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alicerosejensen · 5 months

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Something about sin. Pt.1

Synopsis: Leon is ready to rip all these damn feelings out of himself and tell himself over and over again that he needs a good fuck. You're too young and too cute for him. Leon knows that he shouldn't even touch you, but then why are you tearing all the sinful essence out of him?

Warning: no erotica but it is mentioned; Older!Leon; Innocent Reader; Fem/reader; age difference; Leon is tormented by his conscience; Old man/young girl; Mentions of sex; in fact (in this chapter) the reader does not view Leon as a love/sexual interest; The reader is the daughter of another DSO agent.

A/N: I apologize for any mistakes. I really like the idea of dark Leon, but I don’t want to make him look like a bastard).

Feedback is welcome. If you want to point out mistakes or scold me, please do so in a gentle manner.

Part 2

This was wrong...

But 'Wrong' is not the word that could describe how he feels every time he sees you. One slightest appearance and Leon immediately feels like Humbert from Nabokov’s novel “Lolita,” who ruined the life of a little girl, well, the only difference is that you seem to be 19-20 years old, and not 14. Actually, it’s already wrong to want you, given that huge fact that you...don’t give him any reason.

You don't wag your pretty ass in front of him, you don't wear revealing clothes, and damn you're a victim of his sinful thoughts! When the fuck did this start?

The day he saw you might have been the right answer. This was the day when his colleague, the only one in the DSO besides Hannigan and Helena, sympathized with him and believed that what was standing in front of him was not a cold-blooded killer of the president, but the same Leon who would rather take a bullet and give his life than kill the one he was supposed to protect. The clarification of all the circumstances and the justification of his innocence dragged on for a long time, maybe that’s why your father then simply wanted to show an act of friendship and support by inviting him to a family dinner? Returning back, Leon thinks that it would be better if he went through hell again.

Leon immediately realized that the dinner was arranged primarily for him. Fried chicken with sides, a light salad, your mom made appetizers and even made a casserole. One is too many for him. The icing on the cake was when your father opened an expensive bottle of wine. He immediately felt awkward about this, after all, who was he to be bothered with so much, but you...

"Mr. Kennedy, what do you want? Maybe a salad? The thin sound of your voice almost made him feel weak. Your beautiful hands held the salad bowl, and almost as if on cue, you were ready to fill his plate with whatever he wanted. And those doe eyes looked at him so sweetly.

Leon could have sworn that at that moment some kind of blessing...or curse came down to him. He doesn't even remember what you were wearing. Some kind of brown blouse with jeans? He didn’t even pay attention to it, his eyes were completely focused on your pretty face. It was rubbish. You yourself were old enough to be his daughter and, as was said earlier, you didn’t even give him a hint to think that you were not indifferent to him. Actually, at dinner, when you were sitting between your parents opposite him, Leon saw how uncomfortable you were. You ate almost nothing and didn’t say anything, and an hour later you ran upstairs to your room, citing the fact that you hadn’t finished some task yet.

And your father quickly let you go, so you quickly jumped up the stairs like a rabbit, running away from his insidious gaze.

Maybe he just needed to let off some steam, he decided. In fact, it is not very often that there are women in his house who can spend at least a night with him. Last time it was Ada, and sex with her was too rough and fast. He cum almost as soon as she found herself in his arms, and for some reason Leon at that moment was not thinking about her, but about how it would anger Simmons, who believed that Kennedy was not worthy of her. However, it was true.

It seems like it's starting to become a habit, wanting women he doesn't deserve. At least Ada herself comes to him and Leon knows that she will not demand anything from him, they have never even had dinner together, and what did they do together besides sex, battles and flirting? That's right, nothing. But he has even less interaction with you.

Ada's black hair is too short, unlike yours, which could fall all over him if you were sleeping on his chest in this bed right now. But Ada never laid her head on his chest and always left unnoticed, leaving behind a barely perceptible trail of perfume. You wouldn't have left, Leon thinks, looking at the ceiling, ignoring the brown gaze of the woman he's been crazy about for so many years. Why is he comparing you and Ada at all? Two women who don't look like each other at all, which makes damn sense. You don't have to be like this! Your father would rather put his neck under the axe than allow his daughter to serve in the DSO or any other service, but in any case, you do not aspire there.

As a result, a woman will always understand when someone else settles in her man's head and Ada just smiles slyly moving closer to him, but all Leon hears is the rustle of a blanket.

"Well, who is she?"

As always, there was no hint of jealousy. Ada is the epitome of calm and composure, but Leon really doesn't know what to answer her.

After all, you are nobody and at the same time you have planted strong roots in his head.

"She?"

He pretends not to understand her, but Ada has long figured him out. For her, he will always remain a rookie cop.

"Yes." She still smiles, resting her head on her hand while lying on her side, "Who is this 'Jolene' What took my puppy away from me?"

Leon grins, but at the same time he feels an unpleasant ache in his chest from her words. Puppy... of course, he remained that way, and Ada was good at getting to the bottom of it, and yet she did not say that he was her lover, because there is no love between them as such.

"There is no 'Jolene' in my life and it is unlikely that there will be," he said wearily, reaching out to hug her, but contrary to expectation, he did not feel the desired warmth, and the itch inside grew like a wild beast intending to get only one thing - you.

In the morning, Ada disappeared as usual, and Leon was not even surprised. But instead of a paper airplane with a lipstick imprint on the kitchen table, he found a small note, folded in half, where only one thing was written: “I think you really need a family. You should think about it."

Maybe Ada really was right, but if she knew your age, she would obviously look at him with bewilderment, thinking that somewhere on the mission he was hit hard on the head. On the other hand, maybe she would have sarcastically joked that the older a man gets, the more he wants to have a young girlfriend instead of the old one, although he wouldn’t dare call Ada old.

Besides, you were supposed to remain only in his head and Leon could only hope that one day he would simply forget about you. For example, fucking with a random girl from a bar, but bad luck, against his own will, closing his eyes, Leon still wanted you. As if you were the one clinging to his back with your nails, leaving bloody streaks marking him and screaming his name. Complete crap.

You live your quiet life, not knowing what a zombie is, in complete material wealth and parental love. When your second meeting with Leon happens, he sees that you are dressed in some kind of wide sundress and are trying to drag something heavy alone, although dad strictly ordered you not to do this, but you, as a caring daughter, did not listen to him because wanted your father to do something other than hard work instead of carrying those heavy boxes out of the barn. The fact that you yourself were barely coping, not very successfully, was ignored by you.

Leon couldn't look at it calmly. He himself told you twice to leave the boxes, but you just snorted offended at him.

"Spoiled girl"

You want to prove something to someone, although this will most likely harm your health and force your father to fork out for doctors and medicine, so Leon, not paying attention to your snorting face, took the load from you and carried it into the house, leaving you with only light boxes.

In fact, no matter how hard Leon tries to convince himself that he just needs a break, your game keeps cutting him like a knife. If he were 21 years old again and he could get to know you before Raccoon, you could hum beautiful lyrical poems about how a boy fell in love with a girl and the whole world around him changed. As if you could be those two stupid lovers who burn alive in their love until finally they become disgusted with each other, although more and more often Leon realizes that in his loyalty and devotion only he would disgust you, not you from him. He would be your devoted puppy, as he has always been for Ada.

You would be everything to him.

Or already?

Is it right to look at a young girl like that when he is almost an old man himself? Why don't you have some annoying boyfriend with whom you can constantly text and chat on the phone thinking that this is the love of your life? And why can't he just throw you out of his head?!

"Mr. Kennedy" the way his last name comes off your tongue makes him almost rush to you and take you somewhere far away where no one would find you. However, Leon is disgusted by the idea that he will be the cause of fear and tears of an innocent girl who is completely innocent of what is happening in his unhealthy head. To tell the truth, it's not even lust… No, of course he feels physically attracted, but first there is some kind of dog instinct maturing inside to protect you from EVERYTHING and EVERYONE.

Then you started awkwardly calling his name and he just became Leon, always smiling when you ask him for something or just out of politeness ask how he is, whereas in fact you don't really care what's going on in his life. At least that's what he thinks, not really knowing what thoughts are going through your head.

Leon can't possibly know that you want someone older. Just a little colder so that you can become someone's secret, because even though you're young, you're of age. And yet you're watching these weird love movies that Leon thinks are sweeter than the cheapest chocolate and probably the books on the shelves have similar plots. A love to fight for. Disgusting rubbish, really.

But your smile is getting softer and Leon feels like he's giving up.

But Ada really understands that she is finished. Your beauty is incomparable, and even though she smiles in Leon's face, her heart also breaks apart when he says another woman's name in a dream. Huh, women…girls. How easily were you able to get hold of someone she's been involved with for so long.

In fact, it's a shame and Ada also understands that the years of youth are merciful to you, unlike her, and in fact you grabbed Leon's leash and there's no point in begging to find another man. Besides, Leon himself has always been eager for normality, for what he can build with an ordinary civilian girl. You will be a faithful girl to him, and he will be yours.

Someone else always comes. Younger and more beautiful. In Leon's case, meeting someone like you was also a well-deserved reward, so their nights are becoming increasingly rare and have long lost their passion. The only thing Ada doesn't understand is why you won't pull the leash on yourself. However, this question quickly disappears when she finds out that Leon stubbornly drowns his feelings in whiskey, in her and other women, who, though few, still have them. And then, like a faithful dog, he runs up to you just to wag his tail at the sight of you.

In the end, Ada doesn't even back down, but just waits for Leon to draw a line between them that can no longer be crossed. And waiting for you to lie on these soft pillows instead of her, like his beloved princess, or climb onto his lap and his lips will leave kisses on your neck. Leon deserves you. He deserves his share of happiness in a world where the government has turned him into a perfect weapon against bioterrorism.

Leon's touch is becoming more and more relaxed and you are not afraid of his wide chest, given your size difference. He could have easily swatted you, but for God's sake, Leon S Kennedy would rather put a bullet in their brains than hurt you. You hug him, listening to the pounding in your chest when he gives you an obscenely expensive Christmas present and drinks hot chocolate with you. No, Leon likes sweets, but in moderation. All those bright ribbons, the Christmas tree… not for him, but if you were in his house now, he would decorate his apartment for you and then hug you for several hours, nuzzling your head hoping that his phone would remain quiet.

Leon wants to put you in his bed, he's even ready to be your sugar daddy and get punched in the face by your dad knowing that you're going to grab onto him, but he just wants you. Like a stupid old dog who wants to be petted by a new owner. And Leon is sure that he will die of longing if you don't do it. The fact that you still don't have a boyfriend is just comforting, but anxiety grows when your father tells him that he's worried that his beloved daughter isn't interested in boys her own age.

"Anyone older?" your father says rhetorically while helping Leon fix his bike, "Buddy, I don't want an old man like you or me to become my son-in-law."

"But this way you'll have something to talk about," Leon grins, feeling that he has everything to step on the gas.

And he will take the risk again, even if it means a broken nose.

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shegatsby · 8 months

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Not sure exactly what you’re okay/not okay with as far as requests go, but I’d like to request a Hannibal x AFAB reader (or gn if you prefer) where the reader has a crush on Hannibal and discovers that he’s a serial killer and tells him she’s more attracted to him because of it. I’d prefer it ends up in the bedroom (wink wink) but it’s up to you :)

A/N; Hello love, thank you for this request I certainly enjoyed writing it. Enjoy!

Warnings; Hannibal killing a man, a little smut

First time you saw him was something else. You almost became a victim of a serial killer but thankfully a team of FBI agents and Dr. Hannibal Lecter saved you. Turns out this killer was on the loose for months and you dropping your phone in his car made them catch him, you were forever grateful. Dr. Lecter was a psychiatrist who was helping the FBI with their serial killer cases and he was also collecting data for a research of serial killers and he offered free therapy sessions in exchange of information. Seemed like a good deal.

It had been few months since you started the therapy and it was going smoothly for him but for you, you had to keep pressing your thighs together every time he played with his pen or grabbed something. Over the weeks you saw and observed tiny changes in his behavior. He started to loose his tie around his neck, rolled up his sleeves, gave your lingering looks. You also had minor changes, such as; wearing clothes that fit your body perfectly and showing your womanly figure, curves and all. You knew that revealing clothes won’t make him come to you so you started to dress elegantly, just like him.

One time you mentioned how much you like baking and he asked you to bake something for him and you did. The next week you brought chocolate chipped cookies and he opened a bottle of wine.

He surprised you by having a cabinet in his office dedicated to all kinds of wine and you surprised him by fulfilling your promise of baking something for him. Hannibal Lecter never relied on anyone ever since he was a child, he never believed promises of people, even the ones he who are close to him because life thought him that people are deceitful animals. However, you managed to surprise him, it felt like a date but neither of you said anything about it.

Weeks went by and you kept surprising him with small things. One day, you baked a cake, it was the anniversary of you meeting him. You went to his office without telling him, it was suppose to be a surprise. Before you knocked on the door you heard some noises, a man coughing and things falling to the ground so you quickly opened the door to see the scenario.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was on top of a man who was equally tall and strong as him and Hannibal’s big hands wrapped around that man’s throat, you halted in your steps. Your hands which were holding the container of the cake were shaking, your fight or flight response was triggered. You didn’t know what to do, in that moment you could feel everything and see, hear everything that was happening such as your soaked panties sticking to your core. You could feel your cheeks heat up, your heartbeat rising, Dr. Hannibal Lecter was murdering someone right in front of you and all you could think about or fantasies about how would you feel if his hands were wrapped around you, on his table..

When the man stopped breathing and struggling Hannibal bolted to his feet and turned to face you. His maroon eyes were startled at first but you could see his dilated pupils roaming on your body.

He didn’t say anything, his chest heaving up and down, he closed the door and locked it, he came to you and held your shaking hands, put the container aside, ‘’Shh, I’m here, calm down.’’ Now that he was close you could see the bruises on his face, dry blood on his plump lips, blackened left eye, scratches here and there. His fingers went to put a strand of hair behind your ear, even under this strange circumstances, his eyes were soft as they addressed you.

He guided you to the couch. He sat next to you, his eyes never leaving yours. ‘’Now,’’ he breathed, ‘’What shall I do with you, little dove?’’

You didn’t respond, you were a deer caught in the lights. ‘’He attacked me, you saw what happened. I was defending myself.’’ He was so calm a sudden thought crossed your mind;

‘’This isn’t his first time.’’

Your body shivered, you knew what he wanted. He wanted you to tell Jack Crawford and others what you saw but an altered version of it, all you could do was to nod and let things happen.

It had been few weeks since that incident and you avoided your sessions with him. You made up excuses, one week you pretended like you had the cold, the other week you said you were out of town etc.

Every week he sent you a present, the week you were supposedly cold he sent you soup and warm bread, it was handmade. There was also a note; ‘’Get well soon, dove.’’

Your knees went weak with that note and gesture, the other week he sent you flowers, elegant and pure white bouquet of peony. Last week you’ve made up a lame excuse of not being in the mood and he called you on the phone.

‘’Hello Dr. Lecter?’’ you answered in a calm manner, ‘’Hello dove, I was wondering-‘’ he paused for a second ‘’why are you avoiding me. Well, I know the reason but I want to hear it from you.’’ You felt your heart go faster, subconsciously your thighs were pressing hard, ‘’It is best that I don’t join the sessions anymore Dr. Lecter.’’ You said out of breath, hearing his voice after a long time did something to you. He let out a devastatingly long sigh, you felt it in your core. ‘’I was hoping it doesn’t come to this.’’ He sounded tired and defeated.

You imagined him sitting in his office, sleeves rolled up, playing with his pen while talking to you. You wanted to rush to his aid, he was a busy man with a hectic schedule, you wanted to give him something to come home to. The thought of it made you get wet.

‘’Thank you for testifying on my behalf.’’ He sounded genuine.

At first he thought you would tell the truth but when you told everyone exactly what he told you he was impressed. There was something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on. He sometimes had this urge to pull your brain out and study it because you fascinated him profoundly, but then the thought of physically hurting you made him feel disgusted, which was rare in his case.

‘’You saved me,’’ you said remembering the night, he was the one who wrapped you in a blanket and carried you to the ambulance, he was the one who sat and waited by your side in the hospital.

‘’and I saved you, the debt is paid.’’ Your free hand slowly went to the waistband of your pjs, sid in and found your aching core, he cannot possibly realize can he?

‘’My little dove, hearing you say this breaks my heart, your life is not a burden.’’ He knew how you feel about yourself, a freak, a burden..

You loved the way he said ‘’dove’’ his accent thick, you wondered what else is thick about him. You wanted him to keep talking to you.

‘’Where are you right now? And be honest.’’ His tone had a warning, such dominance.. ‘’H- home.’’

Hannibal wasn’t a stupid man, he admired your boldness, talking to your therapist while touching yourself.

‘’Good girl.’’ He loved your honesty, maybe you were the only person who was honest to him from the start ‘’What are you doing?’’ he asked, even though he knew it.

Your panties were soaked, ‘’Laying on my couch.’’ You managed to say, his hand went to stroke his clothed member, he swallowed, ‘’I was asking as in.. action wise.’’ He teased. You were rubbing your wet cunt slowly, you let out a sigh. A pornographic one to be exact. ‘’Nothing-‘’

He didn’t let you continue, ‘’Tell me, do you always dream of me when you touch yourself? His question shocked you, at first you thought you heard him wrong, but the silence continued. Cat was out of the bag, he caught you. ‘’Yes.’’ You said. Hannibal could feel himself getting harder. He stood up, locked his office door, you heard it. He sat back and unzipped his pants, he never thought he would be doing this in his office, well, he also never thought he would kill someone in his office but here we were.

‘’What are you wearing?’’ he asked, feeling like a school boy but it excited him. ‘’Nothing.’’

It was right, the second you heard him lock the door you took off your clothes, ‘’Clever girl. I assume you’re dripping wet, I have neglected you for so long, keep touching yourself.’’

Hannibal leaned back, stroking himself, his tip leaking, ‘’How do you dream of me?’’

One hand in your core the other touching your boob –he was on speakers- you spoke, ‘’Sometimes on the table, sometimes on the couch or in your bed. Pushing me down and taking me..’’

You remembered the scene, he was on the ground on top of a man and choking him. It made you moan. Your soft whimpers and divine voice made him stroke himself faster, ‘’Put two fingers inside sweet thing.’’

You could feel the shift in his voice. You moaned louder than before as you inserted your fingers, you were so wet he could hear it clearly. ‘’Every time I come from your office I touch myself.’’ You confessed, which made him growl, he was regretting that he didn’t take you before. He knew that you were interested in him from the beginning, he thought it was because you were in shock –due to your unique condition which is almost being murdered- and you were seeking shelter. He assumed over the weeks your fascination with him would disappear but he was wrong.

He was about to lose his mind because of the sounds you were making ‘’Stop!’’ he ordered and you followed. ‘’Wait for me.’’ And he hung up.

Never in a million years he would think of sleeping with a patient but you changed his mind, he got into his car and drove.

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flowerandblood · 7 months

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Rip my heart, heal my soul

[ Jack the Ripper • modern!Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, stalking, violence, mention of murder and body mutilation, manipulation, obsession ]

[ description: Driven by his hatred of women, who in his opinion are mere whores, Aemond delights in killing them when they least expect it - during their rapture with him. He meets a girl whom he chooses as his next target, but it turns out that this time he is the victim of a feeling he has never known before in his life. Murder, mutilation of his victims, obsessive, poetic, dark!Aemond. ]

This oneshot is an Anon Request and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

Next chapter: Rip my heart, heal my soul (2)

Aemond Inside Alphabet

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

He hated how two-faced women could be. With what ease they pretended to be sweet, innocent, warm, looking at him with dreamy eyes, only to fuck him a few hours later like common whores in their flat, moaning loudly like butchered animals.

He loved to see their expressions of surprise when they suddenly felt a fishing lines tighten around their neck as he fucked them from behind, choking them while smiling broadly, pleased to hear them stop making those sickening sounds, trying helplessly to grab air in their lungs and only then did he cum with a sigh of relief.

He loathed them.

He abhorred them.

Women like them laughed at him when he was in highschool, when he lost his left eye. They avoided him, calling him a cyclop, a monster, considering themselves superior, beautiful inside and out.

He knew how simple their mechanism of action was, all they had to do was meet a well-built, mysterious, charismatic man and they were all wet, suddenly forgetting about his artificial eye, ready for him to fuck them anywhere and any way.

They wanted to be the unique ones, the special ones.

They kept repeating to him that "they weren't like other girls" and he looked at them with a smile, nodding.

He'd gouge their eyeballs out of their eye sockets, grinning to find that it suited them to look like this. Suddenly they seemed to be some kind of terrifying beasts, demons from the innermost abysses of darkness that had come to devour him.

He quartered their bodies with cleavers, packed them in great black sacks into which he placed stones and drove many hours ahead, finding some lake into which he threw their remains, their empty shell, as he liked to think of them.

His first target was his schoolmate who mocked him, but then he began to observe women and girls outside clubs, hunting down those who behaved similarly, pretending to be inaccessible, hard to get.

He knew this was nonsense, a cover for a guy to want to try harder.

Because of what he did, he changed his address frequently, catching light seasonal jobs. Mostly he was employed in cafés, because there he could observe people, often finding new targets. Women would frequently pretend to come to work there with their laptops, but would glance at him surreptitiously, checking if he was looking at them.

One day he heard the ringing of a bell hanging over the door and felt hot in his chest at the thought that this girl was perfect.

She was wearing an oversized pastel jumper, light-coloured shorts and mid-thigh-length woollen socks, her hair partly pinned back. A typical sweet pastel girl making big eyes, thinking he didn't know who she really was.

She smiled warmly at him as she approached the counter, but he didn't reciprocate the gesture and looked at her expectantly, throwing a cloth over his shoulder in a gesture of impatience.

"Good morning. A large hot chocolate, please." She said softly, pulling her small rucksack off her back, searching in it for her wallet.

As she opened it, looking in it for banknotes, he saw out of the corner of his eye a student card from a university an hour away from their town and pressed his lips together, thinking it was a perfect match. He scooped her order onto the till and glanced down at her, she reached his shoulder height.

"Anything else?" He asked indifferently and she shook her head, undeterred by his coolness she was still smiling.

Stupid bitch.

"No, thank you." She said calmly, and he told her the amount she had to pay. She placed in front of him exactly as much as he had said, and he walked over to the machine and busied himself filling her order.

"Did you come here on holiday?" He asked her, standing with his back to her. He felt her move uncomfortably, surprised by his question.

"In a way." She said lightly, but added nothing more. He handed her a cup and she took it from him, looked him in the eye and thanked him, then sat down by the window, setting down her chocolate, pulling a laptop from her backpack.

He wandered between tables cleaning them and collecting orders from other guests, glancing at her screen out of the corner of his eye each time, wanting to find something that might give him a clue as to who she was, what she was doing.

He saw that she was constantly typing something in an open text document with quick, sure movements, clicking loudly on the keyboard, taking a sip of chocolate once in a while. When their gazes met she smiled slightly at him, but immediately went back to work again.

Despite his hopes that she would order something else, after half an hour she packed up and left, wiping her table with her handkerchief beforehand and bringing him her empty cup, throwing over her shoulder to wish him a good day.

He felt all tense and bit his lower lip, knowing exactly how he would spend the evening.

As soon as he entered his flat he opened the internet browser on his laptop and typed in the name of her university. It was a private institution of higher learning, so she either had to have an outstanding academic record or a great deal of money.

Another fucking nepotistic child, he thought with amusement and mockery.

He started browsing the university's website, her Facebook page and Instagram hoping to see her somewhere, but found nothing. The only thing he found out was that the university specialised in the humanities, psychology, history, literature.

That would explain why she wrote so much.

He felt impatience and frustration when she didn't come for days, unable to concentrate, thinking only of her. Standing outside the club, smoking a cigarette, he caught himself not observing what was going on around him at all, replaying for the hundredth time her visit to the café, her smile, her cordiality, the fact that she had cleaned up after herself so he wouldn't have to.

He knew it was all just a shell, underneath which there was only disgusting meat.

He couldn't hide the gleam in his eye, the grimace of satisfaction that ascended suddenly on his face and disappeared a moment later when he saw her again in the doorway of the café, this time she was wearing a summer blue dress, her hair tied up in a braid. She walked up to the counter and ordered the same hot chocolate again with a smile.

He felt he needed to start any light conversation.

"Wouldn't you prefer something cooler for such a hot day? We have freshly squeezed juices." He suggested, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and she turned her head, curious, and hesitated, involuntarily pressing her lips together.

He looked at them, at their pink, fleshy, moist texture, at her slender, long neck, and swallowed loudly, feeling his trousers pulsing at the thought of tightening the noose on her.

"Do you also have orange juice?" She asked softly and he nodded.

"Of course." He replied lowly.

"In that case, I'll have the juice." She said, taking out her wallet again, this time his attention was caught by the small photos she had slipped into a translucent pocket, a picture of some boy, a dog and an older man.

He wondered if she had a boyfriend and furrowed his eyebrows as he pressed half an orange to the juice squeezer, recognising in his mind that this would complicate things a lot. He set the glass in front of her and took the banknote she handed him.

"Thank you very much for your suggestion." She said lightly, with a wide, warm smile, satisfaction in her eyes. She moved ahead to the same table as before and took out her laptop again, starting to type something.

He circled around her for half an hour until he finally decided he couldn't stand it.

He walked over to her table with a cloth and spray, pretending he had to wipe the top, and she picked up her laptop, wanting to help him and make some space.

"Do you work even on holidays?" He asked her indifferently, and she blinked, surprised by his question, and grunted quietly, correcting herself in her seat.

"I have to publish academic articles if I want to keep my place at university. But I like doing it." She said, shrugging her shoulders, not even a trace of displeasure on her face. She put her laptop back on the table when he had finished, and he analysed quickly what she had said.

So it was a scholarship after all, she wasn't paying tuition fees.

"What are you writing about this time?" He asked feeling that this was his only chance, glancing at her nervously, wondering if he was crossing the line or being too persistent. She lifted her gaze to him and turned her head.

"I'm writing an article on the prose of Edgar Allan Poe. Do you know him?" She asked lightly, and he involuntarily bit his lower lip at her question.

Prose in which men cut out their beloveds' entrails, collected their teeth, confessed poems over their cadaverous faces, professing infinite love for them, raging with desire, with despair, with the darkness that was tearing them apart.

Of course he fucking knew him.

"Yeah. It's a pretty dark choice." He admitted, looking at her, recognising with surprise that it didn't match either her clothes, her manner or her personality. She giggled at his words, placing her elbows on the tabletop, not taking her bright gaze off him.

"It is true, however, there is something captivating about him. His darkness is filled with pain, his inner struggle, as if he still lived in agony even when he loved, even when he seemed happy. Each of his poems, each of his stories, is a dark work of art that I could analyse endlessly. He is an inexhaustible source of inspiration for me." She finished her explanation and he stared at her with his lips tightened, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen and the pulsing in his trousers at her words, feeling like he was about to throw himself at her like an animal.

She was perfect.

"Which of his stories do you like the most?" He asked finally, feeling with surprise that his voice trembled slightly, his heart pounding like mad, he had the feeling that he was looking at her as if something possessed him.

She thought about his question, lifting her gaze upwards and hummed under her breath.

"Black Cat. This is his first story I've read. I couldn't get over it, had trouble sleeping afterwards. I promised myself I'd never go back to it again, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and ended up reading the whole book." She said with a smile and some kind of excitement.

"And yours?" She asked, continuing their exchange, and he felt a tightening in his throat at the thought that he had succeeded, that he had intrigued her.

"The Fall of the House of Usher." He whispered, thinking of the woman locked in the coffin alive, unable to get out, whose moans were heard by her own brother, but he chose not to help her, horrified by what he had done.

He thought that perhaps he too could lock her up like this, keep her to himself, only not underground, not in a coffin, but in his arms. He shuddered when an impatient customer called out to him if he was going to serve her, and he gave her a furious look.

"Of course." He said lowly, walking up to her, asking what he could help with.

Usually if someone frustrated him so much, spoke to him in the way she did when she paid him, complaining about his tone of voice, the way he looked at her, he would find her and do to her what he did to everyone else.

However, now that he had met her, he didn't want to have to change his residence again and decided to hold back.

He saw with a squeeze in his heart that she had closed her laptop and started packing.

He didn't want her to leave.

She approached the counter and he felt a tightening in his throat, his whole body tense.

"I'm very sorry this woman treated you this way. I worked as a waitress last year too and I know what a thankless job it is. Don't worry about it. See you later." She said lightly and waved at him and he led her away with his eyes, watching as she disappeared around the corner throwing him another happy smile.

From that moment on, he felt that he was completely crazy about her.

He stopped going under the clubs and stalking other women, decided he didn't need to waste his time with whores when he found her, his Berniece, Morella, Eleonora, his muse, his dark inspiration, his elusive lover, the object of his desire and desperate, hot affection, his obsession.

Never before in his life had he felt so wonderful; he felt as if his insides were filled with fire.

After what she had told him, he realised that she must have been studying fiction, and he searched for academic works published on the internet about Poe's poetry, hoping to come across her name by chance.

He was not mistaken.

He licked his mouth involuntarily as he typed another name into the browser and her Facebook profile picture came up.

He bit his lip as he entered her profile, seeing that apart from basic information as he wasn't friends with her he couldn't see much else. However, he already knew that she was three years younger than him and that she was in fact studying fiction.

He went back to her article, starting to read curiously, wanting to see if she really was that good, if her words weren't just haughty, populist feminine gibberish.

The Black Cat is the story not of a madman who murdered his cat in an act of rage. It is the story of a progressive illness and trauma, a proceeding inner agony and schizophrenia that the main character is unable to cope with, his mind and his feelings measured against his animal aggression, his desire to vent his urges and frustrations purely physically. He begins to lose his memory, able to wake up suddenly in a different place, not knowing what he was doing a few days before, losing his grip on reality completely. It is very likely that the other cat he sees does not exist at all, is merely a figment of his imagination, his remorse, his progressive illness. The protagonist, falling into a spiral of his own madness, is unable to distinguish between his imagination and reality, terrified and filled with aggression like a feral animal he collapses into himself, eventually leading to tragedy, in his madness walling up his beloved wife. We observe a phenomenon of slow dehumanisation, the protagonist discarding piece by piece all sorts of brakes that on a daily basis stop us from sudden, brutal, cruel acts, leaving only pure reactions, filled with anger and frustration. Despite his actions, the reader, being inside the protagonist's head, involuntarily sympathises with him, understanding that he cannot control how his own mind, that he cannot stop the inevitable, that he is doomed to fall apart completely.

He swallowed loudly, feeling the dryness in his throat, stroking his chin with a nervous, anxious hand gesture, wondering why his heart was pounding so much, why he was so tense.

He thought he felt as if she had written about him, as if she had looked into the depths of his inner emptiness and described with tenderness and care what was happening to him. He bit his thumb thinking that he felt understood, not judged, that there was warmth emanating from her text and what she wrote.

He thought with horror that he might have fallen in love with her.

He waited for her every day, taking more shifts at work than he had to, afraid that he wouldn't be there that day when she came again. He felt a tickle in his fingers at the thought of seeing her again, of talking to her again, of looking at her soft, happy face.

When, a few days later, she walked into the café in a black top and shorts, he felt immediately what he saw in his trousers, ready to fuck her in his back room.

He thought he couldn't treat her that way, she hadn't done anything through which he should show her such disrespect, treat her so objectively. She approached him with a slight, pleased smile, her eyes shining, and he thought, feeling heat in his chest, that she was glad to see him.

"Good morning. I'll have the same delicious juice as last time, please." She said in a soft, warm voice and he swallowed quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile, which didn't escape her notice.

"Coming right up, ma'am." He said softly, and she blinked, shifting from foot to foot, he had the impression she was blushing, she lowered her eyelids meekly, her eyes covered by a veil of her lashes, looking down at her hands.

He tried to focus on his task and prepared her juice, handing it to her and she gave him a banknote.

"Further article writing today?" He asked her in a calm, light tone and she nodded.

"Yes. Would you like to read it? I like to hear other people's opinions, maybe give me some advice, or hint at your observations." She said softly, no undertone or attempt at flirtation could be heard in her tone of voice.

This turned him on even more.

"I would love to. Unfortunately, working here, I won't have as much time to sit down and read everything at once." He said uncertainly and she waved her hand, smiling broadly.

"I don't mean to disturb you while you're working. Give me your email if you want, I'll send you my file." She said with a smile and he nodded, pulling a piece of paper from a drawer and quickly writing down his address, feeling his hands tremble.

He couldn't find the words with what excitement he was waiting to hear from her. He paced around his flat taking deep sips of coffee, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart pounding like crazy.

He refreshed his messages once in a while, and when he finally saw a message from her he sat down rapidly at his laptop, opening it quickly.

Hi, thank you very much for deciding to devote your free time to me and reading what I have written. Feel free to write me what you think, perhaps you have some comments or suggestions. I am sending a PDF of the article as an attachment. Greetings!

He swallowed loudly, immediately opened the document she had sent him and began to read. This time she was dwelling on Poe's love literature and he felt hot at the thought. She wrote about how he describes women in his prose, seeing them as phantoms, statues, demigoddesses, elusive to him, being his constant object of boundless adoration bordering on madness.

He agreed with everything she wrote, but one thing caught his attention. He thought for a long time how to put his thoughts into words so as not to scare her away.

Hi, you've done a wonderful job, I'm very impressed. It's great to read what you write and I agree with practically everything you've written. However, I am puzzled by the wording you used when you question the sincerity of his feelings, assuming that what the protagonist felt towards his women was not in fact love, but only an obsession for an unmatched ideal, that he did not see human form in her. I disagree with this statement looking at the fact that when she ceased to be this ideal, when she died his interest in her did not diminish, his feelings did not fade and his despair only widened. I think his obsession stemmed from his emotionality, from loving her too much, from not being able to draw a line, sinking into his feeling instead of taming it. I hope you don't find what I've written upsetting and don't take it as criticism. Once again, very well done. Greetings.

He sent it at last and stood up, walking around his living room as if in a trance, on the one hand filled with euphoria that he had had contact with her, that he had been able to talk to her, on the other terrified by what he had written, that he had evinced in those words a hint of who he himself was, that he had shown her too much.

He started to feel anxious when he didn't get any reply for half an hour and literally threw himself at his laptop when suddenly an unread message from her appeared glowing white in his inbox.

He clicked on it quickly and began to read, licking his lips.

Your observation is quite interesting and I partially agree with the statement. I think it is true that a feeling on the part of the protagonist cannot be ruled out, as his inner dilemmas often concern matters of beauty, his remarks on the smallest details of their appearance or behaviour that rejoice him every day. Indeed, perhaps my assessment was too harsh. What I mean is that I believe - but this is my subjective opinion - that when it comes to true love, even when it is wrapped in obsession, the safety of the beloved should be the overriding thought, the priority, and yet sometimes the protagonist chooses his desire, his psychosis at the expense of the object of his adoration, who, after all, he supposedly loved. If I were to be loved I would want to be able to feel safe and not wonder every night if my beloved would clamp his hands around my neck and strangle me whispering that he loves me.

He felt a shudder reading her last sentence, reading what she had written again and again, feeling the heat in his chest, his heart pounding like crazy, feeling the tension in his trousers, his cock pulsing hard.

If I were to be loved I would want to be able to feel safe and not wonder every night if my beloved would clamp his hands around my neck and strangle me whispering that he loves me.

He thought that he would never hurt her.

That he would make her feel safe, kissing every inch of her beautiful, soft body with adoration every day, enclosing her in the embrace of his arms, protecting her from the darkness of the whole world, including his own.

He didn't know what he should answer, what she had written seemed so private, intimate, his hands hovered over the keyboard in uncertainty. If he could he would find her, go to her and not fuck her, but make love to her all night.

He would have cuddled her close and whispered reassuringly to her with each deep, peaceful thrust of his hips, stroking her soft, warm skin, sinking his hands into her hair, drawing in her scent with his nose.

He quickly unbuckled his belt from his trousers and unzipped them, put his hand under the material of his boxers, grasping his throbbing, hard manhood, the tip of which was already leaking his wetness, and began to massage himself with quick aggressive movements, panting hard, closing his eyes, thinking about what he would do to her, how tender he would be, how much he wanted to be affectionate, for her, just for her.

He came with a low, helpless moan, panting loudly, resting his forehead against the top of the desk he was sitting at and swallowed his saliva loudly, concluding that he had never felt anything like this before in his life.

He took a quick shower afterwards, thinking hard about his answer, and sat down in front of his laptop in only his trousers, his hair still wet, opening the window beforehand and lighting a cigarette, taking a drag thoughtfully, then began to write.

In this case, too, I have to agree with you. You don't really love someone if you can't protect them from themselves. The protagonists fight each other and fail, but does that mean that they didn't really love, or however, is it simply madness that prevails, the fear that fate will take their beloved away from them, so in order not to feel that fear anymore, they end their life first? Whatever it is, they are driven by despair.

He finally wrote and sent the message, letting the smoke out loudly with his mouth, shaking the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray standing by his computer. He received a reply from her after about fifteen minutes and managed to make himself a cup of tea in the meantime.

I think that's the key word in understanding their dilemma. Despair. Their beauty, their wonderfulness frightens them, they can't bear how much they love them. They are despairing that while their affection may be eternal, their bodies are not so, cruelly destroyed by time, that every second brings them closer to their death. This realisation seems unbearable to them. I will amend this paragraph and expand on what we have been talking about. Thank you very much. Will you be at work tomorrow?

He blinked, reading the last sentence, tightening his lips, writing back quickly.

You're welcome, it's been a pleasure. Yes, I will.

She wrote him back after a moment.

In that case, I'm glad. See you tomorrow!

According to what she wrote she came the next day. This time it was he who smiled at her first, and she reciprocated the gesture, walking up to the counter with a light step.

"The article has been sent. Thanks to you I think it's perfect. If you don't mind, I would like to invite you to a temporary exhibition at the museum as a token of my gratitude. It concerns neo-Gothic illustrations for horror novels, including Poe's, and I thought it might interest you." She said, lowering her gaze with a kind of embarrassment, playing with her fingers, and he felt a shiver go through him, his legs suddenly as soft as cotton wool.

Was she asking him out?

He swallowed loudly at the thought feeling like his heart would rip out of his chest.

"When?" He asked absentmindedly, glancing down at the glass he had just poured her juice into, his hands trembling. He saw that she lifted her gaze to him, hearing with hope that he hadn't declined her offer.

"And when do you have the day off?" She asked softly, he could see from the corner of his eye that she was smiling, embarrassed and happy at the same time. He felt a tightening in his stomach at the thought and a heat in his lower abdomen.

"Tomorrow."

Women often invited him to meetings and he came to them with relish, braiding them into his web, but this time he was terrified and flustered inwardly, outwardly maintaining his icy mask.

He combed his fair hair back, wore a black turtleneck and black trousers and a watch, and decided he looked good enough, elegant but at the same time not pompous.

When he arrived at the agreed place she was already waiting for him in front of the entrance, waving at him, she was wearing a light summer strapless dress, a small rucksack on her back, part of her hair braided at the back of her head.

She ran up to him with a smile and they stood in front of each other, unsure of how to greet.

"Hi. Here, this one is for you." She said, handing him his ticket without suggesting a hug or a handshake.

Her approach was very open, but physically she kept her distance.

The fact that he couldn't touch her was driving him crazy.

They both entered a beautiful neo-baroque building that must once have been a small noble residence and followed the signs. They stepped across the creaky wooden floor into a black room lit only by spotlights set on each of the works on exhibiton.

For the most part, they were etchings and lithographs with depictions of agony, death, loving embraces, figures full of anxiety, ghosts, symbolic scenes, executed with great precision and care. They both bent over each work, looking at it carefully, not rushing anywhere, wanting to analyse exactly what they were seeing.

"Amazing how artists can capture the spirit of prose, isn't it? Looking at it I immediately feel what the author wrote about, the same anxiety even though I don't have the text in front of me." She said quietly with some kind of admiration, he listened to her but had trouble concentrating, smelling the pleasant scent of her girlish, floral perfume.

"Mmm." He hummed under his breath and nodded in agreement, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He saw that she was looking at him too and they both turned away, embarrassed.

He couldn't help himself, his hand involuntarily mussed hers as they moved on to the next piece of work, he felt her flinch, but she didn't move away.

He heard her quietly draw in air as his fingers tentatively intertwined with hers, he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. He pressed his lips together as he felt her fingers spread, allowing him to grab hold and they watched further.

He didn't let go of her hand then or when they left the building, talking about what they'd seen, pretending that nothing had happened between them, that it was a simple friendly gesture.

He saw that her face was all flushed, her gaze lowered, a gentle, warm smile of happiness on her face. He felt a squeeze in his heart at the sight, at the thought that he was not repelling her, that she was not disgusted by him.

He walked her to the tenement where she rented a room and immediately memorised the number, knowing in the back of his mind that he would surely be passing this way often over the next few weeks. They looked at each other and he wondered if she would want him to kiss her, to go inside.

He wanted it and didn't want it at the same time.

"I hope you had a nice time. Thank you for everything." She said softly looking at him at last, her eyes big and filled with something that made him hot, their fingers still entwined in a light, non-committal embrace.

"Very nice." He murmured, looking down at her thoughtfully, at her soft, pleasant face, at her pink lips and red cheeks. She swallowed loudly and let go of his hand, embarrassed.

"Goodnight." She whispered and opened the wicket, closing it behind her.

"Goodnight." He replied and led her away with his eyes, watching as she opened the door and disappeared behind it. He stood and waited to see where the light would turn on, and after a moment the warm glow of the night light illuminated a room on the second floor of the house.

From that day onwards, she spent long hours every day in his café, not knowing that every evening he arranged to walk around her townhouse, watching her window from afar, sometimes seeing her silhouette as she walked from place to place, or as she opened the window to let in some cool, fresh air.

Since he met her he has not killed anyone.

Since he met her he had felt no need to kill anyone.

She filled his every thought, his every breath, the vision of her and her face brought him sweet relief, the touch of her hands, their entwined fingers kept him awake.

He felt that they had formed a bond, he felt that she reciprocated his affect, he could see it in her gaze, in the way she smiled at him as she crossed the café door and spotted him behind the counter.

One day, he couldn't stand it and such a direct proposal came out of his mouth that he felt embarrassed for himself.

"I need to spend an evening with you or I'll go crazy." He said standing over her table and she looked at him surprised, her cheeks lit up with a hot blush.

She lowered her gaze, knowing exactly what he wanted, what he was implying, and swallowed loudly while he looked at her helplessly thinking only of the fact that he was an impatient idiot.

"I need that too." She confessed and he tightened his lips at the words.

That same evening he found himself at her door.

When she opened it for him he clung to her lips as if starved, enclosing her cheeks in the tender embrace of his hands. He pulled away pressing his forehead to hers, her gaze at once fearful and thirsty, warm and dreamy, her lips twitching slightly in uncertainty.

"I know." He whispered, kissing her again, capturing her lower lip between his own, releasing her with a loud click, her fingertips running through his hair. "I know, I won't hurt you. God, I would never hurt you."

He was delighted by her sweet, innocent sounds as he placed slow, tender kisses on her neck, her shoulders, as he laid her down on her bed, running his fingers over her body, taking his time, letting her calm down, letting her feel that he would not take her by force, that he would wait as long as she needed.

"It's okay. It's okay." He whispered soothingly, running his hot lips, swollen with desire, over her soft skin, laying between her thighs, letting her feel how hard he was, how much he needed her.

"Oh." Rippled out of her mouth when she felt it, and he chuckled under his breath, delighted by her reaction. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her face, then ran the tip of his nose over hers.

"Will you let me kiss you down there?" He cooed, lowering his hand to her bare thigh, running his fingertips over it, feeling goosebumps forming where he touched her. She nodded, and he hummed before kissing her again.

They undressed slowly, unhurriedly, as he lowered the straps of her dress and exposed one of her breasts he began to place tender, light, butterfly kisses on her skin, barely brushing her with his breath, feeling her breathing fast, her lips parted in delight.

She helped him pull off his black t-shirt and his trousers, and after a moment they were both wonderfully naked, like Adam and Eve in paradise before they picked the forbidden fruit.

He looked at her adoringly and kissed her deeply, passionately, and she reciprocated his gesture, weaving her delicate hands into his hair, drawing him close, his chest pressed against her breasts.

He began to slide his lips down her sternum, to her navel all the way down, leaving a moist, sticky trail of his saliva, feeling her writhing beneath him with arousal.

With a gentle, slow movement, he spread her thighs in front of him and noticed her glowing, sticky moisture dripping onto the sheets beneath them.

He didn't hesitate for a moment, with a groan of pleasure he pressed his lips to her folds, running his nose over her clit, his tongue slipped tentatively and tasted in a circular motion what was between them, her wetness and her taste spilling over his palate, her whole body trembled, her hand tightened on his hair, a cry came from her throat.

"− shhh −" He hushed her tenderly, sinking deeper into her hot flesh, his tongue with sure, intense motions began to invade between her throbbing walls, licking and rubbing her upper wall just at her entrance, feeling her hidden spot from which her thighs trembled in his hands.

"− please −" She mumbled, but he shushed her again, knowing exactly what she needed, how he should caress her.

He'd been thinking about this for weeks.

He let her come on his face, felt her body lean back with a loud, pleading whine, trying to push him away, she was panting loudly along with him, a purr of satisfaction escaped his throat when he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her and he licked it all off with devotion, teasing her over-stimulated, throbbing walls.

"− such a good girl − you did so well −" He praised her with admiration and heard her sigh of pleasure. He kissed the inside of her thigh rising up, wiping his face, placing his hands on either side of her head.

"− I need to feel you − alright? − I will take it slow −" He breathed out and she nodded, allowing him to grasp her hips in his hands and entwine her legs around his waist.

When he guided the tip of his cock against her insides she moaned helplessly and he kissed her tenderly, pushing against her, stretching her throbbing wet walls with himself.

"− that's it − ah − I know, baby − I know −" He muttered, hearing her moan of effort, trying hard to take in what he was trying to slide into her, pushing her insides to their limits, her body tensing like a string, one of his hands on her hip, the other holding her cheek, his forehead pressed against hers, her hands entwined around his neck.

They both sighed loudly when he finally entered her fully, feeling her clench hungrily against him on all sides. He slipped his tongue between her lips as he slid out of her slowly, only to fill her to the brim again with the movement of his hips, their hands clenched tightly on their bodies.

"− yes −" She gasped and he groaned into her mouth, feeling his cock pulsate inside her hungrily at her words, his movements faster but still calm, deep, his thighs slapping against her hips with a sticky click.

"− just like that − oh, baby −" He groaned loudly losing control, moving faster and more aggressively inside her, her head tilted back, her eyes clenched shut, her mouth wide open trying to catch air loudly, her breasts waving up and down with each of his thrusts.

He felt her hands tighten on his hips, her body reaching out and literally impaling herself on him, her walls clenching against him driving him crazy.

"− yes − please −" She sobbed pleadingly, as if she was going to cry, as if she was going to die if she didn't experience fulfilment with him.

He pressed his tongue between her lips, their kisses sticky, greedy, the tips of their tongues teasing and licking as his cock fucked her brutally with every sure, deep thrust of his hips.

"− fuck − m' close −" He uttered, and she stroked his hair, reciprocating his kisses with tenderness and devotion, clamping her hand on his buttock, directing him deep inside her, as if that was where he belonged, as if the fact that he was taking her would be the most natural thing in the world.

"− yes − please − inside me −" She mewled, and he growled loudly at her words, letting go at last and coming inside her so hard that for a moment he went dark before his eyes, their bodies still moving towards each other in involuntary motions, his hot cum spilling into her hot core, giving him a feeling of fulfilment and peace.

He opened his eyes with difficulty and looked at her face, finding to his surprise that she was still alive, that he had not strangled her, her breasts rising and falling in accelerated breaths, her gaze warm and hot, her lips trembling slightly. She lifted her hand and touched his scarred cheek, running her fingers over it.

"You are so beautiful." She whispered, and he felt a tightness in his throat at her words, unable to get the phrase out, enchanted by the sight of her, so he merely breathed loudly, letting himself be touched by her.

He couldn't find the right term, the right confession to describe what he felt for her.

He kissed her all night, finally feeling accepted, beautiful, loved, her tender hands stroking his hair, his cheeks, his body all night, praising him, telling him how good he was, how tender he was.

He whispered to her that she was beautiful, that she was his Eleonora, Ophelia, Helena, that he would never hurt her, that she would always be safe with him.

When he returned the next day to his flat, he packed his knives, his fishing lines, his photographs, his mementos of the murders into a big box and drove for hours, finally turning into the woods.

He poured everything he had into a big hole, dozens of blank white eyes, photos of women, their documents, phones and doused it all with petrol, then threw a light inside and watched his past burn.

Finally, he buried it all back, covering it with mulch and moss and drove back the way he came, promising himself that he was done with it, that he would change for her.

That he would protect her.

From the world.

From himself.

_____

Next chapter: Rip my heart, heal my soul (2)

586 notes · View notes

harrystylesfan2686 · 3 months

Text

Thirst For Blood

Pairing: Azriel x Reader.

Summary: What happens when you finally escape one prison, only to be locked in another for merely surviving...

Warnings: Mentions of slavery and torture (nothing descriptive). Blood (ig)

A/N: This is probably my longest writing yet. I'm so proud of myself for this one. I tried writing in 2nd POV after the results of survey done by @leafsandstarlight so i apologise in advance if the povs change suddenly mid sentence. I did my best to edit out the mistakes but if there are some left still, do tell me and I'll correct them right away. I love this one and I hope you do too. 🫶💕

Masterlist

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

The soft cracks of fallen twigs fills the silence spread across the forest. The wounds on your bare feet had finally stopped flowing blood. It didn't really mattered though, considering you were covered with it.

The streaks of dried blood coming out of your mouth lined all the way down to your chest, soaking through the torn material. The dress shirt and pants you had stolen from your very first kill had been ruined, having constantly walked for weeks. Covered with dirt and blood that now appeared dark brown.

You didn't know where you were going, only that you had to keep walking, running away as far as you can from the place you left behind.

You saw something move behind you and froze. You turned and held your breath, looking around, hoping for an animal or something to jump up and attack you. After what felt like ages but was probably a minute, your shoulders sag in relief when you didn't see anything unusual.

You turned to continue down your path but gasped when you saw a male right in front of you. Tan skin with black short hair atop his head, adorned in leather and blue stones. Not normal stones, you realized, Siphones.

You hadn't even had a chance to think about what to do now, before he twists his wrist at your direction and a black shadow comes out in a blur, hitting you on your forehead hard enough for the world to turn into darkness in you eyes and you fall unconscious.

-☆-

Azriel paced around the dark room, frowning at the females body asleep on the floor in front of him. The shackles around her hands and legs were bound to prevent her from running or pulling any tricks when she wakes up. It's been hours since he brought her here and imprisoned her, he realized. And she still hasn't woken up.

He has been trying to catch her for a long time, longer than what it normally takes him to find his targets. The creature that's been killing fae left and right. Draining every drop of blood from her victims and leaving the bodies for everyone to find.

She's been moving from one Court to another without leaving any trace of who or what she is. Never letting anyone predict her next move. It has thrown every Court into a spiral, not know what kind of creature has been killing their people everyday.

Azriel has been searching for the monster–her for a while. It took him a lot more time then it should. Always coming up blank while predicting what she was and what it's–hers next move would be. He was starting to question his position as the Spymaster, starting to feel ashamed every time he couldn't give Rhys the information he needed even though Rhys assured him multiple times that it's alright.

But now he knows.

He finally has the answer to all his questions. Finally found the only thing that kept him awake long into the nights, wondering why he couldn't perform his best this time. He felt as if he could finally breath freely again, without feeling abashed.

But as he watched her for hours, waiting for her to wake and using that time to observe her. How peaceful she looked and her calm features and clothes made him question himself, again. He's started to feel agitated. Maybe he made a mistake. Maybe she isn't the one he was after, all this time. But the one thing that stopped him from releasing her was the dried blood on her body. It seemed almost black from the darkness of the dungeons.

The wind in the room moved when a dark cloud formed and Rhysand stepped out. The energy in the room calmed to an eeire silence before he looked at Azriel and raised an eyebrow,"Still not awake?".

The shadowsinger shaked his head and sighed,"I don't know what's wrong. I didn't hit her with much force, just enough to make her faint for a few hours."

Rhys hummed and moved towards her sleeping form, staring at her for a few minutes before crouching down, raising a hand and placing it down on her head.

-☆-

You woke up with a startle and let out a small yelp at the sight of a male touching you. You scrambled back going as far as you can before your back hits a wall, breathing loud and fast while switching your gaze between the two male in front of you.

The one who was crouched in front of you stood and moved back, standing beside the male that was already stood with his hands crossed. Wait. You've seen him. He is the one that took you from the forest, the one with siphones straped to his body, seven siphones, you counted. They glowed so bright in the darkness. You forced yourself to look at your surroundings. A small room with four walls, a window on one of them and a metal door on another. A table in the middle on which a siphone–less male was now leaning against.

Your hands felt heavy when you tried to lift them, looking down and feeling the weight of the shackles locked on your hand and legs. The chains on them were small, enough to stand but not run. The air left your lungs and you felt like blood drained from you body when you realized where you were.

A torture chamber.

No no no.

Not again. You had just got out of one. You refuse to be locked up again. Anger filled your body as you looked up at your captures and snarled. "Release me!" You demanded.

The siphon male narrowed his eyes while the other's lips thinned in a straight line. The disappointment clearly displayed on both of their faces.

"No." Said the narrow eyed. And before you could speak again, the other one extended his hands as though calming a wild beast and said,"How about we start with introductions? I'm Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court." His then pointed at the siphoned one,"This is Azriel, The Spymaster of Night Court." He gave a gentle smile which you knew was fake and asked,"And you are?"

Rhysand. Azriel. The High Lord and Spymaster. Night Court. Prythian. Right. I am in Prythian.

Your expression soften and eyes widen when you realized how far you've travelled. You were at the very top Court of Prythian. Did you really walk all the way through the continent without even realizing it?

Rhysand cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows in a silent demand to answer him. You swallowed a lump, wincing when you felt your throat sore and scratchy from dryness. You opened you mouth and told them you name, feeling a lot calmed then you did a minute ago. Rhysand's eyes widens as he looks at you as if he hadn't expected you to answer. "Will you answer a few of our questions?" You nod slowly.

"First of all. What are you?" You frown upon hearing his question but then relax looking at him. Of course he doesn't know.

"I'm a Vampire." You answered. Both their faces shocked and you sigh. Feeling the weight of your life on your shoulders. Azriel composes himself the next second but the High Lord's mouth still agaped a for longer than a minute.

"That's not possible. Vampires aren't real, they're a folklore created by ancients to scare the younglings." It's Azriel that says it this time, shaking his head in disbelief. His voice oddly comforting and you lean your head against the wall closing your eyes for a second. "And even if they were, they are extinct. They haven't been seen in a Millennium."

"So were Seers. But they came back too, didn't they? Even if only one." You open my eyes and raise an eyebrow.

"Yes. And im not going to ask how you know that but that's because a female was thrown into the cauldron and it gave her powers." Rhysand states.

"Exactly." You say. "The cauldron made her a fae and gave her powers, along with her sister. And I know because I've heard about you, high lord. The one who stole Spring's wife." You laugh softly. "It's absured what they say about you."

Rhysand's jaw clench.

"Calm down. I'm not making fun of you." You gave an apologetic expression.

"How are you a vampire? Have you been hiding all this time?" Azriel winces as he says, probably cringing at how crazy his words sound.

"Couldron made me a Vampire when I was pushed into it. Since I was already fae, I became the creature who feeds on blood to live. I was transformed in hybern, been made one of the King's experiments." You explain. They both frown in confusion and share a glance while you close your eyes and rest yourself against the cold, hard wall, the exhaustion of your journey finally hitting you at once.

"How did you get here?" Azriel questioned.

"I used my powers."

"What, exactly, are your powers?" It's was Rhysand this time.

"Compulsion. I can compell anyone to do anything I want."

"Is that how you hid yourself? Killing or compeling the people, who saw you?"

You finally straighten your neck, giving them your full attention and raise an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? I compell the people to forgot they saw me." Rhys' body tenses as that. "You can control minds?" His calm tone shealing the panick and anger behind it.

"Not exactly minds. I can control your consciousness by looking into your eyes and ordering you." They shared a glance, unsure to believe you or not.

"Don't think im telling the truth?" You tilt my head towards the shadowsinger. "I can show you." Azriel assessed you cautiously and nodded once.

You peered into his yellow onyx eyes, the gold flickering in them can be seen clearly even from the distance between you both. Concentrating on energy thuming beneath your mind, your iris' expand as you give the order,"You'll do as I say."

His face cleared of any feelings, his expression bland as he repeated,"I'll do as you say."

"Take off my binds." You lift your hands and the corner of you lips quirk up.

His eyes widen,"No!" He exclaimed but his feet moved on their own, seeming as if they were they're own person. He stopped in front of you and sat on his toes, hands moving to your restrins. "What the fuck?" He barked.

"Azriel stop!" The High Lord ordered, stepping behind him and held onto his shoulders, trying to get him away from you. Azriel didn't budge.

"Stop." You spoke, pulling your hands back toward you before he actually opened your chains. Azriel stood and took a big step away from you, finally in control of himself. He and Rhysand breathing hard, staring at you in disbelief. "Believe me now?"

A moment of silence passed, no one speaking anything before Rhysand cleared his throat,"How–," He shaked his head slightly. "When did you became a vampire?"

"I'm not quite sure of the time. All I know is that when you killed the king, I ran and came here." You shrug.

"Tell us everything." He ordered, the traces of a gentle man gone, leaving only the authority of a high lord. "You said 'experiment'. What do you mean by that?"

"You don't think he just threw the high lady's sister in there and hoped for the best did you?" Your lips thinned. "He tried it at first, obviously. Trying to see if his theory actually worked. Since he couldn't throw in humans, he bought fae slaves like me and drowed us in the Couldron. He drowned one fea at a time. The first two didn't survive but he didn't give up hope. When the third subject resurfaced, he was overjoyed. Thinking it finally worked but all that hope was destroyed when he crawled out of the Couldron and died a few minutes later.

The forth subject the same as before but the fifth survived. She came out a dragon, being able to exchange skin for scales and pikes, hands to wings, and breath fire when angry. The king locked her up and tortured her, trying to check how strong she was. She lived a full month but at the end died of bloodloss." You sucked in a sharp breath, preparing yourself for further.

"The sixth subject came out looking normal. But everyone quickly realized they had made a mistake calling her a fail when she looked at a person and that person turned stone. She was executed the second she turned the gaurd stone. I don't know details more than this because as I said we were never transformed at the same time. I heard all this in small pieces of information, listening to the guards that were stationed to my cell, talk.

I was the seventh subject. The only fae who was weak enough to torture and strong enough to keep alive. They beat us, burn us, and tortured us in ways I couldn't even imagine were possible. I had a better of it though because not long after I was turned, you killed that king in war. When I heard the he was dead and the castle was in mayhem, I ran. I ran and compelled my way out of Hybern and into Prythian, in hopes of finding a better life." You gave them a lopsided smile and sigh.

"You killed innocent people in the process. You murdered your way through our land." Azriel finally spoke and the look in his eyes as he looked at you was pure rage.

"I was weak. I was hungry. I couldn't control my hunger, I didn't know how to. When I fed on those people, I planed to just take a sip of thier blood and leave. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't control myself in the few killings. I would never kill a person on purpose. I never want to harm anyone. And after I was strong enough, I did learn to control. I fed, compelled and ran." You tried to explain yourself but it seemed clear he didn't believe you.

"You could've used your power to get out of here the second you woke up. Why didn't you?" He abruptly changed the topic. You swallow a lump.

"As I said, I don't want to harm anymore people."

You turned to the high lord and said,"I won't hurt anymore people. You have my word. I just want my freedom. A peaceful life is all I want." You plead.

"How do we know you're not lying?" Azriel asked in an irritated tone. I glaced at him and said to Rhysand,"You can look into my head. If you find that I'm laying, you can kill me right here and never let me walk out alive. I'll accept whatever punishment you give. I promise you I'm saying the truth." You considered begging at this point if it got you free.

Rhysand looked at Azriel, The two of them held each others gaze for a minute without saying anything, having an unspoken conversation. Your eyes skipped between them, confused because they weren't even blinking.

Suddenly, Rhysand turned to you, stepping near and put a hand on your head. He either didn't notice the dirt in your locks or didn't care. You gasped feeling a dark shadow within you soul, you winced and shut your eyes because it felt almost painful, not so much that you couldn't handle it but enough to steal you focus only to the shadow digging around your subconscious. Your body locked itself in the position you were sitting in. You couldn't do anything but sit there and let the high lord examine your thoughts.

After what felt like forever Rhysand finally stepped back and sighed. The relief of body finally back to your control almost made you drop to the ground but you kept yourself composed. Breathing heavy and looking up to the high lord, you raised an eyebrow, silently questioning him.

"She's telling the truth. She doesn't intent on killing anymore people." Rhysand informed Azriel and his face relaxes the slightest. "And as for your request," He told you,"Fine. I'll let you walk through Night Court," I couldn't control my smile. "But only on one condition." He raised a finger.

"Anything." You noded.

"Azriel will be with you at all times. Anywhere you go, anytime you go. He will be there. At least until we are sure to trust you won't harm our residence." Rhysand ordered and Azriel clenched his jaw.

"Alright!" You felt so happy, you could dance.

Rhysand and Azriel shared a worried glance, again but you were too in your own joyful world to realize. You are finally free. You closed your eyes and rested you head on the wall, the smile on your face refusing to go.

I am finally free.

-☆-

Azriel watched with skeptical eyes as you practically skipped through the road. You both were on your way to a small bakery Feyre had suggested.

When you were taken out of the dungeons, the High Lady of Night Court had arried there complaining how long her mate had been gone. Her eyes had widened when she took a look at you, worry clearing written in her expression. When the high lord and spymaster explained who you were and what your situation was, she immediately took it in her hands to get you comfortable.

It was weird, to be honest. You had never experienced someone being so kind and nice to you, treating you like you were important, like you mattered. Even before you were turned, your life was rough, being a slave waiting to be sold, it was expected. So yes it had been very weird.

You were transfered in a house built above a mountain. Rhysand said it was because Azriel lived there and you were always expected to be with him, but you knew the real reason. It was because the House of Wind had ten thousand steps, standing so high the if you ever tired to run, you wouldn't be able to go far without being caught or dead. But you didn't care because you never wished to run. Never wished to give them any reason not to trust you.

So you accepted your fate with a happy face. You met with High Lord's inner circle who were cautious with you, still are, but a little comfortable thsn before. You only met them once and are sure they all could kill you the second you did something wrong.

Everyday you walked with azriel around Valaris, going from one shop to another, learning the style and culture of people of Night Court. You were first a bit scared to do or touch anything in front of Azriel, not even speaking much but you have to admit, you got used to having him around. Finding him at every corner you turned to, watching you. After a while you tried to talk to him, making small talks about random things as you walk and surprisingly he replied to you everytime.

Azriel didn't understand how someone can be so annoyingly curious about everything. You looked at every person, every dish of food, every single thing with so much curiosity and happiness, it made him almost angry. The smile of your face hadn't left for a second since they released your shackles. It was like walking with a bubble full of pure contentness.

Your eyes widen in excitement as you pointed to a bakery in front of you. "There is it!" You took your hand in his and walked faster, almost ran to the door of the small shop. He opened the door and stepped aside to let you in first and closed it behind you both.

You smile impossibly wide as you take in the pink interior. A few tables spread across the left side of the shop with even fewer people sitting on them and the right filled with freezers that contained verities of sweets. From cakes and pastries to cookies and different breads, everything looked so delicious, you can't possibly choose what to taste first.

"Good morning darlings, what can I get you?" The lady behind the cash counter asked with a smile.

"I apologise but I can't decide. Why dont you suggest me something?" You gave a smile.

"Alright do you like chocolate?" She asked. You opened you mouth to reply but stop, trying to remember if you've ever tasted chocolate. You don't think you have. Well guess you'll if you like it now. "Sure." You smiled.

When the lady asked Azriel what he wanted he just said that he doesn't want anything. You both go to sit in one of the empty tables on the very left corner, taking the seat opposite to one another. There is a widow right next to you from which you glimpse at every person walking through the road.

While you observe outside the window, Azriel observes you, thinking how can anyone be so energetic all the damn time. He thinks of how you look so different than how he first saw you, covered in so much filth, and now your skin is as clear as water. Your eyes and lips so perfect, he can admire you for days without stopping. The one thing he's sure is amazing, is the joy in your eyes, he swears you could have the deadliest disease and still be happy.

He breath catches for a second when you turn to him, realizing he had just been caught ogling you. He expected you to frown in discomfort or turn to the other way trying to avoid him but he stopped breathing entirely when he sees you smile even brighter at him. The blush on you cheeks and sparkle in your eyes fading away the rest on the world around you.

His focus entirely on how breathtakingly beautiful you are.

The moment shatters when a girl in aprone comes in with a dish and places it between you both, muttering a small enjoy and going away, leaving them alone again.

"I've never had chocolate before. I'm not sure if I'll like it or not." You quietly admitted. Azriel tried not to let his surprise show as he digested the information. Of course you never had chocolate, you were a slave most of your life. He mentally rolled eyes at himself.

You picked up the spoon and scoped a small piece of the brown substance. You put it in your mouth and instanty let out a small moan at the taste. Sweetness explods in your mouth as you chewe, digging in for the rest of the cake immediately.

Azriel tried to ignored what that moan did to his body. He tried to suppress the smile itching to appear on his lips as he watched you eat the piece of cake in utter amusement. The chocolate covered you lips and you tounge poked out the lick in clean. You finished the cake and beamed at him. "One more, please?"

Azriel's lips turn up at the corner as he gestured the waiter for one more pastry. He noticed the end of your lips still brown. "You still have chocolate on your face." He stated and pointed at his own lips, trying to show the exact place. Your hand came up and wiped the opposite end. "Better?" You asked. He shaked his head. "The opposite." You wiped it almost cleaned but missed a spot. You raised you eyebrows, silently questioning him again.

He sighed and reached his hand to your face and wiped the rest clean. His fingers felt rough against your soft skin. You intake a sharp breath feeling fire ignited against your skin as he moved his hand back. He then pulls his thumb near his mouth and open his mouth to lick the chocolate off. His eyes held your gaze for a heated moment and you forgot how to breath.

The moment interrupted when the waiter came in again. Bringing in the second dish of chocolate cake you ordered, though before she could rest it on the table, someone pushed her, causing her to lose footing and drop the dish, shattering it to the ground. A hundred broken pieces of ceramic glass spread through the floor and she spoke out a curse. Bending down to pick up the pieces, she repeated apologises under her breath, but as she picked up one sharp pieces, the sharp edge cut through her skin and she instanty dropped it and gasped. The small cut deep enough to gush out a trail of crimson blood.

You tense as the smell of blood fills the room faster than anything. You close your eyes and try to control but the smell is so strong you feel hunger hit you all over your body. Azriel quickly stood up and grabed you, standing you up too as you both quickly get out of the shop, you running as fast as you can from the desire to feed on that poor girl until you feel her limp in your arms.

Azriel pulled you in a dark ally beside the walk way, placing your back against the wall and resting both of his hands beside your head. You press your eyes with both hands trying to think of something else, anything other then the beautiful scarlet liquid ready to be suck on just a few steps away.

"How are you feeling?" Azriel doesn't mention how he feels proud of you that you controlled yourself enough to get out after not drinking blood for so long.

"Hungry." You growl, trying to distract yourself by thinking.

"You need to distract yourself."

You scoff. "You think im not already trying." You snapped at him, not even in enough mindset to feel bad. Your head hangs low as you reach to your hair, pulling as hard as you can. Pain. Yes that's what's going to distract you.

Azriel licked his lips. "I have an idea but I'm not sure you'll like it." He whispered.

"I don't care if I like it not. If you have something to calm me then act on it!" You finally lowered your hands and glared at him.

Azriel felt speechless as he looked at you. Your irises glowed red and veins that coloured black and purple pulsed around you eyes. Your mouth in a snral, showing off you pointed canine that stood out proudly with sharpest edge amongst the other teeth. You looked deadly as though you could kill him this very second without a problem.

It made him want you even more.

Pushing every doubt out of his head he slam his lips to yours. You mouth open in a gasp and he used it to his advantage, pushing his tounge in your mouth. You returned the kiss with a sigh, pushing yourself into him, hands in his hair and tougne tied with his. His one arm wrapped around you waist and other behind you neck pushing your head upwards to deepen to kiss.

You both kept your lips to the other until what felt like forever. Finally pulling back and opening your eyes to find him already looking at you. The hunger you felt now was of a entirely different reason than before the kiss. The gaze you shared was a lot more than desire, it was raw and intimate.

You smirked at each other.

"I hope you liked that, because we are definitely doing that again."

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel angst #vampire!reader

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kanekisfavoritegf · 7 months

Text

Human Pet - Geto ♡

Warnings: Gore, mentions of death, smut, biting, blood sucking.

You felt possessed. It was like you were in some kind of trance. The way he pulled you in was inhuman. Well, he didn’t seem to be very human anyway. His eyes were so black that if you stared too long, they would pull you in, and you’d drown in the dark abyss that was his orbs. You couldn’t help yourself, even now, as you stood in the middle of his stage among the carcasses of your dead villagers and in front of him, sitting in the front row, smiling at the mess. All you wanted was him. What you didn’t know was that all he wanted was you too. He killed an entire village just to take you. And, maybe, because he was hungry. As he fed on the leg of one of the local bakers, he watched you stand on the blood-soaked stage. He felt some sort of call towards you. He didn’t understand it. His thirst for you. Humans were nothing but food and bad entertainment. So why was he now stripping you of your clothes on his bed? Why was he now licking the blood of his victims, your fellow villagers, off of you? And why was he now thrusting into you like a depraved whore?

…

“More, please. God more!” You let out a throaty moan. So depraved you felt ashamed. It was hard not to feel shame when your village killer lay atop of you, teaching you to sin in ways you never knew how. How could you not feel embarrassed begging for a demons dick to bruise your cervix.

“God? There is no god. Only me.” His teeth shone white, with the exception of the few red stains that remained from his previous snack. His hair flowed delicately with every aggressive thrust. “Say my name.”

“Suguru. Please let me cum, p-please.” Your breathing had turned to pants, and your moans had turned to screams.

Geto was doing no better than you in that department. He bit into your shoulder to suppress his groans of pleasure. No human had made him feel this way, so why are you? What made you so special? Suguru didn’t have much time to think because as soon as he sunk his teeth into you and tasted your blood and flesh, he came, and so did you. His previous black eyes now glowed red as he flipped you from the mating position he had held you in, and suddenly, you were on your stomach. He gave you no time to think as he pushed his fat cock back into you, paying no mind to the whines or protests you let out as you begged for a break. Because Suguru had decided to keep you, his little pet human.

Cat’s Kinktober ★ Masterlist

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pasta-in-the-pudding · 4 months

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omg…HIHIHIHI HELLOOOOOO‼️

ENDISBDID I JUST LOVE YOUR WRITING SM I NEED TO REQUEST SOMETHING AASJSJDJ

anywho, CAN. Can can can caaaaan you write a one shot about where the reader is a young well known killer, she wears a mask to hide her (or their. Any pronouns you’re comfortable with!) identity from the people BUT she gets to go school without the mask so they’re safe! :D

AND THEN (idk but something something happened at school that caused the reader to kill someone out of pure rage.(anger issues RAH)then they run away from school and into the woods and all that stuff) Masky or any other Creepypasta sees the reader and recognizes them by the mask and convinces them to join them AND ALL OF THAT

OH and their killing method is capturing the victim who has done bad shit in their life(like bullies, bad parents and these type of people) record them in tapes, then torturing them to admit the horrible shit they done, then send the tape to the relatives of the victim for them to know AAAAAAAAAAND scene.

I WILL BE KNOWN AS 🐰 TO YOU and be a regular :D

Take your time with this and take care!!

Smooch

-🐰

Omg this is totally giving early 2010's creepypasta fandom/pos

Thank you so much for requesting!!

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

Masky discovering a new creep

Being a world famous killer blows. First world problems, amirite? Anyways, it really does stink. Having such an occupation is filled with endless controversies, people debating over what your doing is right or wrong. You also don't get much sleep, so school is 10x harder. You know that what you're doing is for the greater good. What you do is so others can live peaceful lives, not for your own selfish desires. But it's not like you can explain that, lest you be arrested and charged with murder.

And so, you put up with the tiredness, sores and cuts you get from your little "hobby". This being said, your temper tends to be quite short when it comes to people messing with you. While you rest your head on your desk to try and get some sleep you hear your name, as well as some insulting words and laughs from the girls in the desks behind you. If you actually zeroed in on their conversation, you can tell that they are talking about how greasy your hair looks and how beat up you always are, this being said they are making fun of you for what they assume is abuse at your home.

It is true that you haven't showered in a while, you just hadn't had the time or willpower to. But to make fun of someone for potentially getting abused? That had you all sorts of ticked off. You try to bury your head further into your desk to try and ignore them, but it seems that they only get louder and meaner with their insults. When your anger builds up to a point of no return, you lift your head and turn to face them. "I'm not getting abused, ok? And even if I was, what kind of right do you think you have to make fun of someone for that?! It's obvious your mommy and daddy don't love you, but if you think you can take that out on me, you are dead wrong because baby, I am not the one."

Your yelling has caused most of the class to look at you, and the girls are silent for a moment before laughing amongst themselves again, calling you weird and saying that they must have been right if you were getting so defensive about it. Their words swirl in your head and it gets to a point you can't take anymore. "Shut up." you say "Shut up shut up shut up!" You get out of your desk and push one of the girls out of her chair, climbing on top of her and beating her senseless. The other girls are now calling you crazy, trying to pry you off of their friend but it's no use. Your teacher is calling up the principal but when she sees your hands being coated with blood and the girls face getting bashed more and more into her skull, she instead calls the police.

By the time you have come back to your senses, blood is splattered all over the classroom, all over your clothes, and the girl is nonresponsive. You gasp and stand up, covering your mouth in utter disbelief at what you had done. Without even looking at your scared classmates and teacher, you run out of the classroom, knowing that if you want any chance of escape, you have to go now. You run past multiple teachers who don't even know what's going on, they only try to stop you for running in the halls. You don't listen and keep on running until eventually you realize that you are in the woods. You're a ways away from your city, and you can hear sirens blaring in the distance. No doubt they're looking for you.

The adrenaline has worn off, and you're tired. You are stumbling through the woods blindly. Your legs give out and you fall to the leaf covered floor, catching your breath and letting your sore legs rest. After a while, you hear footsteps approaching you. You curse under your breath and try to get up to run some more, fearing a cop might have found you. Your legs don't work, and the footsteps catch up to you. You are lifted off the ground by the collar of your shirt and met with the face of an older man, eyeing you up and down with a hatchet slung over his shoulder. "Yeesh kid. What happened to you?" He asks, putting you back down on the floor and awaiting your response. You are too scared to answer, only looking up at him worriedly.

He raises a brow and looks at your hands. "Is that blood...?" he asks, leaning down and looking at your hands. "Hey, you're that kid everyone in the city over is looking for!" he finally concludes. This has your heart beating out of your chest. "I heard what you did....I think you better come with me. There's someone I think you'll wanna talk too." He says, picking you up again and half carrying you. "Don't worry, we aren't going to the cops" He says with a chuckle, as if the idea is absurd. It is after this that you begin to feel dizzy, only to pass out again.

#creepypasta #slender mansion #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x female reader #masky mh #masky creepypasta #creepypasta masky #masky marble hornets #tim masky #masky x reader #masky #mh masky #tim wright #mh tim

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maliciousblog · 15 days

Text

Hide and Seek Part 2

Warning: It gets dark towards the end read at your own discretion.

You didn't know how long you were held here the hours all melted together into one miserable nightmare.

The nauseating smell of the cabin he held you in became all too familiar to you.

You would have run away much earlier if not for the mangled state of your leg.

The wounds had healed leaving behind four long gashes that scarred your foot.

You were lucky to be able to walk again given the trap went through your flesh narrowly missing the bone encased within.

Your captor on the other hand was more than happy to help you around it was sickening

how much he dotted on you.

The way he would continue to carry you around even though you were well enough to walk around by yourself.

You didn't really have a say in the matter you were his little bunny his pet to do as he pleased and he made sure you were aware of your place.

The days he would take you down to the basement of the cabin. As he opened the hatch leading down the stench of death assaulted your nose the metalic stench clung to the air seeping into your clothes the smell would often linger even once you were out of the hell pit he called a basement where he kept the bodies of his victims.

He prepared to hunt them down like animals

Which ever unlucky hiker was unfortunate enough to cross his path.

He was methodical in his actions.

He would taunt them.

Toying with them it gave him some sick kind of pleasure seeing the looking of fear in their eyes when they realise that they aren't alone but they can't make who or what exactly is keeping them company.

He would saviour the moments as his prey slowly start to lose their minds at every little snap of a twig or a chrip of a bird.

The cherry on top was when they realised that they weren't going to make it out alive.

He loved watching the light die out of their eyes as they took their last breath.

It was sick sadistic game he liked to play.

He would near them then move away creating distance in a pathetic attempt to give them hope that they just might get away only to crush it in an instant as they got trapped in his web.

He did the same with you as well but you realised that he treated you as more of a pet rather than prey occasionally even using you as bait to lure in unsuspecting idiots.

But never let them get too close to you.

In a way he was protective of your growing fond of you as the time passed.

It sure didn't fell that way to you.

In your mind you were just another one of his play things kept around to amuse him when he was bored.

There were ocassional moments of tenderness amongst the violence that you shared.

When he would brush out and braid your hair before you slept or when he would of so gentle massage in lotion onto your skin leaving behind a faint scent of strawberries his personal favourite was when he would cuddle up to you by the fire place as you read to him.

In these moments he didn't seem like the monster he truly was.

In the faint glow of the fire his feathers appeared softer than they were an almost angelic gentleness to them. As he hummed as you read occasionally reaching up to place with your fingers resting his head on your lap as he guided your hand to brush over his head gently massaging his scalp.

The situation you were almost seemed normal.

To a person looking in from a window both of you almost seemed like a couple in love.

Even though that was the farthest thing from reality.

Maybe you had started to lose your mind as well.

When you looked down on his face his features relaxed as he was asleep in your lap.

You couldn't clearly make out what you felt for him was it anger for having killed your friends and holding you hostage, was it fear after witnessing what he was capable of or was it a third more dreadful thing love. Had he really broken you so badly that you had begun to care for him. The mere thought of that sent chills down your spine.

If you loved him you were no better than him.

No you couldn't let him get the best of you

You had to escape of atleast try to.

By now you had familiarised yourself with his patterns.

Most days when the weather was good he would go out for a couple of hours to collect fire wood and supplies.

That was your window of opportunity.

If you played your cards right that would give you a window of time short enough to escape or make it far enough to escape.

As long as your plan worked.

Most days he went out he would chain you up in the basement.

When he was at home he let you roam around upstairs if you were good.

Before he left you forced yourself to throw up convincing him that it was just a stomach bug and that you could use with some fresh air.

He let you stay upstairs given how sickly you looked.

You had become weak in his imprisonment loosing your appetite and and sleep resulting in deep bags under your eyes.

He knew that you couldn't really take getting sicker so he let you stay in your room.

Locking up the cabin as he drove his truck out into town to stock up for supplies.

As you saw his truck move further out of sight.

He slowly slipped out from under the covers.

Grabbing the ice pick up had stolen from the basement on one of your visits down

Angling it to the the end of the glass striking it till it shattered.

The opening was small enough for you to squeeze through but the shards of glass.

Cut into your skin as you worked your way out of the cabin.

You didn't know where to go but one thing was sure you had to make it as far away as you possibly could from this hell hole.

Picking a direction you ran .

The farther the distance the greater the chance of your escape.

Your could fell the twigs and leaves scraping at your skin.

While you felt fire in the muscles of your legs as the propelled you forward. Followed by the stabbing sensation on the side of your body.

Your body was shutting down.

The captivity he had subjected you to had taken a toll on your body making you weak.

The breath shortening in your body.

You had been running for a while now surely you could take a couple of minutes to gather your and slow down your breath.

Well that was your second mistake.

The first was tripping the motion sensors that he had hidden around the cabin and the trees surrounding the area.

He knew you had ran the second you lept out the window.

He just let you run because he found it amusing.

Watching his little bunny hop around in hopes of freedom only for him to hunt you down and devour you whole.

It was almost nostalgic reminded him of the night he had taken you the first time.

The image of your fear struck face was etched in his mind.

He got giddy with excitement each time he remembered it.

But this little cat and mouse game was getting drawn out a little too much.

Living in the woods he has memorized every turn he knew it like the back of his palm.

It was only a matter of time before he found you.

When he caught up to your steps were faltering your pace slowed by fatigue.

He watched you stagger around like a predator watching it's prey.

Enjoying watching the struggle of his prey.

Turning a corner taking a shortcut he stood concealed in the trees.

Watching as you ran right into his arms.

Before you could even turn around as you recognised his face staring right back at you.

His hands reached out in a bone crushing grip.

Another shooting up to your scalp dragging right back to where you came from.

Your pleas of desperation begging him to loosen his grip fell onto deaf ears as he dragged you across the forest floors.

A string of apologies followed it was like you were experiencing the five stages of greif as he dragged you back.

Finally accepting defeat as you could see the border of his cabin in sight.

Once inside he flug you onto the group your head colliding with the hardwood floor letting out a sickening crack.

You could feel warm liquid ooze out wetting your hair.

Your vision bluring out as the white hot pain seared through your skull.

You were about to pass out.

As you felt the back of his hand connect to your cheeks pulling you back into consciousness.

"Don't you go blacking out on me now sweetheart. You have a whole night of pain ahead of you.

If you are good maybe a little pleasure too.

Everything was going so well."

At this point he had you pinned beneath him straddling your hips rendering you motionless beneath him.

You let out a string of apologies to appease him.

He just looked down at you with hidden eyes holding nothing but anger.

" Why did you have to ruin it bunny.

I let you live , I gave you a place to stay , food to eat and how do you repay me?.

By being an ungrateful brat.

How about I give you a little brat of your own.

To bind you with me forever.

I've been thinking about it a lot lately. You would look so pretty all swollen.

I bet you'd make a great mother.

We could have a few little brats run around sound fun right?.

You and me and our little family."

The realisation left you petrified. You were never going to make it out of here alive.

Forever bound to this maniac.

Just another one of his victims but unlike the others who died quickly he would torture you for the rest of your miserable little life.

You heard his belt hit the ground bringing you back to reality this time it wasn't like the times he had taken you before which were tender and almost loving.

No this time he was on a mission he barely even looked at you as tears ran down your face only occasionally looking up to wipe them away and to whisper insults in your ear about how stupid you had been trying to run away.

A dumb bunny will always fall prey to the sly fox.

The slick between your legs doing nearly nothing to ease his entry as he split you open with his girthy manhood.

Jack hammering into your swollen cunt.

His hand roaming your body ripping off any fabric that hid your skin from him leaving you naked as the cold nipped at your skin.

He placed warm kisses on your exposed skin devouring it like a man who had been starved for days.

Leaving behind purplish brusies.

His other hand rubbing circles around your clit.

Until you were about to come undone for him.

He engulfed your mouth in a sloppy kiss swallowing your moans as you came around him.

You could feel his own pace begging to falter as his thrust because sloppy and desperate.

Letting himself go with a grown still not stopping even after he came determined to make sure his cum coated your insides.

The over stimulation making you shiver as he made sure you were full of him.

He moved off you and collapsed beside you.

" I think that did the trick. What do you think bunny. Feeling full yet. Im sure you can take a couple more loads.

We have the whole night to see just how much you can take."

#dark #dark fic #kpop #yandere #yandere fic #yandere kpop #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez #seonghwa #dark! Seonghwa #yandere seonghwa #yandere ateez

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dawn-moths · 10 months

Note

I loved your noe fic so can I request #6 with noe please <3

i’ve honestly been wanting to write for noe again for a long time now so when i saw this i was like “yes!!” haha (i’ll get back to the wip i started for him someday)

prompt: moulding perfectly into each other's arms

character: noe archiviste (the case study of vanitas)

words: 671

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Growing up, you’d heard all kinds of rumors about the beings known as vampires.

“They’re blinded by their bloodlust,” you’d been told, “Even someone you might consider your closest friend would lose control and kill you if they were turned.”

“They’re terrible, vicious monsters,” went another. “They could never be regarded as anything close to human.”

You’d heard people talk about their red eyes, alluring but deadly, and their razor sharp fangs, glistening with the remnants of glossy crimson after they’d sucked a victim dry. Some people even thought they could shapeshift, recounting horrifying tales of bones bending and snapping and reforming to turn them into some revolting beast when they needed to feed.

You knew all of this was false, just the shameful result of the general public’s ignorance and fear of something they didn’t understand.

But you’d be lying if you hadn’t believed at least some of the stereotypes before you’d met Noe though. It had been quite interesting to learn what was fact and what was fiction the more comfortable you two had gotten around each other, but the one thing you’d been most surprised to find out, for whatever reason, was that, contrary to popular belief, vampires did not run cold.

In fact, when your skin was pressed against Noe’s or even when you two were simply cuddling up together fully clothed, he was so warm you sometimes worried he was running a fever and just didn’t know it yet.

Sometimes in the middle of midsummer nights, you’d wake up to find you’d kicked half the covers from you and even then, if you were still secured in his arms, you might have to carefully shimmy away from his grasp for just long enough for your body temperature to cool down a bit.

Noe usually slept shirtless, though he swore he wasn’t nearly as affected by his own body heat as you were— sometimes even seemed to wake up with a chill if you ended up stealing the sheets back once you’d fallen back asleep on the other side of the bed— and when the weather turned as warm as it had been as of late, he felt kind of guilty.

Because all he wanted to do at the end of the day was wrap his arms around you, savor the way your body fit perfectly against his, and drift off into a dreamless sleep, knowing he’d wake with you safe and sound in his comforting embrace right where he’d left you. Even if that meant, selfishly, that you’d end up a little warmer than you were comfortable with.

But you didn’t mind, because one of your favorite things about Noe was that he gave the best hugs in the world! He’d hold you for as long as you wanted if you were having a rough time and needed some comfort, but would also snuggle you close to him just for the sake of having you there, your back pressed against his chest or both of you lying face to face, limbs loosely entangled as your breathing fell in sync.

So, yes, while Noe’s eyes did sometimes take on a ruby hue when it came time for him to feed and more than once you’d gotten a glimpse of those pronounced canine fangs catching in the silvery moonlight, you knew he was the furthest thing there was from a vicious monster or a revolting beast.

Because you never felt more safe or more loved than when you felt his long arms draped around you, keeping you close where you’d both be lulled by each other’s scents, hearts beating as one and not a care in the world as you dozed off under the blanket of his natural warmth.

You just hoped that, one day, everyone else would come to understand and maybe even love vampires in the same way that you did, but for now, you were at least glad to enjoy the presence and protection of the one you were lucky enough to call your very own.

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send me a number from this prompt list + one of the characters i write for and I’ll write a short lil something for you 💕

#noe archiviste #noe archiviste x reader #noe archiviste x you #noe archiviste x y/n #noe archiviste fanfiction #the case study of vanitas #the case study of vanitas x reader #the case study of vanitas fanfiction #vanitas no carte #vanitas no carte fanfiction #the case study of vanitas x you #the case study of vanitas x y/n #vanitas no carte x reader #vanitas no carte x you #vanitas no carte x y/n #kodis requests

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weather-cluddy · 7 months

Text

The idea that Mikoto must've murdered a lot of people because he seems so calm and practiced frankly confuses me. His actual level of skill in not getting caught was around the level of Muu's, who was literally not even trying. Possibly worse, to be honest.

For starters, train station with the trains still running is a pretty terrible place to commit a crime. People have to commute home, so it's one of the few places that will draw people even late-ish at night. Not only that, but they have surveilance cameras, some of which broadcast online 24/7, which is kind of a strong demerit when you're looking for a place to kill somebody.

He also didn't do anything to hide his identity, like wearing a mask or using gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. His hair is pretty distinctive and the beanie doesn't hide it at all. (Contrast with Kotoko hiding her face, wearing men's shoes and confronting her victim in a side alley. So these things were most likely on the writer's mind.)

Speaking of the beanie, his evidence disposal is terrible. He dumped the corpse right next to a sign saying "This is private property! Do NOT dump your trash here! We will report you!", the only thing hiding it being a flimsy plastic bag that will very likely start leaking during the several days it'll take for it be collected. It's also very likely to be opened up so the garbage collectors can know what kind of trash this unlabelled, opaque bag is supposed to have. After all, proper trash sorting and recycling is a pretty big deal in Japan.

He then threw a beanie stained with blood right next to the bag which, besides being obviously suspicious as soon as somebody notices the corpses, provides DNA samples to the police. The blood proves it's related to the blonde guy, and any hairs inside links Mikoto to it. Even without any testing, just looking at them you can narrow the search to "people living in roughly this area who have half-brown and half-bleached hair". Mikoto walked home, after all. The murder scene can't be that far.

(Speaking of which, let me repeat that Mikoto walked home. Covered in blood. Which throwing away the beanie did nothing to fix, because his other clothes and his face were also bloodstained. So not only did he not have any contingencies for dealing with blood splatter, his belated attempts at fixing it only made things worse. He didn't even wipe his face before throwing the hat away!)

And if you try to include the bathtub scenes and the repetition of the train scene as evidence of multiple murders, then you have to add:

1.He killed almost a dozen people without getting caught first. A bath takes around a hundred liters of water, an average adult has around 5 liters in them, so if we assume half of the liquid in the tub is actually water then we need 50 liters. That's ten people, but it also requires we assume that he had some sort of pump that would drain every last drop of blood from their bodies. We must also at least somewhat discount the blond guy we actually see Mikoto kill, because clearly that murder wasn't very conducive to getting all five liters into a bucket.

More importantly, every murder had to be done in a very short time frame in order to avoid the issue of blood clotting, or else he had some sort of holding facility with refrigeration and anticoagulants that would preserve the blood. All for the purpose of, uhh, living out his Elizabeth Bathory kin fantasies?

2. He did all this while attacking people in the same place, with the same weapon, with the same clothes, at the same time of the day, under weather so incredibly identical that even the cloud shapes are the same. Talk about establishing a pattern.

You could point at his dettached attitude and claim it shows he's done it before, but honestly? He's far from the only prisoner to have the "wrong" reaction to their murder. For example, Haruka laughing as he murders animals. Or Amane indifferently standing over her mother's corpse. Or Mahiru joking about her boyfriend's suicide and saying Es might be next. Should we assume they're also expert murderers?

Really, the whole sequence makes much more sense if you assume each step got maybe three seconds of thinking each, instead of hours of careful planning. I can definitely see something like:

Something happens that convinces Mikoto that this guy must die RIGHT NOW. He grabs the first weapon-ish thing he sees and rushes to where he knows/assumes the guys would be at this hour.

Alright, he's dead! ...Wait, shit, the corpse!

Um, uuh, the stuff you don't want goes in the trash, right?

After wandering for God knows how long in search of one of Japan's infamously scarce trash cans, he finally finds somewhere the body will fit. By this point he's either too panicked to consciously notice the sign, or he's deep into the sunk cost fallacy and doesn't let it dissuade him.

Agh, he's got blood on his clothes. Well, taking off his pants isn't gonna help him looks less suspicious, but he can throw away the hat, right? Less blood = better!

Alright, job done, time to go home!

#I focused on the in-universe side of things but also #would YOU show a character dumping a corpse right next to a “Don't dump your shit here!!” sign if they were supposed to be doing it right #I considered adding that he decided to ambush somebody by standing right in the open with a weapon in his hand #But to be fair that scene doesn't work 100% literally unless Mikoto can teleport so I'll let it slide.#milgram #mikoto kayano

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maristelina · 1 year

Text

Kotoko Harrow Themes

I noticed that there seems to be a...vague take of Kotoko's Themes in Harrow that I sort of don't agree with. To summarize based on what the MV showed us, Kotoko's entire deal is about:

🔸Preying/exploitation of the weak (Children and Elderly). 🔸Exploitation of Power (Serial Killer's rich dad, the apartment towers) 🔸Cannibalism of the Weak / Parasite (Mikio Oshii, Paper bag robbery couple). 🔸Exploitation and Objectification of Women and Repressed Desires (Pervert at the Train Station taking Pictures).

Let's get more in-depth of the scenarios playing out.

You can read more about the articles in detail over here.

Kotoko's family dynamic and implications. Wolves travel in packs to support each other. As mentioned in Kotoko's interrogation, her family structure is as follows. Grandmother, father, mother and older brother. You will notice there is 4 Wolves and Kotoko. Meaning 5 family members!

I think it's interesting that grandma is living with Kotoko's family. Because this could imply something about their financial structure family-wise!

When grandparents and grandchildren live together usually means their grandparents are well-off.

But! people's lifestyles in Tokyo are kind of complex, it's also possible that the family has no choice but to live in the grandparent's house. Like the children had problems with their family relationships/needed to care for their frail grandparents etc.

The reason I brought up Tokyo is because in Kotoko's Prisoner HD card sent to Premium App users, it's said that she lives in Akasuka, Tokyo. However, it's most likely that they're rich considering Kotoko has money to burn to bribe a journalist.

There are 2 major crimes that I believe is a great clue to their own family life. Kotoko places great interest in the warning sign which says a person has been dropped near the vicinity of their home.

If you check the first minute of Kotoko's MV as she is waking up, you will see a wolf paw for a split second, A wolf's pelt on the ground, before the lighting strikes, a flash of its eye (important for later) and shows the wolf alive again. The pelt is gone from the ground and replaced.

I think Kotoko used to have a little sister. The black haired girl wearing pink clothes in particular because we see the shots as if they were from her memories as the MV goes on.

This girl is visible as a flashback despite having a different victim on the last part of the video as seen here:

Some of the details of the murder are shown as if they're from Kotoko's memories. If you read the previous articles from the other blog post, none of the articles talk about how the Serial Killer killed his victims aside from throwing them on the street nearby the vicinity of their houses.

Meaning she's intimately aware of the Killer's modus operandi because their family was a victim of this serial killer.

You will also notice a lady in white dress lying down after being hit by the hammer. I believe this is Kotoko's grandmother / monster because of the body physique. None of the articles talk about this as far as I can remember.

These memories keep flashing by as Kotoko goes solo. Then, when finally given the chance, his is the wolf that is with her in the shelter and the one that eggs her on to kick this serial killer's ass. You will also notice they put great emphasis on the wolf's eye at the beginning of the video. Giving them a strong link.

To recap, the reason we have so much emphasis on two exact crimes:

🔸The Serial Killer killed the little sister and possibly the grandmother. The Serial killer also keeps getting away with it because his father is a politician. His face is fully visible in one of the frames.

🔸Mikio Oshii scammed the elderly and stole "luxury" bikes. It's likely that their family was scammed as well. Kotoko killed him while wearing men's clothing to get away with it. It is one of the news articles talking about her vigilante activities.

Kotoko losing her pack one by one could be a financial ruin because of the scams and the death of the little sister.

What's interesting is what happens near the end. Kotoko's chair is replaced with a pelt...Is she...still alive?

That is all for now. Thank you!

#milgram theory #milgramtheory #yuzuriha kotoko #harrow #milgram analysis

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 1 month

Text

2. "Drunks and degenerates -- that's my crew!"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Dark times will do that to good men." He nods gravely, then shifts his gaze to the pile of soggy logs at his feet.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - *Serious* question time. This man is no innocent. No one is.

"Do you know anything about the man hanged behind the Whirling-in-Rags?"

"Is this your mug?" (Hold up the Yellow Man Mug.)

"Are you a cryptozoologist too?"

"You were *surprised* to see my colleague, Lieutenant Kitsuragi."

"Thank you for your cooperation." [Leave.]

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Oh, so *that's* what the RCM in Martinaise is about? Great." He nods in sincere approval. "Great to hear someone's finally taking care of that."

KIM KITSURAGI - "So you *do* know something about it?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "No, no," he shakes his head emphatically. Then corrects his tie. "Nothing. He was some kind of mercenary, but everyone here knows that... I'm just glad to hear you're looking into it, that's all."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He's not feeling very comfy in his clothes, is he? Strange...

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - He didn't *kill* him or anything, but there's something going on here.

2. "Is this your mug?" (Hold up the Yellow Man Mug.)

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "My... mug? Why would you think that?"

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - His eyes widened at the sight of the mug. He's seen it before alright.

"You said 'Yellow Man'. That's not something many people go around saying."

"It seemed as if you were calling to it *longingly* when you cried 'Yellow Man'!"

"I can *see* you recognize it. It's in your eyes."

"You look like the kind of guy who might have a *collection* of mugs like this. Home -- in his *colonial mug collection*."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "How do you mean? Forgive me, officer, but we've only just met."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - He is trying to avoid lying to you outright in case you really have been to his apartment.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - He's trying not to look afraid, because that would be incriminating. Yet he *is*.

"Just admit it, man. You put the mug in the trash container behind the Whirling."

"You're acting kind of suspicious. Did I mention the mug was found at the scene of a lynching?"

"Alright, I believe you. You look like the kind of man who knows it's a *crime* to lie to an officer."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Maybe... okay, yes. I did. I know I shouldn't have, and I am very sorry, officer." He pauses. "You're not going to fine me, are you?"

"I am…" (Rip out a fine slip.) "For 20 reál."

"I am…" (Rip out a fine slip.) "For 100 reál."

"I am." (Rip out a fine slip.) "For 250 reál -- the maximum."

"Nah, Gary. I just want information."

We're not actually going to *see* this money, as you may remember -- it goes to the RCM. It's purely a matter of how mean we want to be to Gary.

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Okay, I deserve that -- and I won't do it again." He accepts the slip of copy paper with a bow. "You have my word."

"I don't know what got *into* me. Stuffing my garbage in another man's property, it's… I've been having trouble at work lately. The Kojkos are price dumping us out of competition."

MORELL, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST - "WHAT DID YOU DO, GARY?!"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "NOTHING! Nothing... just answering some questions. Helping out the law..."

"How did you get into the trash container?"

"Gary, did you put the clothes of a murder victim -- the man who was hanged behind the Whirling-in-Rags -- into that trash container?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "I know a guy who works with trash collection services -- CS Municipal. He gave me a master key for the trash containers of Martinaise."

"Why would you need to get into everyone's trash?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "So I can use the Whirling's trash compactor to store my own stuff," he says, bowing shamefully like a fallen knight. "Garbage disposal is expensive as hell, the damn Himeans run it like a mob..."

"I'm sorry, okay? I thought I could cut costs. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have disgraced myself."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Disgraced?" The lieutenant raises his eyebrows and looks up. "No need for the histrionics, sir. It was, after all, just a trash container."

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - He studies his reaction. Gary doesn't answer.

2. "Gary, did you put the clothes of a murder victim -- the man who was hanged behind the Whirling-in-Rags -- into that trash container?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Officer, please..." He raises both hands. "Let me explain. It's not like *that...*"

"Do."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "I was only cleaning up. I live right across the yard from where he was hanged and I saw him stripped naked. All the clothes lying around in the yard, smelling... People are animals, you know..."

"Yes-yes. What happened?"

"Okay. Then what happened?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Then I came out to clean up the rags because *no one else would*. I put them into the Whirling's trash -- along with a broken mug, admittedly..." He changes his mind mid-sentence.

"Okay, I was coming to throw the mug away and, well, I threw the mug there and the clothes too."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Right, it was just *civic duty*," the lieutenant remarks drolly.

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Exactly! That's exactly what it was -- civic duty."

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - As he shifts uncomfortably, a series of clicks, like the clinking of glass beads against one another as they roll across a hardwood floor. You've heard this sound before, but where?

3. "What's that strange sound?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "What... sound?"

"That clinking I just heard when you moved."

"Don't mess with me. I think you know what I'm talking about."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Really?" He fans his arms out slowly, and, this time, his motions are soundless.

"There's lots of weird stuff out here in the reeds, though -- insects, trash. Could be the wind shifting some garbage nearby."

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - Every day, the wind shifts the reeds and whatever was left in them: tambourines and condom wrappers, plastic and glass bottles, the smell of decay.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Challenging: Success] - The sound you heard was not the sound of something easily abandoned.

4. "You wouldn't know anything about the victim's missing armour would you?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Armour? No." He changes his mind. "I mean -- yes, of course. I know he was wearing armour. But I don't know anything *about* it..."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - An infant could see he's not telling the truth -- but he's too scared to admit more wrongdoing.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - There's something going on here. You should observe him more closely, after this topic is concluded.

5. "Let's move on -- for now." (Conclude.)

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "I hope I could help your investigation, in my small way." He's visibly relieved it's over.

+5 XP

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Hmm, does this mean you were in *his* apartment, admiring *his* colonial mug collection? Perhaps it would be *interesting* to tell him...

3. "Are you a cryptozoologist too?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "No-no... I help Morell with research sometimes and I've learned some things along the way. But I don't usually go in for picnics like this on my own."

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] - What *does* he do then? This feels like a good opportunity to DOMINATE him.

"What do you do, then? If not cryptozoology?"

"Fascinating. Let's talk about something else."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Oh, this and that." He grins.

"Sounds intriguing."

"Sounds shady."

"As long you're making ends meet and advancing your career objectives."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Sometimes."

AUTHORITY - See? He's being evasive. Shake him up, show him who's boss.

"That's not an answer."

Let it go.

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "I just didn't want to bore you with unnecessary detail, officer."

"I work as a special courier. You know, urgent deliveries, overnight deliveries, deliveries to out-of-the-way locations."

"So you deliver things. What kinds of things?"

"Fascinating. Let's talk about something else."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Oh, I don't know the contents, officer. Part of my job is discretion."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He's trying too hard to seem untroubled by your question. The rigidity in his posture gives him away.

"Do you deliver drugs?"

"Do you deliver guns?"

"Do you deliver letters to the secret mistresses of corporate and government officials?"

"C'mon, you've already behaved suspiciously with the trash container business, stop evading the question."

"Oh, I guess that's okay then." (Conclude.)

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "No, no, that's far too dangerous. Besides, dealing drugs isn't for people like me and you, officer."

2. "Do you deliver guns?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "No, nothing like that. I leave that to companies with hundreds of years of tradition in arms manufacturing. No need for an amateur like me cutting in."

3. "Do you deliver letters to the secret mistresses of corporate and government officials?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "What do I look like, a pansy? Besides, that kind of cavorting goes against the community values that would strengthen our city."

SUGGESTION [Trivial: Success] - You're a simple cop asking a simple question. He can't beat around the bush much longer.

4. "C'mon, you've already behaved suspiciously with the trash container business, stop evading the question."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - He sighs. "Okay, fine, you got me. I'm a special *topping pie* delivery courier."

"What?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "You heard me. I deliver topping pies. It's temporary. I'm looking for another job. Not many jobs for good men out there these days."

"You said you deliver *special* topping pies. What makes these topping pies special?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "They're wheat-free. And vegan. And... *huge*." He pauses.

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - He's thinking of a way to gain some advantage from his embarrassing situation.

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "That's basically it. I'm a pie delivery man. How about we change the subject?"

ENDURANCE [Challenging: Failure] - I'm satisfied. Are you satisfied? Because I am.

4. "You were *surprised* to see my colleague, Lieutenant Kitsuragi."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Not many Seolites here, or anywhere, other than Seol. I meant no offence, truly."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Do you remember how when we met Measurehead and I said the next racist will be the *really* good one?"

"Yes."

"I think so. Sorry, as you know, I've been having problems with my memory…"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Well..." He gestures toward Gary as though he were presenting a work of art. "*This* is that racist."

+5 XP

"Yes! Our *lucky* racist."

"Will you grant us three wishes, Gary?"

"Are you, Gary? Are you a racist?"

"I don't know. I liked the previous racists better."

"He is nothing compared to Measurehead."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Hey, man." He blushes. "All I meant was there are not many Seolites around here. I'm just stating a fact."

"Do you have a problem with Seolites?"

"The lieutenant is a native of Revachol."

"Yes. What *are* they doing in that Seol of theirs? Scheming?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Oh, yes, of course he is. I was just speaking about his... connections." He flashes an impenetrable smile. "Let's change the subject, okay?"

Well, if you insist.

5. [Composure - Legendary 14] Why's he shifting around like that? Analyze Gary's composure.

+1 Clinking sound. +1 Thinking about the armour.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] - That shirt looks *very* uncomfortable on him. Look at the buttons, barely keeping that thing together -- as if something is ready to *rip out* from underneath.

His massive musculature?

Something worn underneath it?

COMPOSURE - No, he's scrawny. Try again.

Something worn underneath it?

COMPOSURE - Yes. Like a piece of ceramic armour, for example. One that makes a clicking sound when the plates meet each other, resembling pearls or marbles. Stolen from the corpse in the yard near where he lives.

"I see you're a connoisseur of high-quality combat gear."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "I knew you'd figure it out, officer." He sighs heavily. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you at once. I was..." He unbuttons the shirt.

"I was ashamed of what I did. And I didn't want you to know." You see gleaming white ceramic shine underneath -- a thin layer of interlocking plates covers his gaunt torso.

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - We're not detecting falsehoods, sire. He's gearing up to admit the truth.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - This *shame* is surprisingly sincere.

MORELL, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST - "GARY! WHAT'S GOING ON?!"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "LATER, MORELL! I'VE GOT APOLOGIZING TO DO."

KIM KITSURAGI - "No -- you've got *explaining* to do." The lieutenant's tone is icy.

"Give me that armour. Now."

"Why did you *really* put those clothes in the trash?"

"Why did you lie to me, Gary?"

"Do you know who killed the hanged man?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - He sighs again, hangs his head, and unbuttons his shirt fully. A cuirass that matches the dead man's boots comes into view. Soon it is in your hands -- smelling of his sweat.

Item gained: Fairweather T-500 Cuirass

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - But so, so light to hold. Like a bag of cotton.

2. "Why did you *really* put those clothes in the trash?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Everyone was picking those pieces off him and I was watching them do it. And they scattered his clothes all over the yard, everything was smelling..." He looks at his feet.

"So I went there to take out my trash and started cleaning up. All those rags on the ground, him swinging up there, and…" He swallows. "I had a lapse of honour, sir. I thought: He's a foreigner. They all say he wasn't from here."

"Only the cuirass was left, so I stripped it off him. It was early in the morning, no one saw me. I took it with me. It was a mistake. Had I known it'd give you guys' trouble, I wouldn't have..." His lips start quivering. "Fuck..."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - We're detecting sincere contrition here, sire. He's not trying to flatter anyone.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It's okay." The lieutenant jots something down in his notebook. "It was a loose end and you're tying it up now."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "I'm so fucking sorry I called you *Yellow Man*." He says silently. "Seolite officers commanded the Suzerain's navy. Most of them sided with the King, when..." He shakes his head.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - It's difficult to say what the lieutenant thinks of this historic apology. His face does not belie emotions.

3. "Why did you lie to me, Gary?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Because I was weak." He says, staring at nothing in particular. "I should have told you the moment I saw you, but..."

MORELL, THE CRYPTOZOOLOGIST - "THE HELL, GARY?! YOU IN TROUBLE?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "I'll explain later..." He doesn't muster up the strength to yell.

4. "Do you know who killed the hanged man?"

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "I always thought it was the Union... some Union hard-asses. Lynched him because of the strike. But almost everyone in town knows that. I wish I could tell you more..." He shakes his head.

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - This is all he knows.

5. "Are we done here, Gary?" (Conclude.)

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Yes. Absolutely. I will *never* do anything like this again." He looks around, relieved of some burden, his mouth still quivering.

Task complete: Who put the clothes in the trash?

+30 XP

Level up!

FAIRWEATHER T-500 CUIRASS

+1 Pain Threshold: Thicker skin +1 Volition: Borrowed confidence -1 Empathy: Mania of invulnerability

This vitreous enamel cuirass fits snugly and redistributes kinetic energy across its countless white plates. Amazingly, it fits under your coat! And it also makes pretty porcelain sounds when shaken.

4. "So, Gary, you live nearby. In an apartment in Martinaise?" (Point in its direction.)

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Sure do, officer."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - His eyes narrow slightly. He's wondering where this is going.

"Have you found your door open lately?"

"And you're a big Man from Hjelmdall fan?"

"Yes, he insisted that I open the door to your apartment."

"I think I broke into your apartment. I'm very sorry."

"We'll return to this later. For now, let me ask you something else."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "In my home, yes, when I was going to..." His face turns pale. "How did you *know?*"

"Mr. Evrart Claire thought it necessary to unlock your apartment."

"Nothing. Just wanted to ask if your door's been unlocked lately. Now I have."

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "Mr. Claire unlocked my apartment?"

"No, I did. Took a look around, too."

"No, I did. Don't worry, I didn't go in." (Lie.)

GARY, THE CRYPTOFASCIST - "So you work for Evrart Claire!" He realizes what's going on and changes his tone: "Officer, please tell him we're good. No, no, tell him I'll make it up to him..."

"What have I done? He'll send the muscle after me…" The man looks around, whispering, he makes sure no one hears you talk.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - As he lowers his tone he hunches his back.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #morell the cryptozoologist #gary the cryptofascist #harrier du bois

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