You nod slowly, putting the subject to rest, but the question and her rather vague answer plaguing your mind.

It'd been a couple weeks and a dozen hidden kisses after the first when disaster had struck. You and Jennie had been strolling by the Han River, the shorter woman tucked under your arm in spite of the heat. You listened as she ranted about the things her management were forcing her to do, patiently waiting for your opportunity to bring up meeting your friends.

"...and they practically tore the dress apart so that I wouldn't wear it. And it was designer too." She pouted cutely, you smile and before you can control yourself you lean down to kiss her before she blocks your mouth with her hand. "Wha-What're you doing, N/n? We're in public!"

You blink confused and chuckle nervously. "I...I just thought—"

Jennie pulls away from your embrace before taking a far step away from you. "Well you thought wrong, alright?"

You look at her, her arms crossed and her brows knit together as she glared at you, before you laugh dryly and rub your eyebrows as the frustration boiled in your chest. But you merely took a deep breath and offered her a small, but incredibly, forced smile. "Alright. I'm sorry, let me take you home, Jen."

She simply rolled her eyes and shook her head, "It's fine. I can walk myself."

You deadpan and scoff. "Sure."

As you turn a heel to walk away, you realize that this would keep drawing on without talking about it. Without figuring out what you both were definitively. "No, let's talk about this. Here and now."

You turn to face her but Jennie looks around cautiously. In a hushed voice, she argued, "Can you just stop pushing the issue, Y/n. We can talk about it another time."

You sigh in a feeble attempt to calm yourself down before raising your hand to rub the frustrated tears out of your eyes. "I'll stop pressing the issue if you answer me this." Your voice now trembled as you struggle to get out what you need to say. "What are we, Jennie? Wh-Where exactly do I fit into your life?"

The singer begins softly, "N/n, you know what we—" You laugh dryly before staring down at her, ice in your eyes.

"No, I have no idea what we are!"

"Y/n wait please! Don't make a scene." Jennie called out as she chased you down the length of the underpass. You scoff loudly and turn to look at her . "This." You motion between you and Jennie "...is exactly your problem, Jennie!" You argued loudly, but that isn't what chipped at her heart.

Jennie.

You didn't call her that. You rarely ever did.

You take another shaky breath, closing your eyes to compose your thoughts. "You can't just decide that I can fit into your narrative, Jennie." You pause to open your eyes, blinking away the water in your eyes. "And quite frankly, I'm tired of waiting for the right moment for the company."

Her eyes gloss, tears ready to pour but she merely stares blankly at you. "What're you saying, Y/n?"

"I'm saying until you can give me what I need...an answer to what this..." You motion between the two of you, "I'm done."

"Y/n wait, I can't—"

"Kiss me." You say suddenly, cutting her off and catching her off guard. Her gaze bolts around, looking for anyone who happened past and even more so those possibly hiding, waiting for her to slip up. She takes a step forward and whisper-yells at you, "I can't do that, Y/n. I need to uphold my image."

You bite back any of the hurtful things you want to say, and just nod. Your lips trembling as you walk away, offering a half-hearted wave, "Bye, superstar."

With that you stride down the path and Jennie doesn't have the strength to follow you or argue anymore. She didn't want a relationship and she didn't want to compromise her work.

It was the right thing to do. But the next week was hell.

Jennie was far more cranky, snapping at the girls and talking back more to management when she was asked to do something or appear somewhere. It was impossible for her to attend any of her schedules without at least one private meltdown.

A couple weeks after you both split ways, the girls had to appear for a photoshoot for their latest album promotional material. If it were up to Jennie she would remain hauled up in her room but she noticed how excited the other members were, so she tried to liven up.

While the girl's energies bounced off the walls of the van they were all in, Jennie's eyes were glued to her screen. Unanswered texts and radio silence from you appeared in front of her as she typed out another apology...one she'd never send.

Much like the ones she'd drafted up before.

She knew you wouldn't respond, but she held out hope that you would eventually want to talk to her again. Maybe she could set things right and you two could be friends at the very least.

Even if the sheer idea of you two remaining that way left a bitter taste in her mouth.

As the girls entered the brightly lit studio, Jennie immediately recognized the form standing in front of the white backdrop with your brows furrowed together, your camera firmly in your hand. You were too deep in thought to really notice that they'd entered.

"...Y/n..." Jennie mumbles only to be teased by the other members. Their familiar voices made you look up and of course you couldn't keep your eyes off Jennie, she looked amazing. "We'll let you two catch up!" Lisa chirped happily before skipping away with Jisoo and Chae following close behind her.

Jennie never broke eye contact with you. Your breath hitched as she slowly walked towards you. "Y/n..." Her eyes softened, she had hoped that you were there to talk to her or tell her that you missed her...something. But you offered her a respectful but tightlipped smile, bowing slightly before turning to tinkle with your equipment. Swallowing her pride, Jennie cleared her throat and asked softy, "Can...Can we talk...?"

Your back straightens, you battle internally for a moment. You missed her, so, so deeply, but she knew what you needed from her. Without that firm boundary, you would both get hurt. You sigh deeply, not daring to look her in the eye. You knew you'd cave in the moment you did.

"Unless you're ready to talk about what we are, we have nothing more to talk about, Jennie." You mutter coldly, knees trembling as you spoke.

Before Jennie could beg you any further, the production manager approached you. "Y/F/N! We've heard nothing but great things, I hope that your name lives up to the expectations we have."

You nod solemnly before excusing yourself for a moment to take a "work call" when the girls walk out ecstatic. While the other girls teased the rapper though, the eldest noticed the sinking expression on Jennie's face.

Soon, the shoot began but anyone in the room could tell that the energy was completely off. You were hardly able to give direction, only muttering quiet curses every now and again, while Jennie was unable to show off her fierce edge. Glancing over at the shots on the monitor beside you, you groan softly. You call out, "Sorry, can I get just Lisa and Chae for their unit shots. Jisoo and Jennie, take ten. Thank you."

You're looking down at your camera, doing your bet to avoid Jennie's gaze and her heart ached for you. Jisoo nudged her out of the way gently, a concerned expression falling over the older member's face.

"What is going on between the two of you?" Jisoo asks softly once they are clear from the view of the camera. The rapper's shoulders fall as she runs through what had happened that night by her fellow member. By the end of her story, Jisoo's fist gently collides with Jennie's shoulder. "Ow! What the hell, unnie?"

"Are you serious? You threw that connection away because you were what? Scared?" Jennie shakes her head, almost offended, before she pulls Jisoo close. "We have an image to uphold! Plus I don't want to be in a relation—"

"Bullshit." The rapper is taken aback by the crass language used by the older member. But the stern look on her face made her shrivel under her eyes. "If you didn't want a relationship, you would have made it clear. I know you Jen. You're ready to reject everyone who comes your way. But the way you looked at Y/n, the way you talked about her, and how you kept her around, that's telling about how you really felt."

Jisoo looks up and bares her signature smirk, "And by the looks of it, you're still the star of Y/n's eye."

Jennie follows Jisoo's eyes confused, only to see you staring at her despite your focus supposedly being on Chaeyoung and Lisa who posed in front of you. Realizing you got caught, you pretend to adjust with the settings on your camera. The rapper is unable to bite back the smile as she watched you fidget and flush under her gaze.

You always did when you two spent time together. Become a flustered mess as she stared intently at you and what you were doing.

"Whatever is going on between the two of you, it's strong. And worth fighting for..." Not waiting for Jisoo to finish her though, Jennie took a seemingly confident stride towards you, but her mind ran laps on what the possible backlash could be.

You mindlessly click away at your camera but are confused when Chae and Lisa stop posing but mostly only look at you with giddy expressions on their faces. You hear someone clearing their throat from behind you. You pull the camera away from your eye to see Jennie staring at you, fluffy cheeks growing pink.

"Jennie what—" She lifts a hand up, only lifting her gaze up to look into your eyes now. You can see the restlessness in her eyes but she presses on in spite of the fear that bubbles in her chest. "You've said more than enough, Y/n. It's my turn."

Jennie could hear the whispers and rumors fly in her head. She closed her eyes as she tried to figure out what she needed to say and began to play with the tips of her fingers when her hand was intwined with yours, your thumb brushing the back of her hand soothingly.

The rapper opened her eyes to see you staring down at her with a warm smile and the softest eyes she'd ever seen, "It's alright, I'm listening."

The look in your eyes, the genuine care and affection that overflowed, gave her the burst of confidence she needed to put her thoughts together.

"I..." She pauses again, briefly looking over at the girls who give her supportive thumbs ups. "I've never been the type to open up about my feelings or ask for help from anyone...but in the span of ten minutes of us meeting, you were able to get me to do both of those things." She chuckles at the memory, "And you had the absolute worst opening line at that, Y/n."

You smile fondly before laughing softly, nodding for her to continue. "Letting my guard down...being anything less than perfect...terrified me and I was willing to do anything to protect that reputation. But when I was with you..." She paused to lean up and nudge her nose against yours tenderly, "I didn't want to anymore."

"What're you trying to say then, superstar?" You ask, shit-eating grin etched onto your lips, the very same one you wore the first time you met. Jennie rolled her eyes but her lips tugged into the first genuine smile since you two parted ways that night. "What I'm saying is, I hope you'll take me even if I acted stupid."

You look down at her with a warm smile, "You weren't stupid Jen, you were valid. I'm sorry that I made you feel that way too..." Rather nervously, you raise your hand to brush a stray out of her face. As your hand made gentle contact with hers, Jennie immediately leaned into your touch.

"Hey N/n," She mutters making you raise a curious brow. She smiles smugly at you, twirling in place cutely. "Kiss me?"

You grin before leaning down, her lips immediately slotting together with yours. Falling into the familiar pattern that you'd long missed. You smile against her lips and hoist her closer towards your body. An array of scattered and mixed gasps falls in the studio but Jennie could no longer be bothered to care.

She pulls away, "I can't give you an answer on what we are..." You frown and begin to pull away until she pulls you by the collar of your shirt,"...but I think I'm ready to talk about it."

You bite back your smile but nod, placing another kiss on the corner of her lips. "Think I'm going to need a bit more convincing though."

Jennie rolls her eyes and wraps her arm around your neck, locking your lips together again in a heated dance until you both hear her fellow members call out a series of curses and reminders that you were in public.

She laughs against your lips before waving off her members. "They're right though, get your pretty butt back on set, superstar." You say pulling away, slapping her bottom quickly. She squeaked and skipped back to set with the brightest smile she ever sported during one of these tedious photoshoots.

"Think you made the right decision?" Jisoo teased quietly in between shots. Jennie looked up at you behind the camera, pausing to flash her a bright smile. Her heart melted at the sight before she nodded confidently.

"Y/n's exactly what I've wanted."

did this sort of come from a relatively real place? maybe. did i cry a little more than i'm willing to admit because it hit too close to home? sadly, yes thats why this took so damn long to come out HAHAHA in any case though, i hope you all enjoyed this and it made sense?? honestly, i there was a different version of the ending but while i was saving it last night, our wifi decided it hated me and deleted the last saved version, so i rewrote it today. hope yall still enjoyed though 🥹 i will see you all tomorrow for lia day but until then, keep safe my lovelies and i love you all so, so much!! see you all soon❣️ - r

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 13 - Spinning

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Angst

Summary: You and Gojo are caught up in your feelings and he unintentionally breaks another rule. 

A/N: (18+ / minors and ageless blogs dni) New chapter! This is a bit of a filler chapter but I am working up to some dramatic things (smut and angst coming up!) plus revealing some of the secrets that happened in the timeline 👀 I hope you enjoy it! And as always comments are appreciated ☺️

- - - 

Sitting cross legged on your bedroom floor, you proceeded to fold the fresh laundry into perfectly neat piles. Music enveloped your room, the bass from your speaker bouncing off the walls as you mindlessly hummed along to the track that was playing. This is how you were choosing to unwind after a long work week, by organizing and cleaning up your apartment. There was something completely cathartic about resetting your space and you found yourself having plenty of free time on your hands recently.

Gojo has been exceptionally busy. At first there was an itch when you began seeing less of him, the two of you would plan to get together but that consistently kept getting cancelled. Eventually those plans transitioned to you agreeing on catching up with one another once things settled. Now it seems the only time you managed to hear from your friend was with sporadic phone calls and random text messages that he would send you at weird hours. The itch slowly turned into an ache, that familiar knot in your stomach making its presence known more often than usual.

There was something about the way he managed to fill the silence. You always gave him a hard time about talking your ear off but realised that he actually entertained you with some great conversations.

Even though half the time he was talking about ridiculous subject matters…

You had to hand it to Satoru though, he always spoke with such enthusiasm he would make the concept of paint drying seem fascinating.

He was fascinating.

Eight years of friendship have taught you that but you were smart enough not to feed his ego. Despite the two of you being close, Gojo still never fully let you in. You couldn’t deny that you were intrigued by him, curious to know more about the strongest sorcerer who seemed totally unphased by his own title whenever he was around you. You wanted to know more about how he fought off curses and protected people from the evils that seemed to be invisible in your eyes. Although he consistently evaded your questions, he did slowly open up about other things. You particularly loved the way his face let up when he talked about his students and it made you realise that if there was anything Gojo Satoru had committed himself to, it was his role as an instructor to the next generation of sorcerers.

Still, you usually tried to pry information out of him when the two of you would get lost in deep conversation, noticing the way Gojo would drift in his own thoughts whenever the subject seemed to focus on him.

Clearly there was an extent to which the man loved talking about himself.

There was a point when he spoke where you saw his face grow pensive as he brought up an old friend. He referenced him in passing but the way his mouth fell pained you just as much as it seemed to hurt him. Your question was on the tip of your tongue, eager to learn more about the people within his own circle, but Satoru immediately shifted the conversation onto something else.

That wall, much like his infinity, is impenetrable.

Unfortunately, the dynamics were in his favor. You wished that you could conceal your own emotions as easily around him but it was impossible. Gojo had the capability of knowing exactly how you were thinking and feeling at any given second. His incredible perception was his advantage, that’s why he is able to gauge your reactions so well.

You smiled subconsciously to yourself, goosebumps floating up to your shoulders when you realised how much you wanted your arms wrapped around his neck, your body pressing into his chest while breathing that spicy, sweet cologne…

Stop it.

You paused your action, the jeans on your lap in a mid-fold as you froze in place and your brain instantly turned off those dangerous ideas.  

You swallowed your own emotions, your abdomen tight when you realised that you had just spent the last ten minutes having intimate thoughts about Gojo.

You really shouldn’t but there was something about the way he acts around you that made you the slightest bit curious as to what he was thinking and how he was feeling.

How often did you cross his mind and did he even miss you as much as you did him?

At some point the two of you were going to have to stop this little game you were playing. Even though you weren’t seeking it out at the moment, you do want to settle down eventually with somebody you love. Satoru made it perfectly clear where he stood on relationships. He had no desire to get involved with anybody and the concept of marriage was something he completely rejected.

You recalled having a conversation with him about: 

“Are you really telling me that you’re okay living as a bachelor for the rest of your life?”

“Happily, actually…” Gojo replied, while you both continued your heated debate on the prospects of love.

“But why are you so against it?”

"I have my reasons,” he replied with a shrug.

Satoru always seemed to have a reason for everything but he was not willing to share it with you, leaving you in moments like this to analyze the little things he says to try and put the pieces together yourself.

Truthfully, you don’t want to stop as you found yourself fixated on this new…friends with benefits-ship…

Everything about it felt so good that you couldn’t even remember what things were like before you started hooking up.

How could you go back to just being friends after he’s seen you in your most vulnerable state? How were you supposed to pretend that his hands haven’t unraveled you into submission time and time again? How could you sit next to him without thinking about kissing him for hours on end? How were you supposed to listen to him talk without remembering the moments where he would whisper angel in your ear?

How the hell did you manage to keep your hands off him before this even started?

There was always the unspoken fact that you found each other attractive but since this new dynamic has started the two of you were like magnets whenever you were in close proximity to one another.

Well, you were able to keep the barrier because you were in a happily committed relationship with Haru, you interjected and suddenly you found yourself slumping your shoulders.

Haru was in love with you. He gave you the companionship you needed, he filled the silence with mindless conversations and was the one who held you when you needed him. He was the one to swallow your cries with soft kisses, that made you laugh in hysterics when you needed to boost your mood…

Your heart stopped, realizing that you were seeking out what Haru gave you with Gojo. Your gut wrenching at the idea of you using your friend to fill the emotional gap that Haru left. This ache that knotted your insides meant nothing and you were letting your thoughts confuse you into thinking that you were missing Gojo.

All you needed was to get your distraction back.

After all, Gojo is just your friend.

You had no reason to think anything else could come of this and burned any other thought about Satoru from crossing your mind for the rest of the evening.

If you even thought for a second that you might be falling for him, you would cut ties immediately. You weren’t going to put a strain on your friendship because you’re silly ideals were getting in the way of your agreement.

The two of you were just fucking.

Nothing more, nothing less.

***

Gojo studied the woman before him, acknowledging the fact that she is one of the most stunning individuals he had ever laid his eyes on. She was older than him by ten years but if it wasn’t for the age on her online profile, he wouldn’t have been able to tell.

She was tall, meeting his own towering height, give or take a few inches. Her long, pin straight hair flowed to her hips, accentuating her curves and covering her supple breasts. Her face could strike down any man that looked at her with those deep eyes and he was tempted to nibble on her full lips. Seeing her in person made Gojo realize that her price was high for a reason and totally justifiable.

Anyone would pay extra to fuck a goddess.

Somehow, he wound up here thanks to his own frustrations. His desire for you was driving him wild and his own hands weren’t enough to solve this problem. He still respected the rules that were unbroken and knew that as long as he didn’t go too far with Ami, he was fine. He wasn’t going to have sex with her but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t help him out with his current predicament in other ways.

Besides, you did tell him that he was allowed to see other people. However, that didn’t stop his stomach from twisting at the thought of climbing into bed with someone other than you. He couldn’t quite figure out what this awkward sensation was or why he was bothered by his own decision to meet up with Ami in the first place.

Gojo stripped down to his boxers before sitting on the edge of her satin covered mattress. She was admiring him with amusement, the tempting smile on her lips telling him that she was also enjoying what she was seeing.

“You paid for a full hour but said that you might not be here for that long. Did something urgent come up?” she questioned, her voice sensually low and sending a shiver up Gojo’s spine.

My she is dangerous, he thought to himself, knowing full well how this entire experience would go under different circumstances.

The circumstances being, well, you.

“I don’t plan on sticking around too long...” he explained.

“I’ll have to adjust your pay accordingly then,” she replied, taking a few steps forward until she was standing in front of him.

“I don’t mind paying for the full hour,” Gojo teased with a grin, his free hand moving to touch her silky hair as he rubbed it between his fingers.

She smiled, nearly taking his breath away as she brought her finger to the blindfold covering his eyes.

“I don’t like accepting money for free,” she  stated, tracing her touch down his chiseled jawline. “I bet you’re handsome but I am guessing you don’t plan on taking this thing off to show me what you really look like.”

“Yep,” Gojo smiled as Ami proceeded to slide across her bed next to him. "And you guessed right, I’ve got an exceptionally pretty face.”

“Cocky too,” she purred, “there’s a special way I treat guys like you…”

Gojo hummed, switching his position so he was lying back against her pillows. Ami crawled her body over his lean torso, her hands rubbing up and down his thigh as she glanced in his direction.

“Oh, yeah? I would love to see how...” Gojo insisted, his breath growing heavy as she guided her hand all the way to his mouth.

She traced his bottom lip with her thumb, a devious mask highlighting her stunning features as she spoke, “Be a good boy and lie back while I take care of you…”

He fully caved, allowing this sultry siren to take control by touching and teasing his body however she pleased. Gojo usually enjoyed relinquishing his power every now and then but for whatever reason it was taking some effort for him to fully immerse himself with what was happening. Ami straddled his cock, before proceeding to press her mouth against his. Her lips were working fervently over his own as she deepened the kiss, but the spark that he needed just wasn’t igniting.

When Ami flicked her tongue over his, he would only think about the sensation of yours. The taste of you in his mouth lingered like an addictive poison. One that he craved every single time you crossed his mind. The sound of your moans played in his ear and the sweet way you called out his name when he touched you between your legs filtered his brain. He was only brought back to the reality that it wasn’t you pushing your body against his, when Ami wrapped her fingers around his throat. He tried to erase you and focus on the woman before him but was persistently failing.

She could see that something was off from how he was responding to her caresses. “Are you sure you're up for this tonight, baby?” Ami teased, whispering into his mouth as she snagged his bottom lip between her teeth. “You don’t seem ready for me...”

“Fuck…” Gojo grunted out of frustration, knocking his head back as he pressed his fingers to his temple. “It’s not you, I’m just distracted…”

“What’s on your mind?” she continued, stroking his broad chest lovingly to try and coax him out of the daze he was in.

“Not what...who…” he responded shyly, his cheeks blushing ever so slightly by his admittance.

“I see…” she cooed, “Wife? Girlfriend?”

Gojo scoffed, a comical laugh escaping him as he shook his head.

“Definitely not.”

Ami pressed her lips together, her nail doodling along his upper body with random figures as she continued to question her intriguing client.

“Tell me about her…”

Gojo froze, his hands digging into Ami’s thighs upon hearing her bold question, “she’s just a friend. There’s nothing to say...”

“Is she beautiful?”

“She’s gorgeous,” Gojo exhaled, his words passing his lips faster than he could process what he had just said. Ami tracked her hands down between her legs, stroking his boxers as she massaged his length.

“Tell me what she looks like…”

He described you in detail, from your sinfully sweet lips to the beautiful sound of your laughter and how soft your skin felt in his hands. She continued tricking him into revealing the intimate thoughts that swirled in his mind when he thought about you. She heard the way Gojo’s voice wavered as he swelled between her hands, the tip of his cock poking through his underwear as the pre-cum stained the material of his boxers. Ami pulled the clothing away from his hips, hands returning to grip his member as she continued stroking up and down his shaft.

“Do you think about fucking her with the other women you meet?”

“Yes,” Gojo revealed through gritted teeth, swallowing hard as she played with his tip by circling his thumb over the slit of his cock.

“How often?”

“Too often,” the sorcerer hissed, his hips bucking into her hands.

“I bet you wish you were fucking her right now, don’t you?”

She saw how turned on he is and how easily the thought of you brought him close to his release. Ami spread her legs, adjusting her stance until she brought the tip of his cock to her entrance. Gojo hesitated, knowing that he needed to stop what was about to happen. This wasn’t supposed to go this far. He was only here for a quick hand job or blowjob, but he couldn’t suppress a satisfied moan as she slid down to take in his length.

“F-fuck, wai-...”

“Shh, baby, close your eyes and think of your sweet angel…” Ami whispered in his ear, making Gojo roll his blue irises to the back of his head as he relaxed into her touch.

She didn’t speak after that, fulfilling her promise of taking care of him but also ensuring that his focus was solely on the mental image of you. The sound of her skin bouncing up and down his length took over the entire room. The way Ami stated that you were his was enough to send him over the edge and it didn’t take long until he climaxed at the thought, quickly pulling out of her and releasing hot ropes of cum all over her stomach but imagining that it was you the entire time. She immediately cleaned herself up after they finished, before giving Gojo some privacy and allowing him to get himself together.

After he got dressed, he pulled out his phone to transfer the payment. He doubled the amount he was supposed to give, totally aware that she didn’t reach her own release and was disappointed in himself that he couldn’t pleasure the remarkable temptress before him.

He slipped on his boots, his mind racing as the guilt rushed right through him. He hated that broke another rule, especially since this particular one was a boundary you set for your own comfort. He was angry at himself that he disrespected that and was annoyed for crossing the line in the first place.

What the fuck is wrong with me?, he thought to himself.

“I told you I don’t get paid for doing nothing. I don't accept money like that, not even from spoiled rich boys like you,” Ami stated, her words stung but she spoke in such a gentle tone that didn’t offend the sorcerer. She was leaning against the wall as she appeared before him, her body now covered with just a pink robe.

“You got me off but I did nothing to reciprocate. I tell all the other girls to charge double if that happens.”

“How considerate,” she mused before arching her brow in delight at him, “but for the sake of my own conscience I feel like I need to give you something in return…”

Gojo stood up from his seat, smoothing out his clothes before approaching her slowly. Even though he got what he wanted out of this arrangement, he was feeling worse about himself the longer he stayed in this room.

“How about a piece of advice before you leave and we can call it even?” Ami questioned.

“What is it?” the sorcerer wondered, hearing her feet patter against the carpet as she followed his footsteps to her front door.

She paused when she reached for the handle, before tilting her face and directing her full attention towards his covered eyes.

“Tell your friend how you feel or cut off whatever it is you’re doing. If you don’t tell her then you’re fucked, plain and simple.”

“Look, what happened just now doesn’t mean anything…”

She raised her fingers to his lips, stopping him from even attempting to defend what transpired.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re easy to read. I have had clients come here trying to forget their lovers and those who come to see me because they can’t resist their own primative urges. I see the ones who are lonely, who only visit me for companionship and nothing more. Then there are the ones who are like you, who will bury themselves in any cunt they see just to pretend that they aren’t in love with somebody else…”

Gojo clenched his jaw, squeezing his hands together as the heat rose up to his face.

“You don't know what you're talking about. Besides, wanting to fuck somebody and being in love are two very different things.”

“True, except those two things are tangled up in one person when it comes to you…”

Gojo pressed his lips into a thin line, unsure as to why her accusation made him so irritated.

“Awww, don’t get angry, pretty boy. It’s unbecoming for somebody as handsome as you are…” Ami whispered, before kissing him on the cheek as she said her goodbye. “It’s okay, I promise that your secret is safe with me…”

*** 

CHAPTER 14: JEALOUSY

[thewolfisawake]

Meet the Family

Starting this series just for supplementary information about those that have relations with muses. More for fun and for my own reference. And I’m gonna kick off with the parents to my first muses

Name: Kasimira Mechnikova

Status: Alive

Kasimira is Kesil and Artemis’ mother. She is a freelancer whose handiwork is know as The Plague. But before she was a killer, she was the daughter to a family of doctors. While she learned the trade, it was evident early on she had an interest that bordered obsession in anything that caused negative effects in the body. While anyone knew that about her, she kept appearances well enough to get through the system and then disappear, taking her sickness-inducing side hustle into a full-time gig. She wasn’t so tunnel-visioned to realize that with the more she took to poisoning that surely someone could come after her and she adapted her skills accordingly.

Getting established in the freelancer life is how she met Andrei. They had a mutual target and she managed to get them first. While Andrei could probably kill her, he didn’t and there was some mutual attraction to simple danger of the other being a freelancer. This led to Kesil and the unintentionally start to their family. 

Kasimira is not normally mentioned as heavily by Kesil nor Artemis because she often was absent to them despite physically being present. A marriage and children were secondary to her research. Which, weirdly, because of them had opened doors for her. She was quite knowledgeable in what could damage the human body. What could damage nonhumans? She didn’t know. And that not knowing was something that fueled her. Andrei put up with her antics since, he found a use in if she could actually poison a vampire. If it happened she needed to make himself or the boys sick for a few days for it, so be it. 

And that’s essentially what Artemis remembers her for. Her bouts in the kitchen that resulted in questionable aches and pains later and the few times she actually showed medical treatment. Kesil barely thinks about her outside of her passivity to their father’s antics.

Name: Mechnikov Andrei Tikhonovich

Status: Alive

Andrei is the heir to the Mechnikov family albeit not exactly thrilled by the prospect. He is a freelancer known for his brutality and thoroughness. If not for knowing that he was hired, one might not know it was him. Andrei is actually nearly couple centuries old along with his twin, Lyudmila. They were raised in a way that is considered old-fashioned by many and while he has adapted--especially in the world of information and secrets--he still maintains a lot of mindset.

Being the only son born to his father, he was expected to take over the family however Andrei never really wanted the family. He had hoped Lyudmila would start a family first and it wouldn’t be his problem. He was trained regardless with ‘tough love’ given. Andrei recalls a lot of mockery because of his lack of personal power although by now he’s drained so many vampires, he couldn’t be bothered by this anymore. Besides, their parents are gone by this point so what did it matter?

With Kasimira, it was an accident of having a child but since she was the first he had a child with, he settled with her. As odd as she may be. With Kesil, he raised him much like how he was raised. Which seemed to be fine until Artemis came about. His family only had him and Lyudmila. They didn’t have to deal with two sons nor having a dhampir child. As such, they didn’t know what to do with Artemis. He wasn’t as durable and he wasn’t gonna inherit anything as far as he was concerned. So, they didn’t do much with him. It was more or less left to Kesil on raising Artemis. 

It was after the incident when Artemis was kidnapped and Kesil went after him was the first time Andrei saw any worth in Artemis. The incident had awoke Artemis’ Empyrean blood early and made him realize that his elemental ability showed up too. So it became a game of catch up that Artemis had difficulty keeping up with as both a child and not having the same durability as pureblood. 

Kesil holds a lot of resentment towards Andrei because of how they were raised. And Andrei...both does and does not get Kesil’s attitude. Because to him, what he is doing is what their family was made to do so they can survive. Kesil can do it, he is refusing to though. However Andrei can also in a way see the true feelings he had towards his own upbringing as, whether either of them want to admit it or not, Kesil is a lot like him. 

Artemis on the other hand...both fears and respects Andrei. He wants Andrei’s attention and thus takes even the small things asked of him. And as of late he’s taken some notice of Artemis’ progress. While Andrei still expects Kesil to take over the family...he has also started to kind of bring up Artemis in case there’s this off chance that doesn’t happen.

Despite either of the boys’ major feelings, they both can acknowledge Andrei is strong. As a fighter. As a vampire killer. As one that holds the cards. They to some degree want the strength he has but want it for different reasons. 

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: F*@k The Chef {One Shot}***

Ransom Drysdale x Family Chef Reader

Warning: NSFW, SMUUUUUT, Cursing, Hard Dub-Con, DARK Creepy Ransom, ALL STARS ON NSFW METER

***DO NOT READ AT WORK!!! TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY***

Words: 4k

Summary: HA! Nope.

Note: So, my first attempt at Ransom and more importantly Dub-Con. I don’t know about you, but Ransom does not scream anything but dubiousness. That means consent is given but by dubious means. I hope this is even a fraction of good. Was this dark? Thank you guys for reading!! 

Also, this was not written to offend anyone.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

***Gif Not My Own***

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

When you got the call that you’d been chosen for an in-home chef position, you were happy. You’d hit bottom when you’d tapped out all of your savings trying to help your mother when she got her diagnosis. Cancer—stage three Cancer. It was a death sentence, your mother said. She was hell-bent on not fighting it, but you wouldn’t hear a thing about it. She’d birthed you a fighter, and you’d go down as a fighter. The cancer didn’t waste any time progressing. Before long, she went from no symptoms to every symptom in the book. She said she’d made her peace with death, but you weren’t ready to face a world without her.

 You drained your bank account with her meds, her care, and funding the portion of treatment her insurance refused to. After six months, you were broke. The call that you’d be chosen for a live-in position automatically garnered a refusal. You couldn’t leave your mother. Then the offer got even better, not only were you requested but the salary was better than any personal chef had ever seen. There was no way you wouldn’t take the job.

 When you rolled up to the address, your jaw dropped when you realized where you were—the Thrombey estate. You weren’t an idiot, you’d heard about the Thrombey Dynasty, everyone had heard the rumors. They’re the wealthiest family, they controlled serious portions of the business world and even that the family was seriously weird. You’d even heard the torrid tale of the black sheep of the family, Ransom Drysdale. You’d heard about his arrest. The release of information was interesting. The whispers said he’d killed his grandfather and the family housekeeper, but the official story said the family was a victim of insufficient evidence that pinned the murders on Ransom. It was safe to say the family had secrets, and though you’d never met Ransom, he looked dangerous.

You couldn’t believe your luck. Upon speaking with Linda Drysdale about the position, you knew this would be an interesting position. Linda told you what you needed to know to do your job accordingly, and you took detailed notes. It was clear that everyone in the household and the family had particular tastes that had to be paid attention to.

 Six months into the position, you’d learned a lot and developed on the job skills it took to survive working for the Thrombeys as well as living with them. You considered yourself an expert now. That was until you walked into your kitchen one day and saw a set of shoulders that looked ripe for the touching. He was bent inside the fridge, and it gave you a good view of his backside. It looked nice—toned. You got lost looking over the muscles you knew were underneath the brown sweater they wore that you didn’t even realize when they looked over their shoulder right to you.

 “Holy Shit,” you gasped.

 Ransom Drysdale stood a few feet away. His body straightened and came to full height. He was huge, or bigger than you. You were clearly the omega, and he looked every bit the vicious alpha.

 “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” His mouth remained relaxed, but there was a playful but dangerous glint in his eyes. “Or maybe you do entirely different things with a mouth as pretty as that.”

 Unexpectedly, butterflies filled your belly. You usually were immune to pick up lines like that, but that was a blatant pickup line, one that was dark but for some reason, affected you. As he sauntered toward you, you caught dangerous vibes coming off of him. You backed up with every advance he made. When your heel hit the threshold of the kitchen entrance, panic set in. You were alone with a man who’d quite possibly killed two people, one of whom was his own grandfather. He stopped mere inches from touching you and smirked. Goosebumps flooded your skin.

 “Yeah, you do entirely different things with that mouth. Care to share?”

 You were stunned silent; his eyes were an intense shade of blue you couldn’t help but admire. That, coupled with his perfectly coiffed dark hair and chiseled jawline, it would have been an honest assessment to call him beautiful. When you didn’t answer, his smirk widened and sent chills down your spine. Leaning forward to your ear Ransom took a deep inhale then groaned.

 “One day.” With that, he walked off, leaving you dazed and slightly shaking. You didn’t know what it was you were shaking from fear or excitement.

 You thought to render your resignation after that encounter, but you couldn’t convince yourself to pass up on the clearly over-generous salary, not when your mother was still in treatment. After an all-night debate with your door securely locked and bolted with a chair underneath the knob, you decided to keep the job but tread carefully, especially when it came to a one Ransom Drysdale.

 For the next four months, you put up with a lot more than an average family chef would have had to. You stomached the catcalls, the whistles, and the demeaning sounds Ransom made every time he saw you or was close to you. You just steeled your spine and pretended you’d heard nothing at all. Every time you were left alone in a room, you made an excuse to leave. When you had to bring his dinner to his room because he hated his family so much that he refused to eat with them at the dinner table, you kept it simple. Rather than go into the lion’s den, you left it on the floor in front of the door, knocked, and made a mad dash to get away before he opened the door. You skated by for four months.

 As time went on, his advances became more and more blatant. What started as catcalls or whistling turned into sly comments about your uniform and how it should be shorter and how the fit did wonders for your waist and breasts. That escalated to outward attempts at getting to you. On the off chance your eyes met, he’d bite his lips, lick them obnoxiously and wink at you. When that had no effect, he found ways to touch you slyly. He’d squeeze past you sliding his body against yours, take plates or other items from you while ensuring his hand grazed yours. A few times, he’d even grabbed your waist. Each time it produced a loud yelp that could be heard throughout the house.

 After months of you not reciprocating or opening up to his advances, his delivery became even crasser. It was a little strange to you. You knew from the sounds that came from his bedroom that he had no shortage of women that would do whatever, whenever he wanted. You didn’t know why he had this fixation with you. Part of you said it was the draw of breaking someone—something. He possibly wanted to break those around him that were put together, and you were just the closest target. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to provoke him.

 One night, Ransom must have been lying in wait for you. When you approached his door with the tray of food, he swung open his door, startling you half to death. He smiled like the Cheshire cat if the Cheshire cat was a convicted murderer.

 “Funny meeting you here,” Ransom said, leaning one brawny shoulder on the threshold.

 “I—I have your dinner.”

 “You have my dinner who?” Clenching your jaw, you swallowed the smart comeback that nearly slipped from you. As if sensing it, Ransom smiled as his eyes darkened. He tilted his head to the side, quietly reminding you he was waiting.

 “Sir,” you filled in.

 He nodded and breathed out. You saw his eyes lazily travel over your body. He wasn’t even being coy about it; he was doing it outright like he wanted you to know what he was doing. Doing your best to ignore it and not say something reckless you’d regret in the trunk of his car as he took you to some abandoned part of the estate to kill you.

 “Bring it inside,” Ransom ordered. You hesitated. Going inside was a stupid idea, anyone with half a brain knew that. You also thought what other option did you have? He didn’t even bother repeating it. It was as if his privilege told him you’d obey.

 Cursing to yourself, you slowly stepped into his room and looked for a place to put the dinner tray. As you walked across to the small table up a few steps on the other side of the room, you did your best to slow your breathing and calm your nerves. Once you placed it down, you began walking back to the door. Before you got near it, Ransom shut it and leaned against it. Your stomach fell.

 “Uh—what’re you—what’re you doing?”

 “Whatever the hell I want,” he gruffly said. His eyes didn’t look clear tonight. He’d taken something. In your time working there, you’d learned a few things about Ransom. He liked women, alcohol, good food—rich food, and drugs. You suspected he did them all, but you knew for a fact he liked weed and molly, otherwise known as ecstasy. He must have taken one tonight, you though.

 Ransom rubbed his nose and sniffled as he did it and zeroed in on you. “Come here.”

 Instead of listening, you backed away, trying to create distance between you. “Come—here!”  It was said more loudly. He meant business. Panic set in and a feeling of dread. Before he moved, he growled then pounced. You yelped and got ready to scream, but Ransom’s hand clasped over your mouth before he pushed you against the wall on the other side of his room.

 “Let’s not go doing something stupid, sweetheart,” he drawled his voice dripping with wickedness and sin.

 “Tell me—sweetheart,” Ransom began with his face just inches from yours. “What would you do to keep your job?” You felt his finger trail your throat. It inched lower and lower until it was at the rise of your breast. “One word from me, and you’ll be out on your ass faster than you can say Cancer treatment.”

 With those words, your eyes widened. He knew about your mother. When he saw you realized it, he smiled sinisterly.

 “That’s right, sweetheart. I know you need this job. The question is, what will you do to keep it?”

 Moments passed where he kept his hand clamped over your mouth. Only when he was sure you weren’t going to scream did he remove it.

 “The next words out of your mouth better be anything, sweetheart,” Ransom warned. Glaring at him, you hoped to convey all the hatred you had for him at this moment. Ransom didn’t look like he cared, his smile said it didn’t faze him one bit.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors? Hate turns me on. I’d be careful how you look at me, Y/N. I just might bend you over that table and have my real dinner.” Your eyes bugged with his threat, but your belly did cartwheels. What the hell was wrong with you, you wondered.

 “So—again, what will you do—to keep your job?” He said it in a sing-song voice this time. He was enjoying this. The sick fuck was enjoying this.

 “What do you want?”

 As if he’d been waiting for you to ask him that. He smiled and got so close his nose touched yours. You tried to press your back even further onto the wall hoping it would suck you in. That didn’t happen though; instead, ransom’s hand tightened on your hip and pulled you to him. Your body was now crushed flush against his. Even dressed in the teal-colored wool sweater, you could still feel every muscle underneath. He was athletically built.

 “You.”

 As if for emphasis as soon as the word left his mouth, you felt his erection poking against you. Again, your belly did backflips as you were filled with strange feelings; fear was the least of them.

 “I’m tired of waiting for you to throw yourself at me so I can take what I offer. You are the only one who has resisted this long. Why resist? Just give in. Give me what I want,” Ransom spoke through clenched jaws as he ground his crotch into you. A small moan escaped your lips, one you instantly regretted. His lips touched your ear before he spoke.

 “You want me. Give it, or I will take it.” Ransom then bit your earlobe, but it wasn’t gentle. It was forceful. His teeth relinquished their hold before he bit your neck. He wanted to mark you.

 Suddenly a loud knock broke the heady aura in the room.

 “What!”

 “Where is Y/N! She’s needed now. Have you seen her?” It was Linda. You’d never been happier to hear her voice.

 Ransom’s anger was evident, and it grew when he saw relief in your eyes. He looked like he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you, and none of them ended with you clothed and unmarked. Ransom then begrudgingly scoffed and went back to your ear. “Soon.”

 After he spoke, he released you. Quickly you scurried to the door and out. You didn’t even bother to shut it behind you. You just ran.

 For days you looked over your shoulder. For days you lived on edge. You kept your door locked with the chair underneath and even pushed one of the nightstands against it in case he was strong enough to barge in. Night after night, nothing happened. Day after day, Ransom was on his best broody behavior. The catcalls stopped, the whistles were a thing of the past, the touches nonexistent. He’d gone one hundred to zero overnight, and it confused you.

 You were relieved the first few weeks, but that relief turned to doubt. You were convinced he was working some twisted angle. You were sure he would sneak out from every corner and push you over whatever furniture was nearby and have at it. It was a constant worry. After four weeks and nothing, you began to relax, especially when you found little things lying around at your door either early in the morning when you rose to get breakfast ready or late at night when your day was done. The items weren’t huge things; they were things such as your favorite flower, or your favorite dessert. There was one time you found a diamond necklace in your favorite color. You knew who it was from. You didn’t acknowledge them, though. That must have been encouragement, every so often you’d find pieces of jewelry, earrings, bracelets, rings, all items that looked like they cost more than an average weekly paycheck. You didn’t wear them, you kept them in a drawer and tried not to think about them.

 His behavior was erratic and confusing. You couldn’t figure him out. One morning ransom was waiting in the kitchen for you. You nearly tripped over your own two feet. You couldn’t walk away because he’d already seen you. Cautiously you walked into the room, taking the path that left enough breadth between you and him. You wanted to get to the fridge, but the action meant your back was turned to him. You didn’t want to turn your back on him.

 “Don’t bother. There is no one here today—no need to make breakfast,” Ransom informed.

 “Uh—what—

 “I have breakfast already.” He nodded to the pink box sitting on the island. Your eyed dropped to it and caught the aroma of pastries. You recognized the box.

 “I made coffee,” Ransom informed. Shock filled you.

 “You?” He scoffed, got up, and walked to the fancy espresso machine. He then poured the dark liquid into a mug and approached you. The scent of the exotic coffee beans teased your nostrils. He stopped a few feet from you and held out the mug. It was the mug that read “my house, my rules, my coffee.” You couldn’t help but think of the stories you’d heard of Marta. Marta who was now strangely gone without a trace.

 “Take it. I promise I didn’t do anything to it.” You slowly reached out and took the mug and sniffed it hoping to be able to smell if he poisoned or drugged it.

 “I didn’t poison or drug it. You have entirely the wrong idea about me, Y/N.” He chuckled and walked back to the espresso machine to get his own mug. He then came back to you and leaned on the island while facing you.

 “I want to apologize,” Ransom began. You almost dropped your mug.

 “Apolo—huh?”

 “I know, it is not a concept I’m familiar with, but neither is forcing myself on the help. I don’t have to force anyone to fuck me,” Ransom crassly explained.

 “Nice. Lucky you.”

 “Meh. I didn’t mean to—I was high. I didn’t have full control.”

 You studied him trying to assess if he were being sincere or if this was yet another ploy.

 “Come, I got your favorites.” Ransom walked away to the stool and sat then opened the pink pastry box.

 It was filled with your favorites, madeleines. It was a box of an assortment of them, and they smelled delicious. Ransom waited for you to approach. When you did, it was a slow stride, and you took the stool that was farthest from him. The two of you ate and drank in silence. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, though. You tried to keep your nervous ticks to a minimum, but it was difficult. The longer you sat across from him, smelling his cologne, the more you felt temptation. It was confusing. Though you hated him, you were strangely intrigued by him, inexplicably attracted to him. It was one of those things that you felt ashamed of. When the last madeleine was eaten, Ransom stood and walked out of the kitchen without a word. Your head was spinning from this three-sixty.

 That wasn’t the end of Ransom’s peculiar behavior. It all continued as did the wayward glances. At times they were soft, and other times they were hard and intense. You were convinced the man had bipolar disorder or even multiple personalities. Several more weeks passed with him giving you the hot and cold treatment, the psychopath and sane citizen act. Though you tried to talk yourself out of it, you found yourself with mixed feelings for him.

 You were minding your own business preparing the lunch for the household. You’d just finished putting a freshly kneaded loaf of bread in the oven and checked on your pot of stew on the stove slow-simmering when heard the clink of metal. Your curiosity won out, making you look behind you to the nook in the kitchen, and there stood Ransom. He was dressed in his favorite white cable knit sweater and dark pants. Your eyes immediately dropped to those pants to see his belt undone, and him slowly zipping down his pants. You were frozen in place. The slowness of his moves was like torture. You knew you should have looked away, but you were interested in knowing just what had countless women compromising their morals. When his cock flopped out of his pants, you gasped and placed your hand at your throat. He was long and thick and completely ready.

 You heard a growl from him, and in seconds, he was across the kitchen and in front of you, pressing you against the fridge.

 “Looks like soon is today. When we first met, you showed me a glimmer of how dirty your mouth was. That was just a fraction though Y/N. Get on your knees and show me more,” Ransom demanded. His eyes were again dark similar to the way they’d looked the night in his room.

 “Ransom pl—” Ransom grabbed your throat, but he didn’t squeeze.

 “What did you call me?”

 “S—sir,” you replaced. His top lip rose in a devious smirk.

 “On your knees. Or we can call this your last day working here.”

 You knew he was serious. Linda was wrapped around his finger, and she didn’t even know it. All he had to do was say he hated your food, and you’d be out on your ass, and your mother would suffer for it. After quick calculation of your options and the fall out from them, you slowly dropped to your knees. Ransom’s thick cock was right in front of your face. The violent veins were protruding to give you an idea of just how engorged he was.

 “I’ve dreamed of this for months. Open your pretty mouth, sweetheart.”

 You opened your mouth, and without warning, Ransom thrusted forward, sending his cock down your throat. You gagged, but Ransom kept it nestled in the tight confines of your throat. You groaned, hoping to relay your panic from your lack of oxygen intake, but either Ransom didn’t understand, or he didn’t care. You were sure it was the lather. He pulled his hips back, allowing you to chough and gasp for it. The reprieve was only momentary. In seconds, he shoved his cock back into your mouth and held the back of your head where he wanted it as he fucked your face.

 You did your best to remain conscious. With every thrust, Ransom shoved his cock further and further down your throat, suffocating you in the process. Soon slobber and thick globs of mucus dribbled from your chin and down to your flour-covered uniform. Ransom didn’t slow his actions or take heed to not break your throat with his cock. He fucked your face viciously. His only concern was his pleasure. When his thrusts became so fast you couldn’t keep up; you gagged with every forward thrust. Your struggle must have been a turn on for him because the sounds coming from him were animalistic but also vulnerable.

 “That’s it; sweetheart suck my cock. You take me so fucking well. swallow me!” His hands loosened their grip from behind your head, and he caressed your cheek with the back of his hand. It was out of character.

 “Use your hands!” you wrapped both your hands around his shaft and worked his length as he continued to fuck your mouth. Ransom dropped his head back and groaned loudly.

 “Yes, that’s it, sweetheart, swallow this cock! show me how bad you fucking want it!”

 When you moaned on his length, you were shocked. You couldn’t believe this; you were turned on. Ransom must have known it too because it was then he plowed into your mouth with reckless abandonment. The moment before he came, you saw his intention. When you felt the hot splash of his cum shoot against your tonsils and down your throat, Ransom clasped his hands behind your head again and held you in place so not one drop escaped your mouth. His grunts were loud and forceful. From the look of him he was in ecstasy.

 “Swallow every drop!” It wasn’t a suggestion. You struggled swallowing and attempting to breathe. It felt like his cum was coming through your nose. You began to feel lightheaded and woozy as Ransom swished his cock around your throat, nudging it against the walls. The sensation fiercely triggered your gag but thanks to his cock in your mouth, there was nowhere for anything to go. Gulping, you swallowed what he deposited, and that action had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It was then Ransom pulled himself from your mouth, finally allowing you to chough and gasp for air.

 After a few moments, Ransom stooped down before you, his cock still out and slowly coming back to life. Your eyes met, and he had a smile on his face.

“There, there sweetheart. You did good.” Ransom used a dish towel to dab at the corners of your mouth before he wiped your messy chin. “Could be better, but don’t worry, I’ll train you proper tonight.” He leaned to your ear and whispered. “Let the big bad wolf in Y/N. I promise I’ll fuck you right.”

When he said it, he stood and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you on the floor in complete shock at what just happened and the fact that you liked it—a lot. 

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

[woozisguitar]

|Illicit Affair- Luke Patterson x Reader|

|Pairing|- Luke Patterson x reader

|Warning|- Swearing, toxic household, mentions of sexual abuse and su!cide (let me know if I should add thing else)

|Word Count|- 1600

|Summary|- Luke and the reader are in an illicit affair. However, when Luke sees her dancing with the man her family chose for her, things t=in their relationship change.

|a/n|- hi hi hi! Okay, first off, how are y’all??? Also, I’m so sorry for not posting for so long. This is based off Illicit Affair by Taylor Swift (I would totally recommend listening to it while reading this). I’m really proud of this and I hope y’all like it. until then, stay safe and drink water!!

I grabbed him by the neck and pulled him for one last kiss of the night. “Pull you hood over, keep your eyes down, make sure no one is around and if anyone asks you where you've been, just tell them you were-”

“Out for a run, I remember love”, Luke finished my sentence, before grinning and kissing me on the cheek. He gave me one last smile, a sense of longing already seeping in his eyes. He jumped out of my bedroom window and made his way back home. I hope he takes the 7th avenue, it’s the road least travelled by.

I made my way back to my room and stood there taking it all in. The remnants of our clandestine meetings still fresh, the soft wrinkles on my pillow where Luke laid.

I tidied up my room and sprayed myself with some of Luke’s perfume. It was the only explanation I had when my father asked me why I smelled different. I told him I brought new perfume which smelled like vanilla and apples. Sounds weird but it's probably the most beautiful smell in the world for me. Plus, Luke likes it when I smell like him. Reminds him of the long nights he usually spends in my room. There was a knock on their door. I quickly patted down my untamed hair, and opened the door. There stood Lydia, my maid and friend. Growing up in such a prestigious household came with many drawbacks. One of them being that I couldn't choose my own friends. Or make any decisions of my life. As a woman, my upbringing consisted of learning how to do all of the housework and be the perfect wife for my husband. I knew I never would have a shot at love or to marry someone I liked at my own will. My husband would be chosen for me, it would be a deal for the fortune of our either families. I realised Lydia had been standing there for a while. I nodded at her, signalling she had my attention. “Miss-”

“Lydia, I’ve told you before. Please call me Y/N”, I interrupted her.

“My apologies Miss Y/N. I came here to inform you, you have a meeting with a potential suitor tomorrow evening at the Princeton’s party. Your mother has asked you to be on your best behaviour and present yourself accordingly, not like you don't already do that”, Lydia finished her sentence in a small mocking tone, erupting a laugh from me. “Thank you for informing me Lydia. Tell my mother I shall behave as she wished for me to”. Lydia gave me a smile and left the room. I lay on my bed, the scent of Luke’s perfume surrounded me. It felt so real almost like he was here with me. I closed my eyes and drifted off to my dreams filled with a beautiful, talented, man who had the prettiest hazel eyes.

The Princeton’s party was beautiful as always. They had the most beautiful house and the couple themselves were hilarious and welcoming. Apart from this, they were so painfully in love, even after years of marriage, it filled me with a longing feeling, I wondered if Luke could ever be like this.

Dressed in a soft blue ball gown, I tucked my hand in my brother’s arm as we made our way to the suitor’s family.  As we passed the group of musicians hired for the party, my eyes fell on the lead singer. 

Luke....

He stood there, looking more beautiful than ever. It's almost like he gets more handsome every time we meet. His eyes locked with mine and he gave me a subtle wink. My cheeks flared at his gesture and I averted my gaze to the man in front of me. He looked me up and making, an action that usually makes me blush when done by Luke but this man just made me feel uncomfortable and disgusted. His red hair gelled to give him a sleek look and his green eyes had a glint of lust. I lowered my gaze to the floor, in hopes for this to get over as soon as possible and I could go back to Luke. “Y/N this is Mr Williamson and his son James.” Right on que, a slow song came up and Luke’s vice filled the room. “Oh my, what a perfect timing! “My mother squealed, “Y/N why don't you and James go have a dance, maybe get to know each other a bit?” I looked at my mother and back at James, who had his hand extended towards me. I quickly stole a glance at Luke who was intently starting at James and I. I placed my hands over his and he walked us over to the dance floor. He placed his hand on my waist, dangerously close to my butt. I placed my hand on his shoulder, keeping my eyes down casted. “So Y/N, have you ever been with anyone?”, my eyes shot up at his question. No, he can't know. No one can. I shook my head no and James smirked . “Good so I know that you're a virgin now. I can't wait to have my way with you”, his hands brushed my butt and a gasp escaped from my mouth. I looked around to see if anyone heard the exchange between me and James. My eyes fell on Luke who was glaring at James. If looks could kill James would most definitely drop dead at this instance. Luke’s gaze switched over to mine, the same glare now directed towards me. I furrowed my eyebrows. Why was he mad at me? . He reached the end of the song and whispered something to the dark hair boy next to him. Luke spared one last hard glance at me and rushed out of the room. I quickly detached myself from James by saying I had a bathroom emergency. I followed the path Luke had taken out to a scheduled garden, away from the party. I spotted him at a far corner by a stone wall, his head placed on the cool wall. His shoulders were slightly trembling, almost like he was crying. A twig snapped beneath my foot and his shoulders stiffen. He quickly turned around, a cold hard look glazing over his eyes. “Baby-”, I started off but was cut off my Luke's  booming voice “DON'T CALL ME THAT! You don’t have a fucking right to. Not anymore. I actually thought you loved it. I thought you cared for me. But you only care about yourself. All you wanted was a good fuck. But look what you did. Look at me y/n! Look at this godforsaken mess you've made me!”, Luke spoke, tears slowly streaming down his face. “Love no listen to- '', I started but he cut me off again, “I SAID DON'T CALL ME THAT. ITS LUKE JUST LUKE FOR YOU! I saw you and that preppy boy flirting. Hell the two of you were so close, yawl might as well have kissed in front of me. I saw the way you flushed when he touched you, and flirted with you. I feel like a fucking idiotic fool”, Luke chuckled to himself, sarcastically, “ I actually thought we could happen. That we would have a future. That our secret language was only spoken by us. But turns out you don't. Was any of that real? Did any part of us mean anything to you-” I couldn't take it anymore. His misunderstanding was causing me pain. A lot of pain. He actually thought I didn't mean any of  that, when the moments I spent with him were the ones that kept me going.

“Y/N did you ever even love me?”

“LUKE SHUT UP. JUST SHUT UP. YES I LOVED YOU. HELL I STILL FUCKING AM IN LOVE WITH YOU. AND I WILL BE FOREVER. YOU HAVE KNOW RIGHT TO ASK ME THIS WHEN YOU KNOW DAMN FUCKING WELL THAT I WOULD RUIN MYSELF FOR YOU.”, I yelled. I never raised my voice at anyone but I couldn't watch the love of my life walk away because I was too afraid to speak up. Luke stared at one dumbfounded. He knew I never swore nor did I ever raise my voice.

“W-what?”, he said after he found his voice.

“I would ruin myself for you, Luke Patterson. Not once. Not twice. A million fucking times I would.”, I replied, my voice cracking at the end.

I took a step close to him, and held his hand. “Luke, I know it's difficult. I know my family won't ever accept you. Accept us. But I don't care. I don't care what they think. You're all that matters for me. Yeah everyone will talk. They'll talk about it for what a day? Month? Then they'll find another topic to gossip about and we will be history. And I am ready for that. I'm ready for the whispers, the taunts. I'm ready to face anything as long as I get to wake up in the same bed with your arms wrapped around me. I'm ready for us”, I cupped his cheek, wiping a tear with my thumb. “I'm ready too. I'll always be ready for you. God, I love you. No scratch that. I'm in love with you. Not just love, IN love”, Luke said cracking a watery grin at the end. “I'm in love with you too Luke Patterson”, I smiled, placing my forehead against his. And in that moment I knew, illicit affair or not, we will always love each other.

[derryqueenx]

Acceptance

Used As Bait fic!

Update to what life will look like for Vince going forward now after his escape attempt with Quinton. What does Lyle have in mind for him?

December 16th:  the day Vince stupidly agreed to go undercover into a dangerous illegal bidding ground, was drugged and taken captive by Lyle.

January 19th: the day of his escape attempt, when Quinton tied him to the bathroom and tortured for him days on end, making Vince think his life couldn’t possibly get any worse.

January 22nd: the day it got worse.

Lyle wasn’t joking when he stated he’d keep a close eye on Vince from now on – taking away any sense of freedom from the man by making him completely dependent on his captor for even the smallest things.

His first step on his ‘keep an eye on Vince’ mission was, unsurprisingly, taking away his ability to move about freely at his own will. Which was also rather concerning to Vince by how unsurprised he was when Lyle demanded him to kneel down, presenting the silk rope in his hands that Vince didn’t even need to question for its use – he just knew, and was already expecting it.

He knelt down without a fuss, allowing Lyle to bind him without so much as a snappy remark or flinch when Lyle manoeuvred him accordingly. What was surprising however, was even though Lyle had bound Vince’s hands behind his back, he’d left his legs untouched.

“What - you’re not going to ask me?” Lyle mused, smiling like he was holding in a funny secret.

Vince just stared at him blankly. “If we’re being honest, I was hoping maybe you’d just forgotten.” He sassed, earning a small chuckle from Lyle in amusement.

“As much as I do enjoy the way you look all wrapped up tightly for me, like my very own present, it would be rather inconvenient for me to have to re-tie it everyday. So I’ve got a better option.” He explained casually as he walked over to his suitcases that were still left in the hallway from when he’d returned.

Vince followed his movements, watching as he opened one up, rummaging through it until he located a small plastic bag, humming with delight to himself as he walked back over to stand in front of a kneeling Vince. “I got you a present.” He grinned, his hand in the bag ready to reveal the surprise.

Vince just stared at him waiting, not even bothering with a feisty comeback or quippy one-liner, already knowing full well that whatever Lyle had as a ‘present’ would definitely not be something he would enjoy.

“It’s to complete your outfit.” He followed up, lifting his hand to reveal a long piece of leather, topped off with a chain and hook at the end of it. At first Vince didn’t understand what he was looking at, until Lyle gripped his hand through the looped bit on the other end and all the pieces fell into place – It was a leash.  “I think you’ll look adorable in this, don’t you?”

Vince opened his mouth, ready to argue or complain, but only the faintest of sounds escaped his lips as he was too shocked to form any words. It was bad enough Lyle kept referring to him as a pet, now he wanted to parade him around the house as one too? “I-I don’t think that’ll be necessary...” He tried, his voice sounding unsure and weary.

Lyle just cocked his head to the side curiously. “I didn’t ask your opinion on the matter, did I? I asked whether you think you’ll look adorable.”

Vince’s head was still swimming at what Lyle was suggesting that he didn’t realize he was started to walk on thin ice with Lyle’s patience now. “I don’t-“ He started, quickly cut off when the bottom of Lyle’s boot connected with his chest, kicking and pushing him down to the ground suddenly with enough force that he was now laying on his back, his bound hands trapped underneath him and pushing into the hard ground whilst the force of Lyle’s boot continued to press down onto his sternum, slowly taking the wind from his lungs as his wrists started bending at unnatural angles.

“Think long and hard about your answer here, Vince.” Lyle warned, face twisting as he glared down at Vince, pressing down harder and harder until Vince could barely take the pressure on his wrists any longer, eyes widened in panic as he merely nodded his head as fast as he could.

“Yes! Yes I’ll look ador-adorable!” He cried out, doing everything he could to stop his wrist from snapping in between the floor and his body, and right when he thought it wouldn’t be able to take much more tension before it broke completely, Lyle eased up, slowly releasing the weight down onto Vince from his foot until Vince felt he could take in a proper breath of air once more, rolling onto his side to give his wrists some ease and focus on his breathing again.

“One day you’ll learn, Vince. And then this won’t have to be so painful for you all the time.” Lyle said casually, crouching down whilst Vince was left in this vulnerable position to secure the first end of the leash onto the hoop of his collar – smirking proudly to himself as he did so.

Vince simply closed his eyes, deciding it was better not to see this new low that Lyle had created for him as he worked on securing it properly to Vince’s collar, and Vince knew the moment he was done when he felt a strong tug on the leather around his neck.

Eyes opening, he saw Lyle now standing, pulling on the lead with enough power to force Vince to move with it or risk the leather digging into his skin, and he’d dealt with enough things digging into his skin for the last few days to want to go through that again.

With his hands bound, Vince was forced to crawl only his knees behind Lyle as he tugged him along the living room, walking from one end of the room and back again, seemingly going nowhere in particular and wanting to just watch as Vince struggled along behind him – trying desperately to keep up and not fall flat on his face, all while he cheeks were a bright shade of red from the utter humiliation of it all.

Once Lyle had had his fun, he stopped, allowing Vince a moment to rest as he sniffled, trying to hold back the inevitable tears threatening to break through now. “Uh yes, I think I’ll have a lot of fun with this.” He commented to himself, watching Vince. “During the day, you’ll be secured with this to the radiator on the side of the room. You won’t be able to move or do anything without my permission, is that understood?”

Vince nodded softly. “Yes.”

“And during the night, you’ll be secured to the beam in my bedroom near the bathroom, understood?”

“Yes.” He repeated, with the same low tone as before, acceptance kicking in.

Lyle then led Vince up the stairs (which was rather difficult given his current circumstances), and into his bedroom where he got straight to work on setting Vince up for the night, keeping the other end of his leash attached to the pole near the ensuite, ensuring the Vince wasn’t able to go anywhere if Lyle didn’t allow him to. He hadn’t given him anything else – no bed, no blanket, no pillow. Nothing. Just a patch of carpet on the opposite end of the room.

“Now, I do really favour my sleep, you know, and I can’t risk you keeping me up at night, no matter how much I do enjoy hearing your voice.” Lyle started speaking once he was satisfied with Vince’s position, reaching into the plastic bag he was still holding onto to grab a new roll of duct tape (apparently he’d used the last of his old one on Vince already), and Vince already knew what the purpose of it would be. He didn’t put up a fight when Lyle ripped off a piece, leaning down closely to Vince’s own face with a delighted look in his eyes. “Keep still.” He hummed, securely the strip over Vince’s mouth, pressing it down firmly and running his fingers over the outline of his lips, making sure it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard Vince fought it. “Now, keep that on or else I’ll get more creative with my gags, okay? Don’t make me muzzle you. It would hide too many of your gorgeous features, and neither of us want that now, do we?” He asked rhetorically, face still lingering close to Vince’s as Vince just looked at him with defeat, not having the energy anymore today to argue further with him.

He just needed a rest. A break. Just one day where he wasn’t hurt or tormented or humiliated. Was that too much to ask for? By now, maybe if he just played along nicely and did what Lyle wanted, he’d get his privileges back.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten your little chat with Naboo, either. You’ll be rightfully punished for that, and for the escape attempt.” Vince’s eyes shot open in a silent protest, all while Lyle chuckled to himself. “You got punished by Quinton, not by me. I’m still figuring out what to do with you about that, but hang tight. In the meantime, why don’t you just sit here and think about what you’ve done, and how much you’ve disappointed me. I’m going to have a shower before bed.” And with that, Lyle gently tapped onto Vince’s cheek twice, in an almost playful gesture that in this current situation could only be taken as degrading, as Lyle stood up, Vince looking up at him with a sad glint in his eyes, wandering how his life had suddenly become this.

“I was right though. You do look completely adorable all helpless like that. I wonder what your friends would think if they saw you like this, hmm? Saw you all perfect, just for me.” He commented cruelly, walking into the bathroom and leaving Vince alone, with nothing but the new thoughts of Howard seeing him how he was – tied up, gagged, helpless, pathetic.

Would Howard still want him after this?

What if Howard was ashamed of him, now? What if Howard couldn’t ever look at him the same way? What if Howard left him?

 Lyle might be all that Vince has left, now...

-

NEXT CHAPTER shall be the fan favorite return of PHYSICAL WHUMP WOOOOO. I know there’s been a lot of ‘plot development’ fic updates with this, but i gotta set the tone and universe for what’s coming up, and what’s coming up is Lyle’s punishment for Vince ;) heheheh.

What do you think it could be???

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Lila Yıldırım AGE & BIRTH DATE. 32 & November 5th, 1988 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Witch ( Water + Sensory Scrying ) OCCUPATION. Thief FACE CLAIM. Melisa Aslı Pamuk

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, murder ) When someone wears so many masks, eventually, the face underneath gets lost as they all start to run together. That’s who Lila Yıldırım is, a coalescent of different acts she’s put on, different names and roles and personalities, none any more real than the one before. If there’s anything left of the person the water witch used to be, she doesn’t know anymore. But hardly any of that matters, deemed useless to help her now, so it’s been discarded away along with every other identity she’s held over the years. Now, there is only Lila. But that isn’t the way that her life started.

First, there came Gulizar Candan into the world. She was the second child of a family of witches, born on the Anatolian side of Istanbul, near the Sea of Marmara. Though her older brother took after their mother’s fire element, Gulizar was her father’s daughter, and never felt more at home than when close to the sea. Perhaps that is where her story went wrong, from the very beginning. The home she was born into was not a happy one, the product of an arranged marriage between two people that hardly knew each other. While her mother had been eager to attempt to make the match work, her father had been in love with another woman, and resented the life he found himself in. His detachment was quiet and cold, rare to show affection to anyone in their household, not even his children. And one day, when he simply disappeared and never returned, she might’ve seen it coming all along.

Gulizar had been seven at the time. It was a change she handled remarkably well, for being such a young child. But the person who did not was her mother. She had become bitter and resentful over the years, and with her husband no longer around to as the fixation of her unhappiness, it was to her daughter that fell her ire. She was too much like her father, both in appearance and nature, and whenever the Candan matriarch looked upon her child, she only saw the man that had refused to even attempt to love her. She was not cruel to the girl, except only in her negligence. While her son had always been her favorite, due to their mutual element, such favoritism only increased with her husband out of the way. It was because of that, she found herself blind to any of his flaws.

But Gulizar saw them. Her brother had always frightened her, there was a wicked streak inside of him that had been there as long as she could remember, but with their father gone, he only became emboldened. There were accidents around the house, injuries that the young girl would need to see the local coven’s healer to fix, explained away with excuse after excuse from her mother’s lips. She wouldn’t see her son as a budding monster, even as his antics became more and more dangerous, to the point of nearly burning their house down. Demir was the golden child who could do no wrong, while Gulizar was the scapegoat, always at fault.

Because of this, the young girl began to spend less and less time at home. When wandering the streets of Istanbul was safer than the roof she had been born under, she learnt how to get by on her own, with sticky fingers and big sad eyes to bat at the adults around her. Still, it never became a matter of true survival until years later, when Gulizar was sixteen. She’d spent a long night out in the city, only to return home in the early morning hours. But something was... wrong. The house was half destroyed to fire, the smell of blood and ash in the air. Inside, she found her mother’s charred corpse, her brother standing nearby with his soul stained with dark magic. He’d reached out to the god of death, and offered their mother as sacrifice for the ritual, emerging the other side as a genasi. But he had no intentions of stopping there. 

He wanted to test his new powers, and Gulizar happened to be the perfect, unfortunate guinea pig on which Demir’s sights were set. Though she tried to flee, he moved faster, grabbing a hold of her in his arms as his body turned into fire. The flames cooked against her skin where it connected, her screams filling the air surrounding them. It was only her magic that saved Gulizar, calling forth water from the kitchen sink to her aid. Though it wasn’t enough to completely douse her brother, it gave her the opportunity to pull away, her feet carrying her in a sprint towards the sea that offered her protection. Fortunately, he did not follow.

With what was left of her home now gone, she knew there was nothing left for her in Istanbul. And so the water witch made a run for it, out of the city and country entirely, landing in the UK before her feet finally halted. It was terrifying, truly out on her own for the first time, but her childhood antics came back to serve the teenager in her time of need. Adopting a new name, a step away from the past she didn’t want to remember, she became Serra Adanır. What first started as lifting wallets off the street, stealing enough money to put shelter over her head where no one would ask questions, quickly became a way of life. While her actions were done for survival in the beginning, it became clear to the water witch that she had a talent for such things. Her dark eyes could conceal dozens of secrets, bat innocently and pull in near anyone with her charm. She became good at reading people, at estimating what they wanted to see of her, and adjusting herself accordingly. 

She was nineteen years old when she committed her first larger theft, already moved onto a new country. She was Giorgia by then, an Italian woman who conned her way into a villa by playing the role of mistress to a wealthy gentleman. He saw her as a pretty, lost young woman, with big innocent eyes and the need to be protected — with the benefit of sex as well, of course. It was a role that the witch found easy to play, but she had her sights set further, with no intentions to spend the rest of her life under a man’s thumb. So the young woman collected every piece of jewelry he gave her, everything of value in the villa, and pawned it all, right down to car he had loaned her to drive. Disappearing into the night, she was off with her newfound money and onto the next life, taking a new name just as easily as the last. If the man were to ever go looking, all there was to be found was a dead end. 

Her travels took her across Europe for a time, running similar thefts and cons against anyone who caught her attention for too long,   before the appeal of North America offered new prospects to the Turkish native. At first glance, she was not so easily identifiable, allowing her to blend in among the masses of larger cities. Her accent was a deliberate thing she fought to lose, adapting to the world around her with precision, always playing the role she had cast herself in. 

As she got older, her thefts became more and more elaborate, with higher stakes on the line. Her specialty had developed long before, back when she was still a teenager, and only lent to her natural skills as a thief. She could reach into the minds of others, sliding inside like the backseat of a car, allowing herself to experience things the things that they went through. Though she could not steer, that was far beyond her ability, she could still see whatever her host did, and used it to her advantage with little hesitation — whether it was to case a place, or to become more familiar with her target. It made for an already good thief to become great, and nearly unstoppable. For a woman who had felt so little power in her own life for so long, she took a sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that through her cleverness she could make fools of arrogant men and women who considered themselves wise, that she could take something valued so highly with slick fingers. If she would not be given what she felt she deserved, then she would take it by force — whether by stealth or by smile. 

But eventually, the price of such actions began to take a toll. She had been wearing so many masks for so long, the water witch began to lose sight of the woman beneath them before she ever even realized it. Gulizar was long gone, replaced with so many different names over the years, she hardly remembers half of them anymore. But even more than that, it felt as if she had become something fake. Pieces of herself, even small actions, she forgot whether it was something she truly enjoyed, or had been something she picked up in order to carry the character she portrayed with conviction. Though she would never admit to spiraling, anyone paying close enough attention, who knew the young woman for long enough, could see that she was slipping.

Perhaps matters were only made worse, then, by the time she made it to LA. It was meant to be the same as any other, a young man with bright eyes and a charming smile happened to own a painting that a client wanted for their own personal collection. So she took the name Dorothy Vale, flashed a charming smile, and weaved her way into his life. But the more time she spent around him, the more muddled her own feelings became. Letting emotions conflict with her targets was a rule that she never broke, and yet his sincerity and kindness managed to slip it’s way beneath her armor. It was not love — not on her side, no, though he professed as much of his own feelings. But it was something. Something that ate away at her insides, even as she gained access to the painting that was her goal. She could’ve stopped there; could have cancelled the arrangement, give in to the temptation of a normal life with someone that promised to love her. For a moment, she could almost envision it. Instead, she made the steal and took off running for her life.

It was too close, too much, and the feeling terrified Lila. So she kept to what she knew, even as it continued to consumed her whole. In the end, she had become a creature of habit, and to change that would be to split herself in half and go digging around for anything left of the girl she used to be before. That would mean confronting the demons that she had left behind in Istanbul, so long ago. So she buried it instead, as deep and as far back in the depths of her mind as she could, and hoped on a flight to Greece. Lila Yıldırım was born there, returning to her roots when so close to her home country. The fake passport and papers were all secured with ease, the same as all her identities before. Nothing that would ever make anyone look twice, so long as she did not give them reason to. Not unless she wanted them to.

There’s a lot of magic to be found in Corinth Bay, which means inevitably the chance for money to be made as well. Artifacts of the magical variety always carried a heftier price than other relics, even if the danger is also amplified. But such an idea does not bother Lila. Someone is always willing to pay to get it, without having to get their hands dirty themselves, and she needs the opportunity to get her head screwed on straight; to lean into this identity that she’s created instead of allow the past to swallow her whole. As with anywhere she lands, Lila has no intentions of making this a permanent residence. But she intends to make the most of the city and what it offers while she’s here, before it’s time to run again, with a bag full of cash and the next job on the horizon.

PERSONALITY

+ charismatic, disciplined, perceptive - conniving, apathetic, materialistic

PLAYED BY ABBY. CST. She/Her.

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only)

chapter 6 - the spork

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 2.7K words.

chapter 7 - shower thoughts

on ao3 only, to avoid tangling with tumblr's nip ban rules. contains naughty things.

Why was it he had let her live again? Heisenberg couldn’t help but wonder, making his way across the bridge that led to the factory. The pot of stew felt heavy in his hands, heavy and warm; a pleasantry, not a threat, despite his impulsive behavior. What puzzled him, really, was that she seemed so comfortable in the face of animosity, like an aggressive man invading her home and threatening to kill her was just part of a humdrum day. He had thought the illusions and ominous offers were meant to lure passersby in, to drain them of blood and use their skin and bones for sordid rituals. He had gone through it all because he was certain nothing could kill him, even if it tried, but no violence came from her. Was she trying to keep people out?

There was no trace of blood on his face, no trace that he had ever broken his nose in such a ridiculous manner, no trace that he had ever been bitten by a half-dead lycan. She had been the only witness, and he doubted she would bother entering the village to spread the news. He would go as far as saying she was happy to see him, his restraint a breath of fresh air in what he could imagine was a violent existence. He would know; they both had that look in their eyes, the look of someone drained of life because they had seen too much, done too much.

Power, he cut himself off when his thoughts had started leaning too much towards emotions. Power, that was the reason he had let her live. She was a cyphered book, an old witch’s grimoire locked away in a dusty tower. He had treaded dangerous waters and climbed through the window holding onto unsteady stones, and had only been given a glimpse, a quick look at the first page. And what he had seen was intriguing, dark and mysterious, so alien compared to his parasite-infested, mold-ridden world. Power and curiosity, nothing more.

As if on cue, the front gate’s buzzer went off, the whirring sound reminding him of the old American game shows he used to watch as a child. Wrong answer.

“Oh, fine.” He grunted in exasperation, free hand thrown in the air in defeat. “I liked her.” The words felt like soap in his mouth, a punishment for his profanity and transgressions. But there was no mother to wash out his mouth anymore, to keep him quiet and obedient. It felt good to say it, good to admit it. He was no machine; he may no longer be simply a man, but he still had his humanity well rooted within him. Or at least he liked to think so.

He liked her, he repeated, an awkward wave of relief washing over him. Not in a sit and commit sort of way, though, he wasn’t about to run back to her cabin come morning with a fancy ring to put on her finger. Hell, not even in a hit it and quit it way, either. The enigma of her existence was intoxicating, a lonely witch living in the woods of powers untold, his very own little secret. His own puppet to manipulate, another tool in his arsenal against Big Bird Bitch, if all went well. What a great find, his chest swelling with pride at his masterful move.

And she did seem to take a liking to him, modesty be damned.

The garage doors greeted him with the familiar screech of metal, a cloud of soot and hot air blowing out into the yard, like a nice warm hug from his beloved metal beast, like it wanted to congratulate him on a job well done. Though there was little need for such precautions, Heisenberg checked the locks, scanned the room for any suspicious activity. Everything in place, every last bit of scrap metal thrown carelessly to the side exactly where he had left it. The factory was quiet enough at this hour, and you would have to pay close attention to hear the haulers walking to and fro, their rare vocalizations every now and then. He was in high spirits and there was much work to do, improving Eins and Zwei, setting aside some time to study Sturm’s case and prepare accordingly. And then there was the planning, the pouring over reports of the latest events, coming up with the best strategy to take out each of his precious “siblings”, wedging his beautiful little hag in just the perfect place within his plans.

The complexity of it all was a marvel to him, a puzzle he never got tired of putting together. He supposed he had Miranda to thank for that, for turning his world upside down, forcing him to push his capabilities to the limit because of it. Sometimes he dreaded to think about what would come after; his hatred was all that kept him going, doing the bare minimum to keep himself alive and functioning, to get him out of bed come morning. What would he do when they were all out of the picture? He could finally be himself, he supposed, though that sounded like a tremendous amount of work and pain for the meager reward of knowing the shell of a man he had become.

This was not the time to think about it, he reprimanded himself. The rebellion hadn’t even began and he had many sleepless nights ahead of him.

The smell of the stew reminded him that he would starve if he waited any longer to eat. He barely remembered when he had eaten last - was it this morning? Yesterday? Such moments were but a blur, a mere nuisance in his schedule. Heisenberg was good at many things, but cooking, that he had never gotten the hang of. Putting a stove together? Piece of cake. Making a fridge out of scrap metal and elbow grease? That he could do. It’s not like he had grown up on much, either, had developed a taste for fine dining, wine and biscuits. His parents had been the industrial kind in more ways than one: blunt, efficient, cut and dry. Their meals were few and far in between, whatever cooked up fast and was filling enough to keep them standing. He had lost the parents, but kept the philosophy over the years, surviving on jerkies and raw produce, or whatever the Duke had in stock to be stored and crudely roasted later.

Heisenberg turned the key to his quarters with a sigh. Home, sweet scrapyard at last, and he wasted no time kicking off his boots and levitating the hammer to place it against the wall next to his favorite chair He set the pot on the metal table before discarding his hat and trench coat, eyeing the bowl the entire time as if it was about to attempt murder. Which he figured it might, considering the person who had given it to him was a woman he had met just a few hours prior, who lived in a hidden shack in the woods and could shapeshift into a giant horned monster. She had tasted it before preparing his bowl, and it did look harmless enough. Heisenberg inspected it closely - it definitely looked very appetizing. Some meat, potatoes, herbs mixed into a thick broth. A hearty meal for a cold winter night. Even if it was poisoned, it looked good enough to be worth the hassle.

“Ah, right.” He stared at his empty hand, shaking his pointer finger disappointingly. A laugh escaped him as he pulled every drawer, went through every shelf. Chisel, saw, hammer. Screwdriver, nails, wrench. Pliers, clamps and cutters, nuts, bolts and screws. An old TV antenna, pewter tankard, and even a goddamn tooth crown. Everything he could think of, except the one thing he needed: a single fucking spoon.

He stormed out of his quarters and into the foundry with the fury of a god. Nothing would keep him from the possibly deadly bowl of stew that smelled like the best thing that would ever grace his lips. He had reanimated the dead to do his bidding, could move metal with his fucking hands. A spoon was no match for him. Grabbing a sheet of metal and a long-abandoned pen, he roughly drew the shape of what he remembered a spoon to be - it had been a while. Cutting through took longer than he expected, and he refused to buff the steel to make it shiny. If he did not ingest his sustenance within the next few minutes, he was positive he would simply lay down and die. He took hammer to metal to make sure the thing would actually hold liquid, then the idea hit him like a flash of lightning, and he cut three small indentations at the tip: half spoon, half fork. The perfect piece of flatware. He would call it… The spork. Finally, he filed the edges just enough that it wouldn’t accidentally rip out a piece of his tongue, and proudly walked back to his quarters, plopping himself down unceremoniously onto a nearby stool.

If this turned out to taste like boiled dirt, it would be the biggest disappointment of his life yet. But it wasn’t - in fact, it was the best thing he had eaten in decades. Creamy, just the right amount of spice, meat cooked to perfection. Somewhere deep within his soul, he knew a proud ancestor watched as he took a generous bite out of a tender potato chunk. He could get used to this, he mused, a mouthful of pork and a hum of approval later. Maybe he should visit more often.

It was over all too soon, and he found himself staring at the empty bowl with so, so much sadness in his heart. Maybe he should have stayed for dinner. Forlorn and full, he leaned against the workbench, one hand reaching down to untuck his shirt, dexterous fingers then quickly unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his pants. Head thrown back, he let out a happy, satisfied sigh when his stomach was finally free of its cloth constraints. He pat his belly with a chuckle, feeling the faint lines of toned muscle above his belly button, then the creases on his hips - he didn’t look bad for being almost a century old, eh? He had gained some extra weight, it’s true, since the Duke introduced him to some modern novelties such as frozen pizza and energy drinks, but hauling corpses and building intricate machines was good exercise. Just the right amount of bulk and sprinkle of muscle, if he did say so himself.

For a moment, unbidden, he wondered if she would like it. If she would like him, all of him, more than what she had seen, more than what she had heard, more than what he had offered in their brief encounter. He hadn’t kept up with the beauty trends, and any man with functioning limbs and two braincells passed as hunk material in the village, but he just knew that he was quite the specimen. He was reminded of that look in her eyes, the one that stirred something within him he hadn’t felt in way too long.

Not that he was interested, of course. His curiosity was only natural, seeing as he hadn’t spoken to anyone from outside this little bubble of a hellhole for decades. Even when he was sent out into the world, his orders were very specific - grab what needs to be brought back, do not talk to victims of the evil plan. As much as he wanted to do it as a fuck you to Miranda, instead he always decided to bide his time. Blowing his cover could mean failure - or death.

She would like it, he decided, checking out his reflection on a well polished piece of metal. Not that it was difficult, of course. Who wouldn’t? The charming beard, killer smile, steel blue eyes. He could treat his hair better, true, wash the soot off his face. His clothes needed washing and his feet needed some time out of those damp boots. He had one too many broken fingernails and more scars than skin at this point. Still, she would like it - on second thought, maybe after a nice, hot shower.

He busied himself with all manner of tasks after dinner. Washed it down with a nice gulp of Gibcos, then made his way down to one of the operating rooms. He pushed aside the gurneys in his way, the quiet humming of the soldiers’ reactors a comforting sound despite the macabre landscape of the room. Beyond the door and behind the large window pane a very, very dead body lay waiting for him, a chunk of its torso and head missing. The lycans had done a number on the poor bastard, catching him off-guard as he made for the outhouse, so we was told. A man couldn’t even shit in this village in peace, he laughed humorlessly. The corpse was barely cold when Heisenberg dug it up and dragged it back to the factory. There was no funeral, no mourning of the deceased: in cases such as these, the villagers thought it best to bury the disfigured relative and be done with it, fingers crossed that they wouldn’t return with a hunger for human flesh a scant few days later. Despite the body’s horrid conditions, it would still be of great use to him. Strong legs and a wide torso, a perfect specimen for his latest experiment.

Sturm, he would call it, after the god-awful noise the propeller engine made. He tentatively pushed down one of the blades - it needed more oil. Rusty recycled chainsaws had been abandoned for a reason, but there was time to better the mechanical parts yet. First, he needed to figure out how to attach the engine, set up the circuitry, add in the artificial blood. Removal of internal organs was simple enough, a nice big heart to tie it all together. On the other hand, seating the mechanical core was a messy process that took him hours to get right. He didn’t want to waste time, or this corpse, when he had already come this far. He abandoned the project for a few minutes when the thighs gave with the weight, off to build braces to hold the thing together.

It looked mostly done after that, and revival was one powerful electric discharge away. Heisenberg held tight against its mechanical nervous system, focusing on channeling all of his energy - it would need an even bigger discharge than Eins and Zwei. Seven thousand volts, and not even a hint of movement. Eight thousand, he grunted as the current flowed through. Attracting metal was easy enough, but having electric organs was tiring work. He had all but given up when he heard the whir of the blades, Sturm’s body jolting on the operating table in a mix of eagerness and terror. The thing lifted its arms to touch him, chainsaw rippers spinning uncontrollably as Heisenberg took several steps back. He covered his face just in time - the desperate creature once again reached out to him, dumb enough not to notice the death machine attached to its own body. An arm hit and shattered the glass of the operating room, the other colliding against Heisenberg’s chest. Fuck, there was blood everywhere.

“Halte!” He bellowed before Sturm could get any closer, removing his now bloodstained glasses to stare at the thing like his gaze could drill a hole right through its spine. “Dummkopf.” And just as quickly as it had risen, it fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, metal bending in odd places with the impact. Heisenberg let out his frustration with a furious kick on the engine before deciding that if he tried again for the night, he would probably end up throwing the whole thing in the grinder. He’d rather avoid having to clean the blades of all the tissue that would be stuck to them.

Seemed like he would have to take that shower after all.

[mischiefandspirits]

Odd One Out

“Guys, holy fuck!” Jason shouted, kicking open the door to the living room.

“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred’s voice floated down the hall while Barbara said, “Don’t be a meme, Redjay.”

“Sorry, Alfred! Shut it, Barbie, I got news!”

“I swear, the next time he calls me Barbie I’m changing all his ringtones to Barbie Girl,” she muttered, moving her queen.

“He’d probably like that,” Tim said, moving his rook.

“What’s up, Little Wing?” Dick asked, glancing up from the work he was doing on Cass’s nails for half a second.

“Everyone thinks we’re normal humans!”

The batkids all paused to look up at the third oldest.

“I mean, isn’t making everyone think all the Waynes are normal human people the point?” Stephanie asked from where she was playing Mario Kart with Carrie and Duke.

“Not the Waynes, the Bats. And before you say something: Yes, I know that’s also the point. I’m not talking about the villains and civilians, I’m talking about the JL and Titans and Outlaws and everyone! They all think we’re normal!”

“Todd, don’t be absurd,” Damian tisked, returning his focus to the drawing of Titus he was working on.

“I’m serious! I snuck into Roy’s to play a prank and heard him talking to Kory while she was on a video call with the Titans. He flat out said it was weird how we finally have someone in the family who’s not baseline human,” Jason said, gesturing towards Duke, “and no one corrected him!”

There was a moment of silence.

“No,” Dick said. “They have to know, right?”

“Have we ever actually told anyone?” Barbara said, her face pinched. She had to have told some of the Birds of Prey… right?

“Grayson used to have his wings out as Robin. Surely the Titans, at least, would have noticed,” Damian argued.

“I couldn’t use them when I was that young. I just let them hang like a cape to match B,” Dick said, eyes lighting up as he realized no, people didn’t know and yes, this could be very hilarious.

“They thought they were fake!” Carrie laughed, mind following the same path. To Jason, she said, “Please tell me you didn’t correct them.”

“Never even knew I was there. Would have ruined the prank.”

“If I’d known no one knows about you guys, I would have kept quiet too,” Duke chuckled.

“We told you before, it’s fine. You can’t exactly turn yours off like we can,” Dick said.

“I know you’ve shadow-traveled around your Young Justice buddies,” Stephanie told Tim. “They have to know.”

“It’s not like I’ve traveled far,” Tim pointed out. “And I’ve only done it twice. It’s not too unbelievable that I pulled a Bat.”

“Okay, fair.”

“But Raven and Damian are together often. She must have noticed,” Cass said using Dick’s mouth.

The youngest’s shoulders crept up. “I have always blocked my power while in her presence as I was not sure how our powers would affect each other or how my existence would affect her given her… discomfort with her own existence.”

“Aw, Dami! That’s so sweet!”

“I simply wished to avoid confrontation. Do not look further into it, Richard!”

“Too late! You care about her feelings and went out of your way to make her feel more comfortable! I’m so proud!”

The boy scowled at his drawing, his cheeks tinted black.

“Jason died,” Duke said, eyes widening. “Someone must have noticed that, right? Wasn’t Superman involved in the aftermath?”

“Duke, buddy,” Jason said, wrapping his arm around his newest brother. “People die in this business, and they rarely stay that way. No one really questions it anymore.”

“Besides, no one actually knows he died,” Dick said. “B only told Superman that Joker had hurt Jay. Timmy found out, -”

“And went absolutely crazy,” Jason joked.

“I think I responded accordingly considering I’d just found out you’d died and nothing in my research -”

“Stalking.”

“- told me you would come back,” Tim huffed.

“- but obviously he wasn’t going to say anything to anyone without speaking to us first,” Dick finished, ignoring his brothers’ interruption.

“So no one knows,” Barbara said.

“No one knows,” Dick agreed, then continued as Cass took over again, “And we will not tell them?”

“Hell no. This is great,” Jason said.

“What’s great?” Selina asked as she and Bruce came in.

“Everyone and their mother thinks Duke is the odd one out in the Bat-Squad instead of Bruce,” Stephanie said.

“It suddenly occurred to us that no one outside the family knows none of us are baseline human, even our allies,” Tim explained when the Cat gave a bemused look.

Bruce nodded, but Selina frowned. “Wait, all? I know Duke has his photokinetic vision, Carrie can shapeshift, and Damian’s mother is half-demon, but the rest of you?”

Jason set his hand on his chest. “And you call yourself our mother.”

Selina turned to Bruce, who sighed. He pointed at Dick. “Half-siren.”

His eldest son smiled and the blanket on his shoulders fell as the large wings underneath spread out, primarily black with hints of reds and yellows glinting in the light. Suddenly everyone could notice the feathers among his hair, the talons on his hands, and the way his sclerae almost couldn’t be seen around the bright blue of his irises.

Bruce pointed at Barbara. “Technokinesis.”

“Low level,” she added. “It’s more like my brain is another screen and interface for the device I’m working with than actually being able to control anything.”

Jason was next. “Phoenix.”

The young man smirked then, for just a moment, he was replaced by a bird as large as he was tall. Shaped like a secretary bird but with a fantail, his feathers were a swirl of reds, yellows, and oranges while his eyes were blue flames. One of his wings was draped over Duke’s shoulder while a warmth spread from him that somehow felt both soothing and dangerous. Then the moment passed and he looked as normal as ever.

Tim. “Umbrakinesis.”

Shadows rose from the chessboard to move the last standing black knight forward and to the left. “Checkmate.”

“What? No! I almost had you!”

Stephanie. “Poltergeist.”

The girl pulled a golden bracelet off her wrist and her body went transparent. She slipped it back on with a shrug and her body turned opaque once more.

Cass. “Telepathy through touch.”

The girl got up and grabbed Selina’s wrist, sending her an image of them hugging.

Selina looked around at them all then turned to her fiancé. “You really are the odd one out.”

He grunted.

“For the record, we were counting you in that,” Tim said. “We all know you can communicate with and control felines.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She didn’t like people knowing about her secret weapon, but she didn’t expect to keep it from the Bat’s family either. “Which only makes this more unbelievable. How did this even happen?”

A small smile tugged at Bruce’s lips as the kids shared a look.

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

Alfred isn't human either, but no one knows what he is. Just that he's very ancient.

Sequel: Exploration

[yellowbluemoonshine]

Tbf the heroes don't know what happened to Tenko. They look at Shiggy and see a guy who attacked USJ and tried to kill the Symbol of Peace, who organised attack on a summer training camp and kidnapped a kid, who leveled down a whole city and who now is leveling another one. They don't see a victim bc they don't know he is one. But they do see the damage he does and act accordingly.

Yeah but thats not all they see. Especially this arc. Heroes arent stupid. They have enough information to see Shigaraki as victim.

1- They know that there is no sign about Shigaraki in records which means hever never go to school like normal kids, he didnt get quirk counseling, but most importantly it means that society never support Shigaraki Tomura, if they were, they would know.

2- They know Shigaraki is mentally child and they also know that he just NEW started to grow, they immediately realized there might be some adult behind the kid. Someone who groomed him.

3- Then, later they found All For One. The person who is behind of the kid. Afo is a man who is famous with manipulating people. When they heard about this, again, they could understand. Afo made it clear that he wants Shigaraki to be successor and again another proof that Shigaraki was groomed.

4- Shimura Tenko. Allmight and Gran Torino literally know what kind of person Afo is. They even knew that Afo targeted the kid, they must’ve been understand there is something wrong with this sitution, like Shigaraki didnt become this way because he is evil but they kept it as secret. They said they will research but there is no voice since then.

5- Kurogiri. They literally saw that how Shirakumo, hero student became a dangerous villain. Not only they saw how good person can become a villain but also they saw Shirakumo is still in there. That there is a hope.

6- Noumus. Heroes knew that noumus are people who are victim of science. Shigaraki was in one of that tupes, he was being used and treated as tool but instead of thinking he might be victim, they dehumanized him more and more.

etc etc etc.

Its not that they dont understand Shigaraki is victim but easier to believe that he is not cause saving him would be hard.

Now, you might say that somes knows nothing about those informations, they dont know everything.

For the ones who knows something, they are the ones who could’ve change things but they chose not to. Like Gran Torino who knows Afo and Shimura history or Aizawa who literally ignored the evidence that Shigaraki is might be just like Eri, just like Kurogiri.

Well, for people who know none of them, i wouldnt fully blame them but problem is more like the way system is. The heroes who knows something about it, literally covered it up and didnt even warn people about it. The posibility that Shigaraki is a victim.

Because they dont actually interested in changing things or rehabilition of villains. The system is normalizied the violence towards villains that most heroes ignore the fact that villains are humans too.

You might say what else they could do? Well, many things actually cause heroes are the ones who have the power in society. They are the ones who control of the sitution.

They could talk about this subject, instead of covering up. They could research about it more. They could at least listen and trying to understand this sitution.

You might say They have no time to talk.

But funny, they have time to blame him for existing.

And yeah, i guess, burning someone alive or trying to kill him is easier than talking...

You might say But Shigaraki needs to be stop so they have no choice to do this.

Yeah, Shigaraki needs to be stopped, of course, they cant let people die. But they have no choice? This is not true.

In story, many times it shown that heroes know how to be amazing when they wanted to. They can make a lot of miracles in most impossible situtions and at least, they always try. Why? Cause they think its worth it. And in those times, they will try their best.

It’s not that they cant save Shigaraki. Its that they cant bother with it. They think its not wothy to save someone like that. They will literally ignore every evidence in front of them. Even though, Shigaraki literally showed his suffering in front of them.

You might say why they would care about murderer’s suffering but again, its about the system they are in. The way villains are treated. Just because someone is criminal or villain, it doesnt mean they deserve to die or being treated as less human being. They ignore Shigaraki cause thats how villains are treated in society and they dont plan to change it cause they are so blinded by system.

And again, they wont try to save Shigaraki cause he doesnt cry like Eri or openly asking for help. They think good people will always stay good and they will hold their feelings forever but this is impossible cause everyone has breaking point and despite heroes knows in deep that they will still ignore it.

And you might say Shigaraki and other villains didnt have to kill people etc etc but Like Shigaraki and story explained it many times;

the people in league, they were good people and they tried, they endured, until enduring pain is not being a option, since society doesnt listen, destruction is literally the only way of victims can express their pain.

So; Villains can only express theirselves with destruction cause noone will listen to them. Heroes can do something but they wont cause they dont understand the suffering of victims in society.

Now, dont get me wrong. I love heroes cause i love the idea of saving someone but in bnha, heroes are really not heroes. All hero side is have is idea of hero, ieda of justice, they are in love with idea of heroes so much, they will ignore the victims who needs to be saved.

I dont necessarely think that they are bad or good people. When i analyzie someone, i only focus that person, not all at once. Not every heroes are same kind of person. I am sure that some of them are really good intentionally people, just like Deku but some heroes are really at fault and they intentionally ignoring things and make it worse.

The problem with hero side is not that they are evil but they are in pretty messed up system and they dont even try to change it cause they dont understand how much messed up it is. Some truly dont understand, some ignores, some use this for their selfish desires, with every way, its hard to root for them when they are supporting this messed up system while ignoring victims They dont even try to understand which is so frustrating, especialy as we readers know flaws but heroes ignores and they dont even make any effort :///.

And again, i love justice, heroes etc etc but i have no intention of ignoring what they are doing right now. Cause villains at least admit but heroes always justify it and call it as justice and thats so messed up.

Lets say; I truly believe that Deku is kind, good person (he is my favorite character with Shigaraki) but i also think that what Deku doing to Shigaraki right now is wrong cause its not that Deku cant understand or do something else. He can but he doesnt see Shigaraki as worth it cause he is villain and in hero society villains are meant be destroyed by heroes. But i want Deku to face and understand this why its wrong, one day.

The reason i mostly rooting for league, despite loving idea of heroes is because league, villains are pitifull. They are live in pretty unhealthy environment, they live with heavy mental illness, they are treated as monsters and i dont see what else they could do but hero side, they are at least live in healthy environment, they have lifes, happy moments and they can do something but they chose not to. And at least, the things league, villains did are changing things, challeging the system but heroes dont do anything. I also believe that we are meant to root for Shigaraki’s group too, especially this arc.

(Hope you understand me, i dont really hate heroes and i have different opinion for every characters, i dont just divide them as villains and heroes but right now, its exteremely hard to root for them, well, i hope they can get good character developments already.)