#thieves caught on camera

[monicascot]

Hershey 🍫 stealing Caught on Camera

This guy came to store he was stealing the candies. Everytime he come to store he steals something.

[alfredsonger]

This guy dressed to impress but his actions are unpredictable every time ,he shows up to store roam around never have money to pay this time he was craving some Reese’s and here how he managed to get it.

[tojisbestslut]

[ Curiosity killed the cat ]

summery: having to explore an abandoned mansion because of a dare with your friend, what could go wrong?

characters: Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru, Gojo Saturo

warnings: DARK, NON-CON, waterboarding (somehow), getting caught, escape attempt, bone breaking, screaming, no smut.

word count: 1132

part 2

"it's not even an scary dare I'd say, the house has been empty for years." your friend complained as she was trying to crack the lock with a crocked hair pin. you held the camera up for her taping the whole process, to have a proof of actually doing the dare to your friend group.

"I'm telling you right now, I'll be leaving the first moment i don't feel safe" you mumbled under your lips as she was scolding you to get the angels right. "such a kid you are" she mocked and ding, the door was open. you anxiously licked your lips and took a step inside the to be supposed empty house. it was full of luxury and expensive furniture all over the place and the face that none has been stolen by random thieves or troublesome teenagers sent a shiver down your spine. why'd people ignore this house?

you took small steps following your friend behind as she was curiously exploring every drawer freely. something didn't feel right, you had no idea what, but something was so fucking off. "hey um, I'll be waiting for you outside alright?" you tell your friend as you hand her the camera. she chuckled at how you were being a chicken and shrugged her shoulder, continuing to look around the house. you turned around and head to the exit, biting your lower lip from the sudden anxiety rushing over your body. what was this fuckin feeling, you kept wondering. as you arrived at the front door, the basement door that was stuck on the floor caught your attention. it was fucking open. you frowned and your heart beat started rising, were you not alone? you could swear it was closed the moment you entered. your body kept drowning in fear as you leaned slightly to look inside, only to suddenly get snatched by your ankles and being pulled in the basement, someone covering your mouth and the door getting closed before you even got the chance to scream for help.

fear, all you could feel was fear. fear of the unknown man covering your whole face with the palm of his hand as you could feel the coldness of the huge metal rings he was wearing. you kept trying to wiggle around and free yourself but it was no use from how strong the grip from his other hand was on your stomach, holding you to him. you tried to take deep breaths but it was hard to do from how tight he was covering your face. tears began to slowly run from your eyes as you realized there was nothing you could do in that situation, only being in the grip of a man you didn't even know, slowly crying.

"bruh, did you really leave?" you hear your friend yell looking for you as she was laughing at your scared ass leaving so soon. hope started to rise up again in your heart after hearing her voice calling you out, you started to struggle and kick around and tried to make some noise, but it all came out as muffled crying. you still couldn't see anything from the man covering your face, and your friend was really starting to think that you just left. your body goes limp as you hear her car engine start off and she starts driving away, the sound of the tires fading away as a drop of sweat drips on your back from the fact that you're now completely alone at the unknown man's mercy.

"stop it Fushiguro, no need to silence her now"

a second man speaks with a happy tone, you could tell he had a big smile on his face. the Fushiguro named man drops you on the ground at his legs, making your head hit it hard. you whince from pain and squint your eyes from the light suddenly hitting them, but it was soon taken away by 2 other figures standing right above you and covering the light, creating a shadow on your lying figure on the ground. Fushiguro sits on his knees right above your head, his tights and crotch covering your view of the ceiling. you instantly attempt to crawl back out of between their legs but the white haired men immediately steps on both of your hands, not bothering himself by trying to lower the pressure of his legs whatsoever.

the other man, having long black hair thrown magically around his shoulders, spills the drink he was holding right at your face in a slow pace, immediately silencing you as you tried to talk your way out of the situation. you coughed and gagged as you tried to move your head to get out of the direction the drink was flowing, but Fushiguro kept your head in place by putting one of his hands on your forehead, forcing you fo fight for your breath while the other man was pouring the liquid at you in the slowest pace possible known to man.

after what felt like eternity, the drink was finally finished. you coughed violently and tried to get the drink out of your nose as Fushiguro still held your head in place. your whole face was wet and sticky, as tears were running down on your cheeks. Fushiguro was looking at you with lust, like he wanted to devour you but the white haired, the way he was looking at you with no emotion in his eyes as he was putting all the pressure in his legs on your hands, looked like he just wanted to genuinely hurt you. the long haired man was just smiling with his eyes, looking the most trustable men among the 3.

"h-hey im- im s-sorry, i di- didn't wan-"

you tried to apologize, to do something for yourself, with the last bit of hope you still had. but your mumbling turned into a scream as the white haired man puts the last bit of pressure, breaking a bone in your palm. you screamed bloody as your shoulders were shaking from pain and fear, while Fushiguro was still holding your head. the sound of your bone breaking got lost between your screaming and you couldn't sense your palm anymore.

after a good amount of crying, he backs off and finally leaves your palm alone, as the two other start to get away too. the light is into your eyes again and you turn around, putting your knees in your stomach and hugging yourself, the trail of your bloody palm creating a pattern on the ground. you sobbed as you heard noises from the background. turning your head around, you saw the white haired man holding a chain in his hands with the biggest smile, his blue eyes glowing in the most terrifying way.

TAGS:

[welldigger62]

A different kind of farm crop -

This is the second year I have seen Sunflowers grown around here as a farm crop. There might have been others too that I did not run across.

I have also seen complaints of Facebook about people stealing the flower heads. Some people have very low standards. Taking those heads is just the same as stealing tomatoes, wheat, corn or any other crop.

I did not catch any human thieves but I was lucky enough to have my good camera with me and caught this miniature thief. 😂

Happy gardening tumblrs 😃

[goofygecko]

Through The Window

Part 2

Masterlist

Stalker!William x AFAB!reader

Summary:

William sees you touching yourself through your window and enjoys himself, I mean, how can he deny such a splendid view?

Warnings

Stalking (duh), slight public masturbation?, voyeurism?, masturbation, mention of past panty thieving, breeding kink? (If you squint), thoughts of publicly groping, boss/employee trope, older man/younger woman

Your boss might have liked you a little bit too much– hell, he was practically obsessed with you! –not that it bothered you that much though, seeing as your feelings for him were also apparent as well.

So you didn't have a problem with his behavior towards you when he'd see you in public or at the pizzeria.

But it got weird.

Really weird.

Crossing paths him became daily. It was no longer limited to just at work or at the store, no, it was on your weekend jogs and on your walk home. He'd be everywhere you went.

Not that it deterred you. You might have gotten even friendlier with him really.

I mean, why would you be? You thought he was perfect; from his his salt and pepper always slicked back professionally in a way that framed his sharp facial features, his nose hooked to give it a smooth look, to his long, slender hands that you swear would just feel so good around your throat.

You needed him.

He wanted you. Badly.

He would sneak into your house and steal your panties and stash them in his office, once even getting brave enough and snapping a picture of you in the shower (you almost caught him that time, turns out slipping a camera behind a shower curtain isn't the quietest thing in the world to do.) saving the photos in his desk and night stand, touching himself to the pictures of your nude frame, imagining you were on top of him, riding him like your life depended on it.

Everytime he saw you he could barely contain himself, he wanted to bend you over every surface in that pizzeria and fuck you until you were a babbling, incoherent, dumbed-out mess. He wanted you to scream for him as you came around him for the umpteenth-million time as he slapped your ass so hard it was a bright red.

He'd wonder what you sounded like when you begged him to fuck you. To breed you.

And boy, would he find out.

You had the closing shift at the pizzeria, meaning you'd have to walk home at around 12 when the sun had fully set.

But, William hadn't left the building yet. Of course you knew this, but you didn't bother to tell him you were leaving, not wanting to disturb his 'important business.' Not knowing he was watching you from the hallway as you left.

Shortly after you left the building he made his way out aswell, following you from behind the line of trees you always walked by. Sure he had a car and he could easily just drive to your home, but, what was the fun in that? There was no thrill in just driving his way there. He needed to be so close to you as you walked your path that he could practically could smell you.

And God did he love how you smelled.

It took around 20 minutes for you to get to your home and he watched as you struggled with your keys, waiting to find his position at your window.

After fumbling with your keys for a while you finally managed to unlock your front door. Finally shifting to outside you bedroom window, William saw as you walked in slowly pulling your pants and shirt off as you walked to your bed and lying down onto it left in only your bra and panties. As his eyes locked on you he could feel himself getting harder against his slacks, mouth watering hungrily for you.

"Fuck..." mumbling quietly, you slid a hand into your thin white panties, rubbing at yourself slowly. Window open just enough so that he could hear.

Eyes opening widely as you moaned and touched yourself slowly, William began to palm at his erection to the same rhythm of your hand.

"D-Damn it, Mr.Afton..."

His cock twitched in his pants as he froze.

Did he really just hear that?

Did you really moan his name?

Fuck, you were one gift box waiting to be unwrapped.

He could see as you slowly started inserting a finger into your own core, pumping it in and out as you closed you legs around your hand. Fuck, he just wanted so badly to grab and kneed your soft tits whenever he saw you to show everyone who you belong to. He wanted to grab the fat of your ass whenever you wore your skirts to the pizzeria, he wanted to hear you gasp as he pawed and clawed at your ass out in the open.

Fuck, he could feel his cock straining against his pants uncomfortably just thinking about it.

"Fuck it." Groaning under his breath, William pulled his cock out of the confinements of his pants pumping it hastily in time with your fingers that fucked into your cunt.

You were so God damn horny that you couldn't hear the sound of his belt jingling and zipper being pulled down through your own moaning and whimpering.

"M-Mr.Afton! Fuck mee!" Pleading as you quickened your pace making him pump himself faster into his hand.

He wished he was there on top of you filling you with his seed til' you were fully bred and ozing with his cum. Too bad he was stuck with watching you. ( :( )

Your voice got so high pitched as you came closer to your climax that he almost thought he had the wrong house and he was just creeping on some random girl that slightly resembled you.

He knew that wasn't the case though, with how sweetly you moaned his name. (<3 )

"Oh fuck, Mr.Afton! 'm gonna cum!" You cried out loudly, quickly pulling your fingers out of your cunt and rubbing your clit urgently, back arching as you rolled your head back slightly.

William exploded as soon as you said that, his cum coating his hand as he watched you reach your high, grass under him crumpling quietly as his cum hit it.

You quickly fell asleep from your intense orgasm giving him his cue to leave.

God, he'd definitely have you bent over his desk next time he saw you.

-

-

-

A/N: Oh my god this took insanely long to finish writing I am so sorry! 😭💔

[sanctus-ingenium]

I love the moth guy a lot. Such a cool design! He's a photographer, too? What a funky little guy. Do you have more to tell about him?

Patches is a large (about 1.6m long) sphinx moth descended from the family Sphingidae. He is based off of a combination of striped hawk moth and tersa sphinx moth and he is distantly related to both :)

(source) (source)

I have to explain some of the setting - so every few million years, a mountain appears. It appears in the same spot on multiple different parallel dimensions, and it is there for maybe 45 years at a time. During this time is the only time these parallel worlds can touch, intersect, or meet one another. The last time this happened, members of the class Insecta came over, and found a different world with a ludicrously oxygen-rich atmosphere and some extremely energy-dense plants. They were able to develop, in the intervening years between then and the time of the story (think 1910s on earth) into the dominant life forms in this new world, many becoming quite large and developing complex societies and technology of their own.

The mountain reappears. This time, some of our insect characters (Nettle Rove [Staphylinidae] among them, though he is much younger than Patches and arrived at the tail-end of the time window) cross the mountain again, either by accident or on purpose, and find earth there, and human society. There's not enough oxygen there to fly or do much physical activity but they can still survive there and participate in a type of cultural exchange. So we have a First Contact type situation, but that's not what everyone really cares about. See, the humans have climbed the mountain and found at its peak, hidden in the clouds, a city. Completely devoid of life (even microbial), but obviously made by somebody. So the actual premise of the story is the exploration and mystery of this place.

Patches is 18 when the mountain shows up. He has just had a fulfilling caterpillar-hood of territorially murdering everyone he meets (kind of a solitary species! some members of Sphingidae will literally fight to the death if they meet as caterpillars) and, he is naturally extremely curious about the world outside His Tree. he meets his mate/bestie, Rosy Wing and while they do spend a lot of time terrorising everyone they meet, eventually they get interested in what's on the other side of that giant mountain. after meeting up with some humans trying to map the place, a camera-maker has a bright idea to send up Patches, who can hover very still in place, to photograph the strange lifeless city from the air (the humans are in full steampunk swing so obviously they have airships but atmospheric mixing between the different worlds makes it too dangerous to fly them, given that a stray breeze from the insect world might make a combustion engine blow the fuck up). the mixing is also sufficient to allow the insects to fly on the mountain but not for very long, meaning that most exploration of the city is on foot. The development of this aerial photography technique reveals that, from the air, the city appears disproportionately huge, and seems to stretch on for infinity. Because of this, and Patches' part in it all, an entire industry strings up for city exploration, and by Nettle Rove's time twenty years later, it has descended into bitter and violent rivalries between wealthy patrons funding expeditioneer teams. Murder is legal there (it's legal in insect world too. have u met insects? they love murder)

As for Patches himself, he is a barely-socialised semi feral freak with an incredibly upbeat and curious personality who is so so so devoted to Rosy Wing (who is.. similar, but more into people instead of cameras). Until their habit of harassing and thieving from randos goes poorly on a city expedition, and their entire team gets caught in a shootout. There were no recorded survivors. Our guy survived by playing dead but Rosy Wing was not so lucky. With Patches' hindwing in tatters, his only hope of being able to fly again and get of there was to use Rosy Wing's own hindwing as donor material. And that's how he got his name (he didn't have one before) :3

Rosy Wing was similar to an eyed hawk moth in appearance

(source)

In Nettle Rove's time, there is a persistent rumour of some weird old hermit in the city. These claims are dismissed, but something's out there drinking the blood of random expeditioneers, and that thing might know more about what lies at the heart of the city than anyone else...

okay thank you for reading love u

[khaire-traveler]

So, my friend just left their job at a certain chain of grocery stores that starts with a W and decided to share some interesting facts with me. I thought y'all might find it interesting, too.

W has had a major problem with theft since introducing the "no plastic bags". People keep putting things in their personal bags at the self checkout or even leaving them purposely in their bags at the cash registers (and most cashiers don't actually check for hidden items if other bags are inside of the main bag or if it's not obvious).

They've applied new locks to certain items that hang because people would just pull them off of the old locks. They're actually planning to introduce more security measures in the future - specifically, putting many items behind locked glass doors.

W's self checkout now has features where it can detect a ticket switch (scanning another product in place of the actual product) and a mis-scan. Pretty interesting stuff! Apparently, though, it's not always 100% accurate, and if someone were to scan the second ticket in such a way that the camera above couldn't see it, it may not be able to detect it. The machine, however, can tell when two VERY different items do not match (ex: scanning a pair of expensive headphones as a fruit). If it detects a problem, the attendant can pause the transaction and review the footage of the last item that was scanned. Definitely a helpful security feature!

The greeters at the front of the store are trained to only check a receipt if there are unbagged items. Along with that, if they see a bag or backpack, they'll check receipts then, too, and will look inside of the bag if the customer allows it. Crazy thing is that you can deny having your receipt checked! They can't and won't do anything if a customer just walks past them, and if they try to stop a customer leaving, W can get sued.

The only W personnel who are allowed to deal with shoplifters and the like are the Asset Protection Team™. No one else is allowed to touch a suspected thief, nor are they allowed to accuse a customer of stealing. If a customer is accused of stealing and forced through a receipt check yet hasn't stolen anything, W legally has to compensate them for the hassle upon request (with proof, such as camera footage, the request simply can't be denied, though W may try to prolong the process).

W employees are required to clean up spills immediately upon seeing them. I'd say most employees will just leave the spill, grab the equipment, then come to clean it up in reality, but they're supposed to "guard" the spill until they can find another associate to help them clean it up. I'm just saying, but this seems like a really unfortunate distraction that could take an employee's attention away from other matters, such as if there's suspicious activity nearby and someone was purposely creating some kind of distraction. These spills do make their jobs harder, however.

One of the biggest issues that I heard about was people scanning the quantity of certain items as less than there actually were (specifically at self checkouts). Pastries and fruits are a good example of this. Some people will enter one cookie but actually have 3, for example. I think the items this happens most often with are cookies, donuts, avocados, bananas, lemons, limes, mangoes, cantaloupes, and any items that like those that don't require a weight to purchase. This is the case with most grocery store self checkouts, however.

Although many of the cameras W places within random store aisles are fake, those that are placed near expensive items tend to be legit cameras. There was a post that circulated online about how these cameras tend to be fake, and due to that post, you'll now see lots of thieves get caught on cameras that they assumed were not real. It's so wild when you see those videos on YouTube! Those videos literally expose the identities of the people who steal to potentially thousands of people across the world and establish shitty reputations for said people. Other stores are made aware of their identities and can more easily prevent the stealing!

Speaking of those videos, it's very silly to watch those thieves try to hide things in their coats or bags just to discover that the items don't fit. It's almost as if they didn't check beforehand to make sure they'd have enough room, especially without it being noticeable! I mean, don't they practice in a mirror or even have a loved one who checks to see if it's obvious? That's so wild to me!

While associates who are at registers and self checkouts aren't allowed to intervene if they see or suspect a thief, they do have to immediately alert the managers and asset protection. It's pretty wild to see this process in action and watch how quickly the team can move! I've even heard of asset protection being allowed to tackle customers they believe are stealing, although I've never seen this in action. I kind of feel like tackling a thief, especially one you're not sure is actually a thief, would be a good way to get W sued, you know?

I feel like SOOOOO many thieves get caught by giving themselves away, tbh. I guess this isn't something my friend told me, but I've seen it happen so many times in security footage videos on YouTube where the person stealing will look around them as they're grabbing the item, quickly put the item into wherever, look around again, and use a lot of nervous body language as they try to exit the store. Like, the best thieves I've seen have always acted very confident - being aware of their surroundings before grabbing the item, grabbing the item very casually, finding a casual way to slip it into somewhere as they walk away, and walking out with the confidence that they know exactly what they're doing and absolutely nothing is wrong. They seem to walk with their backs straight and their heads held up a bit, almost as if to say "I'm not worried". Either that, or they walk with a very relaxed stride, like that of someone who's just walking into W and walking back out for no reason in particular. When they put too much thought into how they walk, however, it becomes much more obvious. A dead giveaway is probably when the thief acts fidgety, seems paranoid, displays signs of being very nervous whenever an associate is nearby or watching them, and walks very rigidly. You also tend to see good thieves going to checkout lanes that are the furthest from an employee or are in a spot in the middle. Pretty interesting!

Please share this if you'd like! This information is very important for us customers to be aware of. Hopefully, we can spot security threats ourselves and report them to employees of any store! I'm sure many of these things happen at other stores besides W.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Chapter 1 - Security breach

Note: My very own addition to Arkhamverse fics. The chapters would only loosely follow each other, so consider them to be more standalone ficlets. The reader is Catwoman's sidekick/adopted family with a bit of a background of her own. Special thanks to @thinkingofausername for discussing this fic with me. Adding @heavysighing-dreamyeyes and @deimks post-posting.

Warnings: mentions of abuse and torture

You stalked through the dark and eerie corridors of Arkham Asylum. Weeks you have waited for this opportunity. After weeks of preparations, intel gathering and scratched furniture you’re finally here. You waited long for the perfect night, and it came today. The Arkham staff was busy locking Joker away and preening in front of Batman. They won’t even notice a small intervention. Funny, usually people would give everything to get out of Arkham Asylum. Not you though. There was someone locked away in the endless halls of the psych ward that you need to get out.

How could Selina be so careless?? Getting caught by Batman is one thing, but to get locked away in Arkham when usually she would outsmart the cops long before that would happen. Either she’s getting sloppy, or there’s more to it than meets the eye. More than worried though, you’re offended that she’s keeping things from you.

You were thieves, sure. Lying, stealing, conniving bitches… but you always had each other's backs. Ever since she found you curled up in a wet cardboard box in one of the nameless alleyways of Gotham City. The thought of her keeping things from you had you feeling uneasy.

You slinked through the vent into the much nicer corridor than the rest of the hallowed rooms in Arkham. This was a hallway leading to the director’s office. technically, you should have taken a different route through the ventilation system, but there was something you needed to take first. You’re sure Sel would more than appreciate this.

With the cameras momentarily disabled, you needed to be quick but as you walked through the corridor you heard voices getting closer. Quick as a wink, you leaped onto the ceiling, claws holding onto the wooden pilaster. You hoped the guards were stupid enough to not look up, you don’t have much time to play with them today.

Thankfully, the men armed with rifles stalked through the corridor pretty briskly, almost as if in a hurry.

Once the coast was clear, you dropped down onto the red carpet and looked around once more. Your tiny fleshlight dancing on the glass showcases.

You smiled in triumph once you found what you were looking for. The headpiece, the glasses, the gloves. All places are carefully arranged like a museum exhibit.

“Oh, a pressure-sensitive iron mantle, whatever shall I do?” You whispered to yourself dramatically before drawing a quick circle in the glass with your claws. You quickly watched the newly made glass disc as it fell out and started stuffing Selina’s belongings in your bag. Your pointy ears were perked for any upcoming sounds of danger but the place grew eerily quiet.

A shiver went down your spine. Something’s off. You couldn’t tell what but it was like a quiet before the storm.

Just as you were to hop on the ventilation bus once more you heard a voice through the speakers, and you’re as hell not one of the directors.

“Ladies and maniacs, I apologize for this interruption in your regular entertainment…”

Ah, fuck.

What seemed at first like the best night at infiltrating Arkham soon chose to be the worst. The asylum was on fire. There was no better way to say it. Joker took over the place and soon there were madmen everywhere. To your dismay, the shitstain also took over the security gates.

You kept running through the dark halls full of ingrates of the asylum and SWAT members, you weren’t particularly thrilled with meeting either of those. You sidestepped the bodies, trying to not ponder too much about the slaughterhouse you found yourself in.

Finally, you enter the Decontamination room, holding cells should be closed now. You hear some yelling as the room fills with prisoners.

“Oh, we’re gonna have with you, kitty cat.” One of them gives you a slimy sneer.

You smirk, “Oh, so do I.”

They all run up to you expecting and easy fight. Soon the room fills with their wails as your claws slice their flesh to ribbons. A well-aimed kick to the chest of one sends you flying onto the head of another. You use his head as a lever from which you kick everyone standing close. You bounce back off of him and let on your feet with grace. You straighten up hands raised but they’re all lying down. How disappointing…

A shadow passed over you and you recognize the bat-shaped cape. Shit, hopefully, he didn’t see you there. Relfexivelly you roll over to the next sliding door. The deeper you progress into the asylum the more you encounter green glowing graffiti of smiling faces.

Ugh. This is bad.

Thankfully she’s not in Extreme Isolation. Let’s see… section B2…section B2…

Your ears pick up on the sound of quiet, ragged breathing. All night, you heard the blasting of sirens, the thudding of boots, and maddened shouting. This is a new one. You keep listening to the stranger's stumbling steps, accompanied by strange shuffling. He must be leaning up against the wall.

You lower your head and raise your hands in a fighting posture, whoever it is they better not try anything funny. You hear them stumble, followed by a loud thud, then a small pathetic whine. You roll your eyes and round the corner. Whoever it is, they are more likely to threaten rats scuttling around than you, you just quickly knock them up and head to…

The moment your eyes lay on the stranger splayed on the floor, your stomach churns. It’s a man, rather small and frail one if you had to guess by the way the asylum uniform hangs on his body. A mop of matted, black hair sits on top of his head. Whatever skin you can see is either red or purple. You tentatively step closer, almost scared of what horrible things will closer proximity give you. At the sound of your heel clicking against the iron flooring, the stranger shakily pulls his head up, one blood-soaked eye staring at you in horror. He starts writhing uncontrollably, probably trying to shuffle away from you, but his body is so brutalized that all he can do is fumble in place.

“Hey…hey…calm down.” The soothing edge to your tone surprises even you, but it's hard to be intimidating when the man is so beaten up he might as well be a corpse.

Your words do not make him settle down, if anything, they agitate him even further. His movements get more erratic a quiet sobs that almost sound like a ‘no’ fall from his mouth.

You sigh. I don’t have time for this.

Nevertheless, you crouch in front of him, carefully placing your hands under his armpits to at least sit him against the wall. He tries to fight you, but there is no strength behind it. When you hold him so close, you note how bony he truly is.

“What the hell happened to you??” You mumble more to yourself than him, because at this point, you gave up hope of any conversation with him.

You grasp his chin, angling his face to get a good look at him. You try to keep your cool as you look upon a black eye so swollen you doubt he can see something, a broken nose, split lip, and sunken, bloodied mouth.

Your stomach lurches and you have to look away for a second, but then only draws your attention to the scarred arm desperately pawing at you. You notice a bloodied fingertip and upon closer inspection, you realize that this man’s nails were ripped off.

You have to squeeze your eyes for a moment, doing your hardest not to throw up or run away. You’ve seen your fair share of violence as Gotham’s criminal, but you’ve never encountered such blatant brutality.

The man’s ragged breaths bring you back to the present. Without further thinking, you put down the small backpack you brought with you and start pulling out the first aid essentials. You brought those for Selina, in case she’s roughened up from Gotham’s inmates, but whatever state she’s in, you doubt it’s as bad as this guy.

He’s mostly calm when you start wiping off the blood. No, not calm, unresponsive. He’s whole body is slack and he’s looking miles away, as if he’s mentally in a different place. Considering the naked fear in his eyes, it’s probably not a good place.

But you can’t do anything about that. You’re not a trained therapist. Hell, you’re not a trained medic, but here you are, wasting away precious resources on someone you don’t even know. Maybe he even won’t survive this night.

Yet, you continue. You find the reason behind his fall. His ankle is badly twisted. Thankfully you have experience with this type of injury.

“Uh, hey… your ankle is broken. I have to set it back. It’s uh…gonna hurt bad.” You shrug hopelessly because there’s no point in lying to him. Still, he doesn’t respond. You carefully lift his foot and place it against your thigh. You firmly grasp his ankle in one hand and his instep in the other and as quickly as you can, you twist. The bone falls back with a pop and he chokes out a painful wail. He tries to, at least. His scratched throat won’t allow more than broken wheezing. He probably wrecked his vocal cords from screaming and groaning.

You swallow bile in your throat and instead of dwelling on these thoughts, you start hauling him up. As you walk, you decide to drop this dude off somewhere safe, as safe as anywhere on Arkham island could be, and then speed off to Selina. Just a small detour. She spent two months at Arkham, she could wait another hour.

A bunch of criminals drop from the ceiling.

Or two.

Jason wasn’t sure if the girl was real, or if she was just another hallucination born from his broken mind.

This whole day could be just a dream. When the clown didn’t show up for his usual bound of torture, he assumed that the inmates of the asylum would take their turns with him. He had presented a perfect opportunity for anyone to have fun with him, with the injuries he sported from his last torture session, but the inmates he met on his way from his wing of the asylum, just passed him without even a glance. For whatever reason, that made his eyes sting with fresh tears. He’s not worthy of even that after all. Batman left him for dead, and so did Joker. What had kept him from curling up in a ball and waiting for death?

Because he waited for death for months now, and it didn’t come. Only pain pain and more pain on the top of sick games the clown played on him. He hoped that if not freedom he might as well end it on his own ends. Jason will greet the grim reaper halfway.

Instead of a skeleton with a scythe, he met a small girl with cat ears. And now said girl is throwing his barely functioning body onto a nearby hospital bed while Gotham's worst is running towards her with raised fists. Jason had to suppress the involuntary whimper that dragged its way through his throat. Too many times they walked up to him, tied to a chair, itching for a fight. This time, it wasn’t his nose getting smashed in or his head put in a swivel.

He watched as you beat up every single man who approached you, body fluid, and shoulders relaxed. Like a dancer, or a cat. One man that got too close to him got his throat garroted by your whip and thrown away like a rag doll.

A glint in the corner of his eye caught his attention. One of the prisoners feigned unconsciousness while he pulled a knife, drawn to stab you in the back while you were preoccupied with his friends. With the strength he didn’t know he had, Jason tackled the man with a yell. That surprised the ruffian enough to drop a knife, and he threw Jason to the ground like a pesky fly. Jay grunted in pain when his back hit the floor. The man stood over him but before he could do anything, a well-aimed kick pinned him to the wall beside Jason, and then he dropped to the ground.

“Nice work! We’ll make a sidekick out of you yet.”

Your voice was sweet. The amused and carefree lilt was so out of this place. No one has spoken to him like this since the Clown caught him. No one has touched him without intent to hurt him. Yet here, you are, pulling him flush to your soft body and once again walking him somewhere.

“You…real?” He looks at you through the bruising of his eye.

You adjust him against your side as you sneer down at him, “Your knight in black leather, sweetheart.”

That was the last thing Jason heard before he lost consciousness.

Carrying an injured man is fucking hard. Carrying an injured, unconscious man is even harder. You seriously considered dropping him off multiple times, but every time, you decided against it considering how much work it took to get him so far.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The network stopped working a while ago, so you had to rely on orientation signs and a few screens that still worked. You rounded the corner at the utility room. Once you make it there it should be easy. Based on what you remember from extensive studying of Arkham infrastructure, you should appear at the east of the island. You were a few feet from the door when the speakers blasted the voice of that disgusting clown. His bullshit didn’t phase you, the same can’t be said about your companion. The moment Joker’s deranged laughter reaches his ears, he completely freezes, and then starts trembling uncontrollably. It gets so intense he slips out of your grip and slides down the wall.

“Hey! No no no, not now!”

You tried to tug him up, to get him moving. But it was like his soul left his body. His breathing grew more ragged, the trembling got even worse, and a thin sheen of cold sweat coated his entire body. The man was losing control right in front of you, and you were hopeless at what to do.

Sudden frustration rose in your chest. Sel is somewhere out there, maybe hurt, definitely scared, even if she wouldn’t admit it. And you’re losing time with a man who can’t even…

Because the guy decided to lose it right under the corridor lightning, it’s the first time you see his face properly. His head lols down in defeat and that’s when you notice the letter J branded on his cheek. Fresh blood oozing from the wound, the flesh around it red and puckered. Suddenly things clicked into place. What other sick fuck would brand their name upon their victim's flesh? Several actually, at least when it comes to Gotham. But you knew only one whose name started with J. Your frustration went away.

“Listen to me… erm… what’s your name again?” No answer.

You grasp his shaking shoulders and shake him gently.

“You need to knock out of it. We’re almost out.” You try to sound as encouraging as possible, but he’s not moving or saying anything.

Instead of shaking him, you opt for taking his face in your hands.

“Look at me. Breathe.” He’s looking at you, but he doesn’t see you, eyes glazed over, bloody mouth slack-jawed.

You’re looking at this man, this boy, and wonder if he’ll ever get over the horrors he experienced in this place. If there’s even anything you can do to bring him back at this point.

Hopeless about what to do, you resort to the last thing that comes to your mind.

You kiss him.

It’s not fun, with all the blood and missing teeth, but despite it all, you notice his lips are stupidly soft and plump for an Arkham inmate.

At first, nothing happens. The shaking and labored breathing stops. You think he lost consciousness again, but when you pull away, his eyes are clear and present and he’s staring right at you.

“Now. Lets. Go.” You growl firmly as you wipe his blood from the corner of your mouth and the boy is in too much stupor to protest. He lets you take his hand and drag him towards the door.

When the cold, salty air hits your face, you almost collapse and your feet from relief. But at least one of you has to be the stable one. You take him by the shoulders and sit him on one of the concrete blocks lying around.

“Have you any idea how much time I lost because of you?!” You nagged him even as you pulled a water bottle out of your bag and pressed it to his lips.

“If you get out of here, you owe me big time.”

The guy is probably still recovering from that kiss because he was unresponsive again. At least this time you knew he was sane.

You sigh. No point standing there bitching.

“Either hide till sunrise or go to the port and sneak onto the boat. Think you can manage that? Scratch that, you don’t have any choice. I can’t coddle you anymore. I’m not here to be someone’s savior. I mean I am but not… you.”

You turn around if you take a shortcut over the buildings roofs, you should drop down to Selina’s cell unit. Hopefully, she hasn’t met Crock or Clayface on her way out.

Of course, the moment you turn away is the moment he decides to speak.

“Your… name?”

Your name? You do have one of those. The one you use as you scale rooftops and lockpick safes and break out dumb cat burglars.

With a cock of a hip and wink you blow him one last kiss.

“Stray.”

[clazaries]

Karma in the Form of Justice -slightlydark!Steven w/ a hint of Marc x thief!reader

Summary: An opportunist thief takes their chances stealing from the wrong tomb and has to face their karma in the form of Moon Knight. Basically, don't get on the wrong side about Egyptian matters when it comes to Steven and if he teaches you something, you better remember it. w/c: 6.9k Warnings: none really, mentions of violence and murder :) and my horrible knowledge of ancient egypt. You are the bad guy in this a/n: first fic! I kinda wrote steven slightly differently to canon steven and made him a little darker ;) ENJOY

***

It started out innocent. Because, of course, you were only 7 years old at the time. When the class was emptying out through the doorway, little, dumb Timmy left his British Museum pencil sitting freely on his desk, begging for someone to claim it. That someone was you. The urge to take it was overwhelming and you succumbed to temptation, stashing the pencil deep into your pocket when no one was looking and when no one could figure out the mystery of the disappearing pencil, it was exhilarating knowing that you were the only one who held the secret as to where it went. 

The feeling followed as you got older. 

It started out with a pencil. Then a pencil case. From a pencil case to a school bag. Within that school bag was a purse containing a little over £1.50, but still, it was a treasured find. From purses to watches, necklaces, rings, valuables, anything that could be pawned and make you that slightly bit richer. When you were old enough to realise about the illegalities of your little habits, guilt and paranoia began to make themselves known to you. But they were equally matched with the feeling of euphoria and the adrenaline of getting away with it, so although you did try to tone it back, you never really stopped. 

By your late teens, the routine grew tiresome and you endeavoured for something bigger, better, flashier and ten times more riskier. You had to look no further than your very first pilferage. 

The British Museum.

~~~~

If you ever tried to justify your actions, what sets you apart from the usual petty thieves is patience and intention. Thieves lack the former but embody the latter. They grow greedy and would plan and scheme and waste hours (the stupid ones don’t plan at all), throwing themselves into a situation that would inevitably result in handcuffs. You, on the other hand, were an opportunist, patient enough to know to pounce only when the moment presented itself on a silver platter. Why chase the thrill when you could let it find you? 

On one random day during the week while your parents were enjoying their two week vacation to Italy, you decided to skip school and take a trip to the Museum. You did very little research before entering (after all, less planning means less intention means less suspicion), so you were pleasantly surprised by the museum’s ongoing exhibition of artefacts from ancient Egypt. 

Your legs carried you in no certain direction, weaving in and out of the display cabinets of stone statues, plaques of hieroglyphics and crumbling pieces of sand. Despite it all being rather interesting, the artefacts weren’t the only thing your eyes were scanning for. Within the first room alone, you spotted 6 cameras and one patrol officer meandering just as casually as you were. There was no need to panic though, you were here to peruse. Not to steal. 

You couldn’t promise yourself any restraint should the opportunity arise…

“Ah! I see you’ve found the Ushabti of Pa-Di-Pep.” An enthusiastic voice from your left appeared behind you. You turned to see a man with black curly hair, donning an enthusiastic smile as his eyes bounced from the ‘ushabti’ and you. “26th dynasty,” he muttered a little quieter. “Very old. Well, I guess that’s obvious. Wouldn’t be an exhibition on ancient Egypt if it was modern.” As his laughter died, your eyes caught the glint of his name tag on his jacket. Steven. You gathered he worked here. 

“Oh, cool.” Your tone was rather disinterested and couldn’t be more sarcastic if you tried. “You know your stuff.”

“Oh it’s right up my alley actually. I’ve spent loads of time reading up on this kind of stuff. I could tell you anything about everything in this room. If you’d like?” The way he rolled on the balls of his feet like a child told you that he so clearly wanted to. You decided to indulge in him, only because you could get something out of it. 

“Sure. It would be a great help towards my school project.” A clever lie, one that is easily bought by the sad little man beside you, lighting up his eyes and rolling his enthusiasm back to high tide. “So what about this ushabti, then? Anything else you can tell me about that?” 

The man rambled on for a little while longer than you wanted, waiting for that perfect opportunity to segue onto the question that was hot on your lips. What was it worth?

“...figurines could also be inscribed with passages from the Book of the Dead, the intention of which was to secure safety for the deceased in the afterlife.”

“So not quite the ideal decoration to have in your house then?” 

“Oh no, no, not at all. These are funeral artefacts, usually left buried along with a tomb.” 

“Bummer. I was really looking into sprucing up my living room with one of these,” you jested, bumping a gentle elbow against his. 

He elbowed back, “would really take the ‘living’ out of ‘living room’.”

“Definitely not worth it.” You began to look around the room, gambling with the idea of whether or not an opportunity could be found here. The security might’ve been too much of a risk. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t window shop. “So tell me then, out of anything in here, what would be worth having in your living room?” 

“Where to begin? Oh! Here…” 

Honestly, you zoned out, not having the slightest interest in anything he was saying unless it had any relevance to you. The man droned on and on about the history and the magnificence of each piece he talked about but nothing about its worth. You were about to try and cut ties until you both came across an interesting piece that gained your attention. 

“And this is the bronze figure of the Egyptian God Ptah-”

“Ptah? Who’s he?”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, as if you'd just asked what day it was. “Who’s he? He’s only the Egyptian God of creation?! He was believed to have dreamt creation in his heart and gave it life with his breath.” 

Spare me the poetry, pal. What’s it worth? Give me a number. 

“So top shelf mantle material.” You feigned interest, smiling widely at him. 

“Definitely. A very expensive one at that. Would set you back at least 37 grand.” 

Interesting. 

You stayed for a little while until the number of witnesses dwindled into single digits. The museum was beginning to close up, staff were outnumbering visitors with the majority of them leaving through the gift shop which conveniently sold replicas of the bronze figure ‘Steven’ showed you earlier.

You always told yourself that you never planned, but another opportunity had opened up to you and you couldn’t help but call it fate. 

It went flawlessly. When no one was looking you swiftly snatched the real bronze figure, giving you the seconds you needed to make it to the gift shop before the panicked patrol officer alerted staff. The hubbub of the precious missing artefact opened up the second opportunity to swipe a replica from the shelf. 

“Oh, excuse me!” You had yelled, holding the replica up in the air, the real one encased in your rucksack. “I saw some kid walking out with this, I believe it belongs here.” Your sickly smile fooled the patrol staff, knowing none the wiser, and kindly took the replica with a relieved breath, placing it back onto its pedestal.

You walked out the museum 37 grand richer.

~~~~

Whenever you pulled something off like this, you tended to keep your head low for at least a week after, limiting the amount of times you left your home, and kept communication to an absolute minimum. Within a few weeks, you were back to your normal self. However, this time the euphoria was very short-lived. It had been a day after your theft when the paranoia settled in and you had never known it to be so all-consuming. With a pilferage worth 37 grand, it meant that the stakes were far too high to wager with. Finding rest was a rare luxury for at least a week. You tried to ease your way through the days feeling conflicted and, in all honesty, petrified of the foreseeable. With each day that passed, you found it harder and harder to keep your paranoia at bay and you didn’t dare leave your home and the mental torture plagued you with restlessness; having to check locks four, fives times before you left each room. 

Your home started to feel like less of a safe space. You couldn’t explain the feeling you had every morning when you woke up, itching with an unease that someone had been watching you, spying on you, observing you with resentment in their eyes with what you had chosen to do with your life. It was then you started to notice things being out of place; the ridge in your carpet had changed shape, curtains had been drawn wider than how you usually left them, a kitchen chair was facing just a degree or two out of place. That same night, you remembered standing in the middle of your bedroom with a cold breeze drafting around you, but it wasn’t the reason for your shivers. To your left a creak of the floorboards, to your right a moan of the wind. Something wasn’t right. Something definitely wasn’t right. 

It could’ve been your paranoia, it could’ve been your lack of sleep, but you were certain you spotted two glowing eyes peering through your window from across the street, staring directly into your soul. 

“Fuck this,” you whispered to yourself. Without a moments’ hesitation you reached for the bronze figure you had stashed within the hollows of your wall. “Time to get rid of this.” 

Being quite the weasel you are, you sold the bronze figure for almost double the money on the black market and made the very bold decision to get out of the country before you were consumed by guilt. 

~~~~

3 years later

“You ready?” Amon asks you, propping up his scarf over his face to fight against the sandy winds. You nod to him before following him into the entrance of the tomb that lies just beneath an alcove, hidden in the shadows of the dunes. 

Amon had already scouted the entrance of the tomb a few days prior, so he takes lead on the scavenge guiding the way with a bright white torch and the moment you step into the tomb, you become his shadow. The tunnel is narrow and carries a draft only a fraction of the winds outside and it’s something you’re thankful for, otherwise you would be dripping right through your clothes with sweat. Every step is with caution, every living breath is considered your last, both you and Amon are aware of the risks that these tunnels carry. 

Amon, being a local, had his reasons for entering the tunnel; he knows of the treasures and rarities of what lies inside, a conversation that caught wind and found your eavesdropping ears in the midst of a busy town outside Cairo. Not to mention, he’s as greedy for his share of the fortune if you are skillful enough to succeed. Unfortunately, being a local, he also has his reasons not to enter. On a spiritual level, this tomb is considered to be cursed, ladened with traps of an Egyptian mind that could easily kill you with one wrong step. He is too afraid to do it alone.

On a more realistic level, the structure is unsupported, tunnels weaving their way beneath tonnes and tonnes of ancient bricks, sand and rubble that could collapse at any given moment. That’s the real risk you’re more frightened of. 

“How much of this did you actually scout?” You ask.

“I go until no more.” His broken English rises above the low moaning whistle which Amon claims to be the voice of the dead, warning you to turn back while you still have a chance. You don’t heed his superstitions.

You both eventually reach the point that Amon had mentioned and honestly, you were expecting it to be a lot further into the tomb and not just a few minutes into the journey. Before you, a collapsed section of the tunnel with a small point of entrance between the ground and rubble. Eyeing it up, you realise it’s big enough that you could squeeze yourself through there if you held your breath but taking a second glance at Amon, there’s no way his 5'10 well-fed body could do the same. 

He gestures to the blockage, “I go until no more.” 

“Right.” You heave a sigh, considering your options; ignore the risks and do it alone, or turn around and walk away from it all. 

Alas, that small hole is an opportunity. And where there is an opportunity, there is possibility. 

You begin to strip yourself of your equipment until you are down to a few layers of clothing. You lower yourself onto your stomach heading face first through the opening. “When I get through, pass me my equipment, okay?” Amon nods in understanding, but not without mentioning how crazy he thinks you are. 

It’s an awkward shuffle through to the other side. Hands, elbows, knuckles and knees are scraping against the ground in an attempt to push your way through, aided by the breath of relief when you make it to the other side. Beams of white light shine through the cracks in the rubble and when Amon hears you made it, he passes through your equipment. 

You find his eyes through one of the cracks. “Will you wait?” You reluctantly ask, suddenly feeling vulnerable now that you have been separated. 

“Yes. I have walkie-talkie. Atamanaa lak al tawfiq.” You don’t know what he said, but from his tone and the way he looks at you with hope you guess that it’s along the lines of ‘good luck’. 

With a final nod, you head off into the unknown, your torch shining the way. 

There’s a million thoughts running through your head as you delve deeper into the tomb, but yet not one that gives you any comfort. What if there isn’t anything to find? What if you get lost? What if Amon doesn’t wait for you? What if you get trapped? 

What if you die?

They remind you that you are way out of your depth here, you aren’t an adventurer nor an explorer of any sort. You’re an opportunist thief who takes their chances where they shouldn’t. What the hell are you doing here?

You force yourself to swallow your growing discomfort, clinging on to the small possibility and Amon’s knowledge that you do find something worth your while. Besides, it’s that small possibility that motivated you to crawl through that opening and continue your journey. You have to keep going.

The tunnels eventually open up into a massive hollow cavern lined with broken paths and cliff edges, hanging over a substantial drop. You take a moment to collect yourself, eyes following the paths and finding that the only way is down. Down into the pit of darkness. There isn’t a sound to be heard, and if it wasn’t for your powerful torch, you wouldn’t be able to see a thing. The breeze has calmed to nothing, not a single wisp of your hair moving upon your head and the heat starts to become more of a nuisance. Your palms sweat as you cling onto protruding rocks along the wall and your torch threatens to slip from your grasp. It’s a challenging obstacle course, manoeuvring yourself from one path to another, planning and scheming as you go. 

“You there Amon?” The bleep of the walkie-talkie bounces against the walls of the cavern, its echo travelling for miles. You estimate that you’re about 50 feet down from where you started.

“Yes. Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, the tomb goes deep. I don’t know if the signal will carry if I get to the bottom…” you pause, hesitant over your next words. “This might take a while. If you don’t hear from me in 4 hours, then just leave.” 

“Leave you? No, no, no, I wait in car. You come back in 4 hours. Yes?” 

“Okay. I’ll contact you again when I get to the--shit!!” What stops you mid-sentence is the pair of glowing white eyes at the bottom of the cavern, floating, watching, observing. You’ve seen those eyes before. It was unnerving the first time but it’s even more terrifying the second time, a new wave of fear now rattling your bones. Your heart rate picks up, your pulse almost thrumming in your ears in sheer panic. No, no, no. It can’t be…

You shine your torch towards the eyes but in its deathly white glow, they disappear, reappearing only when you avert your torch.

“Hello? You okay? Hello?!” Amon’s almost yelling through the walkie-talkie. 

“I’m okay, sorry, just…” You have no idea what to say, eyes glued to the glowing ones miles below you. “Just got a fright.” 

“Be careful,” is that last thing Amon says to you before the line goes dark. When all is silent, you’re left to quietly battle against the glowing pair of eyes, unmoving and unblinking. You don’t dare take a single step, adamant on keeping your gaze locked firmly below you with two hands clenched around the torch in a white-knuckled grip. You quickly become stuck in a cycle of shining your torch onto them, repeatedly watching them disappear and reappear in the hopes that they’ll eventually vanish forever. 

“Fuck…just leave me alone,” you quietly murmur to yourself. When the eyes refuse to react, you bravely decide to take a single side step, closer towards your next descent where you know you will have to detach your gaze, but you know you can’t stay here forever. The eyes don’t move, they don’t blink, they just keep watching you. So you take another step, and another, and another…

Within a matter of panic-inducing seconds, you eventually reach the edge of a ridge when your torch begins flickering, the light dimming with each flicker. “No, no, no you have to be kidding me!” Stressed, you bang the torch against your palm in a nervous attempt to keep the light, it’s your only salvation right now, you can’t lose it. You could’ve sworn the batteries were fully charged. You had them charging overnight knowing you were going into a dark tomb, why aren’t they working? Fuck, why won’t they work?! 

Despite your distraction, you’re hyper aware of the eyes below you, eyes that you are not currently watching and having lost your composure, your paranoia floods you with thoughts that this was what they were waiting for; their moment to pounce. They could be scaling the walls towards your position. They could have moved and you wouldn’t know. They could be inches from you and you wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. You feel it. They’re crawling closer and closer and closer…

After a few heart stopping seconds, the torch finally flashes to life and with a desperate sob you shine the bright beam towards the eyes as if the light is your shield. Like before they disappear, but unlike before, they don’t reappear. They’re gone. You can’t see them anywhere. Not above, not below. Gone. 

The stress overwhelms you and you drop to your knees, passing a strangled whimper and letting your heart rate slow to an easy beat. Fuck. You’re still a long way to go, how are you going to manage? 

Against your better judgement, you continue at a slow and agonising pace, still very aware of your surroundings as if you’re expecting the eyes to appear again. Thankfully, about an hour and a half of descending down the multiple jumps and hazardous steps, you reach an opening. Finding another narrow tunnel that leads you away from the cavern seems like a saving-grace and you don’t give the glowing eyes another opportunity to appear before you follow the trail. 

“Amon, can you hear me?” Your walkie-talkie hisses a low frequency back at you. “Amon, are you there?” 

No response. You are truly on your own now. 

You readjust your rucksack straps, retie your bootlaces, wipe the sweat from your brow, and with feigned determination, you set off through yet another dark, narrow tunnel with your untrustworthy torch in hand. 

You quickly find that this one isn’t like the one you and Amon travelled through at the entrance, this one feels like a maze. Despite it having only one path and being completely linear, there is a tight 90 degree corner every 5 or 6 steps. Left, right, left, left, right, left, right, right, left. It’s unnerving because even though you know you can’t get lost and you know exactly where you came from, there’s no way of telling what lies ahead of you, no way of telling what lurks just around the corner, waiting for you in the darkness. What’s worse is that there’s no way of telling if anything is following you until it’s exactly five steps behind you which, by that point, there’s no outrunning it. You’ve never felt paranoia like it and the deeper you trail, the more anxious you become. 

After fifteen minutes, you feel you’re going in circles. Logically, you know it isn’t possible but the disorientation you feel convinces you otherwise. You’ve taken so many left and right-hand turns that you’ve lost count and you just can’t map it out in your head. There has to be an end, this can’t go on for much longer. 

After another five minutes, you stop to gather your sanity tucked neatly into one of the many corners of the tunnel, keeping track of where you came from and where you intend to go. You cleanse your mind with a refreshing drink of cold water, splashing some sparingly across your forehead and the back of your neck, revelling in the small relief it brings you. The droplets on the ground are the only evidence of your travels and you figure it would be a good indication should you succeed in making it back. Just a couple of more hours, you tell yourself. You can do it. 

Composed, you rise to your feet ready to take another step but before you do, your torch flickers again, subjecting you to intermittent seconds of pure darkness. Your heart stops dead in your chest. The last time that happened the eyes were watching you and you can’t bear to think that time is repeating itself. 

Your strategy from last time fails you and no matter how hard you hit the flashlight against your palm, this time it doesn’t come back to life. Flicking the switch off and on again does it no good either and your breathing becomes panicked. Crouched in the corner, you’re enveloped in darkness. It’s so dark that you begin to see swirls of your imagination floating in front of your eyes, so dark that you can’t even see your hand inches from your face, yet still your eyes flicker around frantically as if you could see. 

Helpless, you turn to your other senses, feeling around the rocky sandy ground in search of your rucksack where you know you packed emergency flares. It’s a struggle to rummage for them and until you do, you keep on high alert, listening out for anything out of the ordinary. 

That’s when you hear it; the crumbling of sand, the crunching of footsteps and the soft ruffle of fabric. Someone’s here. There’s no doubt about it. Everything in you is screaming to just abandon the flare and just run but fear keeps you rooted with your hand deep into your rucksack. Your heart feels like a weight in your chest, banging against your rib cage to escape the situation you’re in but your brain tells you to stay, hoping that whoever, whatever, is here is just as blinded by the darkness as you are. If you move, it’ll hear you. 

Your hand eventually knocks against the flare, feeling the familiar cylinder encased in your hand. Alarmed, you pull it out and set it alight, its red flare bursting to life. It gives light to the corridors to your right and to your left…where a tall, daunting mummified figure in white stands, glaring its glowing white eyes on you. Its sudden presence kick starts your reflexes and adrenaline pumps through your veins, pushing you to your feet with a hysterical whimper escaping your throat, and before you even know it, you’re running almost blindly through the tunnel. There isn’t a second thought spared to the broken flashlight and the rucksack full of equipment you mistakenly left behind, running further and further away from whatever is stalking behind you. With the flare outstretched, red walls zoom by you as you try to cut every corner, scraping shoulders and elbows against the walls in a desperate attempt to increase the distance between you and that thing. 

You can hear it behind you, marching at a quick pace, its footsteps drumming into your ears gradually getting closer and louder. Oh God. It’s right behind you. Keep running, keep running, fuck just don’t stop running!

Tears and sweat glide down your cheeks and you begin to worry that it’ll be the last thing you feel before this being captures you. However, you're granted one last chance of salvation when you turn a corner and see that the tunnel stretches out into a long, straight, narrow path, giving your legs a chance to break into a full uninterrupted sprint. Towards the end you see an archway leading you into the heart of the tomb where a sarcophagus lies in the centre of the room; the very one Amon described as being a goldmine of treasuries. If you can just make it there…

You pick up speed at the moment the tunnel surrounding you begins to rumble, tremors setting your feet off course and pushing you off balance. Little stones and flecks of dust fall from above you and land in your eyes but you know you can’t afford to stop, knowing that that being is still behind you. Little did you know that you had set off a trap, stepping on a plate that triggers the corridor to collapse, no doubt a preventative measure to stop people like you from pilfering the tomb within. But you had been running so quickly, you barely even noticed. Perhaps if you keep running just as fast, you might be able to escape from being crushed to death…

The rumbling becomes so loud that it drowns out the footsteps from behind you and you put all of your remaining strength into sprinting as fast as you can, pumping blood and adrenaline to your legs as they carry you closer and closer to the tomb. Every step is paired with an exhausted pant, your own voice crying out with exhaustion and fear. You have to make it. You can do it.

You dive into the tomb just milliseconds before a large solid rock closes off the entrance, separating you and the being. 

All is silent in the tomb. The rumbling ceases and the footsteps are long forgotten. When a shred of sense returns to you, you take the dying light of the burning flare to the wooden torches dotted around the tomb, not only giving light to the room but giving light to the very, very fucked up realisation you’ve just had. Four solid walls surround you. 

There’s no relief to be had, because although you had just escaped being crushed to death, you now face death in a far more morbid way. There isn’t another way out. You’re beginning to think that you’ve made yet another mistake; being crushed would’ve been a quick and painless death. Now, with no other means of escape, you’ll be subjected to a long, agonising, painful torment, forever waiting for the moment that starvation, thirst, suffocation and time consumes you.

You didn’t just enter any tomb, you entered your own tomb. 

“Fuck!” You scream, falling to your knees, already bloody, bruised and scraped but the pain doesn’t translate when you’re deep in despair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The walls swallow your cries, accepting your defeat. 

If it wasn’t for the situation you find yourself in, you would be revelling in the numerous pieces of ancient artefacts around you, gushing over the rusted gold that shines on the mantles on the walls, laughing with hysteria about how your discovery had just made you a thousand times richer. But no, all you can think about is how claustrophobic you feel, how your lungs burn in your chest and how you will never see the light of day again. 

You spare a thought to your parents whom you had failed to keep in contact with. For the first few months you kept it to just once a week; a picture of your face with an unidentifiable background and a message telling them you were safe. They learned pretty quickly after your sudden disappearance that you weren’t going to answer any of their questions and soon accepted that your weekly message would have to suffice. It was all they needed to know; you were okay and you were safe. Despite the numerous ‘how’s, ‘where’s, ‘what’s, and ‘when’s, there was only ever one ‘why’. 

‘Why did you do it?’ 

Your parents knew exactly why you fled on the day the British Museum had reported a missing bronze figure alongside a grainy picture of your profile captioned ‘number one suspect’, but the one little detail that left them mentally spiralling over their own parenting techniques, wondering where they went so wrong was…why? 

Why did you do it? 

Why indeed. 

The pencil, the pencil case, the rucksack, the purse, the £1.50, watches, jewellery, everything you had ever snagged in your life, was it all worth it? Was this your karma? 

You aren’t sure how much time has passed before you have no more tears left to cry. Completely numb from crying you come to a stand, quickly arriving at the anger stage in the five stages of grief over your own inevitable death. You begin kicking the sarcophagus, knocking things off the mantles and punching anything your fist can connect with with reckless abandon that you don’t even care for how much your temper tantrum is costing you. Everything hurts but you just. Don’t. Care. 

Hours later, exhaustion begins to creep up on you just when the fire of the torches begins to flicker to nothing and before they completely die out, you take one last look around your tomb. You think it’s been more than four hours now which means Amon will be long gone. You are all alone.

Lying in the corner surrounded by the remains of your temper tantrum with all hope lost, you close your eyes. 

~~~~

“Tut tut tut.” A male voice murmurs, arousing you from your slumber. The room is dark when your eyes flicker open, so it’s impossible to miss those glowing white eyes standing at the far end of the room. Fuck. Not again. They startle you so much they jolt your body to full attention, your chest feeling heavy as if you had been defibrillated back to life. “What a waste.” The footsteps lurk around the sarcophagus, scuffing against the shards of the ceramic artefacts you smashed earlier. How he can see, you have no idea. Yet, you still feel the need to push yourself further back against the wall.

You take a shaky breath, mustering the courage to speak. “Please…” The eyes sway casually as the being walks nearer, standing over you cowering in the corner. Before either of you say another word, something drops at your feet. It’s your rucksack. 

“Open it,” he instructs smoothly, a hint of an American twang interlacing his words. “It’s much too dark in here, and I’d prefer to see the fear in your eyes when you get what you deserve.”

Keeping your eyes rooted to the being in front of you, deja vu runs coldly through your veins as your hand sneaks into your rucksack to find the flare. However unlike last time, you’d rather face him in the dark, not a single cell in your body wishes to greet the mummified adonis standing inches before you, threatening you. 

“Go on,” he encourages, eyes flitting to your bag. He knows you don’t want to. It’s pitiful how much you don’t want to. 

When the red glow illuminates there you see him, in fact it’s all you can see. The intimidating being you had only seen for a split second before in full display. His silhouette is so all-encompassing, the red glow doesn’t reach far past him. He’s wrapped neatly in white bandages with gold embellishments on his chest with a flowing cape cascading down his back, resembling warrior regalia. Shadows flicker behind the contours of his hood that hangs over his masked face, giving away no emotion. Everything about him is a mystery and you can’t help but feel vulnerable knowing he can see everything about you, reading the terror in your eyes as if it was written out for him. 

You pull your legs to your chest as he crouches down, levelling with you. 

“I usually don’t deal with petty thieves until they start messing with things that shouldn’t be messed with.”

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” 

He chuckles menacingly, tilting his head. “Looking for an escape? Don’t bother. You won’t be leaving here. At least not until I’m done with you.” 

“What…” Your voice scrapes against your dry throat. It’s been hours since you last had a drop of water. “What are you going to do to me?” 

He doesn’t immediately respond, but instead looks into his own reflection in the gold plating of an artefact you smashed, muttering a tense “not now, Steven.” Steven? What? 

He turns back to you. “The same thing I did to your partner on the surface.” Amon. Shit! 

“Is…is he dead?” 

“Almost. I left him with just enough of a heartbeat to keep him alive, enough to teach him a lesson I know he will learn. You - however - I have no hope for.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, “I was only exploring.” 

“Hmm, I highly doubt that - shut up Steven!” Your brows furrow with confusion, who the hell is Steven? Looking around, you can’t seem to see anyone else here in the room with you and this being. He doesn't give you a second to question his weird antics, coming very quickly to a stand with a grunt and pulling what looks like a gold, crescent shaped weapon from his chest and into his hand. “You’ve been thieving from the moment you knew you could. You know yourself you’re never going to change, so I’m here to put an end to it, to make sure you never get away with something like this again - dammit Steven, fine! But don’t let her get away. She’s mine.”

“What the fuck-” Before another word leaves your lips, the being morphs, or rather, his regalia does. The bandages unravel, withering away to reveal a white tux, donned by the same glowing eyes peering down at you. 

“Exploring, eh?”  

You’re taken aback by the minor change in his voice, his inflection. All Americanisms smoothly disappear and in place a British accent shapes his words. One that seems far too familiar for your liking…

“What…” 

“Gathering research for your school project?” He crouches down again, leaning closer and invading your space. “Or scouting the place out for a heist.” His tone isn't questioning anymore. They’re words of a statement, of a fact he knows is true. It’s really starting to shake your nerves. Something about all of this feels disconcerting. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“It’s a shame, really.” He stubbornly ignores your question, picking up a fractured piece of artefact. “This statue would’ve looked really nice on a living room mantle. Really would’ve spruced up the place.” 

Your heart stops and your breath catches in the back of your throat. The conversation throws you back into your memories, images of the British Museum flashes through your mind. The Egyptian exhibition. The bronze figure. The bumbling staff member who showed you it all. The name on his badge was…

“Steven.”

“Ah, so you do remember. See, you’re smarter than you look. That’s what fooled me all those years ago when you manipulated me into thinking you were just an innocent student looking to learn. You bloody well used me, didn’t you? Cost me my job.” 

“Look, Steven, I’m sorry, o-okay? I was young and stupid, I didn’t know-” 

“Young, yes. Stupid? No. You knew exactly what you were doing when you walked out with that figure. You knew exactly what you were doing when you stashed it in your bedroom walls. I looked everywhere for that statue, waiting for you to reveal where you hid it. And you fucking sold it!” So you weren’t seeing things that night. You know that feeling of being watched wasn’t just a figment of your imagination, it was Steven. “You knew what you were doing when you walked into this tomb. But I bet you don’t know whose tomb you walked into, or what ancient artefacts you recklessly broke. Still ‘willing to learn’? I hope so, ‘cos I think it’s fucking hilarious.” 

Steven comes to a stand and begins marching over to inspect the side of the sarcophagus. At that moment, the light of the flare illuminates the rest of the room and your eyes dart to the entrance where the stone that locked you in here no longer exists. How? Never mind. Survival first, question later. As ever, you take the opportunity and make a dash for the entrance, your legs a little lethargic from your lack of sustenance. 

Sadly, you only get so far. A broad arm wraps around your neck and pulls you flush against Steven’s body. “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast.” His crushing strength borders dangerously between cutting off your oxygen but keeping you conscious enough to hear the words as he mutters them down your ear. “See this sarcophagus here? Do you know who it belongs to? 

“No!” You ball, kicking up a fight. You barely push him off-balance. “I don’t give a fuck, let me go!” 

“See this is why I find the irony of this hilarious. Go on, have a guess. I’m intrigued to see if you’re capable of learning a lesson.”

Steven man-handles you, gripping your jaw to fore to look at the large sarcophagus in front of you littered with inscriptions of a language you can’t translate and decorated with hieroglyphics you don’t understand. You get the feeling it’s something that Steven had already told you about during his ramblings at the museum. But he talked so much about shit you didn’t care for and you didn’t retain any information unless it had to do with its price. Fuck, whose sarcophagus is this? 

“I…I don’t know. Please, just let me go, I promise I won’t steal anymore.” You’re sobbing now, your tears rolling down your cheeks to be absorbed by Steven’s white suit. Frustrated, Steven tightens his hold on you.

“No, come on. Focus. I need to know that you didn’t just use me, I need to know I taught you something. Now what was it? I’ll give you a clue, it was one of the first things we talked about.”

Fuck. It was about some Ushabti thing, right? 

“The Ushabti?” 

“God, you butcher the pronunciation. But well done. The Ushabti of who?” 

You really can’t remember, and you feel it will be the death of you if you don’t. So overrun with hopelessness, you completely give in to defeat and fall weak in Steven’s arm. “I just want to go home.” 

“No, not the Ushabti of I-just-want-to-go-home. Who. Was. It?” 

Come on, think! Who was it? Da…Fa…Pa-something. Pa…Pa…

“I’m going to be reeaalllyyy disappointed if you don’t get this.” Steven’s harsh voice vibrates down your ear, his mask pressing firmly against the side of your ear. 

“Pa…”

“Yes?” 

“Pa-Di…” 

“Almost there, darlin’” 

Finally, the knowledge springs to life and the syllables roll off your tongue. “Pa-Di-Pep?” 

“See? You did know it, which means you’ll know what these inscriptions are on the side of this sarcophagus and on all the relics in this tomb, which means you know why I find this so funny.”

If you had the breath to sigh, you would. He’s right. You do know why. The scraps of information he fed you come whizzing back with a stab of irony. You understand it now. 

“Passages from the Book of the Dead, the intention of which was to secure safety for the deceased in the afterlife.” You relay his words back in your voice, Steven chuckling maniacally behind you.

“And you just broke them all. Bad luck, eh? No safe passage to the afterlife for you. My buddy Marc will make sure of it. If you haven’t already realised, I’m the brains of this body. Marc is the brawn. Never misses a kill that one. Do you, Marc?” 

Steven suddenly shuffles behind you, maintaining that iron steel grip he has around your throat. When the material of the mask traces the shell of your ear and his voice returns, his tone has changed. Deeper, lower, threatening. 

American. 

“Kind of you to say, Steven. Y’know, it’s a shame Steven isn’t kind enough to let you live. So, little thief, what’ll it be? Shall I kill you where you stand, or do you want to join Pa-Di-Pep in his sarcophagus?” 

[kangshxrtie]

ch. 18 ⤍ roommate stream

"yujin, that's my leg!" you complained as yujin kicked your leg.

"i know, it was on purpose," yujin retorted with a smirk.

"wonyoung, tell your girlfriend to stop feeling me up," you said, feigning exasperation.

"wait—i wasn't!" yujin stuttered, "don't lie on my character like that! wonyoung, get her!"

wonyoung, caught in the middle, sighed and shook her head. "yujin, behave. and y/n, stop provoking her."

you crossed your arms and playfully pouted. "i blame yujin."

yujin leaned back with a satisfied grin. "i was just finishing what you started."

"i didn't even do anything to you today," you retorted.

"we literally just turned on the stream, can y'all get along for a second?" gaeul scolded as she turned to the two of you.

"she literally just started antagonizing me out of nowhere," you complained.

"your presence bothered me," yujin stated.

"i will fight you," you threatened.

"come out then," yujin gestured to the door.

user1 i'd bet money on yujin

user2 yujin & y/n best duo

"at least chat loves us," yujin remarked.

"yeah, they're the real ones," you replied.

wonyoung chuckled and shook her head at how fast you two made up. "i swear, you two are impossible."

"anyways, we decided to do a roommate stream because we haven't done one of those in a while," gaeul said.

"even though half of us aren't even here," yujin added.

"they said they were five minutes away twenty minutes ago. i was lied to," you said.

just then, the door creaked open, and leeseo, rei, and liz rushed in, breathless.

"sorry we're late!" leeseo panted, holding up several bags of snacks as a peace offering.

"we got caught up in the snack aisle," rei explained sheepishly.

"i also got some from the kitchen earlier" liz announced holding a big box of brownies.

you turned around quickly with your mouth wide open, noticing immediately that it was your secret stash. "but... that was hidden!"

liz sat down with the box in hand, and everybody immediately went to grab some from the box.

"obviously not hidden well enough," liz shrugged.

you stared in disbelief as the rest of the group was just munching away at the brownies, ignoring the way you were glaring at them.

"you thieves," you scoffed in disbelief at the audacity after you took the time out of your day to hide those brownies. you really thought you had hidden them well too.

user3 not them taking y/n's secret stash 😭

"i know, right?" you rolled your eyes as you responded to the chat. "i need new roommates."

"don't worry, i'll buy you some more," gaeul promised.

"find a better hiding spot next time," liz teased as she took another bite of her brownie.

"you're telling me you bent all the way down to look behind the pots and pans and inside of an unlabeled box to find my brownies?" you asked incredulously.

"yes," liz nodded her head.

"i can't. i'm actually about to put a lock on everything after i buy food," you said.

"we have one of our managers here to help us with today's game," yujin told the chat, making your team's manager come into the frame for a quick wave at the camera before leaving just as fast. your manager covered the camera to choose the mafia for the first game, including the chat in the game. as soon as you all raised your heads, yujin immediately started accusing you.

"it has to be y/n."

"i haven't even done anything yet," you sighed.

"was that you confessing?" yujin questioned.

"i'm not doing this with you; i'm just a normal civilian," you replied.

"seems suspicious," yujin hummed.

"why are you pushing me so hard, just trying to get an easy kill?" you retorted.

"why are you two like this?" leeseo chuckled.

"i think it's gaeul. she looked a little too happy when she raised her head," rei suggested.

"i was just happy to be a civilian," gaeul shrugged with a small smile on her face.

"it's you and y/n for sure," rei accused.

"i breathed," you said in disbelief.

rei just made an annoying face in retaliation.

"what if we go around saying why it isn't us?" liz suggested.

"i want to start off by saying i would never kill anybody," you said.

"not yet," yujin mumbled.

"i also think it's yujin because she wants me out so bad."

"i'm innocent because i'm never mafia," yujin said.

"you right," liz nodded her head.

"i am an innocent civilian," wonyoung stated.

"i believe her," leeseo said.

the rest of you went around defending yourselves, with each statement becoming more outrageous and hilarious.

"okay, i vote wonyoung. she always gets a role," you told the group while raising your hand.

"y/n?" wonyoung asked dramatically.

"but what if it really is y/n?" rei chimed in, narrowing her eyes at you.

"i don't know what your problem is with me today, but i swear it's not me" you tried to defend yourself.

"let's just go to sleep without voting anybody out," gaeul suggested. "we're baselessly accusing each other."

when you all rose your heads, liz was found "dead," and the accusations started flying again.

"it has to be y/n now. liz died because y/n still resents liz for stealing her brownies," rei suggested.

"i'm not gonna lie, if it was me, i would have done that, but i don't have that ability," you said in disbelief. "i am being framed!"

"it makes sense," leeseo said.

"no way! i swear it's gaeul," you insisted. "remember how happy she looked? that was the smile of a killer"

"i'm just a happy person," gaeul protested with a laugh.

"not that happy," you mumbled under your breath.

"i think it's y/n because she keeps accusing everybody else," leeseo said.

"i'm defending myself after being wrongly accused!" you retorted.

suddenly, yujin looked at wonyoung and began laughing, making the taller girl look at her weird and slightly scared.

"it's you, right?" yujin asked wonyoung with a laugh.

wonyoung shook her head, "it's not me"

yujin laughed harder talking louder now and pointing at the girl, "it's wonyoung"

"i'd vote her" you said.

"no she's wrong" wonyoung tried to say.

"she doesn't seem like the mafia" gaeul said.

"don't protect your partner" you waved her off.

gaeul sighed, shaking her head. "she's not my partner"

rei raised an eyebrow at the comment. "so who is then?"

"i'm not the mafia," gaeul denied.

"well, i don't think it's wonyoung," leeseo suddenly said.

"because it's not," wonyoung exclaimed in relief.

"but i do think it's gaeul. she's a little too quiet," leeseo continued, looking at gaeul.

gaeul's eyes widened in surprise. "i'm always on the quieter side."

"a little too quiet," rei said.

"exactly!" yujin interjected. "you usually talk more during mafia but now you're just trying to fly under the radar."

gaeul laughed nervously. "because as soon as i started talking, y'all would call me the mafia."

wonyoung, sensing an opportunity to shift the suspicion off herself, added, "you know, gaeul did seem a bit too happy earlier. maybe she really was happy because she was mafia."

"i was just happy to play the game!" gaeul protested, her smile faltering.

"can't believe you were that happy to kill us off," you sighed dramatically. "i say we vote gaeul."

"me too," yujin quickly added.

rei nodded. "it makes sense. gaeul's been deflecting suspicion since the beginning."

leeseo looked around at the group, then shrugged. "alright, i vote for gaeul too."

gaeul looked around at all of you in disbelief at how fast everybody turned on her. "guys, come on! it's not me!"

but it was too late. the majority had spoken. with a sigh, gaeul raised her hands in surrender going back to stand with liz. "fine, but i am innocent."

with the vote in place, you all covered your eyes and liz, who was now the host of the game, confirmed who the mafia went to kill, and you all rose your heads back up. you all watched as liz

"leeseo was killed during the night."

leeseo let out a small cry dramatically sliding off of the couch and onto the floor, going around to the back to stand with gaeul and liz.

you looked back at all of them, making eye contact with liz, who was trying to keep a straight face but ultimately ended up smiling.

"i think we were right. liz looks too happy," you said.

"now i think it's between y/n and wonyoung," yujin suggested.

"well, i think it's between yujin and rei. i don't trust either one of them," you countered.

"i think it's not rei because she would never kill off liz," yujin said.

"oh my god, you're right," you exclaimed, covering your mouth. "i'm going back to my previous accusation: it's wonyoung."

"you just said you didn't trust yujin," wonyoung pointed out.

"but then she started making sense," you explained.

user4 they all look so stressed 🤣

"if gaeul was mafia and wonyoung pushed her hard, that means wonyoung is super innocent or she's super big-brained," rei analyzed.

"i say we be safe and vote wonyoung and if it's not her we end the stream," you declared.

"what y/n?" yujin laughed.

"because if both of y'all are mafia after that, then i'm leaving this team and joining le sserafim," you said, causing the rest of the team to laugh.

"wonyoung then?" rei asked for confirmation.

"do i get to defend myself?" wonyoung asked.

"floor's yours," yujin said, gesturing to the empty space in front of the couch and in front of the camera.

wonyoung took a deep breath and looked at you all with a determined expression. "i know yujin has some idea in her head that i'm mafia, but she's wrong and clearly just trying to pin something on me. also, why would i kill leeseo if she was the only person who believed me?"

"i think that was just a really smart move on your part," you said.

"that was a nice speech, but i'm still voting you out," yujin stated.

wonyoung glared at yujin upon hearing her remark. "fine, do it," wonyoung eventually gave up.

user5 yujin is def spending the night on the couch after this 😹

there was a moment of silence as you all waited for the results of the game.

"and the citizens have won the game!" liz announced.

"this whole game was rigged," wonyoung huffed.

"i just knew it was wonyoung when she looked at me," yujin boasted.

"this is why i can't play with you. you know me too well," wonyoung playfully rolled her eyes.

"i just want to say i knew it was gaeul from the start," you said triumphantly.

"you literally just guessed me and got lucky," gaeul countered.

"and i was right!" you said.

you all were supposed to play another game but ended up chatting for the rest of the stream.

user6 updates on y/n and zuha

"that's literally the love of my life, we're still happily together," you told the chat, "we're actually filming part two together in the next couple of days."

"she literally won't stop talking about seeing kazuha again," gaeul exposed.

"okay, they didn't need to know that part," you said.

"add it to the y/n and kazuha ship compilation," leeseo suggested.

"don't say that, they'll actually make one," you protested.

"trust, they already exist."

"do you happen to know the links to any of these?" you asked in an exaggerated whisper. "for research purposes."

"mhmm, i'm sure," wonyoung replied.

after talking some more, you all ended the stream with an outro, waving goodbye to the camera.

ALL CHAPTERS !!! | NEXT CH !!!

[monicascot]

Outrageous Candy Heist Caught on Camera | Uncovering thieves |

Prepare to be amazed and amused by the Outrageous Candy Heist, caught on camera for your viewing pleasure! In this uproarious funny video, witness the antics of a group of daring thieves attempting to steal the sweetest treasure. Uncovering thieves has never been this entertaining as you watch their hilariously futile attempts, filled with laugh-out-loud moments and unexpected twists. Brace yourself for a wild ride of laughter as you dive into this side-splitting candy-filled caper that will leave you craving more comedic adventures!

[eretzyisrael]

by ILAN HULKOWER

The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) shared graphic footage Friday of alleged Hamas members beating up hungry Gazan civilians.

The IDF alleged that while Israel made “great efforts to ensure the entry of aid” to the civilian population in the Gaza Strip, Hamas steals this aid and hides “it from Gazan civilians” in a tweet. (RELATED: Anti-Israel Protesters Hit Capitol On July 4, Allegedly Vandalize Dem Office)

Gazan civilians alleged that the masked men seen beating and detaining them in the video were Hamas members, according to the IDF’s tweet. The alleged crime that these civilians allegedly committed was attempting “to enter a warehouse where humanitarian aid was stored,” the Israeli military said.

The video starts with a masked man spray painting the word “thief” in Arabic on the backs of blindfolded individuals. In the background, masked men could be seen beating a spray-painted blindfolded man with rods. The blindfolded man could be heard screaming in pain. A second man can be seen beaten in a similar fashion.

“They [Hamas] are thieves of humanity, they are the thieves and the corrupt, and they are destined only to disappear, because the truth is written and terrorism is inevitably fleeting,” the IDF Arabic Spokesman Lt. Col. Avichay Adraee tweeted alongside the same graphic video.

Hamas officials have previously been caught on camera beating and shooting those Gazan civilians they accuse of engaging in looting, the BBC reported. Hamas executed dozens of Gazans in order to settle political feuds in places that the IDF has withdrawn from, according to what one local source told the outlet. Discontent with the terror organization has become more pronounced in the streets of the Gaza Strip.  “People say things like, ‘Hamas has destroyed us’ or even call on God to take their lives,” a man told the BBC.

[spahhzy]

A sunny dragon comes to town~

Yang: Jaune, my man!

Yang grabs Jaune into a headlock, much to Jaune's dismay.

Jaune: Hello, Yang how was your trip?

Yang: Not bad. Mom teleported me roughly past Mt. Glenn, the drive to Vale was nice on Bumblebee.

Yang let go of Jaune before looking around.

Yang: Annnd, where is the miniscule mute?

A muffin hit Yang on the head.

Yang: Ah, there you are, shrimps!

Yang said, walking over to the sitting Neo, who was trying to act like she was doing something important, but Yang just picked her up and gave her a big hug before bonking Neo on the head.

Neo: Ow! What the fuck you big boobed bitch!

Yang: That's for tossing a muffin at me.

Neo: Next time, it will be a pie with knives in it!

Yang: Clown tactics, now we just need you to play the part.

Neo just gave her the finger before giving a smirk and hugging Yang.

Yang: Funny, I also thought Jaune would have knocked you up by now.

This caused Jaune to blush and sputter, while Neo blushed as well before shattering away in embarrassment.

Roman: Ah, is that the wonderful sound of a soul being embarrassed I hear?

Yang: Rome!

Yang ran up to the man and embraced him in a hug.

Roman: Jeeez what kind of training has your mother been putting you through?

Yang: Ah, you know tribal stuff. She also said for me to tell you that she expects a visit from you, to chat and catch up as she puts it.

Roman: Once this little heist of ours is complete, that will be the first thing I do.

Yang: Right, so infiltrating Beacon, huh?

Roman: It's ingenious! Plus, I knew your mom would love it if we could stick it to Ozpin again.

Yang: You said you got everyone fake transcripts right?

Roman: Everyone excluding you, I figured a bit of 'legitimacy' would do us well, sides you were going to attend Beacon anyways right?

Yang: Yeah, that was the plan, even though mom is totally against it.

Roman: I don't blame her, but if things go perfect, we'll steal whatever it is he's hiding, gloat before selling it too, whoever is willing to meet our price!

Yang: It sounds good in practice, Rome...

Roman: Have faith! With Neo, Jaune, and You, this plan will be foolproof!

Jaune had already excused himself to let the two catch up as he went to find Neo. He caught her back in her room as she was looking at an old photo.

It was Him, her, Roman, and Yang with another Woman, she looked like a carbon copy of Yang but had black hair and red eyes.

It read: 'Thick as thieves'.

Jaune: Penny for you thoughts?

Neo: Just a penny?

Jaune walked up behind her before giving her a hug, Neo leaned in and enjoyed the warmth.

Jaune: C'mon spill it...

Neo: Just...nervous.

Jaune: You? The Neopolitan, nervous...I thought such a word didn't exist in your vocabulary.

Neo: kiss ass.

Jaune: Heh.

Jaune sighed as he rested his head onto of her head.

Jaune: I'm nervous too, a lot that can go wrong... but I will do my best to ensure that you and Roman will be okay.

Neo: Hey, don't sell yourself short. Without you, our trio ain't nothing, we need you...I need you dummy.

Jaune: Awww, Neo all sentimental, I need a camera.

Neo smirked before suddenly Jaune was sprawled out on the bed with Neo strattling him, a hazy look in her eyes.

Jaune:Heh, I'm in danger.

[sevendeadlyheadcanons]

so in 2019 i made headcanons of the seven deadly sins as thieves and elizabeth as a police officer

and in this fine 2024 i would like to confirm they absolutely fuck around with homes that have ring doorbells. Gowther will pose into them

Ban will hold their flatscreen TV infront of the doorbell and do a little jig

Meliodas will like look directly into it and then sticky tape a picture of crazy frog infront of it so that the camera doesn’t capture any footage.

King will be dared to say the most insane shit into the doorbell while breathing really heavily

Merlin will take the doorbell down and put it on charge in their home just to fuck with them

Escanor will get all awkward and be like “Oh… is this on… Hi! Um… This is awkward… uh… Please don’t call the police thanks”

Diane is always waiting outside for them and you can just see her standing there slightly off frame tapping her foot, texting on her phone, yawning etc

Elizabeth always does some police hacker shit and manages to remove the content somehow (through the power of plot convenience) but like once again my god how haven’t they been caught