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buzzingroyalty · 5 months ago

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how to grub your karkat

or you can use this for any other plush or if you wanna make a whole new plush entirely or whatever

disclaimer im not a professional in any sense of the word and theres anything technical im doing wrong or you think you can do it better by all means dont hold back

Things you’ll need

sewing machine unless youre really dedicated but doing it by hand is gonna be an agonizing feat i promise. I just used a straight stitch for everything

Fabrics: for the main body i suggest a minky or something soft, for the inner lining something in the same color as the main body and ideally with some stretch, and anything black for the legs. Less than a yard of each will do

if youre using minky or anything furry get a lint roller. Trust me

stuffing, i used polyfil

threads that match your fabrics

good fabric scissors

sewing needle for hand sewing/fixes

karkat plush (optional)

Heres the pattern i came up with! They are numbered for your convenience and pieces with the same numbers are going to be part of the same row of segments. cut everything out on the black lines (Make sure when you’re printing to fit the image to the page size.) on the left we have the belly pieces, the right is the main body, and we have the foot in between

Im using a relatively thin minky fabric, im sure you can use whatever but something with some fluffiness kinda helps to mask any imperfections in the sewing. When drawing out your patterns keep in mind what direction your fibers settle in and try to keep it consistent

On the wrong side of the fabric measure out at least a half inch seam allowance around each piece of the pattern, i used a centimeter and that worked but had me sweatin a bit.

For the main body pieces fold your fabric in half before you cut so you can have 2 of each segment that are mirrored to each other, i also extended all of the #1 pieces an additional centimeter/half inch at the top so we can fold them over at the very end. I highly suggest numbering the insides of all the cut pieces, especially in a way where you will remember what direction they are each meant to sit

After you’ve numbered all your pieces, set them aside and start making your feet!

Each of the 6 legs is made of two pieces, but i because i only had a swatch of the black minky i made up for the rest with some random black scrap fabric from an old project. Try to keep your fabric consistent if you can lol

I didnt give these pieces any more seam allowance on the fabric but i recommend adding a centimeter or half inch to the base of it to extend the length and have some more wiggle room

like so

Instead of cutting out 12 individual pieces and struggling to stitch them all together i started with 6, then pinning each piece real tight with the right/furry side down onto my secondary fabric, and slowly stitching around the shape real close to the edges- DO NOT CLOSE THE FLAT SIDE as we are going to stuff the feet through here

Now cut the shape out of the fabric and repeat till you have 6 feet

Now flip those bad boys inside out, stuff up, and if you wanna you can match them to their best pairs

now grab a pair of feeties and your #1 pieces and line them up, in this picture my belly #1 piece is shorter bc i forgot to add the extra centimeter and i recut that once i realized. Line those sides up with the right/furry parts touching and with the feet in between, flip it around to make sure everything's sitting the way you want it

Note. i didnt realize until later but i sewed my feet in upside down. save yourself the time it takes to fix it and dont make the same mistake

Straight stitch these layers together and repeat with the next two segments our good friends #2 & #3

Repeat this for the #2 and #3 sections but NOT THE #4, that part doesnt need feet! just line those edges up right/furry sides together and sew

the secret to the squish of the suit is making this inner lining from another fabric and stuffing it! I used what i had leftover from a stretchy red fabric for a kanaya skirt. For this we need to make a new pattern for each section, making sure it follows the curve of the round edge but the piece itself is shorter, almost like youre removing the seam allowance you added. Mine is a centimeter shorter on the top and on the bottom and reaches to the middle

Make one of these for each numbered segment,you only need to make half the pattern and you can fold your fabric in half on a crease and you end up with one symmetrical piece (bars)

Now you need to pin these pieces right on top of the wrong side of your numbered furry sections and line up the straight edges like so (disclaimer for LOTS OF SCARY NEEDLES !!)

Admittedly i didnt estimate how long these pieces needed to be very accurately and overshot it a bit, if you start pinning it from the middle and continue outwards on either side thatll ensure its not too lose and you can cut off any excess after

The only exception is piece #1, if you recall we gave this #1 section extra seam allowance. This is so we can sew down that excess at the neck later and hide any of the inside that might show once its all put together. Do not connect the top edge to the inner lining! Since i added an extra centimeter earlier im gonna leave that hanging and pin + sew down the inner lining a centimeter lower than the top edge. LEAVE THE CURVED EDGES OPEN! DONT SEW THEM TOGETHER! those stay open to stuff

Straight stitch the lined up edges together

Now you have all these skinned pieces of little freak and we need to connect all these segments together making sure to sew UNDER the existing stitches so we dont see those on the outside when its all put together

Inside looks like a bit of a mess but thats fine bc its not the part that matters

Now stuff it! you might need a stick or pencil or something long and thin to get stuffing into the middle bits

Now thats its stuffed you can finally close those curved edges. Try not to sew over a thick mound of stuffing, push it in a little further to give yourself some space and you can fluff it back out after everythings closed. I cut off that excess lining fabric after sewing

Ough… they filleted my boy…

Finally, match up all the edges and lines and HAND SEW them right sides together. You will destroy your machine trying to work around that stuffing i promise. You also have an excuse to get up from your work desk and sew on a couch or smth. I used a standard backstitch for a tight finish and again, make sure you sew under any existing stitches so they arent visible on the outside!

Speaking of the outside, once you stitch everything together you can very gently flip this sucker inside out

This is @hatamonu’s cat Cocaina, aka Coco. Her perfectly square figure made it into my grub files somehow so shes essential to the tutorial

Check the fit and all thats left to do is roughly baste stitch down that excess neck fabric onto the stuffed lining and youre set! I gave the thread slight tugs as i went to tighten the opening a bit put dont tighten it too much

tadaaaaa

It fits pretty snug but starts to slip a bit with motion. Heres a bounce test

If you do shake your baby make sure to safety pin the plush to the suit so he doesnt prematurely shed his exosekeleton

Now spread that baby fever and show your baby to the world

pics from the ALA 2025 homestuck meetup and supplied by para.dox.cos

Tysm for coming along this ride with me especially if you followed the prototype journey on twitter, much thanks to my more sewing savvy friend for the solution to my grub dilemma and for helping me design and build my dolorosa cosplay <3 much love and hopefully many more homestuck cosplays and meetups to come in the future!

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strwberrybils · 6 months ago

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INKED INTENTIONS | b. eilish.

ꨄ︎ contents: tattoo!artist billie, a little subtop!billie moment (i love you blake) fem!reader, quickie, oral, i think that’s it !!

ꨄ︎ gabi’s quick thoughts: i have written 4 fics today please someone stop me IM ON A ROLL. anyways lmao enjoy !!

the tattoo shop door jingles as you step inside, making your presence known. the faint hum of the tattoo machine instantly fills your ears, followed by low rock music bleeding through the speakers, mixed with people’s conversations to their tattoo artists. the shop smells of antiseptic and ink, a combination that brings back vivid memories of your last visit.

you’re nervous.

the last time you were here, months ago, it was for a small, dainty design on your wrist. nothing complicated, but that wasn’t what made you nervous. it wasn’t about the tattoo itself— it was about her.

billie.

the tattoo artist with the confident blue eyes, the baggy clothes, and long, gorgeous black hair. she had beautiful and soft pink lips and hidden tattoos that your eyes always darted to, though you’re favorite was the one on her hand— the same hand she used to run her fingers along your skin when she finished your tattoo off.

you’re not sure why you’re here again. the excuse of wanting another tattoo feels thin even to you, but the truth was that you couldn’t stop thinking about her— about the way her hands moved so delicately over your skin, about the way that her eyes lingered over your body when you were laying in her chair.

“oh, hey!” her voice pulls you out of your deep thoughts, her tone smooth and slightly amused.

you look up to see her stepping out from the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. she’s wearing loose black pants that sit low on her hips, a cropped tank top that shows off her toned stomach and the intricate tattoos climbing up her arms. her black hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands framing her face perfectly, as usual.

she looks… good. too good.

you gulp.

“nice to see you’re back,” billie says, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “what’s it been? a couple months?”

your eyes land on hers for a moment, and you run a fingertip over your tatted wrist, slightly anxious now. “yeah, figured i’d just get another one, you know?”

“thought you might,” she says, giving you a sweet, comforting smile.

her gaze lingers on you for a moment before she nods toward the chair. “c’mon love, let’s see what you’ve got in mind.”

you follow her lead to her station, and you feel like your chest could literally explode with how nervous you are. it wasn’t about the needles or the pain or how sickening the smell of alcohol pads and ink was, it was about how billie’s eyes stayed glued to your body as you laid down, about how she bit her lip when you pulled your crop top up, exposing your bra.

“i was thinking something right below my…um….”

“your boobs?” billie giggles, though her eyes don’t soften up. she’s looking at you so hard and with such precision, but you brush it off on the fact that it’s literally her job to inspect and intricately view your skin before tattooing it.

“mkay,” she starts, leaning back to manspread in her chair as she throw a leg over her knee, “since this is just a suggestive area to place a tattoo, i’m sure you don’t want everyone in the shop seeing your chest. i have a station in the back, would that make you feel more comfortable?”

you feel your body grow more tense, the thought of being alone with billie, her seeing such intimate parts of yourself— it’s mindwracking. but you just shrug, “yeah, that’s fine.”

“okay, dope.” billie gives her thigh a slap before standing up, waiting for you to mimic her movements. and then she takes your hand, guiding you towards the back of the shop and through a door that says “BILLIE” in bold lettering with a polaroid next to it. it’s of her throwing up the middle finger and smiling at the camera, a backwards cap and a long jersey complimenting her frame.

“nervous?” billie breaks the silence between you two, her iridescent eyes locking onto yours. it’s like she can almost sense how stiff you are when you slump into a chair, watching as she closes and locks the door behind her.

“it’s not the tattoo.” you blurt out, then immediately regret it. you basically just told her that she makes you nervous.

billie raises an eyebrow, a newfound amusement blossoming against her visage. “oh? then what is it?”

“i just—” you pause, fumbling for words, being careful that you don’t slip up and say the wrong ones, “i don’t know. i’m just… tense.”

she sets down her tools and steps closer, her hands on her hips as she studies you. “tense, huh? well, honey, we can’t have that. i need you relaxed, or this’ll be harder than it has to be.”

before you can respond, she’s moving behind you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. you’re still stuck on the fact that she just called you honey, but you try to relax as you hear her slump into the chair behind you, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“let me help, yeah?” billie suggests, her voice low and soothing.

her thumbs press into the tight muscles of your shoulders, and you let out an involuntary sigh. her touch is firm but gentle, and it’s almost embarrassingly effective at melting some of the tension in your body.

“a little better?” she asks, her breath warm against your ear.

“yeah,” you breathe, though your heart is racing for an entirely different reason now. you try to let the feeling subside, your eyes closing as you bask in how good your skin feels, the knots in your body working themselves out underneath billie’s touch.

her hands move down to the curve of your shoulders, her fingers kneading the knots there. it feels… too good. too intimate.

“you’ve got a fuck ton of tension, girl.” she comments jokingly, her tone casual but her touch anything but.

“yeah,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper, “stress.”

her hands slide a little lower, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your upper arms. the room feels warmer suddenly, the hum of the tattoo machine in the background fading into nothing.

“you’re still tense, honey.” billie murmurs, her lips dangerously close to your ear now. she leans next to you, “maybe i’m not doing a good enough job— you need something more?”

your breath hitches, and you swear you can feel her cocky smile against your skin.

“billie—” you start, but the way she presses her thumbs into a particularly tight spot in your neck makes your words falter.

“shh,” she says softly, her hands sliding down your arms, her fingers tracing lightly over your skin. “just relax.”

the air between you shifts, electrically charged and heavy. her touch lingers, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin that feel less like a massage and more like something… more.

“there we go,” billie says, her voice dropping an octave. her voice is husky, her breath making your ears twitch, “you’re starting to relax now, yeah?”

“barely,” you deny, the words slipping out before you can stop them. you try to shrug off her actions as her just doing her job, but it doesn’t feel like that when her hands move to your sides, her fingers brushing against your waist. it’s not a massage anymore, and you both know it.

“you okay?” she questions, her voice softer now, almost a little hesitant.

you turn your head slightly, your eyes meeting hers. there’s something unspoken in her gaze, something that makes your breath catch in your chest, and you choke out a small ‘yeah’, your voice barely even audible.

her lips curve into a small smile, and then she’s leaning closer, her hand cupping your jaw as her lips brush against yours—soft and tentative at first, then more sure when you don’t pull away.

it’s electric, the tension between you snapping all at once. her hands are on your waist now, pulling you closer, and you’re gripping the front of her shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. she’s quick with her actions, and you both know that you don’t have much time— she probably has other clients.

with a swift movement, billie yanks your sweatpants off of your body, sliding them onto the floor and taking your thong with it. she immediately drops to her knees, tapping your thighs, “open ‘em.”

you obey, not a hint of reluctance in your actions as billie smiles beneath you, biting her lip, “so fuckin’ gorgeous. i’d be lying if i said i haven’t thought about doing this before.”

it’s a shock to you, honestly. billie had always seemed like a flirt, but the way she looked underneath you now— it was like her demeanor had changed. it was needy, wanting, like she’d do anything to taste you right now.

“please? can i?” she asks you, and you nod, your body language more than any verbiage could do justice.

billie’s tongue finds itself on your clit, suckling at the bud harshly, making you gasp. she’s quick with her movements, knowing in the back of her mind that she’s only got so much time with you. her head cocks to the side, finding a sweet spot on your pulsing bud that makes you grip the table beside you, and you accidentally knock something over that makes a clink against the floor.

“billie? you alright in there?” someone calls, and you assume it’s one of her co-workers. but she doesn’t stop to respond, she just looks up at you with wide blue eyes, a shit-eating grin on her face as her mere licks intensify to something more wanting, something more hungry.

“this okay, honey? this feel good to you? please, tell me!” billie whimpers, though she hates the fact that she’s gotta part from tasting you. but she needs this, needs to know that she’s the one making you feel good— so you offer up sweet words as you look down at her, “feels amazing, billie, i promise. please keep…k-keep going—“

your words are cut off by billie’s tongue returning to your clit, her fingers grazing over your cunt before slowly pushing them inside you, and the fullness makes your head feel dizzy. her fingers curl at a pace that shouldn’t even be human, and you fight to stay silent, since you’re completely unaware of how much noise can travel through the door behind you.

“fuck!” you whisper-yell, trying not to get yourselves caught as you wrap an arm around your waist, finding something to grab onto so you don’t literally tumble off of your chair. you feel your orgasm impending and you grab a fistful of billie’s hair, “m-m’gonna— bils, baby—“

you don’t mean to slip up and call her that, but that’s the absolute least of your worries right now. billie thrusts into you even harder, eyes glossed over as her gaze lays upon you, “wanna be the reason you feel good— so badly….please…you gonna cum? all for me?”

you nod as you feel your cunt pulse against billie’s tongue, clenching around nothing as your orgasm washes over you, your back slumping into the chair harshly as you let out little whines, billie’s hand gripping at your bare thigh as your chest heaves.

when her lips part from your center, her mouth is wet and glistening in the lighting of her office, and she smiles, licking her lips,

“so…you still tense?”

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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file #4: the body mod fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!wriothesley x reader (genshin).

length: 3.1k.

warnings: non/con touching + groping, nonconsensual piecing, dubiously consensual tattoos, permanent body modification, intimidation, needles, obsessive behavior, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Just one?”

The question had been hushed, meek, directed more towards your lap than the man sitting across from you. The warden – Wriothesley, you chided yourself, biting the inside of your cheek and attempting to remember what he’d asked you to call him, Wriothesley – broke into a wry smile, but nodded, leaning back in his armchair. “Just one,” he reassured. “And you’ll taken care of until your release date.”

You didn’t respond, but he must’ve seen the way you paled at the suggestion. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just—” You grit your teeth. Your eyes flitted up momentarily, but fell back to your legs just as quickly. “I… I’ve never really liked needles, I guess.”

You could see his eyes light up, his grin broadening as he tried to stifle his laughter. You scowled, but couldn’t blame him. He was used to dealing with hardened criminals, the scum of Teyvat, thieves and spies and murderers, and here you were – on the verge of fainting because he asked you to get a tattoo. “I promise, you don’t have anything to worry about.” At least he was trying to sound comforting, even if it was clearly a half-hearted effort. “I’ll make sure you’re in good hands.”

And he had, in a way.

You just wished he would’ve mentioned that those hands would be his own.

Calloused fingertips dug into your bicep as a scarred palm pressed into your skin, keeping one of your arms loosely secured against the mattress of the cot while the other was pinned between the bedframe and his chest (the placement unintentional, or so you hoped). You’d been shaking when he brought out that terrible machine – a vial of dark ink trapped inside of a cage of copper and steel; a single, silver needle protruding out of one end and a leather grip wrapped around the other – but it’d only taken an hour for fear to fade into boredom, another for boredom to drag on into a rotting, discolored sort of exhaustion. For as much as you’d been dreading it, there was more pressure than pain. It was repetitive, if anything – a monotonous pierce, stab, pierce, stab that you could only try your best not to focus on. You could already feel an ache settling below the skin of your shoulder, already knew that you wouldn’t be able to lift your arm for days, but you tried not to—

His needle stabbed into the thin skin over your shoulder blade, and you couldn’t stop yourself – letting out a low hiss as you flinched into the cot’s thin mattress. You expected Wriothesley to laugh, to drag a damp cloth over the affected area and mutter something like ‘bear with me’ or ‘my bad, love, my bad’ like he had a dozen times before, but instead, there was a muffled click as he switched off his awful machine, a dull clatter as he dropped it onto a bedside table already crowded with bottles of disinfectant and the nurse’s bizarre tools. “We’ll stop here. It’ll take another session, but I think you’ve been through enough for one day. For a virgin, especially.”

You were only half-listening; the phantom of his machine still buzzing in your ears. “Are you sure?” You asked, trying to hide how desperate you were not to spend another night in the empty infirmary with a man you barely knew. “It’s not that bad, I can go for another—”

“I’m sure. Sit up, I’ll let you have a look.”

You pursed your lips, but didn’t protest. You could see how Wriothesley had gotten into such an authoritative position. The way he spoke, his constant undertone of stern stability – it was hard to so much as imagine talking back to him, let alone breaking one of the rules that’d been meticulously and painstakingly drilled into you when you’d arrived at the Fortress of Meropide a little under a week ago. Still, you’d been terrified – too scared to so much as speak to another prisoner for the first two days. You weren’t dangerous. You couldn’t hold your own in a fight, or protect yourself if someone else, someone stronger decided they had a problem with you. You could barely even call yourself a criminal, but apparently, the Iudex hadn’t agreed. You’d been on your way to the fortress before he could finish reading out your sentence, and now, you were trapped in the darkest, deepest place in all of Fontaine, alone and so, so painfully vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for Wriothesley, you probably would’ve requested to forgo your imprisonment entirely and be sent straight to the gallows.

A hand on your shoulder, a softened lull to his voice. “You can sit up, can’t you? I’ll have to call Sigewinne, if you’re in that much pain.”

“Right, I— uh, sorry,” You stammered as you shook your head and pushed yourself up, careful to keep the thick, overly starched cot sheet pressed to your chest. The infirmary was empty, the door locked and sealed, and while Wriothesley hadn’t seemed to think much of ordering you to take off your shirt and lay face-down, you couldn’t bring yourself to brush off the stark, damp chill that came with any amount of exposure in the fortress so easily. You guessed that, after enough time, you’d get used to it. You guessed that, when you did, the thought of not being so cold so constantly wouldn’t make you feel so sick. “I… I think I’m still getting used to this,” you went on, with a strained smile. “Still a little out of it, I guess.”

“That’s alright, love. We all take a few months to find a way to cope.” When you glanced over your shoulder, there was already a mirror in his hand – a compact, small enough to fit in his palm. You had to crane your neck to see it, but Wriothesley knew how to strike the right angle, and soon enough, the sprawling, spiraling pattern stretching from the lower curve of your shoulder blade to the ball of your shoulder came into view. It took you a moment to make out the pattern, but relief accompanied the delayed realization. Lumidouce bells, all blossoming and linked together by a single vine. He’d finished the linework, and there was a smattering of color in the bottom corner – only, oh, he’d gotten the shade wrong. Rather than deep violet, he’d used a light blue, more similar to ice than the water nearly everything in Fontaine stole its palette from. Judging by his expression, though, all beaming pride and low-brewing mirth, he hadn’t caught the mistake. “What do you think? Don’t keep me in suspense, now.”

“It’s… nice,” you said, the sentiment sincere despite your hesitance. And then, laughing, “I was—Well, it feels a little silly now, but I was terrified you’d leave me with, I don’t know, a sea monster or a giant wolf or something.”

“Maybe next time. Not a wolf, though - you don’t strike me as that vicious.” You bit your tongue, forcing yourself not to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time and opting to focus on the soreness starting to knot in your shoulder, instead. You swung your legs over the side of the cot, moving towards where you’d left your shirt draped over an unopened crate, but Wriothesley caught your wrist, tugging you gently back onto the thin mattress. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his playfulness suddenly more irritating than it had been, a few second ago. “I don’t think we’re finished, yet.”

Not for the first time, your smile wavered. “I… I thought we only agreed to one, sir.”

“Of course.” He squeezed your wrist teasingly. “One of each.”

Something heavy and spiked dropped into the pit of your stomach. This time, you couldn’t help the way your expression dropped. “Sir, that’s really not what I—”

“It’ll be worse the longer you put it off.” You weren’t dangerous. You weren’t a criminal. You weren’t strong, but Wriothesley was. Before you could so much as push yourself to your feet, his arm was around your waist and he was perched on the edge of the cot, one leg tucked underneath him to make more room for your body, soon pulled between his thighs. The back of your shoulder screamed where it pressed into his chest, but you managed to swallow the little, pitiful sound threatening to bubble past your lips and clung to your sheet – suddenly so much thinner than it’d seemed, seconds prior. If Wriothesley noticed your apparent panic, the distress of his prisoners was an inconvenience he was willing to endure. Only half-consciously, you tried to shove yourself away from him, but his muscle-bound arm was snaked around your waist before you could gain any distance, keeping you flush against his broad chest. He was so much bigger than you’d realized, when he was on the other side of that desk, when he was engraving something intrusive and permanent into the very fabric of your being. This had been a bad idea. Trusting anyone here had been a bad idea. You should never have—

Your elbow slammed into his diaphragm, and Wriothesley let out a slow grunt, his fingers burrowing into the plush of your side. “Easy now, love,” he half-muttered, half-breathed, bowing his head to speak into the side of your throat. “We had a deal, remember? Can you tell me what it was?”

“You—you said I wouldn’t get hurt if—” You forced yourself to stop, to swallow, to breathe. “But, I only agreed to get one tattoo, and you—”

“I said I’d take care of you. Get you a nice, cushy job with the fortress administrator, keep you out of any over-crowded bunks, make sure the other prisoners don’t cause you any trouble – that kind of thing. I’m really not supposed to play favorites, so even doing that much is going to take more than a little discretion on my part.”

“But, you offered to—”

“I said I’d take care of you, and I’m going to.” You could see him fishing something off of the bedside table with his free hand, but you forced yourself not to look, not to make the ever-growing pit in your stomach feel that much more hollow. “You’ve heard a few stories about what it’s like in the underworld, right? I try to keep all of you nice n’ safe, but a few are bound to fall through the cracks. Rehabilitation can only do so much and—well, I’m sure you know all about how bloodthirsty desperation can make someone.” There was a pause, an ebbing lull to the tenderness in his voice. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, sweetheart. Are you going to help me get a little practice in, while I do that?”

Practice. If he wanted practice, you were sure there were another hundred prisoners who’d willingly lay down and let him carve a hole through whatever he wanted to. Still, you did your best to calm yourself down, to stop thrashing, to shut your eyes and try to ignore the large, pulsing thing you could feel pressing into your ass. You didn’t nod, didn’t give him permission, but when his fist balled around the infirmary sheet and tugged it away from you, the only resistance you managed to scrape up was a slight frown and a wary glance in his direction. “You’re already in for a rough night,” he explained, as if that was any excuse. “Might as well get the hardest one out of the way first, right?”

You refused to let yourself linger on the implication that this wasn’t going to be the last, too.

You clenched your eyes shut as his large hand pawed at the right side of your chest, kneading into the softened flesh with an almost delicate sort of care. “It’s easier after a little stimulation,” he murmured, as if that meant he had to spend so long circling your nipple with a calloused thumb, occasionally swiping over the sensitive bud in a way that made your thighs twitch and your face burn. When your nipple was stiff and pebbled, he pulled away, but it was a momentary reprieve – torn away from you with a splash of freezing disinfectant. It dripped down your chest and filled the stagnant air with a thick, chemical haze as Wriothesley caught your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching tightly. You felt the long, curved tip of his piercing needle against your skin, and braced yourself for the pain. Wriothesley wasn’t kind enough not to drag it out, though. “Wanna count me down?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself that much closer to his chest, desperate for any kind of stability. You’d hoped that Wriothesley would take your clear obstinance as a sign not to drag it out any longer, but he seemed to savor it – the agony of the wait, the way the dread seemed to multiply tenfold every time you forced yourself to suck in a ragged inhale. Seconds seemed to pass like frozen honey, only just beginning to drip. You’d started to think he wouldn’t do it, that he’d just laugh and admit this was all part of some bizarre, invasive hazing ritual when Wriothesley let out an airy chuckle and plunged his needle into you.

Oh, archons.

You really thought the tattoo would’ve been worse.

It was faster, at least; a bright shock of pain followed immediately by a steady, throbbing sort of ache that seemed to drown out every other sensation and fill your mind with a buzzing, numbing static. You didn’t realize your eyes had shot open on reflex until tears blurred your vision, until you glanced down just in time to watch as he dragged the needle through and replaced it with a small, silver stud – a barbell, as wrong as it felt to think of yourself having something so vulgar attached to you. You were crying unabashedly by the time he finished, pain and humiliation dripping down your cheeks in hot, wet streams, but Wriothesley’s shallow pool of sympathy must’ve run dry. “Ah, don’t make that face, sweetheart – we’re only halfway done.” You felt him panting into the crook of your neck as his hand found the other side of your chest. The last threads of his veil of composure frayed and broke apart as he groped unabashedly at your chest, toying with your nipple as your sobs echoed off of the clinic walls. You felt something thick and hot and wet crash against your collarbone and drip down the curve of your chest, and forced yourself to believe it was only disinfectant. That there was nothing it could’ve been except disinfectant.

Wriothesley’s hips rocked against your ass, the rigid outline of his cock pressing into you, incinerating any lingering delusions you might’ve had of helpful prison wardens exchanging one favor for another. Five fingers bit into the plush of your chest as he brought his needle to your unmutilated nipple, his hand surprisingly steady despite the airy, drawling moans he was pouring into your throat. “P-please don’t,” you managed, fighting to speak above the pathetic cries and choking fear doing their best to strangle out your voice. “Please, I can’t—I don’t want to—”

But, Wriothesley wasn’t listening. It wasn’t a spark, this time, but a red-hot knife, stabbed deep into your chest and twisted as far as it could go. You heard Wriothesley let out a rough groan, felt something warm and damp against your ass, and then, you were gone.

You startled awake hours later; bolting upright as you heaved in jolting, uneven inhales. Immediately, pain knocked you out of your panicked daze – sharp and piercing, imbedded into the back of your shoulder and either side of your chest, strong enough to remind you to measure out your breathing and calm down before you blindly threw yourself back into a seething pit of violent criminals. It took you a second to realize that you weren’t on an undersized infirmary cot, anymore, and another to piece together where he’d taken you – a bedroom nearly triple the size of your bunk. The warden’s chambers, you figured, as you scanned over the limited decoration and piles of dust-coated paperwork stacked onto every possible surface. Wriothesley’s room.

Wriothesley’s bed, at that. A cold chill ran down your spine as you realized that he’d taken the time to strip you out of your ill-fitting coveralls and redress you in a shirt sizes too big to be one of yours – the bleached, threadbare material a stark contrast to the satin sheets draped over your legs. You started to push them away and move towards the edge of the mattress, but froze as a door on the far side of the room creaked open – Wriothesley slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him. He moved away from it quickly, but as it closed, you could’ve sworn you heard the muffled, deafening click of a lock sliding into place and cutting you off from the rest of the world – or, the rest of the underworld, rather. As if there was anyone out there who would bother to save you, even if they could try.

“There’s my sleeping beauty.” He grinned as he lowered himself on the side of the bed, positioning himself closer to you than he absolutely had to. He reached out, moving to cup your face, but quickly let his hand fall back to his side when you flinched away. His smile dimmed, but didn’t fall away. “Get a chance to see the improvements, yet?”

After a second of hesitation, you shook your head, and he nodded to your chest - the gesture more of an order than a suggestion. Reluctantly, you pinched your collar between two fingers and peeled away from your skin. Through the narrow sliver, you could see his handiwork: a pair of twin rings hanging from either nipple, connected by a thin, lax, silver chain – so light, you could barely feel it brushing your diaphragm as the air caught in your chest.

You dropped the collar before you could give in to the nausea beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t bear to look at Wriothesley, so you kept your eyes on the sheets, kneading at the fabric half-consciously as you struggled to find your voice. “That wasn’t what we agreed to,” you muttered, mostly under your breath. “Can I go back to my bunk, now?”

His smile took on an almost apologetic note. You tried again. “Am I... Am I going to be able to leave?”

This time, when he reached out, flinching away wasn’t enough to stop him – his hand catching your chin and drawing you that much closer to him. You tried to lurch away, but it was too late, his lips were already crashing into yours, his tongue already slipping past your teeth and raking over your own. While your eyes widened in shock, his went half-lidded, closing just a second too late. Abruptly, it occurred to you that you’d never really noticed the color of his eyes – a pale, faded blue. The color of the half-formed flowers currently stretching across your back.

Wriothesley’s hand slipped to the nape of your neck. You let your eyes fall shut, and did your best not to think at all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

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stquilts · 2 months ago

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Well it’s done! I can officially say, I finished my first quilt.

I think it came out great and my mom loved it. Definitely room for improvement. Things to remember for next time…

1. Buy more needles. I was surprised at how often needle changes are recommended. In the past, I changed needles when there was problem but that’s about it. I was a good girl and followed the guidebook that said 80/12 for piecing and 90/14 for quilting. I had titanium quilting needles but honestly, I didn’t see a difference between the regular universal and the titanium quilting. I know I prefer the color coded needles so I know what size is on the machine. Only ants and microscopes can read that writing on the needle.

2. Buy enough thread at the get go. Those smaller Gutermann spools you got in a pack as a gift won’t be enough and you’ll run out the one day the fabric store is closed.

3. Trim ALL loose threads. Especially if you’re using light colored borders. If you don’t, they’ll look varicose veins.

4. Computerized machines don’t save your stitch settings. Bastards.

5. Is Pfaff’s IDT the same as a good walking foot? Jury’s out on that one. I still had a fair bit of shifting when quilting but no puckers. Fought that binding all the way around too. I tried adjusting the presser foot pressure (increased it) but didn’t notice a difference. I’ll be playing around with this next quilt.

#quilters of tumblr #quilting #quilt in progress

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salemrph · 4 months ago

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"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 2: Fragmented memories

Summary: A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money.

How easy will it be to enter the enemies bass? Sylus has a plan, multiple escape routes and a bad feeling about Rudy. Luke and Kieran have a clear mission: Find you.

Characters: Sylus x MC/reader/you, Luke and Kieran, Zayne, Caleb

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, grief, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Word count: 6,944 | Reading Time: 28 min | AO3

Hope I tagged everyone: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @syluskisser @fortunekookie07 @crimsonlittlecrow @mochibunnies3 @gazelover666 @fancyhawk45 @sorryimakira @paninisstuff @deathrye @tinyweebsstuff @sxderia @yunhogrippers @sylusqt @darkesky @an-ever-angry-bi

Chapter 2: Fragmented memories

You slowly regain consciousness, the blinding brightness of the room searing your senses. Your eyelids flutter, struggling against the invasive light, and as your vision clears, a harsh, sterile white ceiling looms above you. You're lying on a cold table, your arms and legs bound tightly. Your body aches—the guy from before gave you a brutal beating. This is bad. The frigid surface bites through the thin fabric of the hospital gown draped over your body, amplifying the already unnatural chill of the room. As you try to move and lose your restraints, pain crosses through your arm. An IV needle it connected to you, its tubing snaking away to a fluid-filled bag suspended nearby.

The constant beep of machines makes you freak out. The panic rises in your chest, but you force yourself to breathe through it, trying to make sense of your surroundings. You can barely see the shapes of several people around the room. They're silent, just watching at the monitors, as if you’re some alien under their observation. The scent of antiseptic in the room overflows your nostrils making your throat feel dry. Where are you? Who are these people?

“What are you doing?” You manage to rasp, your voice hoarse as you attempt to break the silence. “Hey! Answer me!”

Your shouts are met with silence. Your gaze darts around frantically, scanning everything like a tennis ball bouncing back and forth, trying to make sense of what the hell is happening. Okay, okay—what are the facts? You’ve been kidnapped, beaten multiple times, thrown into a filthy cell, stripped of all your belongings… not even the clothes you were wearing remain. This doesn’t look good at all. You’re screwed. Really screwed. There has to be something, anything in this place that gives you a clue about what the hell is going on. Your eyes dart around: just a clinical room, cabinets filled with medicine, bottles, and way too much surgical metal. God, you just hope they don’t cut off your fingers… A shiver runs down your spine.

Then the door swings open, quick but heavy footsteps close the distance between you. A voice, familiar, twisted, echoes in the room. At first, you don’t recognize him. But as the seconds stretch, the realization slams into you like a punch in the face. That fucker. You should have let Sylus finish him off when he had the chance. Great!

“Ah, ah, Mister Sylus,” he cut him off with a mocking edge. "I have something of yours. I wouldn’t mind returning it, but... I want something in return." They are really using you as a bargaining chip, son of a bitch.

You turn your head, trying to focus. His footsteps stop right beside you. Rudy has a smug look on his face as he leans in. His fingers trail along your cheek before gripping just firmly enough to tilt your face toward him. You try to turn away, but the grasp is too tight.

Rudy chuckles, savoring the moment. "Impatient as always. She’s... fine." This idiot is even making dramatic pauses, just to play cool. Your blood is boiling. "Say something, sweetheart."

"Don't touch me you asshole—!" You bite back, the words escaping you in a rush.

The feeling of his fat hands it’s almost enough to make you gag with disgust. You fight back, desperation fueling you until you find your opportunity. Biting down as hard as you could on his finger when it brushes near to your mouth, feeling his skin break under your teeth. He screams in pain, the sound sending a wave of satisfaction through you. You spit out the blood you made on his face.

"Bitch…!" Rudy snarls, clutching his hand as he glares down at you. He mutters something you don’t catch, cleaning the spit with a cloth handkerchief. Then he barked an order at someone in the room. "Keep her in line."

Without another glance, he storms out, slamming the door behind him. The sound reverberates through the sterile space, leaving you with the scent of his disgusting cologne mixed with the awful smell of cigar. Two people in lab coats step forward, their movements brisk and practiced. One starts fiddling with a machine nearby, the beeping of its activation makes your hair stand on end.

"Stay still" says the woman as she approaches. Without even seeing her face under the mask, you know she has a cold expression. She holds up a syringe, the needle glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. Your pulse spikes.

“Hey, hey, stop! No—!” you thrash against your restraints.

"Shh…” she soothes, but there's no real comfort in it. Just clinical indifference. “It won’t hurt... maybe just a bit," she murmurs.

You flinch as the cold touch of the needle pricks your arm. "Get off me, now!" you scream. With your limited mobility, you can only shake the table a little. The woman holds your arm tightly to finish injecting the solution.

She tilts her head slightly. "Struggling won’t change anything." Then she presses the plunger slowly, savoring the way your body tenses beneath her grip. Your breath stutters as the liquid floods your veins, an unnatural chill spreading through your body. Your muscles tense in protest.

The other person, a man, moves quickly, attaching sticky pads to your chest. The beep of a cardiac monitor starts up, syncing with your racing heartbeat. His expression is impassive, it's like you're looking at an empty shell. Your mind is working a thousand miles per hour, if this is just to blackmail Sylus… You mentally try to recover what you learned as a Hunter, kidnapping missions are not part of your daily life, but you have learned something in the academie. Maybe Rudy is a sadist, he just wants to challenge Sylus. But what does he gain by torturing you in this way?

“Think, think, why, why would they…?” A sudden, violent heartbeat slams against your ribs like a hammer. The impulse in your chest forces all the air out of your lungs as your back arches involuntarily. Your eyes fly wide open, unfocused, the edges of your vision blurring.

“It… hurts.” The words hardly make it past your lips. For a moment, the pain vanishes, leaving behind a hollow ache, but your body doesn’t trust the reprieve. You gasp, dragging in air that does nothing to calm the fire spreading beneath your skin. The beeping of the monitors quickens, matching the erratic pace of your heart. Then—another pulse. The sound of your screams echoes through space.

You fade in and out of consciousness, your body weak and drenched in sweat. Each time you come back, your chest feels tighter, your heartbeat a wild drum that pounds in your ears. The pounding isn’t just rapid—it feels dangerous, like your heart could shatter your ribcage at any moment. The pain surges through you, pulling more screams from your throat. The room spins violently as fear claws its way into your mind. Your instincts yelp louder than the pain, a deep, primal voice inside you whispering that this isn’t new. A fragmented memory stirs—a sense of déjà vu you can’t quite piece together. You catch snippets of voices, muffled and distant, but nothing registers fully. Your body feels like it’s fighting against itself, every nerve alight with terror and agony.

"Please…" you gasp, not even sure who you’re pleading with. No one answers. Distant whispers echo through the haze. Faint voices argue in the distance, their tones sharp and urgent, though the words remain unclear. You feel weak, your limbs are heavy and your mind foggy. Sleep tugs insistently at the edges of your consciousness, making you feel small.

A woman’s voice cuts through the murmur, resonant and sharp with anger. It reverberates in the space around you, commanding your attention despite the disorienting blur of your surroundings. Everything is veiled in a misty. The edges of your vision flicker and fade. Keeping your eyes open feels like a monumental effort, the weight of exhaustion pulling you under.

You’re small. Everything is small. You clutch something soft—plush fabric worn from being held too tightly, too often. A stuffed animal? You don’t look down to check. You can’t. Because you’re hiding. The space around you is cramped and dark, but through a narrow slit, you see them. Two figures, their hands moving with sharp, deliberate gestures. Their voices are rising. You lean in, straining to hear. You shouldn’t be here. You know that. Someone told you before but you don’t remember who. Was it that boy with deep purple eyes who always played with you? And yet, you stay. Because something tells you this moment matters.

"We can't keep doing this. She's just a child" the woman says, her voice trembling with suppressed fury.

"Please…" He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face before looking away, as if this conversation is nothing more than an inconvenience. "You were the first one to agree to this."

"This is getting out of hand!" she snaps, her voice rising in desperation. She waves some documents before throwing them on the table. "For God's sake, we can't—"

"We haven’t discovered anything new yet," he interrupts. "We have to move on." The room is plunged into silence for a long moment.

"How many more times are we going to kill her?" the woman finally says, her voice cracking. Kill her. The words echo in your mind, looping over and over until they don’t feel real anymore. Your grip tightens around the plushie, your small fingers digging into the fabric as your heart pounds against your chest. You don’t understand. You don’t want to understand. "Have you lost all ethics, all humanity?" Your chest feels tight. Your legs are numb from crouching too long, but you don’t dare move. You don’t even blink.

The man exhales slowly, but his expression remains unreadable. Around you, the blurry surroundings shift slightly, as if responding to the weight of their words.

"Getting the understanding of the Aether Core and how she comes back every time, is more important than... her life" the man says coldly, there is no trace of empathy on his face. The woman's breath catches, and she stares at him as if seeing him for the first time.

“More important than her life?" She repeats, disbelief and horror etched into every word. She looked at the paper laying chaotic around.

"Yes" he says, finally turning to meet her gaze. His eyes are steely, unflinching. "You knew that from the beginning.” He paused. “Don’t tell me you care about her now. You know that it is not allowed to establish emotional ties with the subjects." The feeling that something is very, very wrong sinks in you. You breathe heavily, accidentally hitting something metal with your hand. The woman's attention would be drawn to where you are hiding. Before she can grab you, the memory twists and forms away.

A little girl's voice echoes through the memory, she seems to be laughing. She has an animal bandage on her cheek and another on her knee. Just a few moments ago she was crying loudly. “Why was I crying?” She wipes the tears from her face.

“Thank you…” the green-eyed boy smiles at you “You could be a doctor in the future.”

The images crash over you in a relentless tide, too fast to grasp, too vivid to ignore. Thousands of images and sounds come together before your eyes, and you don't know where to put them. When did all this happen? You fall into cold water. You're drowning, darkness closing in on you as you sink slowly. You catch a glimpse of a blue glowing light and feel a warm kiss, before you can take a deep breath. There it is. A vast ocean full of incredible sea creatures, the flicker of an extinguished flame, a dagger resting atop an ancient stone. Bubbles form and envelop your body. You turn, disoriented, and for a moment, you swear you’re standing in a field of jasmine, the delicate white petals swaying in a breeze you can’t feel. The scent is almost there, just out of reach, but something about it feels wrong. No... A tear slips down your cheek. The wind rises, carrying away loose petals and caressing your face. You look up at the sky, gazing into the infinite expanse of a starry night. Before you, a long, tranquil lake stretches out, its surface perfectly mirroring the starlit heavens. A shooting star streaks across the night. The sight tugs at something deep inside you. The strange feeling that that star has just left you.

“When did I see this?”

Panic spikes as you take a step back, your foot catching on something solid. You stumble, barely managing to steady yourself before crashing into a heap of treasure. Gold coins spilling across the ground, glimmering gemstones, ancient weapons, heavy chests locked tight with secrets you don’t remember hiding. A cave? The glow of the tersores is covered in blood. Before you know it, the flames engulf everything, turning it into ashes. Your steps echo in the vast infinity of nothingness. It feels like millennia have passed as you walk in solitude. An apple rolls near to your feets, before you can reach it… A blinding light flashes, followed by a powerful shockwave that sends you crashing into darkness.

A sudden rumble in your mind cuts the memory off. The blurry world around you crumbles, destabilizing further. Faint screams echo somewhere far away, or maybe they're just in your head. Your chest tightens. The weight of your dreams presses down on you, suffocating, and you feel the pull of sleep clawing at you once more, threatening to drag you into oblivion. It feels like you're floating in a thick liquid. You can't swim, it just keeps you there.

The blinding light stings, searing through the haze. You’re back. Back on the table. Strapped down. Cold. Your body feels weightless, unsteady, as if reality itself hasn’t fully solidified around you yet. None of it makes sense. You’re floating in the space between consciousness and whatever came before. And for the first time, a terrifying thought pushes through the fog.

How many times has this happened before?

___

Rudy's trash stash was further away than Sylus had thought. On one of the farthest margins of the N109 Zone. But it must be said that the bastard has balls. Since Rudy was inside his territory, it would be easier to blow up the place without having the authorities of Linkon sniffing around. Not that Sylus would have minded doing it in Linkon, but it saved him a few steps in his plan.

This wasn’t going to be easy. Any miscalculation could cause the plan to unravel spectacularly. The goal is simple: get you out alive. Everything else, everyone else, is irrelevant. He pulls out of his pocket a small translucent container, inside the blueish Aether Core glows softly. So much trouble over this thing. The more he thinks about it, the more he regrets letting you go with him. He leans back in the seat of the car parked several miles from his destination. The twins are out there, scouring the perimeter for a secondary entrance. Their mission: Extraction. It’s straightforward enough—at least on paper. The car will stay there, like the other two, hidden in the darkness, being part of the escape routes he has set for you. Sylus' job is to keep Rudy entertained. He can't afford to be even a little suspicious—everything has to happen quickly. Dragging the conversation on for too long might raise suspicion. The plausible window to execute the plan is only about 15 to 30 minutes. As soon as Luke and Kieran give the signal, he’ll take care of killing the son of a bitch.

The twins' brief investigation into Rudy and his empire has uncovered rumors that the bastard has been receiving help—money, weapons, and other resources. However, in the limited time they had, they couldn’t identify the source. It’s not a problem Sylus can deal with right now. Someone in the N109 Zone must have joined Rudy’s cause, but there are no guarantees. It could be anyone. Sylus can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s more. The timing, location, and stakes are too orchestrated. It smells like a trap—to kill him, kill you, and claim the Aether Core for themself.

If that’s the play, things could get ugly fast. He exhales slowly, steadying himself as his mind runs through every contingency, every possible outcome. He has faced troublesome enemies before, but this is definitely the worst night of his life. The time he spent in the space-time prison was nothing compared to this. Even getting to this planet and conquering the area was easier. Sylus massages his temple. What a problematic night.

His phone lies on the passenger seat. You made him change the background picture a few days ago. As he unlocks the screen, a smile tugs at his lips when he sees your radiant face. That day, you’d managed to win another stuffed animal from the crane machine. One of your little trophies, which went straight to the collection on the bed. Slowly but surely, there would be less and less room for him if you kept winning like that. But, as long as it makes you happy… Maybe next time he’ll just toss them all on the floor. Especially when the overwhelming desire to have you consumes him.

Even though Sylus may not be a man of sentimentality, this is hurting him. His jaw clenches, his thumb hovering over the screen as if swiping away the image would somehow erase the guilt clawing at his insides. He should have trained you harder, he should have made sure there was more security. However, he can't keep you locked away. You are not some delicate thing, not someone to be sheltered like glass. You are fire and steel, his equal in every way. A free soul. Half of his soul.

And that’s what makes this worse because if he had tried to stop you, to hold you back, you would have fought him every step of the way. Like you always do. You would have just laughed, kissed him with the same reckless abandon you always did, and walked straight into the fire anyway. He would have let you—because he could never be the one to clip your wings. But now, because of that freedom, because he didn’t do enough, you are out there, with that loathsome motherfucker. His grip on the phone tightens. Every second wasted is a second too long. And when he gets you back—because there is no “if,” only when—he will pull you into his arms, feel your heartbeat against his, and make damn sure no one ever dares to take you from him again.

If that wasn’t enough, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight until every loose end was tied. Even if that means forcing you to take a vacation, so be it. He would give you a new identity if necessary—a new name, a new passport. He’d buy you a house far away, a place where you could disappear until the dust settled. Or maybe it was time to leave all this behind—for both of you. Hell, he’d even take the boys with him. After everything they’d done to become his right hand, he couldn’t just abandon them. Truly, your kindness had been seeping into his soul, whether he liked it or not. Sylus smiles at the thought. Yet, as much as he’d love to run away with you, as his beloved hunter, you would only trick him with cunning words to drag him right back into the investigation… Because he knows you, because you like mystery, because you are not a passive Hunter.

The static in his ear crackles, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Boss, we're in position." Kieran's voice cuts through the noise. It’s time to move.

In the blink of an eye, Sylus vanishes from the car seat. A swirl of red and black mist engulfs him, a brief flash of motion that leaves nothing behind but a single feather, delicately resting on the seat. A few seconds later, Sylus rematerializes in front of the building, the air around him rippling as his evol dissipates. Immediately several guards are pointing at him.

Sylus steps into the warehouse escorted. A little theatre for this boring performance never hurts. His boots echoing faintly against the cracked concrete floor. The air inside is heavy with the acrid tang of smoke and rust. Inside the warehouse, there are several vehicles parked, boxes stacked, guards making rounds. The makeshift lounge in the center of the room is a surreal contrast to the warehouse's grungy surroundings—two leather sofas and a low table cluttered with ashtrays and empty glasses. The centerpiece of this tableau is Rudy, lounging with the confidence of a man who believes himself untouchable. A cigarette dangles lazily from his fingers, the ember flaring with every casual drag he takes.

Overhead, on the second-floor catwalk, armed men pace like vultures, their eyes trained on him, fingers resting a little too comfortably on the triggers of their rifles. Sylus smiles, he's not immortal but this wouldn’t be the first time he’s stood in the eye of a storm of bullets. Still, he’d prefer not to turn this into another bloodbath. Not yet.

"Ah, Mr. Sylus" Rudy greets, exhaling a plume of smoke that curls lazily upward. His grin is wide and insincere, cutting across his face like a scar. "You're finally here. I was beginning to think you'd disappoint me, and you're too smart for that. Too smart to let me down, right?"

Sylus keeps his face neutral, impassive as always, stepping closer but keeping his movements measured. "Let you down? That would imply I ever planned to impress you in the first place."

Rudy chuckles, the sound dry and humorless. He flicks ash onto the floor, his sharp gaze studying Sylus like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. "Always so quick with the words. But let’s cut to the chase. Did you bring it?"

Sylus slides his hands casually into his coat pockets, his fingers brushing against the Aether Core. "Yes, I did…" he says, his tone light. "But you know me, Rudy. I like to negotiate first." He needs to buy time. Until Luke and Kieran confirm that you're safe, he won’t make a move. His mind works at a blistering pace, scanning the room, noting every exit, every weapon, every angle.

"Negotiate?" Rudy repeats, leaning forward. His grin falters slightly, revealing the irritation beneath his charm. "This isn’t a negotiation, Mr. Sylus. You’re here because you value her life more than that shiny toy."

Sylus clenches his jaw but doesn’t let the facade crack. "Funny, I thought this was about business. Threats feel… beneath you, Rudy."

Rudy laughs, a harsh bark of sound. "Oh no, Mr. Sylus. I prefer to think of them as... persuasion. But let’s not waste each other’s time. Hand it over, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll let your kitten leave with all her limbs intact."

No matter how much Sylus tries to stay calm, the tension in his body is impossible to hide. The guards on the second floor feel it—something about him puts them on edge. Sweat drips down their faces as their fingers tighten on the triggers. A guard shifts his weight, the leather of his holster creaking. Another swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. Somewhere in the distance, a pipe drips, the slow, rhythmic sound like a countdown to something inevitable. Despite the tension, he easily recovers his posture loose, almost lazy.

"How about you prove she’s alive first?" Sylus says smoothly, cocking an eyebrow. "I don’t hand over priceless artifacts on promises."

Rudy leans back, taking another drag of his cigarette, the smoke trailing lazily upward as he considers what he said. The embers of his cigarette burn bright for a moment, glowing before he flicks the ashes to the floor. The silence between the two men is hard to decipher. Rudy should be tempered right now; the last time he saw Sylus, he felt as if his soul had died under the intense and murderous gaze. But seeing that he is still alive and Sylus wants to negotiate, his plan is working. He has him where he wants him.

Then, finally, Rudy chuckles.

____

On the other side of the warehouse, Luke and Kieran slip through the shadows, their movements perfectly in sync. Shadows wrap around Kieran like smoke, merging with the dim light. Luke moves just as smoothly, and together, their actions flow in eerie harmony.

Images flicker; Luke sees the world through Kieran’s eyes for a moment, catching a glimpse of a patrolling guard rounding the next corner. The shared vision snaps back to normal just as quickly, the information exchanged without words.

Two guards drop in quick succession, their bodies hitting the ground without a sound. Kieran’s shadowy form dissolves from one target and reappears behind the next in a seamless blur of movement. Before the second guard can react, Luke is already there, his hand clamping over the man’s mouth as he drags him into the darkness.

"Got it" Luke mutters, plucking the intercom from the unconscious guard’s belt. He tucks it into his jacket, the faint crackle of radio chatter now within reach. "If more show up, we’ll know."

“Who said you can take it?” Kieran complains, crossing his arms.

"Seriously, are you going to be like that now?"

Kieran doesn’t budge. Luke sighs. "Okay, rock, paper, scissors." They square up, fists bouncing in sync—one, two, three. Luke grins as he unveils paper over Kieran’s rock. "I win. You shouldn’t be so predictable."

“Maaan…” the other one cries.

Luke lets out a quiet chuckle before giving Kieran a light punch on the arm—a wordless signal to focus. "Come on. By the way, this is like when we escaped,” Luke whispers with a faint humor. “Except, you know... in reverse.”

Kieran laughs softly. “That shitty place. Hope to not see anything like that again.” He pauses for a moment. “I... hope Miss is fine.”

Luke glances at him briefly. “She’s tough. If anyone can hold out, it’s her.”

Ever since you came into their boss’s life, things have changed, for the better. For the first time in a long while, they’ve even had vacations. They both enjoy having you around. Making them cookies, messing around. The base has felt warmer. There’s more laughter, more moments of ease, small things that never used to exist in their world. You’ve brought something different, something they didn’t realize they were missing. It’s like having a family. Eventually, they’ve put in some effort to nudge you closer to their boss. On one hand, it was entertaining; on the other, it was frustrating and painful to watch Sylus hesitate to make a move. So when you asked for help with his Christmas gift, they saw it as a sign of progress—an opportunity they couldn’t pass up.

In fact, they were so invested that they even read “How to Match a Friend with Your Boss: Volume 1.” The two little devils had even placed a bet between themselves on when—finally—one of you would make the first move. One night, the speakers in the base randomly started playing love songs whenever you and Sylus were in the same room. Another push they made was, accidentally locked you and Sylus inside the armory. The "broken" door mysteriously fixed itself an hour later, just after they were sure you'd spent enough time together. Unfortunately for them, instead of sharing a heart-to-heart, you two spent the entire time sharpening knives and silently plotting revenge. On Christmas morning, unable to contain their curiosity, they couldn’t resist spying on you, eager to see if their matchmaking efforts had finally paid off.

Though, pranking you has become their favorite hobby, whether it’s putting you in embarrassing situations or setting you up for harmless chaos. The fake gun incident? That was their masterpiece. They laughed about it for an entire month—until Sylus caught wind of it. He didn’t find it funny. Not even a bit. That stunt cost them another month of dirty work. But totally worth it.

The intercom crackles faintly with static, and a voice speaks—Rudy’s, smug and condescending. “...Hand it over, or I might just let her screams be my answer.”

“Let’s begin.” Kieran plays with his knife. Luke exhales, the knot of tension between them loosening slightly as he nods. “If it gets messy, call for me.”

“You’ll feel it before I even say a word. Stick to the plan. See you later.” Kieran says with a faint smirk. Luke nods. Going separately is risky, but they must cover as much ground as possible as quickly as possible.

From the blueprint they obtained of the building, it’s clear that it has only two floors. The hangar, where Sylus is located, occupies half of the space, meaning the search is concentrated on the west side of the building. The escape route is planned to utilize the exits farthest from his location, with the three vehicles stationed several miles away for a swift getaway. The extraction must be executed silently, without raising any alarms. As soon as they find you, the twins must place several explosives on each wall they find. Sylus would take care of the rest. Luke grips the stolen intercom, listening intently for any signs of movement. Static hums faintly in the background, broken by clipped voices giving routine updates. None of them mention you.

“Miss, hang on” he mutters under his breath as he moves forward.

Kieran, meanwhile, slips through the warehouse’s shadowy corners. The patrols are heavier near the upper levels, their routes predictable but overlapping just enough to require precision. He takes out another guard with practiced ease, catching him mid-turn and lowering him silently to the ground.

Through their shared link, Luke catches flashes of Kieran’s perspective. The glow of dim lights overhead, the glint of a rifle slung across another guard’s shoulder. Their connection buzzes faintly with pain as Kieran twists his arm taking down the guard, but it’s fleeting. As the twins work their separate paths through the building, the tension mounts. The clock is ticking.

Luke presses himself against the cold concrete wall. Voices drift toward him from the nearby hallway, the tone is casual, as if the men were discussing a routine chore rather than the horrors they’d witnessed.

Did you hear her earlier?" one of the guards asks, his tone disturbingly casual. "The screaming?"

The second man snorts, a cruel smirk in his voice. "How could I not? Sounded like she was being ripped apart."

The first guard chuckles darkly. "Maybe she is. You know how they work. Strip 'em down, break 'em bit by bit. See what makes 'em tick."

The second man shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah… I just hope I never have to set foot in that room.

The first guard scoffs. "Whatever they’re doing down there… Better she than us.”

Their voices fade as they move away. Luke clenches his fists, his pulse pounding in his ears. On the map there weren’t any other levels. You’re close, but whatever they’re doing to you is worse than he’d imagined. He takes a slow breath, forcing his racing thoughts into focus. Carefully, Luke slips back into the shadows, the guards’ words replaying in his mind as he begins mapping the fastest way to find his way to the secret level. Their words scrape against old wounds, unearthing memories he’d buried long ago. The dim corridor wraps around him replaced by sterile white panels and harsh fluorescent lights in his mind’s eye.

The suffocating chemical smell clings to the back of his throat mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. He can still feel the cold bite of the operating table beneath him, the relentless glare of overhead lights burning into his retinas. The sharp sting of needles pierces his skin, over and over, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Wires snake around his arms, his chest, his temples—binding him in place, making him nothing more than a collection of data points on a screen. The chilling indifference of the scientists hovering over him is worse than the pain itself. Their gloved hands adjust machines, press buttons, scribble notes. Dissecting. Measuring. Recording.

“Monozygotic Twin Comparative Test Record. Subject ID 808” the sound of the AI announced the start of the experiment.

Luke barely has time to brace himself before the first jolt rips through his body. His back arches involuntarily, muscles spasming against the restraints as electricity courses through his veins. His teeth grind together, a strangled noise caught in his throat.

"Subject Luke shows resistance to pain stimulation. Increase voltage."

He sucks in a sharp breath. He won’t scream. They won’t get that from him. Beside him, Kieran trembles, his fingers twitching, his breathing unsteady.

"Subject Kieran exhibits unusual synchronization. Further testing required."

Luke turns his head, just barely, his vision swimming. Kieran’s eyes meet his—wide, glassy, filled with something Luke refuses to name. Perhaps that was the moment when they lost part of their humanity, the fear of pain, the fear of dying. The machines whir louder. The wires tighten. And the pain starts again.

"We’re not gonna die here" Kieran had whispered, even as blood dripped from his lips. "They can’t break us."

The words were a promise, and together, they’d torn themselves free from that hell. But now, standing in this warehouse, hearing the guards laugh about you—another lab subject under the same cruel gaze—it’s too close. Too familiar. Luke swallows the bile rising in his throat, forcing the memories to the back of his mind. He forces himself to focus.

He presses his earpiece. “Kieran, there’s a basement.”

Static hums before Kieran responds. “That means it’s off the grid.” Pause. “Look for vents, false walls, or heavy-duty locks that don’t match the others.”

He retraces his steps, moving back toward where the guards had come from. If they were heading up, that meant they had come from another corridor. The building is massive, and finding the access point won’t be immediate. He scans the corridor, his eyes tracing the seams of the walls, searching for anything out of place.

Then, after what feels like too long, moving through the building, his eyes lands on a reinforced door at the far end. It’s heavier than the others, built to contain rather than just secure. Luke grits his teeth, his frustration mounting. A keypad. Of course. What's the code for this thing? It wouldn’t be written down somewhere obvious, and finding a guard and beating out the code would take time he didn’t have. Luke crouches, examining the keypad. The numbers are worn, some more than others. 1. 3. 5. 6. 8. He exhales, fingers hovering over the keys. Too many possible combinations. Then he notices it—a smudge. Grease, faint but there. Fresh. He smirks. Got you.

With practiced speed, he keys in 8-3-1-6. A pause. A beep. Red light. Wrong code. Luke clenches his jaw. Fine. 6-1-3-8. Another beep. Still wrong. Shit. His pulse slams in his ears. He glances over his shoulder. The hallway behind him is still empty, but that won’t last. His window of opportunity is closing fast. He swallows, eyes darting over the keypad. Think, think, think. Failing a third time could lock down the system of the door or worse—trigger an alarm.

Maybe he could hack the port? Too risky—especially alone, without backup. Breaking it? Just as bad. Every option feels like a gamble, and right now, he doesn’t have the luxury of making the wrong choice. A low rustle creeps through the walls. Footsteps. Close. Luke’s stomach tightens. Time is running out.

The stolen intercom hums softly “Sector Four, report in.” His mind races. What if…? A quick breath. He taps the receiver twice, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Hey” he mutters in his best steady voice, forcing an air of nonchalance. “This is Jensen from Sector Four. I’ve got a problem here with the door. It’s locked up tighter than a vault. What’s the code for this thing again?”

A brief silence, then a crackled reply. “Who’s this?”

Luke freezes for half a second, then answers quickly, not skipping a beat, “Jensen, man. I’m on the floor. They sent me in to clean the mess downstairs.”

A pause. “You’re supposed to know the code already.” the voice snaps. Shit.

Luke forces himself to sound confident, dropping any hint of hesitation. “Right, right. But the keypad’s glitching, and I don’t want to mess things up. Got the code?” Another pause.

“Why did they send you down?” the guard asks suspiciously. Luke’s eyes flick to the corner of the room, spotting a puddle of something foul that hasn’t been cleaned up in days.

"Look, man" he says, his voice low and raspy, "you don’t even want to know. They told me that the whole damn cell is soaked with… I don't know what they're doing down there but it smells all the way here. It’s got this rancid, sour stench. Just give me the code, alright? I’ve had enough of this shit.

He lets out a fake gag, the sound cutting through the static. There’s a long silence on the other end. Luke can hear the guard shifting uncomfortably. Then the voice cracks, sounding more disgusted than angry. “Goddamit, I’m eating. Fuck… Alright. It’s 1-8-3-6. Hurry up!”

Luke’s heart races as he taps in the numbers. Beep. Green light. The lock clicks open. “Best man…” he says with a breath of relief, then cuts the connection. Then yanks open the door, stepping inside as silently as he can, just as the first pair of boots rounds the corner. He leans against the door. That was too close.

He moves swiftly through the dimly lit corridors. The acrid scent of disinfectants becomes almost overwhelming. This isn’t just a basement—it’s a lab. Temporary, hastily set up, but a lab nonetheless. His eyes narrow as he takes in the details: exposed wires snaking across the ceiling, mismatched equipment buzzing faintly in the corners.

“This isn’t Rudy’s work,” Luke mutters under his breath. “He doesn’t have the brain for this.” He grips the stolen intercom tighter, every muscle tense as he listens for the slightest sound. Something about this whole setup feels wrong—the precision, the high-end gear. He exhales slowly, focusing on the shared connection with Kieran. The flicker of his brother’s vision overtakes his own, revealing rows of weapons gleaming under fluorescent lights. For a moment, Luke’s breath catches. Of course, Kieran would find it first. Always the one with the luck to stumble into treasures. A flicker of jealousy sparks in his chest. If Kieran’s the one armed to the teeth, then fine—he’ll just make sure he’s the one who gets to you first. Seems fair.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps from around the corner. Guards. They don't notice Luke at first, too caught up in their conversation. He slips into an opening, quiet as a ghost, his fingers curling around the knife at his belt. The blade catches the dim light, a quick gleam before he tightens his grip. Without hesitation, Luke’s hand shoots out, grabbing the man by the throat, using his momentum to slam him against the wall. The guard gasps, his gun clattering to the floor, but Luke silences him quickly.

The second guard reacts too late, rushing forward with a yell. Luke ducks low, letting the man’s fist swing over his head. With a swift motion, he twists his body, delivering a precise strike to the guard’s abdomen with the knife’s hilt. The guard staggers back, air knocked out of him, but Luke doesn’t give him a chance to recover. With brutal efficiency, Luke sweeps his leg, sending the guard crashing to the floor. In one fluid motion, he’s on top of him, knife at his throat. The guard freezes, eyes wide with fear. The man stutters. Luke presses the blade tighter, the sharp edge sinking just enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Where is she?” The guard hesitates, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape. But there’s nowhere to run. Luke leans in closer, the pressure mounting. “Where. Is. The girl?”

The guard swallows hard, his voice trembling. “D-down the hall… In one of the cells... please…”

“Who runs the lab?” The guard’s eyes widen in fear, his hand trembling as he tries to back away, but Luke’s grip is firm, unyielding. His breath came in ragged gasps.

“I-I don’t know! I swear, I just follow orders!”

“One last chance. Who runs the lab?”

Under the mask Luke’s gaze hardens. “Wrong answer”

In one swift motion, Luke drives the knife deep into the man’s throat. The guard’s eyes widen in shock before his body goes limp, blood pooling beneath him. Luke stands, wiping the blood from his blade. He looks down at the lifeless body for a moment, then turns to the first guard, still unconscious against the wall. He shouldn't have created this mess, it draws too much attention. But luckily he is used to making bodies disappear in record time.

Luke walks away, his steps light and purposeful, as if nothing happened. The sound of his whistling fills the silence of the hallway, a stark contrast to the cold, lifeless body left behind hidden in a room. His posture is relaxed, almost casual, as though he hadn’t just taken a life in a heartbeat.

A/N: I loved writing this chapter because it reveals a little about how the twins feel about you and all the effort they’re putting into finding you. But I’m even more excited about what’s coming in Chapter 3. At this point, I still have a one last part to develop. Chapter 4 & 5 will take me some time since it’s a section I hadn’t originally planned. I'll appreciate your patience.

NEXT WEEK > Chapter 3: Prove to me that you're stronger

Thank you for reading ❤

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