#tw: mentions of murder

[radio-writes]

Hi, will u do a human alastor x side mistress reader, so basically he has a wife, but he doesn't really love her, so when he's on the air he has sex with his side mistress in the radio tower. His side mistress knows he's a serial killer, by the way. You don't have to do this if u don't want to. I love ur fics.

By the Gold Ring on His Hand

Synopsis: He loved you and only you. You were his to cherish, to adore, to worship. Sweet words he whispered softy, promisingly, into your ear. Sweet words he also whispered softly to his wife.

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), mentions of murder, heavy manipulation, cheating

Tags: human!alastor, alastor x reader, gn!reader, reader is the other wo/man

MDNI

You've always revered Alastor.

You were entranced by the way his smile never broke. The way he seemed to take control of any situation he was put in. The he always managed to just charm the socks off of anyone he's ever met.

You loved the way he made little corny jokes. You loved the way he danced—barely drunk from the bottles of rye he downed.

And oh, did you love the way he spoke.

You could listen to him all day on the radio, just absolutely smitten and melting where you stood. 

The one thing you didn't love about Alastor—the one thing you despised, really—was his wife.

That naive little thing. So meek, so quiet. You always hated the way she would cling onto his arm at parties. Loathed the way she'd shyly smile at everyone, including you.

There was just no way that delicate stupid girl could satisfy someone like Alastor.

Alastor needed, deserved, a real partner. One that had enough of a spine not to be stepped on, at the very least.

Your fingers twitched, aching to touch him more; to caress his thighs that perfectly framed your head. You wanted to feel him beneath you, reassure your heart that he was here with you.

You groaned as your longing was denied. You felt Alastor press his shoes harder against your hands, pinning your palms to the floor. The fingers in your hair tightened their grip, guiding you more strictly down his cock.

It was enough to cheer you up a little. Although your touch was declined, the little vibrations your sounds made clearly still had an effect on him. You felt a little proud knowing something as small as you moaning around him pleasured the hefty cock in your mouth.

The reality was far more bitter, though. Not that Alastor would ever let you know that.

Truth be told his grip was a warning. He had explicitly told you to be quiet, to keep your hands to yourself. But you seemed to be so adamant on testing his patience today, as you were refusing to do both.

Alastor's smile strained just a tad bit more in annoyance as he spoke into the microphone. "Hate to finish up the broadcast with some sour news, but someone's gotta keep you lovely folks up to date!"

You continued to bob your head between his legs, hidden from the rest of crew by the control panel. You made sure to drag the flat of your tongue over the under side of Alastor's dick each every time you lowered your mouth to his crotch. If your ministrations did anything for him, you couldn't really tell.

His voice was perfect, not a tone out of place as he continued his broadcast. You've never seen a man so well put together while having someone's mouth serve them so reverently.

"Seems the coppers found a couple more for the good old wooden kimonos last night. Grizzly sight it was—so I heard. Hate to be the ones to dig those poor souls out."

Even though he was the one to put them there in the first place, you suppressed a laugh. Not that you were complaining, though. It was part of how you and Alastor finally got together, after all.

Alastor finished up his broadcast, and you continued your slow little prayer on your knees. He waved his staff away when they tried to approach, simply sending them off with a friendly jest that he'd meet them at the bar after he cleaned up his work station.

It was only when the lock clicked behind his crew did Alastor finally acknowledge you. His lovely smile was intact, but you could tell his mood was a little soured by the way his brown eyes narrowed at you from behind his glasses.

The hand gripping your hair pulled you off his cock, a pathetic whine escaping your lips as he did so.

Alastor tried to ignore the—rather off putting—sight of a thin string of fluids connecting your mouth to the head of his dick. He bent down closer to you, keeping his gaze locked on yours.

"My dear, I thought I told you to be quiet while I worked." His voice was as sweet as ever.

You chuckled lightly, you wanted to move your hands to cup his cheek, bring him even closer to you. Perhaps even for a kiss to lift his seemingly bad mood.

The moment Alastor so much as felt your fingers twitch, he stepped harder on your hands again, keeping them pinned to the floor and away from him.

You opted to shrug your shoulders sheepishly instead. "I may have gotten carried away," You responded coyly "You just taste so good."

Alastor did his best not to cringe, choosing to tighten his smile. Ah, you were in one of your moods again, he thought.

"Then why don't you go ahead and have your fill of me now." His hand left the back of your head, resting instead on the sides of his chair as he leaned back. The gold band on his ring finger momentarily caught the light and drew your attention to it.

Your chest tightened just the slightest bit. You absolutely hated the reminder that Alastor wasn't fully yours. That he'd still go home to his stupid wife at the end of the day.

But not for long, at least that's what Alastor had promised you. And not right now. 

You ran your tongue along the thick vein of his cock, from the bottom, up its shaft, and smiled at the sight of his hips bucking up to your touch.

"In your mouth now again, darling." It didn't sound like a request, but you obeyed faithfully anyway. You were rewarded with a soft sigh as you welcomed him back in your warm mouth.

You'd bet your job that his sweet little wife never pleased him like this. Skittish thing like that would probably run at the thought of putting her lips on a hard dick.

Well, her loss is your gain.

You were so far gone in your own head that you hadn't even noticed Alastor wasn't looking at you.

No, instead his head craned towards the ceiling of his studio, eyes closed and tired.

He was trying to focus on the physical sensations you brought him, not that he had much of an interest in it in the first place, but he tried hard to concentrate. All he had to do was finish, and he could finally leave. Leave you here with some sweet promises, and not have to deal with your disgustingly loving gaze on him until maybe his next shift on Monday.

Not that spending time with his wife at home felt any more appealing.

He pushed the thoughts away, willing his mind to stay on you instead. He thought he can finish, at least he could feel the bottom of his gut tightening just a tiny fair bit.

He focused on the way your tongue felt as it swirled around him. How your lips stretched so softly to fit his shaft. How you practically drooled over his cock. How you—

You were noisier now that you knew you were alone, and it wasn't doing Alastor any favors. A rather loud moan cutting through his mind and it almost made the coil in his gut loosen completely, his shoulders tensing instead.

No, no this just wouldn't do. He had much more interesting plans tonight than to sit there and buy your silence with his cock.

His hand reached out once more, much less gentle than it was before. With less grace and care, Alastor's hand rested on the back of your neck, before harshly pushing you down as he bucked his hips up.

Your eyes were wide, a surge of panic filled you at the suddenness of the sensation. His dick hit the back of your throat and you tried to pull back immediately.

Alastor's other hand came up to the back of your head to push you back down. Your nose pressed firmly to his skin as his cock pushed past your throat. 

Your arms strained as you tried to use your hands to push him away, but Alastor merely stepped on your fingers harsher to get you to stay.

"Ah, fuck, darling. Stay like that. Oh that's lovely." You thought you heard him say.

He was finally looking down at you. The way you heaved as you choked on him. The way your body spasmed to get away. The way panic filled your pretty tearful eyes. 

Your throat tightening around him as you tried desperately to breathe felt miles better than whatever you were trying to do before, and it was exactly what he needed.

"Finally," He breathed out softly, almost in a moan, feeling the coil in his gut finally snap. He pressed you down, just the tiniest bit more and you felt his warm seed flow down your willing throat.

"There we go, dear." Alastor's harsh grip in your hair loosened, slowly petting through your locks. The hand on your neck remained, locking you in and rendering you unable to pull free.

Your eyes flickered up to him, part of you ready to beg for mercy, but one sight of his dazed smile made you pliant. Your body relaxed into his touch, simply letting him ride his high out with your bruised throat. 

He must have just gotten carried away, that's all. Simply something new he never got to do with his stupid wife. 

You felt his softening dick slowly pull out of you, his shaft dragging across your tongue and you finally pulled free with a choked gasp of air.

A gentle hand tipped your face back to meet Alastor's before you could be too dramatic. He pressed a gentle, chaste, kiss to the corner of your lips to calm you.

"You'll have to forgive me, my dear. Your body just makes me feel far too good—just couldn't hold back." The charm practically oozed from his smooth tongue.

Your gaze softened immediately. Your hands, now free from beneath his feet, made their way to his cheeks but he easily pulled back.

Really, what on earth made you think he'd let you touch him with filthy hands. Had you forgotten he'd been stepping on them this entire time? Kind of rude, if you'd ask him.

Not that any of those thoughts showed when Alastor simply, gently, helped you up to your feet by your elbow.

"Always so good to me, my dear. How I got so lucky to have a divine thing like you service me, I'd never know." He stood up with you, part of him did enjoy it whenever he got to look down on you in a more literal sense.

He pressed his body against yours, arms on the control panel behind you as he caged you in. His lips barely grazed your ears as he continued his sweet, sweet, praises. "Why couldn't you have shown up sooner, dear? I would have had it all." 

You placed your hand on his chest, failing to notice the way he flinched at the touch. "You still could, you know? All you have to do is leave that naive little thing and I could give you this every night." Your voice was low, seductive, alluring.

Alastor held back an annoyed groan. This again. His eyes rolled, not that you could see it with his head nuzzling against your shoulder.

"We both know I treat you so much better." You continued, hand trailing up to scratch at the hair at the bottom of his neck. "And I'd never hold you back from that little hobby of yours either." 

He chuckled at that, you could feel his lips at the base of your neck. "My dear, we've been through this." His kisses were soft, gentle, barely touching you, just like how he preferred it. "You don't have to feel so threatened by her, it's you that I want."

"Then why don't you—"

A gasp passed your lips.

"Leave her?" Alastor continued your sentence when you couldn't. His warm tongue licked over the reddened skin he bit. "I will, my dear, I will. Things are just a bit complicated at the moment."

More complicated than you knew, really.

He couldn't leave his wife because her dad was a big boss of his station. His ass would be out on the streets in minutes if he ever hurt that shy doll.

But he couldn't just kill you either. Not when your dad was the town sheriff.

He was lucky you were so obsessed with him that fucking you once in a while was enough to keep your pretty little mouth shut.

Honestly, just fuck the day you caught him slicing that man's flesh. That scum was hardly worth all the trouble he now has to go through.

"But I'm working on it." Alastor promised as he finally pulled away from you.

You gazed up into his warm, honest eyes. You adored the way he towered over you, really. It's like you fit together so perfectly—like puzzle pieces, was it? Was that how that cheesy line went.

"And then we can be together?" Your palms move to cup his face, and Alastor caught them on instinct before they could.

But you didn't notice, not when he corrected his actions so smoothly by pressing his lips to your knuckles instead—he tried his best to ignore how filthy they are, just to hide his mistake. "Of course, darling. In fact, I think I can work things out by tonight." 

Your father was going to be alone at the station.

Your eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, my dear. Soon all of this hiding and sneaking around will be a thing of the past." He said, almost with the same amount of excitement as you.

He couldn't wait to toss your body in a ditch next to your old man's corpse.

"But I musn't be late"

He'll miss his chance to slit your father's throat if he lingered any longer.

"Soon you wouldn't have to be jealous of my wife, dear."

After all, the dead don't envy do they?

Alastor willed himself to humor you one last time, pressing his lips to yours before he bid you a good night.

He couldn't have rushed out that door any faster.

Who would have known trying to keep his cover would have eaten up so much of his time? He barely had any left to do the very act he was even trying to cover for.

Honestly, how troublesome.

But no matter, no matter.

He glanced back at the station. He could vaguely see your lovestruck figure through the window. He watched amusedly as you pathetically held your fingers to your lips, absolutely lost on cloud nine.

It won't be long until he was rid of you, and that fact was enough to lift his sour mood.

[gaylittlemans]

I am so inexplicably tired and vessel!Dazai has been haunting me so I will info dump about this dumb little AU because I can

This probably will not make sense, will make it seem like I don’t understand his character (who actually does? Besides his creator, obviously. Probably), or won’t have proper grammar but in the world of this shit, he will become a part of my personality if I do not write him down. So!

First, little stuffs about this AU because I can:

Dazai is trans here (FtM) because I kin him inexplicably and so am I, but he doesn’t experience that much gender dysphoria (mostly because he feels just a little disconnected from his body) and honestly what is the point of worrying about what body you have when the embodiment of the allure of death is currently using your body as her host? Exactly. There isn’t one. Also because I want to give this man a break on hating himself.

Basically everything about this AU is the exact same as the original, but Dazai is the vessel of a god, similarly to Chuuya. Some people do know about the whole kinda being a god thing, but not everyone. When he was Demon Prodigy, Mori kept and convinced Dazai to keep the vessel thing mostly a secret because it was better to keep as much information about him shrouded in mystery and basically make speaking his title mean the invitation of death, rather than let Dazai go and murder everyone as a vessel. I will sort of expand on this later. Probably.

Chuuya still has Arahabaki. He gets called ‘Baki’ in the rare times his name is mentioned in their world because I refuse to respect the god of destruction (Dazai started calling Arahabaki ‘Baki’ and Chuuya eventually found himself calling him that too). Dazai’s possessor’s ‘Machiko’, but might sometimes be called ‘Chiko’ or some other nickname instead.

Dazai is just slightly cannibalistic.

I ship Soukoku, which will probably be obvious by the way I write them. Neither revolves around the other, but they are both permanently drawn to one another.

Dazai struggles with skin picking in this au because he kinda craves the taste of blood thanks to Chiko so he does care a little bit more about his hygiene in this au so he doesn’t have anything to pick. His hands are very soft in his world. My man is moisturized 😚

So, Dazai.

He’s around seven years old. His life has been nothing but dehumanizing and cruel and cold. He’s being raised in a neighborhood of rich assholes who think they’re all better than one another because of meaningless, materialistic means. (Death will claim all of them in the end, so it doesn’t matter what they do, anyhow. He won’t say anything about them, though. If they need to hide from Her gaze, he won’t judge.) His parents are controlling and overbearing and want him to grow up to be some rich asshole’s trophy wife. He doesn’t want that to happen, but his body will not let him say anything to disappoint them. He can’t afford their ire; he’s seen what they do to people who think they can and the least he can say is that it looks painful.

He’s been raised by nannies and caretakers his entire life thus far and some of them were nice, but most of them just followed his parents orders to make him behave.

Modest, pretty, demure.

Modest, pretty, demure.

Those were the most important things for a little girl his age to learn. Of course. He is nothing, he is not human, if he doesn’t behave. If he doesn’t act modestly and polite. If the boys in the neighborhood tug on his skirt, he is to hold it still so they cannot expose him. If the girls in his private school pick on him for his doe eyes and thousand yard stare, he is to be reserved and accept their insults graciously and not respond to their taunts.

He is a monster if he raises his voice, or disobeys his parents or caretakers or teachers, or acts out of line—acts like a child. His purpose of being brought into the world is to grow up to serve his future husband and children and be pretty.

So he kills them.

The voice of death herself whispers in his ears at night, when the moon is full and bright, that they do not deserve their gifts, they do not deserve their gifts of breath and life.

So he takes them away like she says to.

He stands in the woods beyond the gated mansions in a white, blood splattered nightgown and a pair of what are probably Mary Jane’s, but he’s not for certain and white, just as blood splattered, socks. He doesn’t remember much of what he did, but he does not mind. The cool night, late summer breeze reaches his skin through the minuscule layers he wears. He has always run cold, kind of like what you would expect a corpse to feel like (they’re actually room temperature), and has yet to build the habit of halfway mummifying himself. Bad circulation, doctors had told him. How fun.

Here is where he sees her for the first time, the woman—the God—who changes his life forever, with the handle of one of his father’s expensive kitchen knives grasped in his right hand as the left toys with the seam of his dress. She’s beautiful. She speaks to him, but he does not remember all of what she says. He remembers “Machiko”. It must be her name. He also remembers her permitting him to call her a nickname, as he’s young and he deserves to choose what he calls his friend.

Chiko offers him her hand and Dazai’s left hand goes numb. As if puppeteered, he moves to take her hand and she smiles at him. For only the second or so time in his life, he feels warm.

Dazai learns a lot from her. He would kill without her influence, but she tells him to embrace death and its endless, inescapable dance and he does.

Perhaps too much.

Mori Ougai was a man, a doctor, whom was highly praised by rich folks he’d grown up around (and consequently been raised by after the murder of his parents). He had met the man before, who had said he was interesting and reminded him of himself. In his adulthood, Dazai was ashamed to have felt pride at the fact Mori found him intriguing, or that the man saw himself reflected in the shattered, blank soul of his.

At fourteen, his adoptive parents rushed him to the doctor another attempt at death. He woke up, hazy and exhausted, and strapped to a bed with an oxygen mask, IV in his arm, and a heart monitor. Machiko screamed at him, for his safety and his body, to not listen to the man in the white coat who offered him a reason to live, a purpose to life outside of being a vessel. Just like he’d subconsciously been searching for.

He did not listen to her.

Dazai would say he was built to be a mafioso. And it was easy enough to sever ties with his adoptive family—they weren’t too attached, anyways—and old life.

When he was fifteen years old, he met the most annoying person on earth; Chuuya Nakahara.

Every move the boy makes is so completely full of life and energy. Dazai would say he was envious, but he was not. Machiko was drawn to the boy, though, or—as he truly found out—she was drawn to Arahabaki. Death and destruction go hand in hand, he supposed. And it seems Dazai wasn’t the only one who felt that pull towards the other.

Boo. Feelings sucked. He wouldn’t say he had a crush on Chuuya, no, never, but he was drawn to the redhead like the pull of gravity said redhead controlled.

But the first time he had seen Corruption, seen the final form of Upon The Tainted Sorrow, Dazai had been mesmerized. For all his wit and bravado, he still had no explanation as to why he found this redheaded slug so enchanting, even seven years later.

Machiko still hailed over him, but she was not his puppeteer. She guided him and attempted to help him through inexplicably human issues, but she did not attempt to forcibly take control of him. If she was in charge of his body, it was entirely because he had allowed her too. He spoke with her on the regular—she was a mentor who hadn’t forced herself into that roll exactly as Mori had.

Machiko was the god of death, yet also the god of allure, of temptation, of beauty, and of yearning. Some called her the moon. Others simply didn’t know of her existence. It didn’t matter to Dazai. His mentor knew how to be merciful, despite the blood and desolation she craved.

Chuuya clearly remembered the day he’d discovered Dazai was also a vessel.

Things had been dangerous and he had still been injured from a mission Mori had sent them out on previously. He had been occupied by a horde of enemies when he’d lost track of Dazai amongst the commotion. Grunts were incapacitated or dead at his feet before he knew it.

Now, he would never admit it, but looking around and not finding the dark, sullen eye of his partner watching him from a safe distance had scared him. Made him anxious.

He pushed his way into a corridor that had been blocked by debris during the fight that he could almost sense Dazai’s shenanigans coming from and walked—maybe just a bit quicker than normal—until he saw bodies scattered and crimson pooling. In the center of this crop circle of cadaver was his partner, small, white, star-like marks twinkling across what very little skin was exposed to the open air, ripping out the throat of one of their enemies with his teeth. Blood soaked his clothes and his bandages.

Chuuya felt unreasonably calm, and oddly awestruck, at the sight.

And that’s all I can write 😚 ‘cause I am so tired. I dunno what else to say, ‘cause this is just about all my smooth little brain has let me know about the blorbos of today, but yeah. Thank you if you actually read all of this. :3333

Have a good day/night/morning/afternoon/evening!! Remember to drink water, eat, take your meds, all that.

Byeeeeee <3333

[mad-hunts]

the thing about barton and his own 'foil' as she should technically be considered, as she is technically the complete opposite of him in every way that matters, is that sumire [ whom i have talked about a few times on here, albeit briefly, so i will give you a brief refresher on her and that is that... her character eventually commits these killings based on the twelve main tarot cards in a deck based on them not fitting her idea of what 'perfect' looks like (kind of like barton BUT much different at the same time) ] and barton used to know each other as they were best friends as kids — even if it was only for a few years.

and as strange as this may sound, a broken promise between them was partially the catalyst behind what started her descent into feeling this need to 'judge' people, which is quite the coincidence as it may seem. because where do most of her victims end up dying? in these settings where she has set up these 'mock trials' for people. so, i know that i said i would talk about how barton had inadvertently created a monster a longgg time ago, but i now am sharing it with you all. because although one cannot blame barton fully for her actions as sumire, of course, has to take responsibility for them herself; but this did play a part in being a catalyst for her feeling all of this resentment and hatred for the world / people around her that led up to her first murder.

which, as you might have it, was the chariot: a tarot card that symbolizes revenge, willpower, and essentially tries to subconsciously put off this message that you are moving in the 'right direction.' i don't think it's so much just the promise itself though that makes this important — it's also that barton himself essentially forgot about the promise he made to sumire, as terrible as that may sound. it actually kind of gives you more insight as to what was going on in barton's mind as a kid because he basically made sumire promise him this: that, if he ever got on the 'wrong path,' that sumire would be there to show him a better one. and that she would attempt to reconnect with him if they ever got separated somehow / give him a sign of some kind that she was still there, so he could meet her.

and i say that this provides more insight because i haven't really gone into depth about this, but barton has expressed this idea in one roleplay on here. + that is that he didn't want to end up like this. however, regardless of that statement, there is no washing away of all of the heinous things he's done and he chose to do them anyway. i'm just thinking about how messed up it is that sumire, up until the point where she started her murders, had casually been searching for barton because the way in which his victims were found was vaguely remiscent of the way that wesley used to kill his victims. + this meant that he was definitely on the wrong path and she would eventually end up on the wrong one too.

[gempantheon]

[ COMFORT ]: the sender, noticing a visibly upset receiver, solemnly moves to their side, and places a hand on their shoulder in an effort to comfort them. (pretend this from asuka/omorrow)

@omorrow Two months. His spirit had all but been repairing itself, trying to pull together the scattered fragments. To try and combat the onslaught of memories that ripped their way into the gap in his mind, filling it all in like some ripped tape reel and the piece was shoddily taped back in. He's woken screaming sometimes as he came to recall just how brutally he'd all but been ripped apart, Yubel stuffing themself into his body and burning like they were acidic to his very soul. He woke in cold sweats as he remembered the blood that now stained his hands. No matter how many times he tried washing them, it felt like he could still feel it dried underneath his fingernails. The vivid recollections of Ryo clutching at his chest, nails dug into the cloth so harsh that his knuckles had been turning white. Could hear the labored breaths and still his hands moved by another's will, calling another attack on the man that struggled to breathe, yet persisted. Ryo Marufuji died at his hands but he went out on his own terms. Amon Garam. He murdered the love of his life for the power that exodia granted. He can still feel the echoes of shock from Yubel, the depths of pain that they had reveled in, Amon was far from someone he should feel guilty for, that he should experience such sadness at the knowledge that he was dead. But he did. He couldn't explain why he broke into tears over that death, perhaps because he never wanted to kill. Much less have that type of blood on his hands. It was a sickening type of justice that had been dealt out, killing a murderer. Perhaps what hurt him the most was the fact his voice he could still speaking words that were laced with venom and killer intent. Amon's death had been anything but fast.

While he'd been cleared of bed rest, there was more than enough damage physically to heal on top of slowly processing all that had happened. He'd been visited by many, at least that's what the crystal beasts had told him, he'd awoken to his family waiting for him in the blank white walls of the hospital room that had surrounded him. A coma. That's what he got out of the entire encounter. Yet his body still ached and remained with bruised or even broken bones. He couldn't pick up a duel disk anytime soon. Most of his left arm was wrapped up. He knows why. Yubel had been planning to kill him when they had left his body, that trap card was supposed to be his death. And Judai had been the reason he wasn't dead. From what visit's he'd gotten from those back at Duel Academia. Judai was gone, presumed it anyways, missing just like all the other mysterious disappearances on that bizarre island. The crystal beasts could only fill him in on what they had witnessed in particular. Everyone, was brought back from death, placed back besides a few. Ryo was alive now but the damage he sustained... He must have been out of it, so deep in his thoughts that he hadn't realized the room door open. Visiting hours were bound to be over soon, if it wasn't for Amethyst Cat, he might have jumped in his seat upon the hand settling upon his shoulder. Sea green eyes are what greet the other, the edges of acidic orange still have a faint visible tint around the very edges. Teal hair a bit messy given it had grown out a bit more, his lips part to utter the name of the person who had approached him. Gaze softening.

"Asuka." He had wondered if she would visit, while they hadn't truly ever interacted before, he'd wanted to but with all the chaos that came to consume the island and the genuine excitement he'd had over finding someone alike himself, he'd missed out on a lot of opportunity to interact with others. But he knew that she was one of the few that ended up being whispered about and rumors that even caught his attention, mostly about her talent as a duelist but considering she'd followed after Judai... She was a dear friend to the brunette and suffering just as much if not more than he was, though in his general opinion everyone else had been worse off. To experience...He doesn't want to continue that train of thought as he exhales deeply, his wrapped hand shakily setting upon her own hand as he speaks. "How...are you doing?"

[spilledinkandtearstainedpages]

I want someone to kill me.

[kianlawson]

closed starter @jemmaxlawson

location: his townhouse

He sat on the sofa, his blue eyes filled with a storm of emotions as he faced Jemma. Kian's jaw clenched, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. He had to tell her, she was his sister and deserved to know it. So why did he feel shitty for having to make this confession? "I killed someone during the blackout," he said, before he could lose his nerves. "It was Armi's ex." He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. "He tried to kill her, Jemma. I couldn't... I couldn't let that happen. So I shot him." His shoulders slumped, the guilt evident in every line of his body. "I know I shouldn't feel this way. He was going to hurt her, maybe even kill her. But I can't shake this feeling. It's eating me up inside. I'd do it again to protect her, but God, I never thought I'd have blood on my hands."

[avixthecat]

the american public school system is going places

....and it sure isn't anywhere good. warning: gun, attempted murder, & sexual assault mentions yes, this is a rant. if this is illegible to you, then congratulations, you're experiencing what it's like to read my fellow students writing.

lemme tell you all about the failure of an education system mine is. because trust me, it's bad.

ENGLISH & MATH 1------------------- There were kids in my 8TH GRADE language arts class who got stumped on a really hard word. the word? AVALANCHE. you know, the word meaning, at it's simplest, THINGS LIKE ROCKS AND SNOW FALLING DOWN A MOUNTAIN we had to do these two programs because the kids in the ENTIRE SCHOOL SYSTEM were so far behind "because of covid" the programs were one math and one LA, and we were told "students who show they don't need it will stop at some point while students who do will be taken out" these interfered with our actual learning. that's right, they did these IN THE MIDDLE OF OUR CLASSES. AND THEY NEVER EVEN STOPPED. like most of the kids didn't even do them in the first place we weren't allowed to listen to music while we did it. we were required to sit in SILENCE as we did these shitshows, which hindered a LOT of kids because some of us need sound to be able to focus. the english program told me that the verb "serve" (as in, to serve in the military) was not a verb. the math program forced you to do math their way, which is really bad when you've got kids who are able to do that same math a different way and are being marked as failures for no fucking reason. oh yeah, and the school computers have grammarly installed. by the admins. the administrators installed grammarly on our computers and set them up. they're encouraging us to use grammarly. the school.

[ID: An image labeled "Extensions", listing extensions on a school computer installed by the school administrators. The extensions included in the image are "Equatio," "Gaggle," "GoGuardian," "GoGuardian License," "Google Docs Offline," Google Keep Chrome Extension," and "Grammarly: AI Writing and..." End ID.] SCHOOL SAFETY 2------------------- PFFT SAFETY, MY ASS fun fact: there was a bag of ammunition found on the track, and i'm pretty sure a gun in a car. did they send us home once they found out there was no immediate threat? no. did they move us to safer locations when the discovery of such items was made? no. there's been rumors that kids that have been expelled last year are returning this year. those kids are expelled for reasons like attempted murder and sexual assault. and people are saying they're coming back. i'll update this if they do or not.

TEACHERS AND DISCIPLINE 3------------------------------ like school safety, discipline doesn't exist. or, it does, but it's so weak because i guess the school is afraid of upsetting parents or something, they don't actually punish kids the way they need to, and punish kids who don't need to be punished (you come to class late again because you were in the bathroom because we don't let you go for the first twenty minutes of class? lunch detention for you.), and seemingly have never heard of the term "praise" before. this leads to kids not caring and giving up, because there's no reason to try and the punishments mean nothing. teachers are quitting their jobs left and right because they just can't deal with the kids being disruptive and not doing their work because they can get away with it no matter how strict or lenient the teacher is. this is a problem for students who actually try, because now we can't focus, we get bad grades, we're grouped with the students who purposely don't learn, and now we don't care either and don't see the point in trying to learn anymore. one of the counselors place blame on hurting students. the person kids are expected to talk to when having a hard time (and required to have as their counselor by some stupid rule) is practically telling students their struggles are all their fault. i've heard a girl was raped and she was told it was her fault by that counselor. and the admins didn't stop to think for even a second "hey maybe we shouldn't keep this counselor, they're kinda sorta not doing their job" SCHEDULE 4----------- last year, they changed the middle school schedule to "match the high school" this meant we have five minutes to get to each class (not needed when 90% of your classes are five tiles across the hall), classes are an hour at most (one of the classes was an 1:30 instead of 1 hour) since classes are so much shorter, teachers can't even get through all of their lessons or even all of their UNITS before the school year ends. CONCLUSION 5-------------- now, let's do some thinking, something i don't think any of the kids in this damned school do. with the lack of safety, reason to try, inability to finish the units we need to finish, and failure to teach kids effectively, what do you think that causes? if you guessed "under-educated adults", you're correct! congratulations!

[iheartpeppino]

Okay, so... Peppino has a photo in his house of himself posing with a guy who looks similar to him. That guy is the Pizza Maniac, and he's apparently Peppino's cousin:

The official Pizza Tower Twitter account posted this art of Pizza Maniac on January 9th, 2023. This would be referenced later in The Noise update. Apparently "Pizza Maniac" is a bootleg ripoff of Pizza Tower, but... I can't find any information on it. My Google-fu is apparently not strong enough.

I only know that, according to McPig's Ancient Aliens stream, the main character of Pizza Maniac - who is referred to as "The Pizza Maniac" - exists in the Pizza Tower universe as Peppino's mentally ill cousin who just escaped an insane asylum. He wants to kill Peppino and wear his skin, in order to pretend to be him. Judging by the photo in Peppino's house, however, it seems Peppino and the Maniac were close at one point. Makes sense, seeing how they're family. I just wonder how that changed so drastically...

But more importantly, I really wanna know where McPig found the "Pizza Maniac" game because now I'm genuinely interested in learning about this weird Peppino wannabe.

EDIT: I got some information wrong and corrected my words accordingly. Sorry!

[lenniharrisonsims]

Behind The Scenes...

(The following post mentions the idea of murder. Please keep your own mental health in mind and proceed with caution)

Newcrest to Glimmerbrooke call, multiple times

New Moon Palace, Newcrest, 6:45pm

Emma: Please pick up, please pick up.

Imperial Palace, Glimmerbrooke, 8:45pm

*phone ringing*

Jonas: Emma?

*answers phone*

Emma: Uncle Jo, I’m so scared, please, please you have to help me.

Jonas: Woah, woah, slow down. What’s wrong?

Emma: They’re going to kill me!

Jonas: What? Who’s going to kill you?

Emma: The King and Queen. They said they were going to kill me!

Jonas: You mean Stefano and Justine?

Emma: Yes! Please help!

Jonas: Slow down, Emma, and tell me exactly what happened so I can tell the Empress.

Emma: They were talking in the sitting room, I was walking past on my way to the kitchen. The King- Stefano- was yelling about something, and I didn’t want him to storm out of the room, see me there, and take it out on me, so I hid behind one of the doors. They were talking about Grandfather, about how he got captured by the Empress. Stefano was really mad. Is that true?

Jonas: Yes, it’s true. We have him in custody here. What happened next?

Emma: Stefano was talking about using me to trade for Dami if you guys find him first-

Jonas: Find him?

Emma: They sent him away to train with the Windenburg military, nobody knows where he is, now that Windenburg has fallen.

Jonas: Okay… keep going.

Emma: Then Justine said I would be a worthless hostage and they should just kill me.

Jonas: Is that exactly what they said?

Emma: She said “get rid of her, people die all the time.”

Jonas: Oh…

Emma: I’m going to die. They’re going to kill me, oh my god!

Jonas: Emma, calm down. I’m going to call an emergency council meeting and get them to agree to invade Newcrest. I need you to do everything you can to avoid them until we get there. Lock your door, tell that servant who got you this phone to sneak you food and water, and do not antagonize them in any way.

Emma: (shakily) Okay…

Jonas: We’re gonna get you out of there, I promise. No one is going to hurt you.

Emma: Please hurry, Uncle Jo.

Jonas: I’m getting up and summoning the council right now, okay? We’ll be there soon.

Emma: Okay…

Jonas: Stay safe, love you, Bug.

Emma: I’ll try, love you, Uncle Jo.

[intxication]

🕯️ lola :)

One day. One day I'll actually get her. Even though it's fun to play this little game, eventually it'll have to end. The consequences of that will come but I think it's all worth it. I told her I'd kill her one day anyways, so what if people get mad about it. I think she has settled herself into a blissful unawareness, she won't even see it coming. It'll be such a great gift I could give her. It only makes sense, since most people don't escape me more than twice

[mad-hunts]

❛ It terrifies me what I would do for you. ❜ (from Viktor, down the lime, partially transformed)

starters for dark and toxic ships.

whenever barton came home that evening, it was with his own great discomfort that he was not feeling like himself. though being covered in blood wasn't exactly a new thing for him at all. it was the way that barton could simultaneously barely keep his eyes open, and couldn't stop shaking that got him to call viktor at a late time in the evening; but it wasn't arguably too bad as he'd escaped arkham that time at around 10 pm. it was then closer to eleven, however, as it took barton some time to get home in his current state. but considering the only thing barton could muster to say on the other end of the phone was 'hey, i need you to come over if you're available. please?' in a croaky voice? he thought there was a pretty darn good chance that viktor would show up.

and thankfully, he did. because god's, did barton feel like he was on the road to downward spiraling. one new doctor there proved to be an absolute barbarian... perhaps worse than even the infamous doctor orion for him, who seemed to hate him the instant he took one look at him. pyrotherapy or artificial fever was an outdated therapy for a reason; it didn't work for mental illness, and most of all, it was just plain ridiculous to think that forcing an elevated body temperature upon someone could help their mind in any capacity. but of course the asylum had attracted a doctor that, for all extents and purposes, should've had his medical license revoked as far as barton was concerned. so although it took a painstakingly long time for it to happen, his death couldn't have come sooner, in his opinion.

making someone physically ill and then forcing them to suffer through it by giving them strong sedatives was abuse. plain and simple, and it was amazing that the literal serial killer could understand this, but not doctor wagner. oh well... barton could only muster to put a cold compress on his head and pull some covers over his body once he got home. he was too exhausted, and too jittery to do much else. so barton was thanking his lucky stars that at least he wouldn't have to be alone while suffering through this when he heard a knock at the door. leaving the door open specifically so viktor could get in was a good idea as there was no way he was getting up without help now.

and whenever the other entered, soon discovering the other was in the throes in illness? all his drug-addled brain could do was reach out to hug viktor as if he thought he might disappear if he let go. there was some exchanges from there, mostly on viktor's side of things, that ranged from him asking things like what happened? and then, did someone do this to you? barton nodded at that before viktor said something that definitely made him at least ten times more attractive to him: well, they're going to regret it. barton could only laugh at that as he mustered out the words: 'i already took care of them.' well, viktor didn't seem too satisfied with that answer as he asked barton something akin to, 'all of them? you took care of all of the people who did this to you?' and then proceeded to tell him he was scared of the kinds of things he would do for barton.

god's, barton thought, viktor needed to stop being so damn hot whilst he was shaking like a leaf in his arms. though that kind of thing normally would've raised alarm bells in other people's brains and understandably so. barton, however, was different from those people. the truth was... his fate was in the hands of more than just one person while at arkham. but the ones who stood by, who were complicit and just went along with what the doctor told them to do, were people that barton tried not to concern himself with. his main oppressor was gone and that was all that mattered, right? barton clung onto the fabric of viktor's shirt with one hand as he dug his head into the other's shoulder.

the thought of admitting that it had happened at that moment and thus he let some of them off way too easy felt semi-mortifying at that moment, admittedly. because although they shouldn't have done it in the first place, yes, it was a fact that they were still out there. barton tried not to dry-heave as he looked up from viktor's shoulder, his lips twitching into a snarl at the thought these people were probably thinking they got away with it. all he could do at the moment was chuckle humorlessly whilst he shivered and let one of his hands fall from viktor's body.

❝ well, no, but i'll take care of the rest of them once i'm well again. so don't go out and do anything rash — alright? even though it does kind of thrill me that you'd be willing to do some wild things for me, viktor. i mean, i did somehow escape and drag myself all the way here through a high fever. a fever that they fucking... induced on me by the way. so, if i can do that, then i should be able to hunt these sadists down. ❞

[gempantheon]

"Found you." Judai's arm is yanked back, forcing him to face him once again. The happy laugh that had been resounding through the area cut off with a gasp as he tried to huddle closer to Johan.

However that didn't work, his father pulling him closer. "Its time to stop playing games Judai." He briefly looks at Johan, the words of warning running through his head. "What you fail to understand is that he's still my personal property." Signified by a forceful yank toward him.

"You two aren't married, so he's not legally yours" The man hissed, "Therefore he's been away from home long enough, we had a deal. Traveling the world was no such part of the deal."

"But I-" Judai attempted to interrupt, however his words were cut off by a crisp slap that echoed throughout the frosty air.

"Do not interrupt, do not talk back." he ground out, raising his hand again. "We're going. Tell your friend goodbye."

It was meant to be a tranquil escape, a day carved out just for them to leave behind the weight of the world. Its relentless expectations, tangled destinies, and the chaos of life. This was envisioned as a moment of purity. Today, he takes Judai to the edges of the fjord, to a hidden gem tucked away from the prying eyes of the world. The path wound through lush greenery, the air fragrant with the scent of wildflowers and the distant sound of water lapping against rocky shores. As they reached the overlook, he can only smile at the way the other glances upon the granted view from the small height. The sun sparkling on the fjord's surface, casting a cascade of glimmering reflections that danced like stars on the water. Perhaps today was the day he would finally reveal what he'd often be awake in the middle of the night, clutching silently and pondering on the future.

But as he glanced at Judai, with his carefree smile and vibrant spirit, he felt the weight of uncertainty settle within him. It was certainly a day, vibrant with potential, but not the one he had yearned for. The moment felt charged yet fleeting, as if the universe conspired against his aspirations, leaving him to wonder if he would ever find the courage to bridge the last final gap between them. Yet before he could even begin to form words upon his tongue a voice speaks from behind, Judai is pulled away from his side and he turns, only to be greeted with HIM.

"Judai!"

The name slipped from his lips with a palpable urgency, echoing in the stillness of the air. Was this the universe's cruel way of proclaiming that peace would forever elude them? That they should count the fleeting moments of their existence upon this earthly coil, awaiting the next inevitable storm? Frustration gripped him as he grappled with the recurring nightmare: every time he sought to lend a hand, his intentions twisted into disastrous outcomes. Why did every act of kindness seem to backfire? He bore the heart of a hero yet felt the crushing weight of a damsel's fate hanging over him. Now, as he stood at the precipice of failure, with Judai once again ensnared in peril, an icy dread coiled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t afford to falter. Not again. The mantra throbbed in his mind. He can't fail, he can't fail, he can't fail. Each repetition stoked the fire of desperation within him.

The man's voice, slick and poisonous, dripped like venom into the tense atmosphere, mingling with the chill that wrapped around him like a shroud. He could feel the very air turning acrid, choking him with each shallow breath he drew. A burning sensation clawed its way through his body, igniting every nerve as the words sank in. The other claimed him as his own, a mere possession. "He is mine," the man declared, as if he was sealing Judai's fate with every syllable that slithered forth. If my attack hits you, your defeat is set in stone.

"I won't let you do that."

I'll protect Judai with all my might, even if I have to sacrifice myself.

His mind flashes with vivid images, memories he knows he hasn’t lived but feels nonetheless, etched into his consciousness. It's a war zone, a cacophony of chaos and destruction, and at the very center of it all, he stands among fallen comrades and shattered dreams. He can still feel the phantom weight of the axe's handle in his grip and the force required as it cleaves through the skulls of nameless foes. Beings lost to the corruption of the vile light, drawing nearer. He knows he must reach someone, someone significant, enveloped in shadows. Their presence is a beacon amidst the turmoil, and he feels an urgent need to protect him. He cannot falter; he must fight his way to his side. The air charges around him with electricity, the crack of a distant explosion echoing like a flash of lightning. As he roars a war cry that erupts from the depths of his being, the sound trembles in the air, deep and resonant, like thunder in a storm.

With every ounce of strength, he leaps into the fray, his body a weapon against the chaos, ripping the aggressor away from the figure he’s sworn to protect. The collision is violent, flesh meeting flesh, adrenaline surging through his veins as he hurls himself into danger. His heart pounds, fueled by desperation and determination, as he tackles the enemy with reckless abandon, both of them hurtling towards the edge. They tumble down, rolling abruptly amidst jagged rocks, pain blooming like fire across his body with each harsh impact. But through the agony, a single thought anchors him: he has successfully drawn the threat away from Judai, and that’s all that matters. The world around him blurs in a haze of chaos, but there’s a flicker of hope, ignited by the knowledge that he has done his duty, even if it means sacrificing his own comfort and safety.

No one will know as he continues onwards, propelled by a mix of adrenaline and a desperate resolve. His heart races, and the world around him fades into a distant blur, a mere backdrop to the singular focus of his intent as his hands make contact with warm flesh, he feels the pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips, a stark reminder of the life he is about to challenge, about to take. He navigates with a precision born of necessity, his thumbs pressing firmly against the collarbone, feeling the bone structure beneath the skin.

With careful determination, he traces a path upward, each movement deliberate as he seeks the critical point. That vulnerable intersection that allowed the passage of oxygen, the lifeblood that fueled them. He pauses only for a moment, feeling the weight of the decision hanging in the air, before he pushes forward, aiming to halt their intake of oxygen and plunge them into silence. He can't squeeze hard enough with bloody trembling hands. The creature writhes beneath him, serrated nails dig across his flesh, his armor, his clothes. The fur is stained with blood but it keeps him warm, he can hear the yelling of the warriors behind him. He can hear the familiar voice ring in his mind and it sounds so much like Judai.

Judai.

Judai...!

There is no mercy on the battlefield.

Do what you do best my ever-loyal warrior.

Leave nothing left ██████

He's too focused, too disorganized, too far down to realize what he's doing. They're all trying to reach him. To drag him back from the depths of a person who had left this place long ago. There is destruction that burns in the edges of the light, blood for blood. Fangs are openly bared and he's so close, he can feel the struggle growing less persistent against him. The pressure against his chest is alleviating, his rage is unyielding. He needs to protect. He can't fail!

[signourneybooks]

The Incandescent | ARC Review

Thank you to Orbit and Netgalley for the review copy in exchange for an honest review. This does not change my opinion in anyway. Book: The Incandescent by Emily TeshRelease Date: May 13th 2025Tags: Fantasy | Dark Academia | Magical School | LGBTQ+ | Bi MC | Demons | Character FocusedTrigger/Content Warnings: Death | Mentions of Death Parents | Mentions of MurderOther books by this author I…

[kianlawson]

closed starter @alcrayildiz

location: somewhere in midtown

These days, his mind was a million miles away as he went about his day. What happened with Sean was always at the back of his mind. It wasn't that he was afraid of the consequences—he was more worried that Armi might try to take the fall. He wouldn't let her. This one was on him. He'd murdered the piece of shit and he would take the fall—if it ever came to that. Rounding a corner, he nearly crashed into Alara. "Shit. Sorry," Kian said as he avoided the collision. "Are you okay? Sorry, I've been thinking about inventory," he added, clearly lying through his teeth.

[agamingkf]

THE Drawing haul of the week

yall waited for this 👅👅👅

silly crayons

thats right i got a new welcome home oc

oc bs (the 4th image Clown looks ass)

oop wait tw: MENTIONS OF MURDER

[patrick-flanagan]

you made the wine, now drink your cup || kat & patrick

WHO: Kat Jones @drkatjones & Patrick Flanagan

WHERE: PSU Campus

WHEN: Monday the 21st of October

WHY: Blissfully unaware of Patrick's release and his new job, Kat accidentally finds out the hard way that he's there, at the same workplace as her.

WARNINGS: TW: Mentions of drugs and criminal behavior

PATRICK had no idea how he'd even gotten so lucky with this position. To go from being in prison, to being headhunted and given a job at PSU as a business management professor was really something he hadn't expected. Picking up trash on the side of the road seemed more like it. His mother would've been proud that he finally had a normal 9-5 job. As he stood there, in front of the class, teaching, he couldn't help but feel a little conscious still. He'd been doing it for a month, and he knew that sometimes, his heavy Scottish accent could get in the way of the young students understanding him. The sleeves of his light blue dress shirt were rolled up, and he was pointing towards the whiteboard that had scribbles all over it. "Alright, if you've all noted this down, then I'm gonna end the lesson here," As the students started to pack up and leave the room, Patrick closed down his laptop until he remembered a thing. "And don't forget to hand in your essays on Friday! I know it's about to be the weekend, and you've all got plenty of partying going down, but it counts for 25% of your overall grade."

KAT was running late, something she tried to avoid at all costs, but sometimes she got a little too caught up in her work. Apparently, cases and papers held her attention just the same. Which was good, it made the transition for FBI Profiler to Psychology Professor a lot less jarring, especially since she still got to do the research she loved. Speaking of, she was late to a meeting about her latest case study for a criminal psychology student. Taking a shortcut through the Business and Marketing department she waved at a couple other professors and students she recognized, shockingly there was a lot of crossover between the two departments. As she approached a door at the end of the hall the voice she heard stopped her in her tracks. Was she dreaming? No, this was real, she was really walking down this hallway, she was really on her way to a meeting that she was really late for. But she closed her eyes and leaned against the wall anyway, just incase, and when the voice, "I'm gonna end the lesson here. She's recognize that accent, that tonality, that cadance, anywhere. Even if she didn't remember everything, she would rememer... him. Without realizing, he feet took her to the doorway and there he was. Students saying excuse me as they passed her on their way out. The swirling sensation in her stomach, the fluttering of her heartbeat. Now she knew she wasn't dreaming. In her dreams he always looked like that first night he called her into his office but this version of him, he looked different, the same but not. Again her feet carried her closer, until she was so much closer to him than she ever thought she would be again and in her mind she saw his smile. Until it was replaced with a face full of pain, pain that she had caused. "Patrick?" She finally said, terrified and, God help her, excited.

PATRICK was busy, packing away his laptop into his messenger bag, along with the folder of papers that he kept organized. It was weird; he'd always been the type of person to have files, and to keep papers organized; but they were typically on people who owed him money, or had run off with the drugs that he'd been working on getting delivered. Every single detail of the mule would have been neatly noted down, so that Patrick could know exactly where they'd run off to. After having taken care of them, the papers would've been destroyed and all evidence would be gone; this time around, he didn't have to worry about that. The papers now just contained diagrams and examples of successful businesses. What a contrast, he thought to himself. The sound of the students making their way out, and his eyes being stuck on getting his belongs packed away, had him completely unaware of who was inching closer and closer to him. Until he heard his name in that extremely familiar voice that he both loved and loathed. His head snapped up and he saw her. Hazel. No. Kat? Was that actually her name? It must've been, they'd said it in court! His heart dropped to his stomach. That had been the last time he'd seen her, before he'd gotten locked up for two years. She looked the same. She was as gorgeous as ever. But then all the memories came flooding back. The eye contact was just like in the courtroom, except he wasn't in handcuffs right now. What the hell was happening? Was he getting busted again? He hadn't done anything this time! "Excuse me." He muttered, draping his bag over his shoulder and making a bee line to the door. He was not about to fall into an arrest-trap again!

KAT was so stunned that she barely registered him continuing to pack up his things. It wasn't until he spoke, well barely spoke, that her brain kicked back on but he was walking away so fast and she didn't want him to leave yet. But she wasn't sure why, that was a lie, she knew exactly why but she was not willing to say it, not even just to herself. "Patrick, please..." She tried to jog to him but her injuries, while much better than they were a few months ago, still gave her trouble if she moved too quickly. She winced at the sharpness in her back and found herself leaning against a chair to steady herself. "I can't run after you." She figured given the last time they saw each other, was him finding out who she really was, maybe he was concerned she was here for him. "I didn't know you were here, I- I'm a professor here now." She explained, wincing again as she stood up and started walking, using the backs of the chairs to help her as she did. "I'm just a professor." Jesus, why would he believe her?

PATRICK couldn't believe it. Two years ago, he'd been busted for using his business as cover-up for money laundering and drug dealing, and on top of that, been charged with being an accomplice in multiple crimes committed by the gang back home in Glasgow - all thanks to Hazel- Kat! She'd been undercover the entire time she'd worked for him, and he had been completely oblivious to it, despite the crazy amount of background checking that was done, before offering her the job. He'd let her in; not just into the company, but he'd allowed her to get to know him, in ways that he otherwise wouldn't. He wanted to run, because he was sure an entire SWAT-team was about to break in, despite the fact that he hadn't actually committed any crimes since being released. "Do you actually expect me to believe that?" He asked, his voice stern as he turned around. "Do you think I'm that stupid?" His accent became stronger, the angrier he got. "Aye, you must actually think I'm so daft, I'd fall for that. But you don't have anything on me now, okay? You can tell your little undercover unit that I was asked to come here and teach - you got it?"

KAT was under pressure, she needed to find a way to get him to talk to her, to trust her. If she wasn't in such a heightened state she could have taken some time to reflect and process on why?, why did she need this man to trust her again, why? why? why? But for now all of her brain power was going to getting him to stay. First, she needed to get herself in front of him instead of several paces behind. So she pushed through the pain, pain she knew she was going to have to explain and contend with at physical therapy this week, and moved as fast as she could to the doorway, to block it. Now he could move past her, but she was banking on their past connection, the feelings he'd had, still being there. Even if just a little. "You don't trust me, good, you shouldn't. Not after..." She trailed off before standing up straighter, "Not after I deceived you for a year." If she couldn't say then he'd never respect her and he'd be right not to. "So let me prove to you that I'm not an FBI agent anymore."So pick a crime and I'll commit it. Even undercover, agents aren't allowed to commit crimes." What was she doing? This was a terrible idea and it has such a low probibility of working in her favor.

PATRICK didn't know what the woman wanted from him. He wasn't involved in crimes anymore, none of the other gang members had - surprisingly - not yet found out about his release, and hadn't contacted him; and more importantly, he hadn't contacted them. He'd started over, done the sensible thing, was now renting a little two-bedroom apartment paid off with his monthly salary, had suede patches on his blazer elbows - he even paid for HBO now, goddammit! He was living a respectable life, earning a normal income and staying on the right side of the law. So what did Hazel- fucking hell! What did Kat want from him? Hearing her mention how she tricked him into falling straight into her little undercover trap hurt. It stung. Patrick was smarter than that, and yet, he still fell for it. Fell for her, hard and fast. Scoffing, when she suggested he pick a crime, he rolled his eyes. That'd prove nothing. "Kill someone then," Patrick said nonchalantly with a shrug. "Murder someone. Take someone's life, the way my mother's life was- you know what, this is ridiculous," Patrick breathed out, closing his eyes for a moment, before taking a deep breath and looking back into Kat's. His face didn't show any sign of emotions, except for annoyance. Years ago, he actually had a system to back up his threats, if something stood in his way; he had a whole team. Now, it was just him. And he suddenly wasn't so dangerous, standing there with those stupid suede patches on his blazer elbows and files in his bag on how to build up a business and manage it properly. "Get out of my way."

KAT should have known that is the crime he would choose and she should have known exactly what that line of thinking would lead to. Aileen. Normally, she would be more sensible, she would be better at handling this situation but she has always been- he has always made her brain fuzzy. Like she could see the path forward but it was out of focus, he made her less sharp but more emotional. She had never met anyone who did that to her, maybe that's why she fell in love with him. Because with him she wasn't ten steps ahead, she wasn't the smartest person in the room, she wasn't alone. She missed him, and that had been the truth she wasn't willing to tell herself all this time. This was ridiculous, she could agree with him on that. This was not the way to try and... and what? What was she trying to do? Apologize, make amends, have him back in her life? So she moved out of his way with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Patrick." It was going to be hard, but she needed to leave him alone. You can't always talk it through and things couldn't always work on her timetable. Her current physical healing journey was proof of that.

PATRICK had once been head over heels in love with Hazel. Kat! So much so that he sent her flowers every day, showered her with presents, looked forward to every second spent with her. It had been a change for him, he wasn't the type of person to focus on anything but his work. But here she'd come along, tearing his eyes away from that and onto her. Every part of her had intrigued him, and he wanted to spend all of his time with her. That had all probably been part of her plan though. To lure him in, to get him hooked, distract him enough to make all the evidence to the crimes committed easy to get to. It hurt that she'd used him like that. Not a single part of him wanted to be around her, after what she'd done to him. So when she apologized and moved away from the door, Patrick knew not to trust her apology. It was probably yet another tactic to lure him in, and this time, he wasn't falling for it. "Stay away from me." Patrick demanded, locking eyes with Kat for a moment, before walking out of the classroom. As he walked down the hallway, he could feel his throat close up, and his heart beat faster than it'd done in a while; he hadn't noticed it in the classroom, but it had done it the entire time she'd been there. And he hoped to God it'd be the last time too, because he certainly didn't need this. He didn't need her. Anymore.