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agirlcandream84 · 9 months

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Where There Is Light | Frank Castle x Reader

My first Frank Castle fic, which was a long time coming. It's... angsty which is sorta My Whole Deal ™️ but it's also pretty goddamn hot. Want to shout out @chvoswxtch whose Frank content is literal perfection and who single handedly made me fall in love with the character.

Summary: Frank returns from a trip to discover his worst nightmare, or so he thinks. Anger quickly turns to angst as Frank is confronted with his vulnerabilities head-on.

Frank Castle x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI. Explicit content. Fingering, P in V, slight praise kink, angst

"Alright, stop," you mumble, hearing enough.

"And do you know how easy it was for me to fucking waltz in here," he continues, his voice at a shout, ignoring your quiet plea.

"Frank stop," you beg a little louder, meeting his eye this time.

"That coulda been anybody who wanted to get in here," he rages on, undeterred.

"STOP!" you scream, even surprising yourself, "...please Frank...stop" the last words a more timid mumble, tears starting to spill at the corners of your eyes.

And this time he does. His posture frozen for a moment before snapping back to himself and his touch tender as he reaches for you.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart. It's alright," he says as he engulfs you in his arms. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. Ssh sh sh," he shushes you, as his calloused hand runs over the back of your head, your face pressed into his broad chest as you take slow breaths to calm your frayed nerves. "I do it cuz--" he starts but you stop him.

"I know why you do it," you interrupt, not making him say the names of the ones he lost. The truth was, you felt horribly guilty. He was right-- you were careless. And now wasn't a great time to be careless. Frank was away for a few days and you'd been so good about being vigilant without him but it was exhausting. Checking every blind spot. Jamming the door every night. Only running errands in daylight. No headphones--ever. You were Castle's girl and the wrong people knew it.

You wanted a normal moment. One normal moment. You opened the bay window in the living room to let in the late summer breeze and laid on the cool wood floor and listened to an album in the patch of sun like a cat. Freshly showered, a cold iced tea nearby, the moment felt nearly criminal. And it may as well have been.

Frank returned home after six long days and broke into a sprint the moment he saw the curtain blowing in the breeze, assuming a break-in. He climbed the fire escape, his heart hammering in his chest expecting to find his life destroyed for the second time. And instead he saw you, his cat in her patch of sun, and it would have been a goddamn beautiful sight if he hadn't thought you were likely to have been mutilated and dead instead. And all that anger had to go somewhere.

"I'm sorry," you murmur into his chest. "I was careless," you admit.

"Sweetheart I--" he starts but stops, his chin perched on the top of your head. "I know this probably isn't the life you imagined for yourself. And I, uh, I know it's on account of me," he continues.

"Frank don't." you stop him, his self-loathing creeping in like it had so many times before. The narrative woven into your relationship without your permission-- that you're Too Good for Frank Castle. You lean back from his chest to find his eyes. "YOU are exactly what I imagined for myself Frank Castle," you say with all the determination you felt.

His chocolate eyes scan your face before his hands find either side of your head to take your mouth in a kiss meant to convey a thousand words. I love you. I want you. I need you. Don't leave me. Don't die. His mouth moves with a desperate desire to consume you--to keep you just a little longer. That fucking curtain blowing in the breeze like a black flag playing in his mind. Like a man propelled forward with only momentum-- terrified if he stops you'll turn to dust.

You hear him inhale deeply through his nose as his tongue explores your mouth and your body melts into the strength of his. One arm laces behind your lower back as the other moves to cradle the back of your head, his hands weaving into your still-damp hair and tugging slightly to tilt your head upward. He uses the motion to trail his mouth down the length of your exposed neck as a breathy sigh escapes your open mouth.

"Frank-- it's ok-- I'm ok," you assure him in a whisper as his grip around you tightens. You know this Frank-- the Frank that's cracked open and terrified. The Frank that barrels forward fueled by the anger and rage of the things that have happened or could happen. The real Frank.

"I love you so fuckin' much," he says, his mouth returning to yours as his hand finds an anchor under your thigh to lift and guide your left leg around his waist, quickly followed by your right. Your core begins to throb as you feel the comforting size of him. The girth of his hips spreading your thighs apart. The expanse of his shoulders where your arms are draped. The power of his hands dug into your ass as he strides the length of the living room to place you gently in the patch of sun on the wood floor.

Positioned between your spread legs, he reaches forward to slide his old T-shirt off your body, taking a moment to mutter "fuck" as the sun hits your bare tits and he grips them possessively. His fingers sink into the waistband of your shorts and tug them down your legs, leaving you in only your wet panties clinging to your heated core. He slows now, his hands trailing up the sides of your hips, under your arms and down the length of your outstretched arms, pausing to lace his fingers into yours as he kisses you deeply.

"You gotta promise to be a good girl for me," he says between kissing the length of your neck to your collarbone. "Take all the precautions I say," he adds as he trails to the swell of your breast before sucking on your pert nipple. "No more mistakes princess," he continues, a trail of kisses peppered down your stomach.

His hand tugs are the waist of your panties and glides them over the curve of your hips and down your legs. He sees the slick coating of your puffy lips and a low whistle escapes his lips. "Can you promise to be good for me?" he asks, his hands drawing slow languid circles where your legs meet your hips.

"Frankie please," you whine, his form towering over yours, fully clothed and orchestrating your pleasure.

"Gotta hear you say it honey. Say you'll be a good girl," he says with a slight furrow of his brow.

"I'll be a good girl Frankie, I promise. Please," you mumble, taking the moment to open your eyes to find his-- your hips grinding to find friction.

"Sssh sssh," he hushes your desperation as his hand slides into your soaked folds. "Fuck honey, I didn't know it was this bad," he mumbles to himself, his hand working your petals, his finger slipping in and out of your needy hole. You gasp, your back arching, as the sunlight paints you in golden molten yellow.

The sight of you alights him and he sits on his haunches to fluidly remove his shirt and unbuckle his jeans, his cock already straining against them. He reaches in to guide this thick cock out and bends down to weave his arm behind your back again.

You whimper as he lifts you gingerly from the ground to straddle his lap, your slick core pressed against the length of his cock. "I gotchu sweetheart," he mumbles into your ear as he guides his cock into your velvety cavern.

He hisses and you feel like the air is squeezed from your lungs, perched on the expanse of Frank's thighs with the girth of his thick cock spearing you in place. Frank's slow intention before is replaced by feral desire, his pupils blown as he feels the full length of himself sheathed in your heavenly pussy. "Fuck sweetheart, you're so fucking tight," he says incredulously as your arms wrap around his shoulders to cling to his strength. "You tell me to stop if I'm hurtin' ya," he adds, finding your eyes for confirmation.

You lock eyes with him and shake your head no-- don't stop, never stop, stay this way forever-- your body nearly quivering with the sheer size of him. Your permission ignites him as he begins jutting his cock into you-- one pump, then two to make room before fucking into you with the full force of him.

You bounce on his lap like a ragdoll, holding onto his shoulders and looking down to see the way his cock splits you in two. His breath is ragged in your ear, with a fuck tumbling from his lips when you clench on his length. With each jut of his hips into your core, your swollen clit runs on the steely length of him, drawing you closer to bliss.

"Gonna make you feel good baby," he promises. Not just right now but for forever. For all the ways loving Frank Castle makes life harder he promises to make it worth it. "Gonna take care of you sweetheart," he says, sweat beading his brow as the force of cock slams deep into your belly. There's that terrified desperation again. His lust making way to fear, consuming you while he can hold you in his arms.

You look up at his face, twisted in concentration, fevered. "I know Frankie," you reassure him, pushing the stray hair from his forehead. "You take such good care of me," you agree, starting to roll your hips in his broad lap-- redefining the pace. You feel his breath slow as his head lolls back at the sensation of your cervix massaging the tip of his cock deep inside you. "You make me feel so good Frankie," you rasp, the statement so true it elicits tears from your eyes.

He finds your eyes and his hands find either side of your face. His mouth devours yours and then travels upwards to kiss away each tear that's escaped. "Fuck honey, I don't wanna lose you," he mutters with your tears on his lips, his eyes scanning your face as his cock is still buried deep within you.

"I'm staying Frankie. I'm here," you promise, the effort of riding him making the statement more of a whimper.

He senses your exhaustion and laces his arm again around your lower back, his other arm cradling your upper back. His support allows you to arch your back while his measured pumps become deeper and more purposeful. The long drag of his cock against your clit nearly unbearable. He feels you grip his biceps and knows you're close.

"Cum sweetheart. Do it for me, doll. Let me feel you," he croons as his lips travel down your neck. "Wanna make you feel good," he adds as his speed increases.

At his command, your bliss rips through you-- the sensation almost frightening in intensity. Your core is clenching so tightly around him that a guttural cry rips from your throat and the rest of your body goes limp in his arms. Only his support carries you through the waves of quaking and your ears ring like a bomb went off.

"Come back to me honey," you hear him say. His hand brushing the fallen hair from your face. "There's my girl," he smiles as your eyes flutter open, "there she is."

You place your hands on either side of Frank's face and cradle it, a gesture you might do to a cherubic baby but instead do to a man who inflicts pain for a living. His skin is rough, his nose puzzled together after a thousand breaks, his eyes crinkled at the corners. His cock is still steely inside you and you return to rolling your hips.

"Cum inside me Frankie. Fill me up," you beg the way he likes. He groans at your pleas. You reach for one of his arms and bring his hand to your mouth. You take his thumb in your mouth and suck it, holding his gaze as you roll your hips in his lap. "Fuck honey," he grunts before making three final forceful pumps into you before he coats your walls.

You stay this way-- entangled, embedded, soldered together by fire and metal -- until the patch of sun fades away.

#jon bernthal #frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #frank castle smut #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction

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harmonysanreads · 2 years

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A Funerary Smile

yandere harbingers (minus pierro, capitano and pulcinella) x reader

cw: yandere, some not sfw themes, gore stuff if you squint, darling is a little unstable

wc: 1.4k+

The Harbingers are cruel.

With their prowess and influence they were as infamous as they were well-known. As such, their methods of acquiring what they desired were no secret to Teyvat, because, as it is often said ; the walls have ears. But you alone have been doubting that ever since your feet were bounded in shackles—the shackles of their power, resources and adoration to be precise. Because, if the walls truly had ears, why were they rendered deaf before your pleas for freedom?

Word around Zapolyarny Palace travels surprisingly fast as there are always bored guards and agents who were more than happy to ignite the sparks of gossip. Yet, there's not a single syllable uttered when you're seen strolling by, dressed in lavish garbs and jewelry so obviously gifted by Pantalone. The guards don't even raise their masked eyes as the banker pulls you closer than what should be appropriate for public display. Or perhaps, they don't even seem to be breathing due to the exact reason of his presence.

You offer no struggle either having already learned your lesson. Even still, the Regrator makes sure to tighten his possessive hold, a warning to bahave and the aching marks on your neck statue you to obedience. How you would've loved to slap that God-forsaken smile that tortures you even in your dreams.

Even as Arlecchino is more or less ripping Pantalone's gifts from your body and dressing you into newer, finer garbs (as she likes to say), garbs that were owned by her ; you don't feel the least bit of comfort. Even as the Knave delicately caresses you, showers you in feather light kisses—gestures that felt more possessive and meant to comfort her instead of you ; you feel no warmth. Your heart no longer skips a beat at her princely charms, not when her demands are on par with the Balladeer's.

Ah, Balladeer. An implacable bastard. You know a fraction of his eventful past from the once-in-a-blue-moon moments of quietude, vulnerability. When he would cling to your being like a drowning man to a wooden log, making you swear to not betray him, leave him—an ironic contrast to daylight, when he would toy with you like the sadist he was. A pitiful creature he might be but you can't bring yourself to offer him that remorse.

Sometimes, you place your palm utop your heart to check if it's still beating. Your brows crease to the unfortunate thumps and you wonder, if so, why do I feel nothing? Why is it so cold? The boreal winds froze everything in its wake. You muse if you should accept Dottore's offer, perhaps then, you could feel happiness again? You're no stranger to the Doctor's eccentric ‘ideas’ and ‘experiments’, not anymore when he offers you a front row seat to them. You're forced to sit through his passionate fits and although you don't understand half of what he says, you know the gist and, it's as horrifying as his exclamations of love.

Despite knowing Dottore's unhinged nature well, you still entertain such morbid thoughts with a blank face. Perhaps, Damselette's dark humor has rubbed off on you. But you know there's another one after your anatomy. When it's her turn to lock you in her laboratory, you silently take a deep breath to face the incoming madness—can it even be called such when The Marionette says those things with the most innocent face in all of Teyvat? You don't know anymore.

Even when the moon would replace the sun, snowstorms becoming deadlier outside and chalendiers would be lit, you had no rest. The sun's fall signalled respite for the others in Zapolyarny, but for you, it rang like the midnight bell signalling Lady Columbina's turn. Her songs that once lulled you to sweet dreams, now sound more like requiems. It's still much preferable to her mind games and playful threats, although. You'd only wish her embrace wasn't so suffocating.

Even the weakest of them spares you not. Seeking to be a silver-adorning knight in a sea of blood. You welcomed his sympathy at first, when you were still clinging to the last scraps of sanity. You didn't push him away from mock embraces of comfort when you still had the chance to. You thought you had a chance, an escape route ; oblivious to the fact that you had just nurtured a new impediment. You're a fool, an idiot. Because you forgot, weakest of them Tartaglia maybe but he was still stronger than you.

Their individual toxicity is still nothing compared to the theatrics that played in those damned dinner-parties. The environment of when the Harbingers gathered are so tense that you wonder if the knife would break if you tried to slice it through the air. All it takes is for one of them to make a comment on you and boom, it feels like a second Cataclysm has broken lose. If Lord Pierro or Pulcinella aren't there to stop them in time, you might as well start praying.

The Harbingers are cruel, so so cruel. Their cruelty extends further than just their treatment to you, their dear little doll. It implicates itself through their provocative whispers against each other, it hides itself betwixt the bloody remains of those who were foolish enough to interject and the only thing that's keeping them from lunging at each other is probably the Tsaritsa's sentence.

But did you deserve to be caught between this crazy charade? This game of being thrown from one lion's den to the other, reduced to nothing but a stress toy for them? And they, the starved beasts they were, had made you understand very well that in this lifetime, freedom would not be a privilege you could have. Your soul, so deprived of warmth, of life. Your heart that continues beating pathetically, rendered incapable of true emotion—just like they wanted.

Even now, as the moonlight shines upon the Fair Lady's coffin surrounded by fake mourn ; you feel nothing. The Fair Lady, or Rosalyn, had a share to your misery, too. If you closed your eyes, you could still recall her vice grip and that strange mixture of warmth and cool ; something you used to be curious of until they threatened to consume you. She was as heartless as she was someone with one and like all of these souls under the Tsaritsa's decree, she too, was a pitiful soul. But you're no less selfish than them, maybe that's why Rosalyn's passing had no effect on you.

Lady Columbina's song truly does feel like a requiem now, you felt a chill run down your spine ; from the cold or from the eerie sound that travelled all around the hall you didn't know. You can hear the other Harbingers' voices in the background, an ensuing squabble over La Signora's passing or something. You don't really pay it any mind, seeking comfort in the fur coat that Arlecchino so graciously draped over you earlier.

“—But Dottore, what of Scaramouche and the Gnosis from Inazuma?”

“Conventional wisdom holds that Divine knowledge cannot be rationally comprehended. After conquering the Divine Gaze, he'll make his next move.”

The Doctor's masked eyes leave the blue vile to your laying figure by the coffin's side and a smirk creeps up next.

“Besides...he has a reason to return, after all.”

When you open your eyes next time, a scarlet fire moth descends upon her coffin, one so familiar. You watch unblinking as it slowly dissipates in the moonlight, becoming one with the icy winter. You can't help but wonder if Signora's doom had been a result of her karma, the thought surprisingly pleasing. If that were to be true, then surely the other Harbingers' would catch up sometime, no?

It's such a shame, the northern lights accompanied by the moonshine seemed so heavenly tonight but the person who'd promised to share this view with you one night, is already buried beneath layer upon layer of ice. Far, far away in a land where you were away from her reach and you couldn't wait for the day the others would join her, too.

You're thankful for the fur coat actually, not because it stave off the biting cold — but because it hid the first genuine smile that bloomed on your face in months.

It would've been a beautiful sight, had it not found amusement in such a circumstance.

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nishimura-writes · 6 months

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Coriolanus x Reader

Echoes of Fate: PART 4

Paring: Coriolanus x Reader

Warning: Slow burn... REALLY SLOW BURN

Summary: In a surprising turn of events, you find yourself teamed up with Coriolanus Snow as a mentor for Lucy Gray. Although you seek change, your immediate task is to ensure her victory. As you and Snow strive for Lucy's safety, you both embark on a journey of understanding each other, for better or worse…

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

The L/N clan's residence radiated with a festive aura, bathed in a celebratory glow. Laughter and a vivid array of colours filled the air, creating a lively mosaic. The room buzzed with high-spirited energy as guests mingled in a jubilant dance of celebration. Under the gentle embrace of the bright lights, well-dressed elites added to the vibrant tapestry. Men in sharp, tailored blazers and women in flowing silks moved gracefully, their attire shimmering like jewels against the backdrop of the daylight.

These figures of elegance stood in stark contrast to your own attire – a uniform from the Academy, now dust-covered and wrinkled from the day's endeavours.

There, at the heart of the celebration, stood your family, always the flawless hosts. They raised their glasses, toasting to the Capitol's latest victories. Watching this scene of splendour, you felt a wave of disgust rise within you. It was a quiet rebellion, a silent scream against the extravagant merriment that seemed so detached from the stark realities that you know.

As you approach, the guards open the doors, revealing the elegant interior of your family's residence.

Immediately, you're greeted by the grandeur of the foyer. Overhead, chandeliers hang like clusters of stars, casting a warm, inviting glow. The pillars that support the high ceiling are majestic, each one intricately carved and holding up the sparkling lights.

Walking through the hallway, lined with portraits of ancestors, your eyes are drawn to one painting in particular. It stands out with its vivid colours and the lifelike depiction of a familiar face from your family's history.

A portrait capturing your uncle, President Ravinstill, and your mother draws your gaze, their painted eyes following your every move. Their painted eyes seem to follow you, compelling you to pause and look up.

Just then, you hear the familiar sound of footsteps approaching – heavy, decisive steps that break the hushed silence of the corridor.

“(Y/N), my dear,” comes the voice you recognize instantly.

Turning, you see your father, a lit cigar clamped between his lips. Despite your mother’s repeated pleas for him to give up his cigars, he never does.

“Father,” you greet him, a note of surprise in your voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be at mother's gathering?”

With an amused shake of his head, your father steps toward you, his gaze briefly caught by the portrait as well. He seems to dismiss your earlier question, focusing instead on a different topic.

“That Coriolanus Snow, the son of Crassus?” he asks, removing the cigar from his mouth to speak more clearly.

“I’m not entirely sure,” you reply, your curiosity piqued as you tilt your head slightly. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation. His father and I were business associates; our paths crossed often in those days. A pity about his death,” he muses, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “The Snow family, they’ve always been known for their intellect.”

"I could tell that much," you respond, absently scratching your nose, a gesture betraying your mild dissatisfaction.

“Do you think your partnership with him in the games will go smoothly?” he inquires, his tone making you feel somewhat belittled. “I saw him on the news with your tribute. The songbird, they called her.”

“I hope it does. He seems calculated, always strategizing,” you reply, noticing a flicker of amusement in your father’s eyes at your observation.

“Well then,” he says, casually strolling towards the bar area to your right, at the end of the hallway. “It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Abruptly, the doors swung open, and your mother burst into the room, a ray of sunshine personified, her energy instantly brightening the space. She was dressed in a flowing gown of bright purple that almost dazzled the eyes, yet the intricate designs on the fabric perfectly complemented the bold colour. The hues and patterns accentuated her features, making her stand out like a true gem of the Capitol.

Spotting the two of you, she exclaimed with infectious enthusiasm, “Oh, my dear (Y/N)!”

Without a moment's hesitation, she wrapped you in a warm, exuberant hug. As she drew close, the faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air, but it was clear she was still very much sober.

Your grin broadens into a chuckle as your mother finally releases you from the hug, though her hands linger on your shoulders.

“It was alright,” you respond with a nonchalant shrug, finding it the simplest way to sum up the experience.

In the background, the unmistakable sound of whiskey being poured echoes from the bar where your father stands.

“Just alright!” she exclaims with a playful pout. “Oh dear, I thought I taught you to be more expressive than that.”

You can't help but snicker. “You did, Mother, and I’m thankful for it. But really, it was just... alright.”

Changing the subject, she asks, “And how is that boy, Coriolanus, was it?”

From across the room, your father chimes in, “Snow’s boy.”

Internally, you roll your eyes. Back to this topic again. It seems that since you seldom speak to anyone other than Senjaus, your parents are eager for you to forge more connections within high society.

"Snow's boy, yes!" she responds, her voice bubbling with cheerfulness. "Is he kind to you?"

As you make your way to the sofa and settle down, you're within earshot of your father, who's still by the bar. "He's alright, I suppose. Not as approachable as Sejanus, though."

Meanwhile, your mother, still lively in her conversation, gracefully moves to join your father at the bar. She casually takes his glass and sips from it. He gives her a look that's part amusement, part annoyance.

"He's a bit of an enigma," you continue, capturing their attention. "One moment, he's all charm and grace, and the next, he's distant, almost cold. It's hard to figure him out." Your words tumble out in a ramble.

Sinking back into the sofa, you lounge comfortably, unconcerned about formalities. This is, after all, your home, your sanctuary.

"You've only just met him, haven't you? Give the boy a chance," Your father leans over to take a sip from the glass still firmly held by your mother, offering his advice with a tone of experience. She playfully refuses to let go, adding a touch of humour to the moment.

Laughing, she adds, “Your father's right. He was quite the reserved one when we first met. Look at us now!” Her voice is bright, filled with mirth.

You gaze up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Maybe there's a way to use Snow's position to your advantage, possibly to ease the harsh treatments of the tributes.

“I’ll give him a chance,” you murmur, more to yourself than to them.

The sound of the glass being set down breaks your reverie, though you’re not sure who did it.

“Wonderful! Maybe we should invite him over one day. It'd be delightful to meet such a reputedly charming young man,” your mother exclaims, clearly excited by the idea.

Your father snorts in amusement. “As if she'd want that. She doesn’t seem too fond of him.”

“Clearly,” you echo dryly. But then, considering your mother’s suggestion, you add, “It might not be a bad idea. It could help me understand him better. He’s as guarded as a fortress – doesn't reveal much about himself.”

“There’s the spirit! A green light from our very own general, our daughter, (Y/N),” she says, her words tinged with her smooth Capitol accent.

Rising from her seat, she concludes, “I must return to our guests now, my dears. We’ll talk more about this later.”

You give your mother a lazy wave from the sofa, sprawled out like a ragdoll in the plush cushions.

Moments later, you sense the sofa dip slightly as your father takes a seat at the other end.

"Building connections isn't all bad, you know. Just be cautious," he advises in a low, thoughtful tone. "Watch your back and choose your allies wisely. But ruffle the wrong feathers, and you could find yourself in trouble."

His words echo in your mind, urging you to ponder their weight. He might have a point. Is that the scent of change in the air, or just the lingering aroma of your father’s strong whiskey?

A gentle kiss on your forehead from your father pulls you from your thoughts. You glance up briefly as he stands and walks away, his footsteps echoing softly into the distance.

As the day fades to night, you're left with a quiet hope, a yearning for a brighter tomorrow.

PART 3 II MASTERLIST II PART 5 (SOON)

#coriolanus snow #the hunger games #hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth

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archivalofsins · 4 months

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So, this is what I've gathered from the information that came out from Deep Cover and this is what I definitively believe happened.

There’s an article that Kotoko was reading in the middle of Deep Cover that has been translated. The contents of the article explain that Kotoko was taken to court after the incident in the warehouse. Kotoko testified that what she had done was self-defense. That her and the perpetrator of the kidnapping got into a scuffle as she was trying to rescue the girl and he died as a result of that.

This conflicts with what we are shown in Harrow.

In Harrow we see that Kotoko does not intervene while witnessing the girl being abducted. Instead deciding to come back to the location later after changing her attire.

This already conflicts with Kotoko's testimony that she ended up fighting the victim as she caught him red-handed as he tried to abduct another victim.

According to the female university student, she claimed that she had no other choice but to kill the victim in order to stop the jostling between the two when she caught the victim, who was a child kidnapper, red-handed.

Red-handed means in the middle of the act by definition.

She just did not fucking do that. It's illustrated to us that she did not do that in Harrow. So we already know her testimony is a lie off of this alone.

Yet, we are further shown that her plea of self-defense is baseless from Harrow as well. Since we are shown Kotoko surprise attacking the perpetrator.

Furthermore her first music video blatantly shows us her attempting to track down the victim. As we see her paying others for information on the matter. Along with her very obvious wall of baddies to hunt down. Where she has the victim circled before even encountering him.

Making her actions premeditated as well.

This makes it clear to the Milgram audience (who have access to this information unlike the court) that Kotoko had no intention of letting the perpetrator live to begin with regardless of what he was doing.

Just like the wall implies with her other victims in Deep Cover-

"Everytime death comes. The soul moves forward." "It’s a tie after saying sorry? What are you hoping for? Shall we replace the poor soul, and the miserable delusion. “I didn’t mean to offend”, “I won’t do it again” How many wins in a row?" - "Who don’t we want? Give me the verdicts of GUILTY." "I want a reason for judgment execution, I want it. Give me the next target."

22/08/05 (Kazui’s Birthday) Kotoko: ……Mukuhara Kazui. Thanks to you, I wasn’t able to properly serve justice to those who did something unforgivable. I’m currently acting as an agent for our prison guard Es. Don’t get in my way next time. Kazui: Oi oi, don’t be silly, Yuzuriha-chan. There’s no way I could just look away from your outrageous display of violence. Anyway, even disregarding the fact violence against those voted guilty isn’t a part of Milgram’s system, what you’re doing is just acting recklessly based on a broad interpretation. As long as I’m free myself, I’ll stop you. Kotoko: ……what a pointless argument. Hmph. Since Es forgives you, I have no choice but to forgive you myself too. If you to keep to your words, then you’d best do what you can to keep being forgiven. If you’re not, then next time you’ll be one of my targets. Kazui: Oh, how scary. That girl truly is frightening. ……well then, I wonder what the guard will decide to do with me. That’s the one thing I really can’t make out. Honestly……

Kotoko had no intention of letting anyone on that wall live. That wasn't an investigation it was a hit list. She just happened to conveniently find that guy in the middle of commiting a crime. Unlike the other guy she found living his everyday life and just chased into a side alley and jumped. This is more than likely why she didn't initially intervene when she saw the child being abducted in broad daylight.

Because if she did the chances of her being seen by someone else were more likely. If she waited until they were inside and changed her attire to better conceal her identity the likelihood of others intervening would be slimmer. If she only ever wanted to save that girl she could have did so right then and there when she did in fact catch him red-handed abducting her.

Yet, it was never about that. It was always about killing him and continuing on her personal crusade for justice.

The article then goes onto discuss how the elementary school age victim testified corroborating Kotoko’s story of self-defense. Stating that with her testimony and Kotoko's the defense stated that a case of genuine self-defense was established. Mr.Kaneshiro the newspaper president and father of the victim in this case later held a press conference discussing the barbaric nature of Kotoko’s actions. This seems to have taken place after Kotoko had been acquitted of any wrong doing.

The jury ruling this as a legitimate case of self-defense. During the press conference he stated that an independent investigation of events had been done. During which another autopsy had been conducted and established that there were injuries on the victim that could have only been caused by an excessive use of force. Additionally he announced that the school student who had testified corroborating Kotoko’s statement as saying that she had saved her recanted their testimony.

He speculated that Kotoko had threatened or coerced the girl into giving the testimony to begin with. Given Kotoko’s history with law.

Q.07 What did you study at university? Kotoko: Technically, I’m studying law. I’m on a break right now because there’s something else I want to do, though.

It is more than likely that Kotoko coached/groomed the elementary schooler to lie on the stand to better strengthen her case. If two witnesses are corroborating the same story and one of them is the elementary aged victim as jury is more likely to believe them than a dead child abductor.

The article even mentions that Kotoko goes to a famous university. Given that we know Kotoko was studying law and the school she was going to is famous/prestiguous or well renowned we can now track it down. The University she was more than likely going to could very well be-

Keio Law School in Tokyo, Japan

Or some play on it. It's so famous in fact that just googling famous law school Tokyo results in this.

So, that's another university down. (I say this tentatively because I didn't do that deep of a search into this or much of a search at all. Again this is the first school to come up searching the information provided to us. Honestly this post isn't about how finacially well off Kotoko is and whatever expensive illustrious college she goes too.)

Though I wonder how a prestigious or famous school would feel about one of it's students being involved in such a case. Was she really taking a break or did whatever school she was going to no longer wish to affiliate with her due to the accusations. Scandals like this aren't that good for schools of that caliber. Plus, even though the article doesn't mention the school by name just looking into Kotoko herself would show her ties to it.

This is an article on a press conference featuring concerning the death of wealthy business owners son. Someone who very well could have ties to the school Kotoko is attending. That's enough to well I don't ruin all her life plans honestly. People have been expelled for less and this guy now has pretty good standing to say that you're a brutish menace to society who shouldn't even be allowed on the street let alone studying and practicing law.

Who wants a murderer for a lawyer are these the sort of students this place takes in. Students who use excessive violence and coerce and threaten minors?! That'd certainly be a big scandal wouldn't it? The only thing that could make this worse is well if the father of the man she killed was the president of a news paper-

Kaneshiro Isamu’s (68) President of Senkou Newspaper loses only son in display of excessive force by student from xxxxx University.

Now that's a headline and he can run it as many times as he wants. I mean he's the president of the newspaper after all. He's a grieving father after all even if his son did have problems. Having someone like that have an issue with your school or you well that would be bad.

Back to what the audience in shown in Harrow. We know that Kotoko got the jump on her victim in an enclosed space with wooden flooring in contrast to the open space of the warehouse where the victim died later.

Giiven Kotoko's connection and knowledge of law among these other factors I believe this is the most likely timeline of the warehouse incident-

Kotoko takes the victim by surprise attacking him in the enclosed space.

The victim grabs the hammer near his feet and attempts to fight Kotoko off.

As we've been over previously, despite what the victim's shadow alludes to he is shown physically swinging the hammer ahead of him and facing forward not to the side.

The victim flees the enclosed space trying to put distance between himself and his assailant. Possibly even trying to flee the scene entirely.

Kotoko chases the victim down into the larger area of the warehouse. The part with concrete flooring. Catching him and finishing the man off.

Punching and stomping him out with an excessive use of force after already getting him to the ground.

After the incident Kotoko groomed/coached this child to lie in court for her. What Kotoko did is blatantly illustrated to be grooming.

Ove the course of the Deep Cover mv the young girl begins to mimic Kotoko’s behavior.

First through getting a hat of her own to be more like Kotoko,

Then on the street she is shown to be imitating how Kotoko walks and glares,

Before spotting Kotoko and trying to speak to her.

Taking advantage of this clearly traumatized child who she again left to suffer through this situation longer by choosing to not intervene when she saw her being taken to begin with.

Someone who more than likely looked up to her as her hero. The person who saved her from that. What is an elementary schooler going to do when someone who saved their life, the person who got them out of such a harrowing situation tells them that they may be punished for it. That they might go to jail for just trying to rescue them and the only way they can avoid that is by saying that the excessive use of force that this child more than likely witnessed was self-defense.

Their rolemodel, their hero, no their savior couldn't be wrong. This couldn't have been-

"Is this selfish? This isn’t too much is it?"

This wasn't excessive it needed to be done for you to be safe. Besides-

"I've never asked for your understanding!"

Kotoko even incentivises and goads this idolization from the girl in the lyrics of Deep Cover stating,

“Come on, rely on me, go on.”

Kotoko attempts to implement the same tactics we see her use here within Milgram on Es. Over the course of her first and second voice drama. However, it is made more apparent in her second voice drama than in her first.

Kotoko Voice Drama 1, Kotoko Voice Drama 2.

After the girl recanted her statement possibly because of what she saw Kotoko do later on the street in Deep Cover (or maybe even at the behest of her parents who have every right to be suspicious of this type of person hanging around their young daughter but that’s a bit too speculative) Kotoko meets up with her in the park. As she is reading the article discussing the recanting of the girl's statement during this scene she more than likely is meeting with the girl to discuss it.

This meeting may be an attempt to persuade the girl into retestifying on her behalf or coming out with a statement of her own in defense of Kotoko. This is more speculative but it would not be hard for Kotoko to frame it as though Mr.Kaneshiro had threatened the girl into recanting the testimony. Becuase he is a very wealthy and powerful individual it would not be difficult for people to believe that during this independent investigation he coerced the girl into withdrawing her statements to strengthen his own case.

Many can probably guess how that conversation turned out from her second trial glitched voice line.

“From the beginning I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing earth closer to peace. Useless weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!”

It is likely that the girl refused to retestify. She may have even told Kotoko that she chose to recant her statement of her own volition. Not liking the behavior, she saw later. At this point it is highly likely that at the refusal to retestify on her behalf Kotoko came up with another plan. It would be incredibly easy to kill the girl herself then claim that she planned to retestify.

That she had come crying to her about how she'd been threatened into recanting her statement and she was too scared to say anything by herself, but someone must have seen. They were in public after all and then this happened. Better to that than to risk having the girl not only recant her testimony but possibly tell others about what she had seen her do recently as well.

Especially while the police were still seeking the assailant in the incident of the man in the back alley. Right now, they thought it was a man but if the girl told then it would be all over for her. The girl simply knows too much. Plus, with the news already framing her as a violent barbarian it'd be easy for people to believe she'd assaulted the other man as well.

While we don’t have solid confirmation of the girl’s death yet. The fact of the matter is most of the music videos of trial two have been focused on the victim’s side of things. The fact that Kotoko’s mv isn’t from the perspective of/highlights the child abductor or the man she jumped in the alley later is incredibly telling. Her glitched voice line in the second trial voice trailer being,

“From the beginning I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing earth closer to peace. Useless weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!”

Is very telling as well. Since the statement implies that she is addressing a useless weakling, someone that cannot protect themselves, someone who needs her, someone that looks up to her. Someone that's outlived their usefulness to Kotoko because they refuse to defend/support her behavior anymore. All the things this child is shown to do throughout Deep Cover.

Making it increasingly more likely that Kotoko did not just kill the child abductor but the child as well. Because from the beginning Kotoko has said-

"If it damaged someone’s dream to the point of stopping it- I’ll gouge you out with my fangs."

It doesn't matter to her whether the person getting in the way of her dream is an adult or child.

20/06/18 Amane: Thank you very much for teaching me. ……but, though I realise it’s strange me saying this after I asked you, I must admit it’s kind of unexpected. You give off the impression of someone who wouldn’t want to get involved in things like this. Kotoko: ……well, you’re not wrong. I’m surrounded by people who could all be murderers, so I don’t plan on going out of my way to talk and make friends. I can’t let my guard down. But I like ambitious people like you. If you want to study more, then I’m happy to teach. Amane: I see…… You look scary at first impression, but I quite like the way you treat everyone equally regardless of whether they’re older or younger than you. You don’t just treat me like a child or anything like that. Kotoko: Treat you like a child? Hah, you’ve got to be kidding. Back when I was your age, I was already the person I am today. I don’t have any plans to let you get away with something just “because you’re a child.” ……remember that. There, I’ve finished marking. 83%. How do I put it… Even though you act like this, it’s not like you’re super brilliant at studying or anything, huh.

If her dream if all she ever wanted was a target. Someone to execute that whom she could feel justified in executing then anyone will do. It doesn't matter how small or large the offense. Evil is evil. Even if that evil is as simple as disagreeing with her actions or recanting a statement.

Even worse voting her Innocent just to vote her guilty later is a lot like recanting a statement isn't it. Man those Haruka and Kotoko parrallels keep growing. Didn't he say that if we got close we wouldn't like him, didn't he just argue about how unfair it is to say he's good and then change our mind later during his second voice drama.

"Tell me why you tell me, “Stop”. Don’t you dare stop now."/"Tell me why? Please don’t change."

Just a really interesting thing going on there.

Kotoko even apologizes to Es for not being able to properly deliver punishment to Amane Momose and Mikoto Kayano at the beginning of her second voice drama. Finding it laughable that Es expected that she would not deliver punishment to Amane just because she was a child. Reiterating that she in fact planned to jump the girl as she did Mahiru and Futa as well. However, she was deterred not only by how much time she spent fighting Mikoto but by Kazui as well who intervened once she reached Futa.

So, she has no qualms with killing or severely injuring minors or manipulating them in order to get away with her own actions. At the end of the day-

This is Milgram.

People can vote whichever way they want for any bias under the sun. They can turn away from whatever information they dislike and prop up whatever best fits the narrative they want to see. They can be just as self-centered, coniving, and dishonest as the prisoners themselves. Because when you like someone, when you admire them, you'd do anything to make sure they're doing okay even lie in court or withold information from the police.

Because you believe deep down they're good and if you just give them the opportunity to be that then they will. If you're just sympathetic and try to talk to them about it certainly they'll understand.

"Say that sympathy is useless."

Kotoko's shown us exactly where thinking like that gets you with her- Does anyone feel lucky enough to test that again?

#milgram #yuzuriha kotoko #kotoko yuzuriha #tw grooming

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entomolog-t · 7 months

Text

Bite Me - Chapter 9

Aedes deals with his 5 senses while June cleans her room.

Some last minute changes made this update brutal- but we made it.

I also incorporated a promptober prompt!! Sunrise

Taglist: @smallsday @ratcatcher0325 @not-a-space-alien @bittykimmy13 @naive-bias

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 8

Next Chapter: Chapter 10

Word count: 1816

CW: Mentions of blood, Adult language, depiction of sensory overload/Panic

June Murphy blinks- the act in and of itself far more effort than it should be. Her eyes dry and sore from crying- eyelids heavier than should be physically possible, as if some invisible weight hung off them. Face raw from a tear stricken night, she stares at her wall, watching as the first light of day creeps into her room. Even her thoughts feel heavy as she stares blankly ahead.

Had she slept? She wasn’t really sure. It certainly didn’t feel like she had- though… it certainly didn’t feel like she’d been awake either.

Her joints groan in protest as she stands, neck stiff from the awkward position she’d held while slumped beside her bed. June tries in vain to rub the tiredness from her eyes, but all she manages to do is to further irritate the rawness of her tear stained face.

June chews her lip- Memories of the night still fresh in her mind. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel him in her palm- the way he twitched and squirmed under her touch. The thoughts felt dirty now with the context of hindsight. He’d been terrified, and she… she had liked it. Her hands claw through her tangled mess of hair. What the fuck was wrong with her? Who likes that? Why would she ever like that? He was so small, and had been so terrified, how could she-

June pauses.

She had been sure it was real, but now as daylight crept around her room so did doubt creep into her mind. It was all so absurd. A tiny vampire sneaking into her house? It had to have been a dream right? She just had the strangest nightmare imaginable. That was it. Maybe it had been a bit more lucid than her typical dreams. That wasn’t that weird right? It was just abnormally lucid and.. and she just thought she’d been awake.

June swallows the dryness in her mouth- not keen on thinking about what the contents of such a bizarre and emotionally charged dream must say about her psyche.

Her movement is stiff and tired as she drags herself to the washroom, desperately washing her face with cool water, as if temperature could somehow shock her back to fully believing in some version of reality. June winces. The sight of herself in the mirror should have come with a warning. She looked rough. Painfully red eyes stare back at her behind swollen lids- Her skin sallow and dull - looking just as exhausted as she felt.

As her eyes scam her reflection, her breath catches.

Two impossibly small punctures on her neck - nearly imperceptible, if not for the slight redness and bruised halo around them.

She watches her reflection as her lips draw into a tight line.

It… it had happened. It had all really happened.

The reality of the situation felt heavy- oddly enough, it was not the absurdity of the situation, but the implication that the emotions had all been real. The realization that she had gotten off on some twisted sort of psychological torment on a man she had known for what? All of twenty minutes??

June chews her lip, thoughts of his wide eyed expression filling her mind- those hushed pleas uttered between sobs. Her throat tightens.

You’re fucking vile

The echo of his words in her mind seem to tie her stomach in knots. She was, wasn’t she? She was fucking sick to have wanted … that.

God, what was she thinking? She didn’t even know him? Hell, he wasn’t even human. His existence didn’t even seem real- yet the desire that he incited was all too real- and all too potent.

A quiet part of her resents him. The way he’d played along- how he seemed to untangle some deeply knotted part of her- how he let her loose only to choke her with the slack. How could he make her feel that way, only to rip it away from beneath her.

June frowned at the way her logic twisted in her mind.

He’d been splayed out in her palm- restrained by her hand… so why did she feel like she’d been struck at her most vulnerable?

June groans. Her mind far too exhausted to try and decipher the reasons behind weird hypocritical thoughts. There was a heavy weight that seemed to reside in her chest, an impending sense of dread that loomed within her. Aedes was gone.

Aedes was gone because of her.

Because she was sick.

There was nothing left- no way to apologize, no way to make it right... Nothing to do except sit here and fester in her shame. She hated that it wasn’t just guilt gnawing at the edges of her mind. She was still so curious- and she resented it.

The same curiosity that cornered him- that had led to all of this.

And yet… she couldn’t rid herself of her nature.

Her mind begged for answers- Why was he so small? How could vampires exist? Who else knew? Could he turn into a bat? Did they congregate in … flocks? Colonies?

June flops to her bed- desperately wishing for the sleep that evaded her, but the soft morning light and whirring thoughts in her head make dozing off an impossible feat.

There was nothing she could do.

The finality of it was sickening. No apology, no reconciliation, no answers. All she was left with were questions and shame.

June sits up. If there was nothing she could do, she might as well make herself busy. Busy hands make for a quiet mind, or something like that.

----

Aedes leg shakes - irritation plain on his face.

She hadn’t slept.

She hadn’t slept one fucking minute.

An uneasiness crept over him as the room slowly became lit with the light of day. The dark of the night offered discretion- plentiful security within its shadows. The day however, was a different beast entirely.

The woman idles around her room, picking up various discarded items off the floor. He grimaced as she removed more and more of the potential cover leading toward the window. There was no way he’d be able to sneak off unnoticed in broad daylight.

Aedes felt the all too familiar ache of bloodlust rising in his chest. He hadn’t drank nearly enough. With nothing to occupy his hunger other than his thoughts, a familiar clarity rolled over him as his senses sharpened, instinct trying to direct him to the meal he was all too aware of.

Aedes swallows- mouth wet.

The beat of her heart pounds on steadily.

Thud after thud.

Continuous.

Just for one second he needed silence. A moment to think- to gather his thoughts. He bounced his leg, a steady tension mounting within him. Fuck. Each beat seemed to stop his thoughts in their track- drawing his focus away from any meaningful planning and back to her. The steady thrum of her heart a sirens song, begging him to forgo hiding. Beckoning him to dive into her. To drown in her. No. The last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near her again. He’d been hungry before- he could go hungry again.

Aedes grit his teeth.

Thump.

He would wait this out.

Thump.

Come nightfall he would leave.

Thump.

He would absolutely leave-

Thump.

He just needed to-

Thump.

To figure a way out-

Thump.

To get to the window-

Thump.

To feed-

His claws dug into his scalp- his hands desperate to hold himself together as her pulse throbbed in his ears. Loud. Everything was too loud. The steady rumble of her feet on the floor grates at his nerves. She meandered around the room, never staying still for more than a moment or two before moving on to another spot. Every thundering step sends a jolt through him- The world buzzing around him.

Why couldn’t she just fucking stand still?

He took a breath, his inhale shaky, and unfortunately deep. He caught her scent hanging thick in the air, her very essence an overwhelming caress. Like velvet, her scent thick and warm, teasing his desire- whispering promises of indulgence. She smells of sweet cream and soft spice- her skin of milk and honey. Of cardamom and comfort, of passionate glances and carnal desires.

Carnivorous desires.

He remembers how she tasted on his tongue, the allure of her scent paling in comparison to her taste. She was ambrosia on his lips and transcendent on his tongue. She tasted of life- of potential and passion- she tasted of more.

God he wanted more.

Needed more.

Aedes gnashed his teeth. He felt the world around him consuming him. Picking him apart- biting into him. His breaths came quickly- air feeling numb on his lips. Never enough. Never enough air. Never enough of her. The sound around him was chaos. Her blood seemed to roar in his ears. Her heels thundering on wood. Wood that trembled beneath him. It shook- he shook.

He shouldn’t be here.

Every breath was sugared with her. Drowning in her. His stomach twists- hunger gnawing away at his rationality. At his resolve. Her overwhelming presence devouring him from the inside. Mouth open he gasps- though not for air- for her. His mouth drips with desperation. Longing. Need. Aedes bites into the flesh of his hand- his teeth breaking the skin as easily as wading through water. The tang of his blood foul in his mouth. Wrong. Grotesque. An insult to the memory of her on his tongue. His jaw clenches- twitching against his will.

He bit harder. His face slick with blood and drool.

He needed to stop this.

To think-

To breathe.

He needed blood.

Her heart beat in tandem with his own. Calling him- begging him. Each pulse was a promise- of air. Of quiet. Of life.

A siren's song. A sweet harmony crying out between each and every pulse.

He froze.

A voice- both stunning and haunting cut through his senses. All else seems to fade- the rush of her blood, the beating of her heart, even his own desperate thoughts became white noise in the presence of her voice. Silken and opalescent- it carried air to his lungs on its warbling melody.

It beckoned him, yet nothing like the beating of her heart. This compulsion was all his own, not some ancient instinct clawing its way through his consciousness.

Head ducked, Aedes half crawled half walked to the edge of his cover under the dresser.

She sang of crumbling, of breaking down- stolen kisses and stolen glances.

I fall to pieces

Each time I see you again

His breath caught in his throat.

She was …. Beautiful.

Incredible in her immensity- Her entirety more akin to a landscape than a body- her beauty that of a sunset.

Warm.

Vast.

Untouchable.

He stood in the light of her song, feeling as though he was blinded by a second sun.

#MY MANS CANT CATCH A BREAK #the way he describes her makes me feral #Brother is smitten #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t prompts #g/t writing #Entowrites #Bite Me #JuneOc #AedesOC #Tiny vampire #tiny man #macro/micro #Promptober #Probptober2023

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amostdelectablescribbler · 7 months

Text

i’m making a new thing and want help

i’m doing a whodunnit in which we know pretty much whodunnit and it’s about how they did it and how they were caught. We are now at the “how they did it” part. I am not that clever, so i am asking for help. For context, this story is inspired by the following image that i nicked from @ultrainfinitepit (you don’t mind me writing something with these guys as a base for inspiration, do you? They’re just so gorgeous and full of character i just gotta!)

We got, by chapter order:

-What The Cat Dragged In: i’ve decided he’s gonna be the counterpart to the protagonist, alongside a woman who looks like Jane Romero from Dead By Daylight operating the radio, and they go and bust into a big room in a mob base full of half-finished plans and clever things and riddles and foreshadowing, but i need something to foreshadow, which brings us to:

-High Stakes: a corrupt casino owner, who is this cool smooth-talking vampire lady, who uses her looks and her charm to keep your attention while she changes the rules and stacks the deck. What would the tells of someone lying be? How would you bait someone?

-Dead Man Walking: a voodoo skeleton drug lord who cheated death and is buying lives and enslaving people in exchange for drugs. I can do this myself as there’s always cameras, witnesses on the street reporting it, people going missing in the same few locations, etc.

-Swimming With The Fishes: a selkie jazz singer/theatre actress/opera singer/whatever fits better who wears her pelt as a scarf, and drowns people who disturb her performances or for suggesting someone is better, or someone being better, they get drowned. She wants to stay desperately relevant and perpetually famous.

-If Looks Could Kill: drop-dead-gorgeous gorgon (a la medusa), possibly a runway model or fashion designer, who kills by turning people to stone and disguising their bodies as mannequins in her shop. She seduces them into going to a backroom with her and turns them to stone in a nice pose, but what would that look like?

-All Bark, All Bite: a werewolf cop who is higher in the chain of command than Clyde (protagonist. Will do a big wip intro later) and abuses it regularly in the previous chapters. Is mean and corrupted by the monetary gain of protecting the previous charismaniacs from legal trouble at the “behest” of the guy below. What would corrupt cops do to pull the wool over peoples eyes? What would be the tells that you’re being played for a fool and silenced?

-Angel-Face: a mob boss who made a deal with a little-known angel called Lucifer for immortality in exchange for his own soul, or the souls of others. He’s been the kingpin holding all the other operations together, and he’s been doing it to get the bodies from the others and sacrificing them in exchange for immortality. It becomes a race to piece together the puzzle before one of the supporting cast gets sacrificed, culminating in Angel-Face failing to meet the sacrifice deadline and getting dragged down to hell by the Devil. This one I can do myself, as i can use regular wet footprints on the floor, security cameras, and following cars in a cool chase scene, the very climactic works.

My plea to my mutuals, and in general those cleverer than myself, can you guys come up with some genius schemes for these brilliantly illustrated Magnificent Bastards?

#writeblr #creative writing #writers of tumblr #writer problems #whodunnit #noir-fantasy #writing #schemes #psychology

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rainwalker-dragonblade29 · 1 year

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The beauty of The Queen's Mercy

I doubt it struck any of us before that Kimdael's collar was of importance. Taken to be just a jewelry element, but never of Sunfire make.

Look at this, it's been centuries now and the collar is still on her neck in The Bloodmoon Huntress...

And there is an interesting implication I've gleaned after reading the story, here come the first thoughts...

In the new short story, The Queen's Mercy, Kimdael goes to Lux Aurea to seek the Protection of Queen Aditi. Protection from the dragons who had driven Moonshadow Elves out of their own forest and "killed them one by one" leaving only Kimdael.

Which we know is a lie, because the moonshadow race is perfectly fine in the show and that does not make her the last of them. Also, multiple times, she pretends to plead while it is evident that inside she is plotting something. That her visit to Lux Aurea is for another crime. She pretended to be meek to gain Aditi's protection. But she is there for a different motive for why else would the Bloodmoon Huntress walk in broad daylight?

As Zubeia mentioned, there was a time when, after the death of Luna Tenebris, the dragons fought over succession. So their wrath is very real. And Xadia did descend into chaos... but Lux Aurea held strong through it. So it seems evident that of someone wanted to seek protection at the queen's mercy, it was the place.

What is interesting is that the dragons killing other moonshadow elves. Specifically the reaction of the other elves in the court:

It may seem like a rumour because we know moonshadow elves lived and that Kimdael is lying. Or perhaps twisting a truth...

Given reason, the dragons could have attacked the moonshadow elves, if they decided to intervene and help sort the matter. It is possible that the moonshadow elves are hiding from the dragons and that no one has seen them in a while that Kimdael's desperate plea raises the question in the minds of the court elves that it could be truth.

But Aditi sees through it and takes her to the forge where upon, she makes the ornament and puts it red hot, and burning, sealing it around Kimdael's neck. Even enchanted so if Kimdael tried to kill her, the collar will choke the huntress, and thus it binds her to the Sunfire royal line.

Here's where it gets messy. Aditi says:

As of what Kimdael said, she pledges in return, the remainder of her entire life to repay the Queen's Mercy. And this moment a spark:

The collar can only be removed by a member of Aditi's line. Kimdael is bound to servitude.

That leaves only TWO people: JANAI and KARIM...

The question is... who will remove it? More importantly, who will Kimdael side with?

One obvious answer is... well, Karim.

Courtesy to this shot, it seems he will leave Lux Aurea. And Aaravos tempts makes into serving him by offering them what they seek. Karim has drive, he seeks a brighter future for Lux Aurea despite the way his ways clash with Janai's. And to better his own fate, maybe he would have left/escaped after the generals apprehended him.

Kimdael could rarely be accepted on Janai's side as she is obviously with the trio or will be later anyway, and Rayla will not let Kimdael anywhere near her friends.

And because of my previous meta here, between a possible connection with Kimdael and Aaravos, in the sense that maybe he is the one who gave her the longevity, in giving her knowledge of dark magic that she uses for the ritual and that he has kept her alive for some cause. (ie given her the opportunity of immortality that she followed in herself unknowing of a greater role she has to play)

She is a tool to him. One of his chess pieces.

She will be useful to Aaravos after he is free or perhaps she has something to do with the freedom... but anyway, it makes more sense that she joins the Aaravos party, and later or before her, Karim gets bound in it too...

Also it could be that she met Karim first, before Aaravos is released, and they are the ones Amaya, Rayla and Callum are against here:

Whatever happens now, Kimdael, by the collar, is bound in the narrative.

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kittlesandbugs · 17 days

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FHR: Just a chat (AO3 link here) Pairing: Sidestep/Ricardo Ortega (hints of Chargentstep), Sidestep & Hollow Ground Warnings: None, they're just chatting lol Word Count: 1720 Summary: Ortega takes Sidestep to the park to get some fresh air after being cooped up with broken legs in his apartment for a couple weeks. When he steps away for a few minutes to take care of something, someone else swings by for a talk.

It's a peaceful day at Memorial Park. The sun is shining through the carefully maintained trees, dappling the green grass. The air is cool and calm, balmy even with your multiple layers. The birds are chirping around you and every so often, a squirrel darts by. The air is full of children's laughter as they play on the jungle gym. People are calm and content around you, enjoying the nice weather.

You haven’t been this tense since the last time you were hauled into a lab and strapped down.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," you hiss at Ortega, sitting on the bench next to your wheelchair.

He's lounging, at ease, though still alert. You see it the way his eyes roam around through the back of his sunglasses, watching everyone and everything around you. "Relax, Riley. Nothing is going to happen here," he chuckles. His hand starts towards your knee to give what you assume is supposed to be a reassuring pat before stopping and redirecting to your arm. You don't like it when anyone touches your casts. "You need some fresh air and sunlight once in a while. You were going crazy in the apartment."

"You could have at least waited for Argent to come over," you growl quietly. "Four eyes are better than two."

"We got four eyes. Hell, four hundred probably, if we count your telepathy."

"Fine, four working legs." You roll your eyes at the pedantry.

"We're in broad daylight in the good side of town, no one knows we're here. Relax."

There's a little note of a plea in there that makes you sigh and nod. He is right, but you aren't going to tell him that. The chances of anyone coming after you in broad daylight on this side of town are almost nonexistent. And if they knew where you were, they would have gone for the significantly easier hit on Ortega's apartment by now.

So you try. Take in some sun from the sky. Some sun from the carefree kids running past in a game of tag. As good for your brain as dogs, and they're here too. You sink into the padded chair and close your eyes, trying to focus on them rather than the itch of your healing bones that reminds you just how helpless you actually are.

"Hey, wait here a moment," Ortega says after a few minutes of peace and quiet. You open your eyes to find him perched at the edge of the bench, eyes honed in on something. Your gaze follows but you can't make out who or what he sees at this distance. Are his sunglasses enhancing his vision? Probably, knowing him. You try to follow his line of sight with your telepathy, but what you find that might be getting his attention is strange. Foggy. Nebulous. It's difficult to latch on to any thoughts. Not blocking you like numbers, no, that's closer to the static of Ortega's brain. But someone that is definitely strange. Who is it?

"Ric, what do you see?" you whisper harshly, the anxiety you felt earlier returning in full force like a hammer strike to your skull as he starts to rise, gesturing with his hand for you to stay put. Like you have a choice

"Just an old friend," he says, the cant of his lips saying the opposite. "I'll be right back. You're safe here."

And then he's off at a swift jog before you can protest, leaving you fumbling for the locked brakes you can't easily reach on the wheelchair handles.

"Wait! You stupid fucking jackass—"

"He is, isn't he?" A laugh behind you, and it takes all you have not to scream as a familiar lanky figure folds into Ortega's vacated seat. She's dressed in a finely woven linen jumpsuit, warm sepia with matching leather loafers, her gold piercings sparkling in the dappled sunlight. Her too similar face looks at you with a too similar crooked smile.

Hollow Ground.

How the fuck could she sneak up on you like this? You didn't sense her at all. You still can't. Not even so much as a thought void, just nothing. You've never seen anything like it. How is she concealing herself? What the fuck does she want with you? Your chair is still half-locked, trapping you here. Should you scream? Should you—

" Relax," she says, and it's almost a command as she meets your gaze with your own gray eyes. Still, you try to rein in your heart attempting to race its way out of your ribs. "I just want to talk."

"About what?" Your voice betrays the tension tight in your spine, much as you wish otherwise. If one more person tells you to relax, you think you might actually snap. You need to regain control of yourself. You are Reckoning, for fuck's sake. You're not some helpless child.

"You," she says simply and then pauses. Frowns. Like she's no longer quite sure of what to say. Like she had a plan, but now she doesn't know if it should be executed.

You try to touch her thoughts again, and again you're met with less than nothing. Are you hallucinating? No. The man walking down the path sees you both. He isn't worried by what he sees, two sisters having a conversation that seems tense. You aren't going to dig into the implications of that one. So she's here. She wants something, wants it enough to approach you about it. You realize the benefit to her closely kept secret identity means she can approach you freely as long as Ortega is not around. The weird presence you felt before, you realize that was Jake, you felt the same nebulousness of his thoughts when you went to meet Hollow Ground at Parkside. Irresistible bait to lure Ortega away. But you have no idea what it is she wants. So you wait. Ortega is right. No one is going to try and do anything in public in broad daylight. She won't, not like this.

"What about me…?" you prompt when the quiet of her gets to be too much, impatient to find out what this is about with her mind giving you no clues.

"How… are you?" she asks, surprisingly tentative.

That reserved inquiry catches you off-guard, but you recover swiftly, her odd nervousness making you feel more confident despite your obvious weakness. "Oh, you know. Peachy. Just out for a stroll," you drawl, gesturing at your propped up casts.

She snorts and the corner of her lips twitches. Somehow, your snark steadies her. "I should have expected that."

"Why do you care?" you ask sharply. She's being weird, and you don't like it. What is this about? Why would she risk meeting you like this?

"You're a mystery, Riley Owens. I'd hate it if you died before I could solve it." She smirks as you feel your blood run cold. Something about the way she says your name makes you feel jittery. But even more importantly, how could she possibly know who you are? You never gave your name before, to anyone at Parkside, you were there as your villainous alias. Argent scrubbed all records of your surgery at the hospital, though you have no doubt Hollow Ground knew who had been involved in the wreck. How does she know your name? Do the Rangers have a leak?

As your brain stumbles over what this could mean, she holds out a small white card with something scrawled on it. An address. You recognize the area. Rich and residential. Very rich and residential. Is this… She can't possibly be just handing you this…

"Got it memorized?" At your nod, she pockets it with a smile that's a little sharp for your liking.

"What is your g—"

"Fuck." Her hand shoots up, silencing you as her head tilts slightly like she's listening to something. You can just make out the outline of a small clear low profile receiver in her over-pierced ear. "We lost your pet Ranger, and he's on his way back. I have to go." She rises from the bench with the grace of a crane, giving you a conspiratorial wink.

"Wait, what— Fuck!" You swear, fumbling for the other lock on your chair before she can get away.

As she strides away, she calls back, "You should stop by sometime, when you're back on your feet. We have a lot to catch up on."

For someone so tall, she disappears far too easily into crowds. By the time you can roll after her, she's gone, as traceless as she appeared. What the fuck did she mean, catch up on? You're left sitting there, stewing in your own bile, until Ortega finally returns.

He's sweaty, looking a little tired and roughed up. You think you can see the outline of a bruise blooming under the edge of his bearded cheek. He's definitely been in a fight. You don't know if you should be pleased or pissed that he learned to leave civilians behind for these kinds of escapades after his stunt with Jolene went awry. "Hey," he says with a little wave as he catches his breath. "Everything okay?"

"Just dandy," you snarl, playing into being pissed that he left you. If he knew who just stopped by to pay you a friendly chat, he'd shit his own generator. "Sitting like a duck while you go haring off to go fight some rando."

Luckily, you think he's getting the right message, because he holds his hands up, placating, as he talks to you in the same tone he uses with his unruly horse at the ranch. "Hey, c'mon. I was just gone a few minutes. Nothing happened, right?"

"Yeah," you lie with a sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "Nothing happened."

He grabs onto the handlebars of your chair, and if he notices you've unlocked it, he doesn't comment on it as he starts walking you through the park. "Angie texted me about meeting us at the ice cream stand. You want to get some ice cream before we go home?"

"Yeah." Sugar will help steady your nerves. Get your mind off what just happened. “Let’s get some ice cream and go home.”

You have a lot of thinking to do later.

#kitbug writes things #fhr #ricardo ortega #sidestep #hollow ground #chargestep #riley owens #hints of chargentstep but angie isn't here right now lol #idk i just had a wild hair #thinking about like okay we have the demo for when you don't go to HG in person #but what if you did and you already have the moray #would they be interested in you enough to seek you out again #i think yes #so here we are #call this a book 3 hypothetical lol

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anerdinallherglory · 6 months

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Approaching Sun (36)

Author’s Note: Hey again! Surprising you all with a new chapter a week apart. I had to cut the last one short and this one short as well, essentially dividing one chapter into three. This doesn’t mean the wordcount is short. This one comes in just under 10,000. But keep your eyes out for the next part. I also wanted to drop my linktree here: linktr.ee/anerdinallherglory so it’s easier to find all my info in one place. Please go and check it out! I am also looking for beta readers for my own personal novel. I’m even considering starting a newsletter or posting it back on Wattpad as a pre-published draft, but haven’t decided on that 100%. I will let you all know as soon as I decide. The tracks I recommend for this chapter: 1) Let Me Touch Your Fire by ARIZONA and 2) Daylight by Crypto/DEIIN. Thanks again for reading!

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35

Chapter 36: Demons

When Sasuke stepped into the brothel disguised as a bathhouse, an empty room greeted him. Not a single soul was in sight, and Sasuke wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but the place being deserted was the worst possible outcome. It meant no traces, no answers, and Sasuke dreaded finding Sakura’s trail end in this damned place. It also made his stomach knot at the thought that this might be what the room typically looked like on an average night considering the private and concealed activities that occurred in separate chambers.

Despite the absolute darkness, Sasuke could make out giant undisturbed baths beyond the reception counter, the water a still onyx glass as if the baths were only there to serve as a display, never to be used. And that’s probably exactly what they were: a lie to disguise the truth of what this place actually was. Only Sasuke’s Sharingan could make out the alcove, the inconspicuous hallway in the back that Sasuke crept toward in the shadows.

His visual abilities revealed the outline of the door at the end of it, where someone without visual prowess might find nothing but a wall. Sasuke placed his fingertips against it to push on the barricade, not detecting any sort of seal or rigging to prevent it from opening. Sasuke wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t considering this particular establishment housed regular citizens and not ninja. If ninja did inhabit the space, Sasuke figured that it was for a short, purposeful visit, not long-term residency. The door gave to his pressure and a faint light glowed through the opening as Sasuke silently slid the door until he had had hairline’s width to peer through.

A group of women were the first thing Sasuke noticed, all gathered in the middle of the floor, some holding candles in various states of distress. Muffled, crying sounds reached his ears and Sasuke naturally found the dimly-lit faces where the noises originated, paths of light-reflecting tears striping their painted faces. There were also lavish styled chairs scattered throughout the room, some tipped on their sides and others still erect in rows.

A gruff male voice interrupted the women’s soft, plea-filled weeping and Sasuke’s uncovered Sharingan eye instantly narrowed as he located three supervising figures that towered over the distressed girls. They stood just outside of the candlelight between Sasuke and the group they were terrorizing, their shadows passing in front of the light source which made it very easy for Sasuke to trace their movements, even without his Sharingan. Their mistake, Sasuke thought to himself, as the words became more substantial.

“There must be something else that she said,” hissed one man as he reached forward and fisted one of the older woman’s robes, yanking her forward from the group. The other girls screamed, clutching at the dangling woman and halting her movement forward. One girl was kicked down by the man because she dared to stand before him in an attempt to wrestle the woman from him. “You’re the Mother, aren’t you?!” he spat viscously in her face. “How could you make such a mistake? You let the enemy in, and you will pay for it!”

“We already told the last group of men here,” the woman gasped, tearing at the sleeve of the arm that held her in the air by her throat. “She’s gone to the Land of Fire’s border. That’s all we know. Please let me go.”

“Where?! Where at on the border?”

“We don’t know!” a fair-headed girl pleaded, crawling forward to the man’s feet to look up imploringly into his shadowed face. “That’s all she said after she took the men away.”

“There must be more,” another man spoke, coming forward to respond to the girl and glare up at the hanging woman, too.

Sasuke waited, dampening his eagerness to intervene. A situation such as this one was not typically one to cause any sort of reaction from Sasuke, but as his conscience had come back to him over the years after the Fourth Shinobi World War, these types of intimidation tactics on people who didn’t deserve it were the sort that pissed the Uchiha off in an unforgiving sort of way. But he couldn’t be too rash, considering the information he, too, was receiving from the exchange. Unfortunately, Sasuke was still the sort of person who would let that woman dangle for an eternity if it meant that he would get the answers he needed about Sakura’s actions and whereabouts. But at the same time, Sasuke was desperately hoping she knew nothing.

The woman choked, face purpling. She was beyond being able to speak now, her body no longer receiving the oxygen to use words, so the girls huddled on the floor made implorations on her behalf.

“Stop this! You’re killing her!”

“Give me more information and she we will live!” the man shouted down at them. “Or stay silent and she dies!”

Another minute of silent crying had Sasuke’s hand itching toward the door, not certain how much information there was left to learn. Their tactic worked as intended, however, and Sasuke stilled himself once more when a dark-haired girl shuffled forward on her knees, barely old enough to be considered a mature adult. With beseeching hand movements, she disclosed, “I’ll tell you everything. Just let her go.”

“Talk first!” snarled the offender, shaking the matron for good measure.

“All I know is that she dyed her hair after arriving. She’s in disguise,” she confessed with a shaky voice.

Finally receiving a scrap of intelligence, the man threw the matron toward the group of girls and there was more shrieking as she landed roughly among them, and their hands all scrabbled in unison to catch and break her fall. The matron coughed violently as color began to return to her face.

“And?” the man enticed the young girl to continue, leaning down to fist her dressing gown next.

The young girl returned his gaze with a fire that wasn’t there before. Now that she had replaced the matron’s spot in the face of the zealot, she laced her next words with venom. “And,” she murmured. “She’s going to kill every single one of you bastards.”

There was a loud strike against flesh, but the sound was infinitesimal compared to the crack of lightning that suddenly struck and shook the ceiling above them. Everyone fell to the ground at the sound, covering their ears and crawling toward one another instinctively. Even the three men crouched in surprise, but they were the first to recover, casting their eyes about wildly.

As the three extremists turned to assess the room’s entrance, the door that separated them from the Uchiha was now fully open, the darkness of the hallway consuming all of Sasuke’s person except for his unconcealed blood red eye. When he stepped into the room, the three ninja prepared themselves to face the new threat, which was a mistake, because all three of them locked eyes with red and purple.

Without a second of passing time, the three men fell back to their knees and their screams were positively delicious sounds as they succumbed to the horrors Sasuke had planned for them in his genjutsu. They would suffer and the chakra it cost the Uchiha to do it was worth it based on their screaming alone.

The girls scrambled to collect the candles they had dropped out of fear when the lightning had struck, each of them desperate to claim some light to reveal what monster had just stepped into the room with them. When the youngest girl successfully secured one, she brought it to her face only to reveal Sasuke’s dark outline standing before her. When she looked up into his Sharingan, she dropped the candle once more.

“The devil,” she whispered, speaking the word as if doing so had sealed her fate. “He’s finally come for me.”

Panicked gasps, crying, and prayers fabricated into existence around Sasuke as the other girls beheld the apparition of him for themselves, a phantom of black and red and purple delivering punishment to the three begging men now behind him.

Sasuke crouched before the young, dark-haired girl, the very one who had revealed information about Sakura to the three anti-peace members, all of whom would soon not be able to remember anything but Sasuke’s katana as it penetrated their bodies over and over. How fitting a description, Sasuke thought to himself as he remembered Itachi, whom the genjutsu he now used was modeled after, how devil-like the Uchiha clan became when they were set on protecting something they cared about.

“Not for any of you,” Sasuke responded coldly, wasting no time to reach for her terrified face over the flickering circumference of the discarded candlelight between their bodies. When he clutched her chin between his fingers, her eyes widened in fear, which was positively advantageous for the Uchiha as he peered through them to search her memories.

Sasuke moved through this girl’s memories just like the phantom she imagined him to be, gliding through the very sins she committed tonight until he saw the scene he was looking for: Sakura’s face coming into view as she entered into the dark room in which this girl and a man were coupled on a lounge, both still wet from the bath. They were wrapped in one another’s arms, exchanging sweet whispers to each other in the dark.

Sakura seemed surprised by this fact, as if she hadn’t expected to find them nestling into one another there. Sasuke watched his teammate hesitate for just a moment until a needle sank into the man’s flesh. The girl from whose eyes Sasuke watched his former teammate, gasped at the sudden attack. Untangling himself, the man swung in Sakura’s direction. “You,” he had hissed. “You’re—” he began before falling to the floor lifelessly, incapacitated by the drug that Sakura had injected him with.

Sakura stared down at him for a moment, eyes flashing back toward the girl, before she reached down to flip over the man’s body, so that he could breathe freely.

Sasuke couldn’t focus on anything other than the raven black of Sakura’s tinted hair. A small part of his heart wanted to linger on the scene, imagine a child with Sakura’s features and Sasuke’s hair. He fisted the emotions and shoved them back, resuming the memory.

“Hae, what are you doing!?” screamed the girl, scrambling from the lounge onto the floor beside the man.

“I am sorry, Tabi.” Sakura whispered, biting into her thumb and performing a summoning jutsu that Sasuke was too familiar with. Katsuyu, Sakura and the Fifth Hokage’s summoning familiar, materialized into existence on the spot on the floor where Sakura had pressed her five-fingered seal. To Tabi’s extreme horror, the slug, human-sized, began to encapsulate the man she desperately tried to shield away from the creature. But her hands disappeared into the mucusy flesh of the gastropod, failing to gain any purchase.

“Who are you?! Why are you doing this?” she cried, backing speedily away when the creature began to absorb her hands as well.

“There’s not much time to explain,” Sakura replied, coming to bend down before the girl. Sakura knelt before the girl, revealing a small canvas bundle of small bottles, needles, and medicines. “I’m not really in this business as I made all of you believe. I’m a doctor and I only have a few minutes to help you.”

When Tabi said nothing else, just stared at Sakura in confusion, she asked carefully, “Do you suspect that you’re pregnant?”

Tabi’s mouth fell open at the revelation and her hands moved to her stomach at the mention of pregnancy. The tears that began to fall from her face was confirmation enough for the medic. She asked her next question. “Do you want to keep it?”

“What?” Tabi asked, wondering how the woman before her could have suspected something Tabi only was beginning to experience the symptoms of.

“Do you want this baby? There are ways to—”

“Yes, I want it!” Tabi cried, hugging herself and flinching away from the unrolled canvas parcel of vials as she began to see the collection in a new light. “The baby is mine and—” she protested, turning back to the man who was now completely encased by the slug. “What are you doing to him?!”

Sakura’s eyes flicked over to the man and only Sasuke was able to recognize the regret in them. “He’s one of the members of Zenshin,” Sakura informed the distraught girl. “It’s my mission to eradicate the organization.”

“Please,” Tabi begged, grasping Sakura’s arms with her hands, stilling them over the bag of medical supplies. “You can’t take him. He’s different from the others. We love each other.”

Sasuke saw Sakura chew her lip in thought, rerolling the canvas bag into a tight parcel. He instantly knew Sakura was thinking of him, his face flashing in her mind as she faced Tabi. The confliction there let Sasuke know exactly what she was thinking. Just as Sakura so desperately wanted her own happy ending, she also wanted Tabi to have hers. But her eyes hardened, and she removed her arms from Tabi’s hands. In that very same instant, the slug dematerialized into nothing, taking the man with her to wherever the slug disappeared to.

“If Toka loves you, he will come back to you once I am finished with him,” Sakura divulged, looking pointedly at her stomach. “Does he know?”

Tabi shook her head, more tears streaming down her face. “I was going to tell him once he left them. He was going to do it soon—run away with me.”

Sakura nodded and shoved the canvas bundle into Tabi’s shaking hands. “Give these to the other girls and have them follow the directions inside. I don’t know how well you guys are taking care of yourselves here, but there are medicines in here. To prevent pregnancy— and to protect yourselves from diseases. As a medic, I can’t leave here without doing at least this.”

Sasuke flinched at the scene before him, knowing that Sakura had carried that on her person, probably having prepared it in advance for this very mission in this damn brothel, intended for her own personal use. Sasuke had never been so close to wanting to vomit in his life. He wanted to reach through this memory and grab her arm and force her to explain all of this to him. Why would she take such risks for a mission—abuse herself in this way?

“Where are you going?” Tabi beseeched, focused more on the fact that this parting gift meant Sakura’s immediate intentions to depart along with the man she loved.

“The border of the Land of Fire,” Sakura responded without hesitation as she met Tabi’s gaze with hers. “You can tell that to whoever comes asking questions,” the woman who Tabi had believed was named Hae added. “It’s the truth and it’s not a secret. Let them come.”

Sasuke closed his eyes at the intentional crumb she had left for the enemy. She had probably told every girl who had asked this information the same response. It was obvious that she was luring whoever was left of the organization out of Tanigakure. They had more of a personal vendetta against her now after her actions tonight and would definitely pursue, especially since they believed she was acting alone. It would be perfect for them, to eliminate their Number 1 and get revenge in the same motion. The temptation to chase would be too great.

As Sakura stood and headed back for the door, she turned back to Tabi, who was still kneeling on the ground and clutching the bundle of medications to her stomach, shielding the small flutter of life that had started there.

When Sakura’s eyes met Tabi’s, Sasuke suddenly felt as if Sakura were looking beyond them, into the memory itself until her eyes met Sasuke’s within. “In case you’re watching this, I can handle this alone. I don’t need your help.” Sasuke felt Tabi’s confusion as the girl failed to comprehend Sakura’s last words. Sasuke, however, knew exactly who those words were for: the Uchiha, himself. So, she knew. Sakura had known that he was here in Tanigakure searching for her. She had predicted that he would track her to this place and perform this very jutsu.

When Sakura closed the door behind her, leaving Tabi to sob uncontrollably to herself, Sasuke rewound the memory further, past the indecencies between the girl and the man called Toka, until he was watching the same man spin Sakura in front of a crowd of lust-hungry brutes. Sasuke froze the scene before him, eyes narrowing as he memorized each of their faces. One man came forward and grabbed Sakura, pulling her into his lap. His eyes were tightly bound, and the blind stranger leaned his mouth against Sakura’s ear in the dimly lit room. To Sasuke’s extreme dissatisfaction, Tabi had not heard, and therefore Sasuke could not decipher what the man had whispered in his teammate’s ear. Sasuke was beyond disappointed to miss the very words that he would repeat to the man as the Uchiha eviscerated him. The memory of Sakura ended once more as Toka led Tabi away to their private room.

Thoroughly enraged at what he had just witnessed, Sasuke cursed to himself as he released the young woman’s chin. Tabi gasped when Sasuke retreated viciously from her mind, and she fell back on her wrists away from him. Sasuke’s crimson gaze fell on every girl who clustered in the darkness, gaping openly at him in terror, and he couldn’t help but picture Sakura in all of their faces. They, too, had been feasted upon by the eyes of despicable men, dragged into laps and so much more. In another life and in different set of circumstances, who knows if Sakura might have ended up trying to earn her living doing such a thing, too. He pitied every woman who had no other options. Sasuke would not consider himself a sentimental or feeling person. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel and vanish from the room in the same manner in which he had appeared, letting his fire-style impede the very building in which he stood. But he wavered, glancing down at the tiny swell of Tabi’s malnourished stomach. With his Rinnegan, Sasuke could see the tiny orb of light there. It pulsed like a tiny, throbbing sun.

Leaning fully into the devil character they believed him to be, Sasuke did something very much unlike himself. He took the time to say, “Leave this place and do not come back. Every single one of you.” He turned back down to Tabi once more and said, “Your child deserves a peaceful world. The next generation does not need to suffer for the sins of their parents.”

And then Sasuke, like a demon specter made of shadows, turned and vanished back into the blackness of a hellish night.

The downpour lasted long into the night and Sakura swore at her bad luck. Sakura had quickly snagged a set of clothing from one of the smaller ninja that she had rendered unconscious back at the bathhouse. Even still, the man’s clothes hung loosely on her thinner, angular frame and Sakura had apologized to the palm-sized version of Katsuyu that clung to Sakura’s skin at the slug’s initial repulsion to the smell of the stranger’s attire. Sakura hadn’t had time to find her original set of clothing once her mission had begun; the tight-fitting robes from the bathhouse had been insufficiently insulated, so Sakura had tugged on one of the radical’s dark pants, black jacket, and matching vest in the presence of one of the horrified girls without explanation as the girl watched Katuyu absorb another person and whisk them away. Strategically, Sakura had even adorned her forehead with the five-spiral headband tucked away in the man’s vest just in case it was slightly advantageous to do so. Sakura had only seen the forehead protector twice before, but more recently caught a glimpse of it in the desert when Mako was thrown the identical headband for successfully kidnapping her.

With her shadow-colored hair tucked hurriedly under the jacket’s stiff-fabric hood, Sakura pulled the shirt’s loose-fitting collar up and over her nose so that only her eyes and the headband were visible on her brow. She had hoped such a disguise would at least get her out of Tanigakure unnoticed in the night. Surprisingly enough, Tanigakure’s “peaceful” reputation and open access to travelers made it relatively easy for Sakura to locate a small mountain path that exited the village undetected. The kunoichi also allowed herself a moment of pride, because not being stopped also meant that she had been quick enough with the execution of her plan. She had handled any immediate threats back at the brothel, making it out before any other Zenshin members could discover the cookie crumb she had left behind for them to find.

It was dark, and the rain was merciless as Sakura skirted the side of the mountain, taking refuge from the rain in the dense tree cover that blanketed the landscape. The tree limbs bowed beneath the weight of her hurdles as she bounded from branch to branch, arms thrown behind her as she mercilessly raced toward the border between the Land of Rivers and Land of Fire. Once she had guided her likely pursuers into the Land of Fire, Sakura would be able to handle the rest of them as she pleased, as recklessly as she pleased. She would no longer have to worry about causing any catastrophes in Tanigakure that the Leaf or the Sand might have to take responsibility for.

She had expected a pursuit. Mako had told Sakura that there were Zenshin members all throughout the shinobi world—eventually, they would come for her, too—but the remaining Zenshin members in Tanigakure would be absolutely desperate to prevent her from reaching the border. But what Sakura had not expected was the speed in which some of them had caught up with her.

When Sakura had first picked up on the footfalls that those without the sharpened senses of a ninja wouldn’t be able to distinguish beyond the crashing rain against the canopy above, Sakura had immediately halted her movements in the branches. Tucking her body tightly into the bough of a tree, she contemplated her options as the voices began to near her. Considering that it took Sasuke and Sakura two days of leisure travel to reach Tanigakure from Konoha, Sakura was predicting that it would likely take her a fraction of that time to reach the border—which was located much closer to Tanigakure than the Leaf—at the speed in which she was travelling now. If her estimations were right, it would be essentially six hours, four of which had already transpired since her exit. Could she simply outrun them for another two hours?

Maybe the solution was something simpler, something E-Rank that Sakura hadn’t used since her Genin days. Sakura thought back to her interaction with the second man she had spoken with at the brothel, “the clown” of the group as Rugo had called him. Sakura’s initial target who had asked Sakura questions, investigating if she were “new, new.” Sakura focused on his features as she performed a transformation. The Transformation Jutsu had its flaws, which is why it wasn’t used too often, especially in the presence of experienced shinobi or those who could see chakra with a visual prowess like the Sharingan or Byakugan, or detect chakra signatures like the ninja, Karin. But a confrontation was going to be inevitable regardless of whether or not Sakura could fool them with a jutsu; she would just have to face them head on sooner than she had wanted. If it were the latter, then the jutsu possibly failing was a moot point, so there was no harm in crossing her fingers and going for it. The jutsu wouldn’t have to be flawless to be effective.

She could hardly assess them, the rain a thick sheet between herself and the enemy. There were three of them, all cloaked and protected from the elements. The low number made Sakura suspect that this was one of many search parties and their likelihood of finding her had less to do with their skill at tracking and more to do with fact that at least one group was going to guess her direction of travel correctly and encounter her by chance. She waited until they were practically under her perch to make her choice.

Without a second more of hesitation, Sakura dropped several feet in front of them, shouting in a voice that had thickened into that obnoxiously loud tenor from the brothel. “I think she went this way!” Sakura didn’t wait to hear a response as she darted forward into the night.

“Araki?!” came a woman’s voice as she was the first to recognize the man whom was Sakura’s current disguise. The female immediately followed as she continued to shout after who she believed was her fellow Zenshin member.

“Hurry!” Sakura screamed back in reply but did not slow her pace for them. One of the Transformation Jutsu’s innate failings that made it unfavorable to use, was that it was difficult to converse with others or perform other mental feats because a ninja had to pour a lot of focus into channeling chakra into maintaining the transformation. It’s the very reason why a lot of transformations didn’t last too long; some people were better at executing it than others. It wasn’t overly difficult for Sakura to engage in conversation while transformed, but she didn’t know her enemy very well or their various jutsu and talents, so she decided to take advantage of the chase element of their interaction to avoid super close proximity.

Like shadowed hounds that thought they had found one of their own kind, they pursued after Sakura, barking after her as their feet collided with the ground, thinking they were joining the hunt when in fact they were chasing the very goose they were after.

“How do you know she went this way, Araki?” a male voice called up to her through the thundering rain, and Sakura barely made it out.

“She’s making a run for the Leaf Village, but we have to catch her before she gets too far over the border!” Sakura called back with the same arrogant confidence Araki had spoken to her with at the brothel.

“How did you escape? Weren’t you with the others at the bathhouse? What happened to them?” the woman’s voice called out again, firing questions off faster than the rain could fall from the sky, and maybe Sasuke had started to rub off on Sakura the past couple of months, but the relentless inquiries were beginning to annoy her.

Sakura didn’t know if she should even attempt to respond. She knew very little about this Araki’s personality, other than the fact that he was loud, bold, and talked incessantly as well. But Sakura was not comfortable sustaining an unrehearsed act for long segments, and was unsure exactly what types of ridiculous comments were normal for the man. A little too late, Sakura wondered if Rugo or Toka would have been a better choice to impersonate with their various stoicism in comparison to Ataki; their seriousness would have suited Sakura’s current circumstances better. As a side note to rationalize her choice, Sakura wasn’t too sure about how Rugo’s blindness affected his abilities, and Sakura naturally wanted to steer clear of casting Toka in more of a negative light in case he really was trying to cut ties with Zenshin as Tabi had claimed.

“We have to move faster!” Sakura deflected, pretending not to hear them as she bounded further ahead of them to create a safer distance between them.

Sakura relentlessly pushed them forward, a shadow before them that they could barely distinguish as it was. She was desperately clinging to the transformation even as she strategically considered her next move. Sakura had crossed the river she and Sasuke had camped at on their second night of traveling together hours ago. She was only minutes away from the border now. For the most part, Sakura had chosen to stick to the same remote path she and Sasuke had taken from Konoha because it was the most recent in her memory and it was a small miracle she wasn’t getting the four of them completely lost in this starless monsoon. At some point over the past hour, she dissected from that trail, travelling northwest for the plains she remembered passing through during a mission with Kakashi, Naruto, and Sai.

The forest thinned as Sakura neared the space between forests, the sizeable meadow surrounded by rocky plateaus like the very mountain the Leaf was built up against. Seeing such familiar forested landscape, Sakura could have wept in relief. Her lungs shuttered from the relentlessness of her breathing and her legs practically felt numb and cold from the freezing rain, but the pain was absolutely miniscule in comparison to the absolute thrill she felt in her bones when she took her first step across an imaginary line only a ninja who had crossed it multiple times would remember even in the hours just before sunrise. She stumbled to a stop in the knee-high grass, wading through ankle-deep flood waters, stealing herself for what was to come. As much as she wanted to fall to her knees, tilt her head up to face the rain, and not get back up, she couldn’t quit yet.

The three ninja following her burst from the trees behind, lurching to a halt when they realized their front-runner had finally stopped. “Did you find her!” one called out to her, but Sakura didn’t answer as she turned to face them. Sensing a change, one of the ninja suddenly stopped in his tracks and held his arm out to halt the others.

“Araki?” he asked, preventing his team from moving any further toward her as she stood unmoving and waiting for them. Sakura wasn’t intending to suddenly act so predatory, her shift in nature causing them to hesitate like all prey before a hunter, but she was just so tired of pretending. She let the transformation fall away and the girl in the group gasped. Sakura could still sense their confusion, and their assessments of her outfit and headband that mirrored their own was almost painful to watch.

Deciding that the charade was truly well and over, Sakura relieved them of their nervous bewilderment. “Unfortunately, no,” she called back, talking loudly to reach them through the persistent deluge around them.

“I was wondering why he was being so quiet,” one of the male voices answered, pushing forward to stand in front of his teammates. “It’s her. The Haruno girl. She’s in disguise.” Sakura could hear the girl gasp again before she grabbed onto the man’s arm fearfully to pause his advance.

Sakura pressed against the inner-pocket of her jacket, whispering, “Are you still with me, Lady Katusyu?”

“Yes, Sakura dear,” the small slug replied, slithering out to greet her despite the rain. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Hang on tight, then,” came Sakura’s instructions as she tucked her back away. “I’ll be sending more your way soon.”

A laughter broke out near the tree line and Sakura saw one man shove forward, past his concerned and apprehensive teammates. Sakura could make out his flashy, red cloak for the first time now that he was closer in the downpour. “You’ve given us exactly what we wanted—lead us far away where no one can help you, now! I am going to have so much fun beating you within an inch of your life!”

“What are you waiting for, then?” Sakura goaded, pleasantly surprised when the cloaked man rushed forward despite his teammates’ beseeching council.

The man charged at her, sloshing his way through the muddy field, and Sakura let him come, let his momentum carry him face first into the punch she had waiting for him. He sailed backward, right into his other male companion and they skipped like scattered stone across the flooding pasture. Even in the dark, Sakura could see the mud [SR1] that sprayed up around them, covering their once distinguishable features in total blackness. That felt so good. After days of secrecy, disguising her power and identity, the release of her physical abilities was positively glorious. Sakura didn’t have a ton of chakra left at her disposal after her repetitive use of the Summoning Technique, but she had the adequate amount remaining in order to take care of these three and anyone who decided to show up later.

The girl, who had avoided the collision, came for Sakura next, and as she neared, Sakura was able to finally get a decent look at her. Her hair was white beneath her black cloak’s cowl and her brow was adorned with the anti-peace symbol. Sakura wanted to talk to her, ask her opinions and learn her story, investigating her personal vendetta against the peace they had all fought so hard for during the Fourth Shinobi War. The girl quickly began to form the signs for a fire release and Sakura’s eyes widened as the heavy rain suddenly steamed around her as it hit the girl’s body and hissed into hot air. When the floodwaters pooled at Sakura’s feet began to bubble, Sakura cursed as she jumped back and into the air to avoid the boiling water below. At first, Sakura feared that the girl might have the Boil Release Kekkei Genkai, a transformation of water and fire nature energies, but as Sakura began to descend from her fall, the girl met her in the air, and Sakura soon realized that she had a unique fire release that allowed her to direct heat from pinpoints on her body. Sakura’s shielding kick that made contact with the girl’s stomach was instantly scorched through her boot from having touched her, and Sakura hissed.

“Die!” the ninja screamed, grabbing onto Sakura’s calf muscle with both burning hands and swinging her right into the arms of her knife-wielding companion. But Sakura gripped the man’s arms and simultaneously kicked against the girls’ stomach, deeper into her magma flesh, gritting her teeth at the pain, but directing her immense strength into the blow. The girl went sailing into the trees just as the red-coated man had done seconds before this second confrontation. Using the same momentum, Sakura swung up and over her captor’s shoulders, slipping easily from his grasp.

She landed behind him, a dark-haired, broad-shouldered man with silver pupil-less irises that reminded Sakura of the Kazekage. She saw these eyes clearly despite the darkness and the mud smeared across his face practically made them glow. The ninja turned on his heel to intercept her next blow, his knife catching her cheek just before he also received the brunt force of her physical strength.

Sakura could feel the water around her already tenderized ankle start to boil again, and Sakura swore, locating the girl with her eyes. Sakura had to admit that this girl was quite literally making it impossible to remain standing on her own two feet. Even if Sakura summoned chakra to the soles of her feet to walk on the surface of the five inches of saturation, Sakura knew that the water would quickly melt through her stolen shoes completely, so Sakura came up with another solution. She wouldn’t let this girl scald her from a distance; if this fire-nature ninja wanted to land another injury on Sakura, she was going to have to get up close and personal, just as Sakura liked it.

Sakura exhaled when her uninjured hand collided with the ground at her feet. “SHANNARO!” she screamed as the entire landscape fractured beneath her, spiderwebbing across the plain until all the rainwater succumbed to gravity, falling down the sides of new projectiles of earth, and down into the fissures. Sakura perched on top of one of the new pillars like a bird of night, staring down at her three recovered enemies who stared up at her with a new appreciation.

“You bitch,” the female spat up at Sakura, but Sakura ignored her. She fisted the anti-peace forehead protector on her brow and tossed it down to the three of them. She pulled back her hood and looked up into the sky as it fell on her face, the rain fingering her dyed tresses until streaks of black began to run down her chin along with the blood from her sliced cheek. Keeping it always on her person, Sakura reached into her vest and revealed her own shinobi headband, the red one bearing the Leaf Village symbol she had worn as a chunin. She tied it tightly against her forehead and across the back of her ink-dripping crown and thought how fitting it felt to bear her flag now that she was standing in Land of Fire territory. She saw her enemies’ shocked and exchanged expressions when green regenerative chakra began to glow around her knuckles, her cheek, and the various burns on her leg and ankle, healing the damage in seconds.

“You guys didn’t do a lot of research on your target, did you?” Sakura called down to them. She couldn’t understand it, the surprise. If they were not originally from Tanigakure, who had been neutral, that would mean they had all fought together in the war. So how did they not know every detail about Sakura? Sakura began to collect various pieces of information in her brain and a realization formed. Most of the members of this organization that Sakura had encountered in Tanigakure so far had not been overly remarkable. Aside from the shade she went head-to-head with in the sands surrounding Suna, everyone seemed to know the bare minimum of Sakura’s power. They knew of her, but not what she was capable of. In fact, they seemed content to hang back and relish in the fear created by their superiors, and Sakura suddenly realized why some of them might be interested in a world that created bitter and stronger generations to follow them. They were those ninja who hung back during the war, who let others—the strong and fearless—do all the work because they could not; it’s why they wanted to mimic conditions that would create strength in other ninja for them to hide behind. Huh, Sakura thought privately to herself. She wondered who exactly was taking advantage of ninja like this to kill off others who stood in their way. Who exactly was the leader?

“We know enough to kill you,” the silver-eyed one spoke, and his voice was raspy and menacing. Even his voice reminded her of the Kazekage, along with the sand-weilder’s path to redemption, and Sakura tried not to be distracted as she imagined this dark-haired ninja capable of a future where he could redirect his efforts into a righteous cause. This type of thinking, while keeping her intentions toward others good, would cloud her judgement now.

“We have to get information from her first and then deliver her to the boss,” reminded the red cloaked one, whom Sakura had all but forgotten was there after she sent him flying for his bold move to attack first.

The other two swapped looks of apprehension to one another, as if they weren’t sure they were going to be able to restrain and deliver blows to get her to talk, after all. And Sakura smiled because, she too, knew that wasn’t going to be happening.

Sakura’s finger bled once again when she bit back into it, and now that the rain had washed away most of her ivory face paint, the Hundred Healing’s seal spanned out across her forehead in black stripes. It was still activated since her very first summoning of Katsuyu, and Sakura could feel the steady drain of chakra from her body that it was costing her to maintain the states of all her captives where she had reverse summoned them back to Katsuyu’s home in Shikkotsu forest. Since Sakura wasn’t having to heal her horde of hostages, but rather, keep them all in an unconscious state, cryogenized in the chamber of Katsuyu’s flesh, the chakra being loaned to her familiar was a trickle, but it was still depleting her already diminishing levels.

“Are you alright, Sakura dear?” came Katsuyu’s voice from the inside pocket of her vest, the slug sensing her labored breathing and strain on the chakra connection between them.

Sakura nodded, whispering, “Yes. I have a few more summons in me. If more enemies appear here, I might not be able to hold onto the jutsu. The connection will be severed between us. What happens then?”

Katsuyu’s answer came back as a whisper in the relentless pattering of rain against Sakura’s flesh. “It will take them all some time to come out of comatose. When they do, they will have nowhere to go. The Shikkotsu forest is an endless maze of jungle. They’ll be in the same spot when you come for them.”

“Excellent,” Sakura responded, reaching into her waistband, and withdrawing three vials of sedative. Privately and expertly, Sakura filled three needles with the drug and placed each between her teeth until three needles protruded from her mouth like the fangs of a demon. Next, Sakura palmed her bloody hand into the top of the jagged steeple of earth on which she still stood and cried “Summoning Jutsu!” as clearly as she could manage with a mouthful of liquid sleep.

The three human-sized divisions of Katsuyu’s body slithered down the sides of the post and came to a stop when Sakura’s own feet touched level ground once more, the water no longer coagulating around her ankles.

“Here she comes!” shouted the girl, and Sakura smirked as she sprinted straight towards them through the rain, engaging each one in a pirouette of hand-to-hand combat.

Just as Sakura had once fought Sasori’s countless puppets on the end of Lady Chiyo’s chakra threads, Sakura took control of her own strings now and navigated smoothly between her enemies’ strikes like a leaf darting on the wind. Deflect, block, strike, defend, parry, punch. The actions were faster than Sakura could even think of which move to execute next, and she let her muscles act on memory alone.

She could feel the heat of the white-haired girl’s skin every time one of her open-palmed strikes grazed Sakura’s body. She was aiming for the most incapacitating of areas like the eyes, her hands, legs, or any other placement that might cripple Sakura temporarily. But every time the ninja got close to landing a hit on her, the sound of sizzling rain would alert Sakura’s sharp ears to her nearness and Sakura would dodge just in time. Sakura focused on the mud covered, silver-eyed enemy before her, turning to the side to dodge his kunai stab to her stomach. She fisted his own weapon hand with her own and used his own piercing thrust to direct it into the stomach of the red-cloaked shinobi who had come up behind her and fisted her inky, wet hair. She heard his cry at the same moment that the grip on her hair slackened. When the white-haired kunoichi recovered and came at her again, Sakura was ready. Grabbing the silver-haired ninja by the leg as he fell, Sakura swung him like her own weapon, right into the burning arms of his companion. The two of them collapsed into a tangle together, and Sakura’s knee was in the man’s back as she sank his body deeper into the lava skin of the fire-wielding ninja until he began to scream. Sakura used his screams to motivate the white-haired ninja. She would eventually stop her fire-nature jutsu.

Sakura couldn’t risk incinerating the needle, so she waited patiently, yanking out the syringe of her mouth in the meantime. She saw the girl’s eyes widen at the damage she was inflicting upon her partner, and the melting instantly stopped. Sakura plunged the needle into her neck, followed by a dose for the silver-eyed ninja. [SR2] They both fell unconscious against one another, and two of three Katusyus had already crawled to meet them.

When Sakura pulled the last syringe from her mouth and turned to face the red-cloaked man who had been stabbed, she was surprised to find him already standing before her in the darkness. He knocked the syringe out of her hand and seized Sakura’s throat, slamming her against one of the pillars of earth at Sakura’s back. The very blade that had lacerated his stomach was now pointing into her navel, still bloody and dripping from his own injury. Sakura’s next move was going to be to knee him directly where his wound bloomed the same shade as his cloak in order to create a safe space between them again. Even if he managed to cut her open, Sakura would use her Mitotic Regeneration Jutsu to heal herself before the blood loss rendered her unconscious. However, his next words made her reevaluate her actions at the last moment.

“When Mozai finally has his way with you, I’m going to enjoy every minute of it,” he snarled as he pinned her body with his. The knife in his hand dug into her flesh with every word and Sakura hissed at the sudden pain.

As she reached up to push against his hold on her throat, she choked out, “Who’s Mozai? Is he your boss?” She pretended to weaken at his hold. She needed to keep him talking and feeding her the information she wanted.

“Someone who will do a lot worse to you than I’m about to do.” His knife suddenly pulled away from her and began to snake up Sakura’s clothing, cutting a trail of blood up her bare stomach. She gritted her teeth against the pain, holding back the instinct to break the wrist around her throat. If Sakura could just get him back on the topic of her choice.

“He’s nothing without his henchmen. Didn’t you want to know what happened to the others?” she strained to ask next, spluttering the words, trying to regain his attention.

He laughed, a cruel, wicked laugh that reminded Sakura of the deranged Orochimaru. It was the sort of laugh that alerted her to his madness, the deeper and more dangerous kind of madness that a medic such as herself was easily able to recognize no matter how hard one tried to hide it. “He knows where you’ve run off to, and we will find the others soon enough now that I know your pets have taken them.” He pushed harder against her throat and despite her efforts to remain calm and focus, Sakura’s vision still blackened from the lack of oxygen and her grip on him tightened. In that moment, Sakura barely even felt Kaguya’s small body drop from her clothing. With her squinting eyes, Sakura witnessed the small slug make a dash for the syringe that Sakura had dropped earlier. At the same time, she realized that Katsuyu knew that it was their last dose of sedative and the slug wanted to either protect or retrieve it for Sakura.

The rain was still coming down so hard, a shower soaking every inch of Sakura’s newly exposed stomach. It made the knife he was ghosting her skin with wet and slick as it bounced against her skin, causing knicks and superficial lacerations where it touched. Sakura couldn’t tell if she was only feeling the rain, or the trickling of her own blood. Was it pooling at her feet with the man’s own colors of red?

“But he won’t mind if I have my fun with you first before he gets here,” came his thickened voice as he placed the hilt of his kunai between his teeth and replaced the pressure against her stomach with his fingers. They caressed her abdomen, smearing the blood there. Sakura realized in this moment that the game of holding back for information was over.

But before she could act, break his hold on her, and shove him away from her, Sakura’s stomach dropped as her vision came to focus over the man’s shoulder at the shadow that stood there in the rain, red eye flashing as he unsheathed his katana. The rain rendered him nearly invisible in the dark and Sakura sucked in a breath of alarm.

“You’re going to die if you don’t let go,” came Sakura’s hurried warning to the man still inching his hand up her shirt. The vice on Sakura’s throat instantly slackened when a blade came across the man’s throat, not hesitating to sunder the man’s head from his shoulders. Before the damage was inflicted, Sakura’s hand shot out and grabbed Sasuke’s katana just in time, the bite of the blade sliding against the palm of her hand until she stopped its movement completely with her grip. She fisted the quaking blade, and it was immediately abandoned.

Sakura was powerless to stop what happened next. In the very next second, the man was thrown from her, catapulted near across the field as Sasuke pivoted to ram his fist into the side of the man’s face. Sasuke, too, disappeared as he teleported, switching positions with the bloody kunai the man had possessed. Before the kunai stuck true in the grass at Sakura’s feet, the Uchiha was on top of his victim in a millisecond, and Sakura could hear the man’s screams as she ran toward them in the rain, still clutching Sasuke’s katana in a bloody grip.

“Sasuke, don’t!” she screamed, desperate to reach him in time. Sakura soon realized that the distance the man had been sent wasn’t just a coincidence. It served two purposes: to deliver a harder impact, and to generate enough space from Sakura to give Sasuke the extra second of time to exact whatever revenge he had in mind. The kunoichi spared one minute to find Katsuyu, a bright pinpoint of white in the overwhelming darkness. Beneath the slug, lay the last injection of sedative, and she scooped them both up.

“Follow me,” she instructed the last of the three summonings of Katsuyu’s body.

The screaming was Sakura’s only compass in the storm, guiding her to the source of the brutalization. When she finally neared them, two dark obscurities in the night, Sasuke was fisting both of the man’s hands with his single grasp. The black flames of Amaterasu were already ravishing the bones of his ten fingers.

“You seem awfully fond of these hands of yours,” Sasuke sneered, “let’s begin here, shall we?” The flames spread to the man’s palms and then his wrists, a drawn-out creeping of flickering black that couldn’t be anything other than an intentional deliberateness—to maximize the pain of it. The red-cloaked ninja’s screams were louder than any suffering Sakura had ever heard.

The kunoichi could see the smirk on Sasuke’s face as she finally came around to face him, and her stomach turned to ice. Even his words delivered a blow to her heart in a familiar way. It was like the Chunin Exams: the ferocity, the visible fury rolling off of him in waves, the embracing of inner-darkness. Sakura had only ever seen Sasuke resort to methods of torture a few times in her life, and the sight struck such fear into her heart. Don’t you see? She thought to herself at the terrifying vision of the Uchiha stooped over the scorching man. Don’t you see what the price of his love will be?

“Sasuke! Stop! You can’t kill him!” she shouted over the rain and guttural begging, grabbing onto the Uchiha’s clothing, fisting the wet fabric in her fingers. He didn’t budge, just let the fire spread as he watched and drank the pinned man’s screams, as if hearing them would quench a deeply buried thirst.

When Sakura’s immense strength lifted Sasuke to his feet and pulled him away from the man, Sasuke’s leer twisted into a frown and a different sort of fury filled his eyes. As if Sasuke sensed her impending interference and decided to finish the job before she could convince him to stop, the fire erupted over the man’s chest with a quickening ferocity. At his resolve, Sakura panicked, making Sasuke look at her with two palms to his face.

His dead eyes found her, and he spat a response to her previous demand, “He doesn’t get to live.”

The earsplitting screams intensified, and Sakura physically shook Sasuke, but he just glared down at her as the flames resumed their feast upon the man’s vaporizing flesh. “You’re not going to do this. You can’t kill someone because of me. I won’t let you go back to that!”

The words broke Sasuke’s carefully controlled anger. “I have spared hundreds today in your name! If it weren’t for you, they would all be dead. One of them can die, and it’s going to be him.”

“This isn’t who you are anymore!” Sakura shouted, willing her words into a truthful existence. She would hold on to him, the Sasuke she loved. The Sasuke who could see reason, act on ninja principles, and not let his emotions override his judgment. Not anymore. As a last attempt, she added. “You can be merciful. You don’t have to kill unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Sasuke scoffed, choosing not to hide his smoldering ire as he broke eye contact with Sakura in order to survey the damage being done to the man who had attacked her. “It’s necessary.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Sakura demanded, “Spare one more. This is my mission and I need him to live.”

After a moment of deliberation, Sasuke snarled, like an animal being forced to give up its kill, and turned his back to her. With the dying of the Amaterasu, the screams turned into painful whimpers as the man spasmed on the ground.

Sakura knelt beside the man, who now looked at her with desperation in his eyes. A begging for mercy that hadn’t been there earlier, now glistened with tears. “Remember that I spared your life,” Sakura told him, penetrating the vein in his collar with the needle of the syringe. “Maybe one day, a future version of you will deserve it.” The man’s eyelids fell, and even in his unconsciousness, Sakura could sense the relief that came with oblivion. The third slug had appeared by her side, and Sakura watched as Lady Katsuyu began channeling Sakura’s chakra in order to heal the man’s injuries. They were deep, penetrating wounds that would require intensive medical treatment. The draw on Sakura’s reserves zapped her, real fatigue coming over her now.

“I can’t hold the summoning,” Sakura relayed to the two Katsuyus, one small and gliding over Sakura’s shoulder, the other encapsulating the injured man as the creature healed his injuries. She was the first to vanish, just like all those summoned before.

“Don’t worry about me,” came Katsuyu’s small reassuring voice. “I can handle the rest until you arrive. Will you be okay?”

Sakura nodded, “Yes. Thank you, Lady Katsuyu.” With the last of the jutsu released, Sakura exhaled a sigh of relief as the drain on her chakra reserves lessened. She caught her breath, sitting in the muddy grass for a moment.

When she turned to Sasuke, he was standing over her, silently brooding with an emotionless mask slipped back into place.

Sakura wanted to yell at him for his recklessness. For interfering when she was more than capable of handling this herself. “You have potentially jeopardized my mission,” she informed him bitterly, rising to stand toe to toe with him.

He didn’t respond, unmoving as he received her rebuke. Even the rain hailed down on them harder if that were even possible. And then the Uchiha was moving, taking her bloody palm, the hand that had come between Sasuke’s killing blow and his victim, between his fingers. She fisted it rebelliously, stiffening her arm, not quite ready to let her anger go.

And so he grabbed her wrist instead, pulling her with him toward the circumference of trees closest to them.

“I can’t leave,” she protested, digging her heals more firmly into the ground. She became immovable. “More of them could be on their way. I need to intercept them.” Sakura didn’t know how many more there would be, or what she was going to do to incapacitate them now that she was no longer able to summon Katsuyu. She would have to dig deep, fight until she couldn’t stand, pummeling them until she knocked them unconscious.

Still not looking at anything but the wrist in which he gripped as if Sakura could be ripped away at any second, Sasuke confessed. “Every person who was headed in this direction in pursuit of you tonight was handled. I shoved each of them into another dimension.”

Sakura’s eyebrows rose as she stared at him speechlessly. For the first time since she observed him, Sakura noticed his heavy breathing. His Rinnegan eye was closed and the Sharingan deactivated, and Sakura recognized the tell of his exhaustion. He had overexerted himself, definitely a sign that he really had transported an unknown number of men through his Rinnegan’s portal tonight.

“At least for now, let’s get out of this rain,” he told her. “There’s a place not far from here.”

Sakura pulled her hand free from his grasp and Sasuke didn’t move to take it again, accepting and mirroring her own frustration. After a moment, he turned, and Sakura followed the coiled back of the Uchiha into the shelter of the trees, allowing him to lead her from the battlefield.

#naruto #ssfanfiction #naruto fanfiction #sakura hiden #sakura haruno #sakura uchiha #approaching sun #narutoshippuden #naruto gaiden #approachingsun #sasusakufanfiction #sasusaku

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dreamersbcll · 7 months

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“You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding”

- whumptober, prompt no. 27

(hey. let me see. show me)

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There wasn’t a word for this feeling.

Doubt, maybe. Fear worked as well. Terror mostly.

But nothing quite like the word desperation would sum up this feeling.

Sam wasn’t an idiot. She knew that getting clean wouldn’t be a linear journey. Fuck, she had gone through this process at least four times, but she thought that it would be easier knowing that she was five years clean now.

Naturally, she was dead wrong.

It started slowly, like most things did. She would find herself staring at the liquor aisles in the grocery store just a little too long. It became increasingly more difficult to ignore the smell of alcohol at the restaurant she worked at, and her mouth watered more frequently. The itching started within a week of the first liquor aisle stare down, and it didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop scratching. It was a consistent itch all over her body, and her nails couldn’t dig deep enough into her skin. Long scratches stretched across her skin, open cuts ripping each time she flexed her muscles. Weirdly, it felt good to bleed, and the pain kept her alert and aware of her surroundings.

Sobriety was a fickle thing. Just because Sam was years sober, it still was an untamed beast slumbering in the pit of her stomach. When it was ready to wake, it clawed up her body and sat in her throat, begging her to give in.

Nothing would taste better than a drink. She didn’t care if it was cold or lukewarm, fuck; she would even drink a hot swallow of alcohol. Anything to numb the terror that sat in her body.

Once it got to the point that she couldn’t stand the smell of cleaning products anymore, she knew she was fucked. It wasn’t long ago that she was taking swallows of Lysol just to tamp down the desperation tearing her apart. She wasn’t proud of it, not by a long shot, but at least everything went silent.

That’s what alcohol was, anyway. It's a way to turn down the volume and make everything tolerable. She could think clearly and make (what she felt were) rational decisions.

But she knew better now. She knows that drinking was only the start of a tumultuous period that would ultimately end with her death.

(Sam had promised herself that if she ever drank again, she would ensure it was her last time on earth. She couldn’t risk breaking her sobriety and living on to try again. She didn’t want to try again. She was so tired).

Instead, Sam stood in the mirror, letting the dim lights in the bathroom light up her reflection. She stared deep into those dark eyes, noticing how gaunt and desperate they looked.

Just give us a taste, Sam. One sip. One swallow. Give us a chance. We’re starving. Please.

“You can’t, You can’t,” she shakily whispered, her hands shaking against the porcelain sink.

Her reflection stared back, the person in the mirror cocking her head. Sam knows that person well. She knows what they’re capable of, and she knows what they want. Death and destruction were sewn into her bloodline, always there, always begging. All she wanted to do was to give in and dig up the bottle she had hidden in the back of the pantry.

Tara didn’t know about that bottle. Tequila. Sam’s vice. She had bought it on a stormy night and stayed up all night staring at the bottle. She watched the glass glisten in the moonlight, afraid to move. If she moved before daylight, she indeed would’ve succumbed to its silent pleas.

That was two months ago. She should’ve known the downfall was coming. She has an addiction, for Christ's sake. It never ended. The battle was continuous, and she couldn’t lay her armor down. For if she did, she would make sure that she died in battle, leaving Tara to pick up the sword and too-big armor to fight her own demons.

Sam couldn’t have that.

So she fought.

Breathing deeply, Sam swallowed, her mouth dry. She could feel a wave of nausea rolling through her stomach, the monster in her throat cackling at her weakness.

She looked into the mirror, pleading to the reflection. “You don’t need this. You don’t. Stop, just, please. Stop.”

Her reflection didn’t care. It took what it pleased and offered nothing in return. It wanted to destroy every single achievement and chip she had ever earned, all for the sake of a drink.

Pathetic. A servant to the drink. Absolutely pathetic.

“Stop, stop, please. Please stop. I’m good. I’ve been good. Please,” she begged, her nails scratching against the smooth porcelain.

She closed her eyes tightly, shakily breathing out. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice cracking.

Before her reflection could answer, the door slowly swung open, creaking on its hinges. Sam didn’t dare to turn around, afraid that if she left her reflection alone, she would end up with a bottle in her hand and swaying on the top of a bridge.

“Sam?” the voice whispered. Tara.

Sam screwed her eyes shut tight and tried to loosen her grip on the sink. It didn’t matter what she did, as she still looked insane, staring at the bathroom mirror in the middle of the night.

“Hey, Tara. Go back to bed, baby. I’ll be there at some point.”

Instead of turning around and leaving, Tara stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowed, and her eyebrows furrowed—her thinking face.

“Are you having… a moment?” Tara said slowly, carefully, as if Sam was diffusing a bomb.

In a way, she was.

Chuckling, Sam flexed her fingers, wincing at the stiffness. “Yeah, something like that. It’s fine, I’m fine. It’s all good,” she said nonchalantly.

Naturally, Tara saw right through her. “Are you seeing him again? Do you need your medications?”

Sam flinched at the mention of her father, noticeable enough for Tara to cock her head at the action. It had been a while since Sam had seen Billy. It seemed like her demons took a turn torturing her into submission, as right now, she was fighting the urge to break her clean streak. Delightful.

Breathing out, Sam opened her eyes, staring at her reflection. “Uh, no. Not him. It’s something else.”

Tara hummed in response and slowly walked behind Sam, her steps purposeful and loud enough not to spook her big sister. She got behind Sam, her reflection peeking out beside Sam’s. Unlike Sam’s shell-shocked face, Tara looked puzzled, her eyes tinged with somber emotion. Sam shook her head slightly, knowing she was caught.

She might as well come clean now. “I'm afraid, Tara,” she forced out, the words foreign on her tongue.

Her little sister cocked her head, her mouth downturned in a frown. “What are you afraid of, Sam? I'm here,” she paused, thinking over her words. “Show me, Sam. Show me.”

Sam bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood. “It’s in the pantry downstairs behind the rice and beans. It’s in that silver bag, the one I told you was a gift for Danny,” she whispered.

Without a second thought, Tara breezed out of the bathroom and went downstairs. Sam’s arms ached as she held onto the sink, but she didn’t move. She watched her reflection as she listened to Tara’s footsteps. The downstairs light flickered on, and the pantry door swung open.

Tears started to stream down Sam’s face, hot, embarrassed tears. She could hear Tara rummage through the dry food, and the bag's crinkling signified the end of her hunt. Sam bit down on her tongue, letting blood pool in her mouth, the metallic tang keeping her steady. Her tears of shame dripped onto her hands, making her grip slippery. It didn’t matter. Tara knew now.

She listened as her little sister made her way up the stairs, the silver bag crinkling as she walked. Sam closed her eyes tightly as Tara walked back into the bathroom, holding the one thing that would take Sam away from her.

Tara sighed at the state of her sister’s tear-stained face, her heart breaking in two as she saw the blood-stained corners of her mouth downturned. “Oh, Sam. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sam laughed a bit, opening her eyes and watching the reflection of Tara taking the bottle out of the bag, her little sister’s face falling. Despite the anguish on Tara's face, Sam licked her lips, letting the blood paint her skin. Her mouth watered as the bottle gleamed in the light, and her heart raced. It was so close, within arm’s length. She could snatch it and down it within a couple of minutes.

Not taking her eyes off Tara’s grip on the bottle, Sam spoke carefully. “It’s not what I do, Tara. I suffer in silence. If I do it loudly, I’ll lose control. I can’t—fuck. I need it,” she whimpered, her hands slipping on the sink.

She loosened her grip, ready to turn around and snatch the bottle from her sister. If she did it quickly, she could lock herself in the spare room and let herself disappear.

But Tara was always a few steps ahead of her.

Before Sam could turn around, Tara had already unscrewed the bottle and poured it into the sink. Wide-eyed and bordering on a massive panic attack, Sam watched as her sister poured all her desires down the toilet, flushing it until the room stopped smelling like death.

“I— what the hell? Why, Tara? Why?” she cried, watching Tara cap the bottle and set it on the bathroom tile.

In a swift motion, Tara crossed the floor and pried Sam’s hands off the sink. Her little sister took Sam’s hands, firmly holding on as if Sam was about to bolt. She looked into her sister’s eyes deeply, digging her nails into Sam’s skin.

The pain felt so damn good, and it kept her awake. Sam matched Tara's breathing, following as her sister breathed in and out, her eyes never wavering from Sam’s.

Once she caught her breath, Tara loosened her grip and cupped Sam’s face with her hands. There, Tara searched Sam’s eyes, watching Sam’s every move. Still full of slight rage and overwhelming confusion, Sam stayed silent.

“I can’t have you leaving me again. I won’t allow it. I know you’re struggling; I’ve seen it for days. That-” she said, pointing towards the empty bottle. “That is just a way to torture yourself. Not anymore.”

Tara pulled her big sister into a tight hug. Sam sank into her embrace, tears of embarrassment soaking into Tara’s t-shirt. Her little sister hummed, swaying the two back and forth. Once she felt Sam limp like a rag doll in her arms, Tara spoke again.

“I’m here. It’s time for you to get your shit together. You’re five years clean. I’m not letting you throw that away for a drink. I’m here. Let's get through this together, yeah?” she soothed, rocking the two back and forth.

Sam nodded against her embrace, kissing her sister’s shoulder.

She didn’t take her eyes off the bottle until Tara dragged her out of the room.

They smashed it on the sidewalk the very next day. As they watched the glass explode across the pavement, Sam could feel herself breathe again.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #whumptober2023 #let me see #ao3 author #scream vi

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beesinspades · 4 months

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Happy New Year, the seventh chapter of my Creechur Vash canon divergence fic is up! In this chapter, we're dealing with the aftermath of....all that.

Tags and summary for the whole fic below!

Current Total Word Count: 39.7k

Pairing: Nicholas D. Wolfwood/Vash the Stampede Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Biblically accurate Vash, but make him even more beastly, (for better or worse the author drew him so you can get an idea), Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Vash the Stampede Has an Eating Disorder, Purring Vash the Stampede, No TriMax Spoilers, Wing Grooming, Major Character Injury

Chapters: 7/11

Summary:

Months after the July disaster, Wolfwood is asked by a small town to kill the monster that lives in the vestiges of an old ship. Although he refuses, a little girl's plea not to hurt her friend sends him on a new course—not knowing the beast he'll find in the wreckage might be more than he bargaine

#trigun #vashwood #trigun fanfiction #beelio writes #four chapters to goooo

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birgittesilverbae · 11 months

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mmm what about parallels and beatrice caught in an explosion, exhausting the halo so shannon has to crawl through the smoke and debris. turning her over with a ringing in her ears (a tolling of church bells, a call to prayer, to please please please be alright).

bea’s face painted in concrete dust. a bloom of red around her body like hibiscus flowers in summer, a younger beatrice picking them and tucking them into shannon’s duffel. a silent plea for when she’s away, invisible, ducking bullets and blades - ‘think of me. come back to me.’

wiping the blood off her face with the edges of her palms, feeling for breath. climbing onto her knees, bent over bea with head bowed, shoulders hunched and stretching the halo scar on her back. the others are coughing, retching in the aftermath, but shannon’s still got a streak of strength in her. or an inuredness to pain.

tracing her hands over bea’s abdomen, a sob breaking through her lips like a sprinter from the starting line when she feels it move. internal things spurting up onto her downturned palms. the halo a loose pealing of illumination. she thinks of lighting votive candles and the match burning until it almost touches her fingers, but this time she can’t let go.

unbuckling the brace of knives, hands shivering with adrenaline as she sets it gently aside. the ground is fluted with blood, like those paintings you make by flicking the brush against canvas. there’s metal, too. pronged and twisted into shapes meant to sink inside a body and grip.

shrapnel designed to do more damage on the way out. just like the halo.

peeling up bea’s shirt she can see the ruin of her stomach, the places where her ribs are shattered so the wounds contain explosions of bone. her skin shines with it, halo light and the daylight creeping through the cloud of smoke and dust. sounds of fighting, far away, orbiting this scene that feels painted, but wrong. the colours are too precise, too easy to pick out the cadmium, all the reds bursting out at her.

sometimes in mixing paint you put a little blue into the colour of blood, to make the reds more vivid. the sword lies a hand’s breadth from bea’s fingers and it glows. too much blue so the reds feel muddled, nonsensical.

a hand on her shoulder and she cries out without her own permission.

it’s mary. she’s got a cut on her brow and her eyes are fixed on bea. questions, strung in the air between them.

numbly, shannon reaches up and tries to click her fingers. they’re wet so it’s a pale sound, and anyway she doesn’t hear it. she tries speaking, to tell mary that she was too close to the explosion, earplugs still intact but she can’t make out language over the ringing.

and what does it matter? she paws at mary’s arm, pulling it down towards bea. she’s still unconscious but the halo’s shining out through the wounds. too weak to displace the metal.

‘help me,’ shannon says. hopes she says. there are girls making a perimeter around them, and now the pool under bea’s body is touching her knees. when shannon touches her, she’s growing cold.

puncture wounds are always bad. the halo won’t shut around foreign objects and it’s spent from pulling bea’s organs back together.

they kneel side-by-side. her hands are steadier now, as the ringing in her ears turns to keening, and the hum of mary’s voice breaks through like water lapping back into a tide pool, carrying stranded things back out to sea.

she steadies mary’s hands, speaking low.

god i hope you can hear me

they do it together. it’s messy, violent, pulling the shrapnel out. sounds like unplugging drains, or dipping a brush into a tub of paint. but when the metal comes out the wounds seal behind them. it’s not divinium - and by the end shannon’s crying from that fact. it’s just metal. warm and slippery and sharp in her palms.

but all the shrapnel comes out, and nobody dies.

they lift her up when she’s stable. stomach unmarred, drenched in blood. one on either side, their hands linking at the small of bea’s back, each holding one of her arms. her boots drag on the ground, painting a wending brushstroke of blood in their wake.

in the van, using the wet wipes to clean her face, her eyelashes, so that they don’t stick together when bea wakes up and sees them both, halo manifesting a glow around her like it wants to remind them what she is.

low, tired. ‘what happened?’

shannon feels mary’s hand tighten around hers. she smiles. it’s unconvincing.

‘that bad?’

mary runs her thumb over bea’s brow. ‘it was pretty bad.’

they believe in honesty. but honesty hurts.

‘sorry.’

no, shannon thinks, i’m sorry.

everything that happens to you now is my fault.

#fucked around and found out #again #ask #'anon'#babea au #warrior nun #mywn #i am a broken shell of a man #long post

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tojisun · 5 months

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Sun!, I would like to start by saying that I greatly admire your talent and ability to write. The way you are able to create stories, is simply fascinating. Every word you put on paper seems to have a unique intensity and depth. Your writing conveys such strong and immersive emotions that it feels like I can feel every feeling, every shiver, and every moment of tension. It's incredible how you capture these elements and convey them in such a vivid and impactful way.

One Of The Girls reminds me of the early stages of the reader's 'relationship' with toxic!biker!simon. Where the reader wants to be one of the girls and fully immerse themselves in Simon's life, even if it's just scraps of an unhealthy love (that never was).

Daylight, oh my God, it's the mid-stage, where the reader is not just with Simon because of his looks... But because she loves him, but at the same time she discovers how much he harms her, but she doesn't want to leave him, she can't, because she always goes back.

Elastic Heart is their final stage in the relationship... As you yourself said, sun, my sunshine. The reader will have a happy ending, but not with Simon. It's when she will realize that their "Relationship" was never so healthy.

So, sun!, look, my future husband, Leon Kennedy. Shhhh... Simon can't know-. But I've already moved on from toxic!biker!Simon-.

This is my husband, my current obsession, the muscles-.

oh my god mocha?? thank you so much for such kind words– im genuinely melting, giggling underneath my blanket and kicking my legs because of how thoughtful and kind this!! because of how thoughtful and kind you are!! im seriously speechless, unable to think past the giddiness rushing through me like, thank you again sweet luv <33

i am so so happy that u enjoy my works! that somehow, along my ramblings and run-ons, i was able to convey the emotions of a specific scene/fic :’> im glad that u get to enjoy interpreting it too!! (especially because biker!simon became such an endearing group project that i adore. i get so heart-achingly happy when i see ur guys’ asks n links n tags!!!)

time for the songs:

OH MY GOD??? ONE OF THE GIRLS BEING READER BEGGING SIMON FOR A SCRAP OF HIS AFFECTION – “we don’t gotta be in love / i don’t gotta be the one / i just wanna be one of the girls tonight” – OH I AM UNWELL!! and the way the song fully presents their ‘relationship’: how it’s a plea from the reader, how she tries finding love from him in something thats only physical and ephemeral, how he extends an inkling affection only to pull away and leave her with nothing. again.

(heaving so bad rn)

I DIDNT EXPECT DAYLIGHT TO BE PART OF THE TOXIC BIKER SERIES BUT I SEE IT SO CLEARLY!! “oh i love it and hate it at the same time” – the way she knows their arrangement is harmful to her, and the way she knows it’s laughable and pathetic how she’s always the one doing the running and waiting, but she can’t stop because when simon calls her, sometimes she thinks it’s love. AND the part that goes “hiding all of our sins from the daylight / … / you and i drink poison from the same vine” SHOWING THE WAY SIMON NEVER BRINGS HER TO HIS HOME. AND HOW SIMON, for all his tomfoolery and bitching, GRAVITATES TOWARDS HER. HOW HE COMES BACK TO HER TOO.

(im probably gonna gnaw my lip off at this point from how much im biting)

SIA AND ELASTIC HEART IS ALSO SMTHN I DIDNT EXPECT IN THE ROSTER AND YET IT MAKES SENSE HOLY SHIT. “you did not break me (but) i’m still fighting for peace” IS READER WHEN SHE MET PRICE HELLO? the way she was hesitant to trust him. hesitant to like him because she thought, ‘not again’. but then price shows her how it is to be loved. to be prioritized. to be cared for. and yeah she starts letting go of simon and starts forging a relationship with price and!!! SHE WILL BE HAPPY I PROMISE.

(i feel like a marionette. untethered and floaty because this whole.. meta? is so fucking good oh my god)

THATS LEON KENNEDY? UM. THE ARMS? THE CHEST?? THE HARNESS??? THE HAIR????

pause.

THE BIKE?????

somethings shifting in my brain hold on hold on hold on hol

#mocha172 #ask #mocha my love thank you again for such kind words #im. i cant fathom the kindness u (guys) extend to me but im so so thankful all the time #take care my love <33 #biker!simon

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valphorien · 28 days

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What Hand Dare Seize the Fire? | Chapter 2

A witch's magic calls to demons, and demons bring destruction. When Elain Archeron is sentenced to burn for the crime of witchcraft, a demon named Lucien saves her from the flames and binds her life to his in an unholy pact.

Elain can accept losing her soul to a demon - she's far more frightened of losing her heart.

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

Chapter 2:

“This was not what I’d intended,” the demon said. “I expected I’d have to steal you, not save you.”

When the door opened at last, there was no glow of daylight to greet her, but the burning hues of sunset ringing Graysen’s silhouette. His father, Lord Nolan, followed him into the shed with a lantern held aloft.

“Graysen–” Elain’s parched throat constricted around the name, so it came out as little more than a croak.

But Graysen only stood beside her and pointed to her bound hands. His father lowered the lantern. Elain craned her neck back in time to see her future father-in-law shake his head grimly.

Standing, Lord Nolan said to his son, “Are you sure?”

“What other choice do we have?”

They spoke of Elain as if she wasn’t there, or as if she was livestock to be bartered over. Her gaze darted back and forth between the two men.

“Banishment? Although… that is no guarantee.”

“That is my fear. Banish her to the wilds, and she’ll be ensnared by the demon anyway, and they have one more servant for their army.”

“Or she moves on to another town, and we pass off the danger to other innocents.” Lord Nolan heaved a sigh and gripped his son by the arm. “I only wish to spare you the pain. You need not watch. No one will think less of you.”

Graysen shook his head. “No. No, I will do what I must.”

Elain surged forward, but the rope held fast. “Can’t you remove the mark? There has to be a way!” She’d lived in their home for months. She was to be their family, and neither man would look her in the eye. “I’ll cut my hand off if I have to!”

“Even if we could remove the demon’s mark, we cannot make it forget. A demon has claimed you, and demons will not stop until they get what they want.” Graysen’s icy mask slipped with a curl of his lip. “You drew it here.” He met her gaze at last, and Elain wished he hadn’t. “How long have you known you are a witch? How long have you hid it from me?”

Shame smoldered in the pit of Elain’s stomach. She’d never rehearsed for this moment, convinced that so long as she was careful, she’d have no need for excuses. She would’ve happily taken the secret of her magic to the grave. Now with Graysen staring down at her, hate and hurt burning in his eyes, all manner of lies and pleas tangled her tongue.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” was all she could manage.

“So you lied to me instead?” he roared, fists clenched at his sides. Elain recoiled; he’d never raised his voice to her before. “You put everyone in this village at risk?”

“But I never use magic, today was the first time in–”

“It doesn’t matter if you use it! Demons can smell a witch from miles away! You might’ve hidden it from us, but you can’t hide from a demon.”

“Enough,” said Lord Nolan to his son. “There is only one thing left to do.”

“Graysen,” she whimpered.

Her fiance cut the ropes and hauled her to her feet. With their faces close, as close as they’d been when he’d made love to her last night, he hissed, “Magic is a sickness.”

He shoved her out of the shed. As she stumbled out into a world ablaze with the red clouds of sunset, she realized a crowd had gathered on the manor grounds.

Graysen’s solemn voice continued behind her: “And fire is the cure.”

Elain turned and ran.

But Graysen and his father were waiting, and they each seized one of her elbows and lifted her off the ground. She kicked and flailed and screamed, but she was no match for the two men. Over her shoulder, she saw a hastily-built platform, and rising above it, lit like a beacon by the last rays of daylight, a tall, wooden pole. A nest of hay and firewood lay at its base.

After tossing her into the shed, Graysen had taken the time to construct a pyre, only a few yards away from the garden Elain had been cultivating for months. He’d done it before asking her for an explanation, before speaking to her at all.

“Please,” Elain wept, “please don’t do this.”

They pulled her onto the platform, and she once again felt the rough drag of ropes around her wrists. Her feet sank into a pile of hay, stabbed from all sides by sharp twigs. She whimpered, “Don’t do this,” over and over again until the words dissolved into sobs.

Graysen appeared before her again. Someone had given him a torch. The dancing flames cast eerie shadows over his handsome face, twisting it into something more suited to the hatred it bore.

Breathless from her sobs, Elain strained towards him. “I love you!” A gasp, a plea.

She thought she saw a flicker of pain pass over his face, but it may have only been a trick of the flame. “You know why I have to do this,” he whispered. “I won’t let the demons turn you into a weapon.”

He lowered the torch. Elain screamed.

The heat of the flame licked towards Elain’s feet, but then the flame drew back as if struck by a gust of wind. She watched as the fire leapt from the torch and shot like an arrow into the crowd. People screamed and scattered, and the ball of flame spun in quick orbit around the only man who had not fled.

In the bloodred twilight, the spinning fire gave Elain glimpses of the man’s features: blazing hair, brown skin, a web of scars bursting from an eye that gleamed gold. Lips pulled back into a smirk that revealed an unnaturally long and sharp tooth, which he drew his tongue across.

He was too far away and too dimly lit for Elain to see his other eye, but she knew what it looked like. Fear and fury twined deep in her stomach.

His gaze never left Elain’s as he ambled forward. “You humans do love to complicate matters.” He lifted his hand and twirled it, and the flame drifted up to circle his long, slender fingers.

“Demon,” Graysen gasped.

The stranger gave a wry smirk. “Astute observation.”

Lord Nolan recovered more quickly than his son, calling out to the crowd, “To arms, men!”

“There’s no need for such dramatics.” With a flick of his wrist, the flame darted to the ground and raced along the grass, drawing a large semicircle around the demon. Wherever the fire went, it grew into a wall of flame that blocked the demon from view of the mob. All the while, his gaze stayed locked onto Elain. “I’ve no interest in your sad, backwater village.” He bent into an elegant bow. The light of the surrounding flames made the shades of his hair seem to flow like a molten river as it swept over his shoulder.

When he straightened, he gave Elain a smile she might’ve called charming, if not for the fang it revealed, or the hellfire glow rimming his golden eye. He looked so normal: no horns, no claws, no cloven hooves. But those eyes burned through her, tore deeper than flesh, deeper than the hate roiling in her heart. He pulled at her in a way that could only be by infernal design. “I am here for my witch and nothing less.”

Elain’s breaths came out in shallow rasps. She clenched her fists, still bound behind her back, as she glared down at the smirking demon, the beast draped in a human guise. It was only the distance between them that kept her from spitting at him. My witch, he’d called her. As if she belonged to him. As if with that bite, he’d claimed her. Yet even as her lip curled, his earlier words thrummed in her memory. She spoke through gritted teeth, “You would leave this village alone?”

He placed a hand over his chest–did he even have a heart there? “You have my word. Come with me, and I will leave this village and all its inhabitants unharmed.”

Her shoulders slumped. Demons could not lie. They found other ways to deceive–disguising themselves, for example–but if he said he would leave the village unharmed, that, at least, she could accept. If she could save the innocents of this village–save Graysen–at least she’d be damned for a noble cause.

“All right,” Elain breathed. “All right, I’ll go with you, just… leave this place in peace.” She dragged her gaze over to Graysen, to the future she could’ve had. “Graysen, I…”

Graysen slowly turned to face her. “I won’t let him have you.”

She gave a laugh of relief before her breath was stolen by a burst of pain. Her giddy smile began to fade as she looked down to where Graysen had rammed a dagger into her stomach.

Heat blasted her face. She looked up when she heard Graysen gasp, and there on the platform before them was the demon–the true demon. Horns of amber iridescence curled above his fiery hair, framing that same handsome face now twisted in rage. The hand that had so idly toyed with fire wrapped around Graysen’s neck.

Lord Nolan lunged, but without looking, the demon used his free hand to seize the man’s outstretched arm and flung him from the platform. Pinpricks of blood trailed down Graysen’s neck as the demon tightened his grip.

“Such arrogance,” the demon snarled. He lifted Graysen into the air and brought his face close, baring his fangs. “I’ll rip that dark heart from your chest.”

An awful sound gurgled in Graysen’s throat, and the demon reared back his free hand, readying his claws to strike.

“Stop!” A gout of blood muffled Elain’s scream, but it was enough to catch the demon’s attention. Those eyes of gold and russet locked onto her. The demon dropped Graysen like he was a sack of grain. He raised a leg–covered in fur the same red as his hair–and slammed his cloven hoof down onto Graysen’s stomach.

Elain’s legs buckled. Gasping, she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain shooting through her.

With a snap, the ropes fell from her wrists. She crumpled but did not hit the ground, collapsing instead into a pair of strong arms. Light flared against her shut eyes, the wooden platform fell away beneath her, and Elain surrendered to oblivion.

—

The screams and the roaring flames were silenced all at once, replaced by crickets, rustling leaves, and a hooting owl. Beneath the agony, Elain felt a dim sense of relief. Better to die out here in the woods, where she could weep and wail with no witnesses but the trees.

Then she felt claws digging into her arms, and she realized she was not alone at all.

She opened her eyes to find the demon frowning over her. She thought he would’ve dumped her in the woods, disposing of a failed investment. Instead, he held her tight and lowered her to the ground. When he settled her into his lap, Elain didn’t have the energy to be horrified. His body was hot as a furnace, and she couldn’t stop shivering.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he murmured with surprising solemnity. His claws brushed sweat-slick hair from her brow. Elain should have recoiled, should have screamed; but it took all her strength not to whimper at the gentle touch. It hurt, the endless waves of pain spiraling out from her stomach, almost as potent as the despair in her heart. Graysen had killed her. He saw that she was damned and chose to damn her further. He’d not even bothered to fight for her.

“This was not what I’d intended,” the demon continued. “I expected I’d have to steal you, not save you.”

Through gritted teeth, she rasped, “You did this.”

She recognized the fox in that gaze, yet beneath the keen curiosity there lurked a spark of desperation. “Yes, I did.”

His arms still wrapped around her, he lifted both hands and sank a claw into his palm. As the blood trailed down his hand, he said, “I do hope you’ll live to make me regret it.”

Elain’s vision blurred. Her eyes drifted closed, but the demon shook her back to consciousness.

“Bind yourself to me, Elain Archeron!” He did not raise his voice, but it lost its gentleness. “Draw on my life force. If you survive, you’ll have as long as you need to plot your revenge on me. Accept this bond, and I swear no man nor beast like me will ever harm you again.”

Elain could not say why she did it. It was not that she trusted him, nor did she understand him. A demon was blasphemy made flesh, yet even as he gripped her arm, his claws did not slice her clothes. It may have only been that she wanted the pain to stop. Or perhaps it was that no one’s gaze had ever pierced her so thoroughly, made her feel so bare, and she refused to let him get away with it. Maybe it was only that the shade of his glimmering amber horns made her yearn for just one more sunrise.

Whatever the reason, she used the last of her strength to take his wrist and pull it close, until his blood warmed her lips. The demon’s golden eye flared like the sun cresting the horizon. Elain parted her lips. She gasped as the blood seared her tongue.

“Shh.” The demon turned his hand to brush his fingertips down her cheek, resting them beneath her jaw as he kept his open wound at her mouth. “Relax. Let it in.”

His voice rumbled down to the base of her spine. Like too-hot tea, the blood burned all the way to her stomach, and there it smoldered–and soothed. The heat dimmed to a warmth that radiated down to her toes, and her shuddering limbs relaxed. Elain surged forward with newfound strength, lapping her tongue across the demon’s hand.

The demon traced the claw of his thumb featherlight across her brow. “Good girl,” he murmured, “you’re doing well.” She caught sight of a fang as he seemed to cringe. Draw on my life force. Is that what it meant to accept a demon pact? That he could use his energy to grant her life? To grant her power?

But Elain did not dwell on that. There was no room for rational thought. She sucked down the demon’s blood with the frenzy of an animal escaping death. All the while, he bowed over her and whispered praise and soothing words, even as his voice grew more strained.

When he pulled his hand away at last, Elain cried out at the loss. She found herself licking stray blood from her lips. The pain was gone, but her strength was short-lived. Her limbs grew heavy, and her head rolled back to rest upon the demon’s arm.

“Sleep now, my dear.”

“Who are you?” She’d wanted the words to be accusatory, suspicious, wrathful; but all she could manage was a tired mumble.

The demon cocked his head. A beam of moonlight streaked white around the first curve of his left horn. “My name is Lucien.”

“Lucien.” Her eyelids fluttered closed. “I hate you.”

He chuckled at her declaration, which might’ve offended her, if she had the capacity to feel anything but exhaustion. Before blissful darkness settled over her, she thought she felt a claw tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

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