#@PUPPET WHAT IF THEY HAD THE SECOND MOUTHS INSIDE AND IT COULD ACCESS THE BACK CAVITY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xarrixii · 1 year ago

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Chapter_06 : "Acid Rain" ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

CW: previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

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For the sixth time this year, Harlow’s phone refused to connect to data or cell service. For the fiftieth time this year, he was trying to sleep on the couch in the Flash Fire garage, also an old storage unit his parents had forgotten about the monthly payment for and had kept paying anyway.

He needed a walk.

Harlow pulled an umbrella off an old shelf, trying a few times before it finally cranked open and clicked.

A heavy downpour cascaded everything he could see in an obscuring muck. Only place to really go was the red-light district nearby. Thank God everyone would be inside getting wet on their own terms.

Puddles splashed beneath his boots as he walked forward, approaching the flashing and glittering lights with a pained expression.

“Har! Can I call you Har? Look, buddy, pal, we’ve got some talking to do.” A hand was set on his shoulder and he whipped around, fist getting caught before it connected with their head. Liam chuckled, “Would you believe me if I said that isn’t the first time someone’s tried to punch me today?”

“Yes,” Harlow said, eyeing Liam’s bruise on his cheek. “Don’t call me ‘Har.’ ”

“Fine. Listen, Harlow.” Liam set their hand back on Harlow’s shoulder and pushed him to keep walking forward with him. Harlow instinctively recoiled at the touch, but continued walking. “Matty’s ready to start cutting deals with you.”

“Not in person, of course?”

“Oh, of course not.” His hair was dripping with water, and Harlow handed him the umbrella to set his hands in his pockets. Mostly to get Liam’s hand off of his shoulder.

They walked in silence for a few seconds before Liam cleared his throat. “Right. Look, you’ve got a dead brother and you think⸺”

“Stop yourself right fucking there.” Harlow’s hand clenched in his pocket. “And don’t you dare call me Harlow. I don’t want it rolling off of your tongue.”

Liam’s mouth stood agape before continuing. “I’m not gonna tell you you’re the one with the attitude between you and Raiden. I think you both have an attitude, and I think Matty is too afraid to admit it. But she told me to say that. Now we have to get a move on with this conversation.

“She’s generously offering you a living space for a year. Somewhere that puts your skills in easier access from the little puppet strings I swear up and down she hides on her fingers.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on.”

“What?”

“You and Raiden are like the same people, just one of you is platinum blonde and way hotter.”

Harlow made a full-stop while walking. “Say that again?”

“Keep moving.” Liam pushed Harlow forward again. “I have never seen Matty’s opinion on someone turn on its heel like it has on you before, and it still was decently miniscule.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, kid, that you made my boss realize she was wrong for once! And I’m pleading with you to please, please do it again.”

“No.”

The lights illuminated Liam’s face starkly red as he half-jogged to keep up with Harlow’s walking pace, gaze darting around everywhere like some scared dog. Harlow unintentionally cocked his head, which caught Liam’s attention.

“How honest do I have to be with you? Cinder needs your intelligence. Your wit, your quick thinking, your ability to find a solution amidst absolute panic. To keep moving despite the stakes, to want to keep living.”

Harlow snickered and turned back to the sidewalk ahead of him.

“Alright, I’ll admit that last one was in poor taste. But Matty’s been focusing far too much on sheer power lately that I think she’s forgotten we can train that, and that it’s harder to train the noggin you’ve already got in you.”

“My answer is still no, Liam.”

“Please tell me what is so horribly wrong with our offer so we can make amends and get past the whole ‘trying to get you arrested and in rehab so we didn’t have to deal with you thing.’ Please?”

After a moment of consideration, “My parents are egotistical maniacs who would never agree to that, and I don’t want you getting attached because I’m only going to be in Cinder for a year. Did you already forget that part?”

“I’m sure they’d be happy to be rid of you.”

“You didn’t mean that in the tone you said it, did you?”

“No. No I did not. Look, my paycheck depends on you in a Cinder complex tonight. That help?”

“Oh no.”

“Okay, kid, what do I have to give you?”

“Why are you so desperate? Do you think me for a joke to believe for a second that Cinder even begins to care about me or Raiden past whatever short-term mercenary use we supply?”

“You will know when we are joking. Which is conveniently quite often when you’re not being a little piece of shit in the red-light district.”

“I’m sure you love it here.”

“Asshole.”

“There you go.”

Liam took a deep breath as a car pulled up beside them both. “Just get in the car, Urban. Don’t make this hard.”

“Oh I’m making it hard?”

“Yes. Very hard, actually, I know that’s very hard to believe. The only nice thing you’ve done in the past five minutes was hand me your umbrella.”

“Keep it. And good luck with your paycheck, I think I’ll just sleep at home tonight, actually.” Harlow hadn’t really planned on going back there, but if it was his only option, he’d take it and deal with whatever his parents had to say.

“Incorrect. ‘Get in the car’ was not an option.”

“Does burning everyone you love sound tempting enough for me to leave you alone?”

“I’d say yes if I had anyone to love.”

“Well, I got nothing.”

Harlow heard the passenger door of the black car swing open and shut, glanced around for only a second, and started bolting down the red-light district. Liam’s voice rang through his head like a gun, I told you it wasn’t an option.

A hand wrapped itself around his wrist and the lighter practically sprang out of his pocket to life, Harlow burning the operatives hand as they flinched it back in surprise. Liam teleported in front of him, and he moved to take off running again. Just to get home as fast as possible.

“I think I need to bring you back to what I said earlier. You’ve got a dead brother, and you think it’s your fault that he’s dead. Am I wrong? I can’t be wrong because I stole those thoughts from your head. Yours, Urban.”

Without even thinking about it, the small lighter flame was about the size of a decent summon and blue, unwavering in his hand as he gripped onto the collar of Liam’s shirt. “That is none of your business.”

Liam’s breathing was uneven, paralyzed and overflowing with the terror flooding his eyes as they flitted between Harlow and his flame.

Harlow dropped Liam, who scrambled back slightly as he dropped the lighter to the floor and the flame sputtered out. Rain still pouring down from all sides in sheets. All of a sudden, Harlow could feel every breath that rose from his throat.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I lost control.” He felt weak, unable to focus on anything. “I don’t… I don’t know how I did that.”

Liam picked himself up from the concrete meticulously, painfully slow.

Harlow felt his arm grabbed from behind.

He barely heard Liam’s voice through the pelting rain shower. “We’ll compromise later, kid. Later.”

Then he went slack.

next chapter

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i have no idea why it took me so long to use my laptop. why did i go like, a week without it? i don't know. oh my god i just found out you can copy-paste a tag list this changes my life

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janeaustenprotagonist · 1 year ago

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warning: extremely sexual content. everyone in this letter are consenting adults.

July 22nd 2023 5:01pm

dear john,

oh my god.

I'm so sore.

it hurts to move.

god you did this to me and I'd do it again over and over and over. and over.

I thought we'd have to be drunk out of our minds. I never once thought: second date, your car, with a little time to spare.

I suggested we have our date at 6, you wanted 4. no wonder you wanted 4, we didn't get finished until 7:20, 10min before you were supposed to meet your mom. hopefully it wasn't far.

I never thought you'd kiss me. you compared our hand sizes, you wore the bracelet I made you, you kissed my hand and with the same hand you finger fucked me?

your hand grabbing my ass? the way you ate me out? your questions, my answers. your tongue, my mouth.

jesus, I want to kiss you again. and again. and again. and again. and again. I want everyone to know you're mine, that bracelet and those marks show that. you met your mom after we did it, did she smell my parfume? ask about the hickeys? wonder about the bracelet? did she ask you what you did that day? what did you say? did you say you kissed a pretty girl? what did you tell her?

I was in a burger king, my mom feasting away. I sat there knowing I just kissed you. tasted you. made you mine. marked you as mine. the taste of you still lingered on my tongue. (and ya know, I still had dick goop on my hands). I was hiding the hickeys like I was 15 again.

I can't believe you went from not wanting to invade my personal space to asking me to be on top of you in a matter of maybe thirty minutes. I went from being terrified and nervous at your touch to asking if you had a rubber. jesus fuck it's amazing what a little bit of horniness can do to two people, what longing can do.

in your car, jesus.

I'll be in that car again next weekend. will we go back to what we did? will you hold me like that again? I want to see you. feel you. hold you. I want you. I want it all.

what even started it? was it the bracelet? was it the minecraft beds joke? the puppet history theories? pancakes for dinner? god your hands. your hands. you did tricks to make me hold your hand, interlaced our fingers, compared our hand sizes, you kissed my hand. I turned so red. blood rushes. "I want to try something," your favorite sentence that night. then you kissed me. I rated it. you kept kissing me until you got a 10/10. then you went "I can get an 11." and fuck. you got an 11. you kissed my neck in the restaurant. then you frenched me in the restaurant. you got an 11.

the way you'd lightly pull my hair to get better access to my neck. the way you sucked my titties, gave me hickeys on my nipples. gave me hickeys on my boobs. the way you fingered me? oh god when you grabbed my ass and kept pushing your limits how close you could go to my pussy. I wasn't going to stop you. I didn't want you to stop.

you were so respectful. you asked consent for so much and asked so many questions.

"I'll tell you when to stop"

"Ohh, are you sure?"

"yes"

the hickeys on my boob I had to cover up today. the hickeys on your neck and shoulder. the way you sucked my clit. the way you held me. my hands were everywhere in your hair, god your hair. I love your hair. your hair. fuck. I loved your mouth. your tongue in my mouth. my tongue in your mouth. I loved your hands on my ass. I loved you trying to unbutton my pants. I loved you rubbing my clit through my underwear. your fingers in my pussy. your dick inside of me. all of it. the way you finger fucked me after you finished so I would too. you kept putting more fingers in.

do you feel the same? do you want to feel me again? do you want me to be yours?

it wasn't perfect by any means, but something about it was special. I've fucked people before. I've made out with people before. I've kissed people before. but your kisses shot fireworks through me. did it feel that way for you too? I'd like to kiss you again, if that's okay.

enough sweat to fill an ocean. enough kissing for a lifetime. I guess we were both longing. I guess we both wanted this. really wanted this. something just switched in us. you kissed my neck and suddenly I couldn't get enough. I felt your hand on my back and in my hair, there wasn't anything that could possibly stop me. my hands in your hair, fuck I love your hair. your name on my lips, lingering the taste of your spit. oh god I'd love to have you again. I miss the feeling on your hands all over me, in me. I've never craved someone like this before. I'm not a virgin, but jesus I've never been this hungry for a body.

most of my exes pressured me into things, into pleasuring them. they don't care about me and my pleasure. you? not once felt pressured. and you definitely cared about me.

john, I feel something is changing. you make me feel different than anyone else. you make me feel golden. daylight. golden daylight. I've dated, and dated. but I've never felt like this, not once. you make me feel different. I want you to be mine and only mine. I want to be yours. I want you introduce me as your partner, as your girlfriend, as yours. I want to tell people "my boyfriend..." "my partner..." "my man..." that's what I want. I want your everything. your problems, your happy, your bad, your good. I want you. john, I want you. in every way.

I think I more than like you, john.

that's scary.

I think I like you a little too much.

yours, sincerely, faithfully,

olive

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erintoknow · 2 years ago

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Rivka Abrams was not surprised when the fire alarms went off. Nor was she surprised when the explosion rocked the Praxis Laboratory three seconds later, having already braced herself against the wall. No doors blew open, no glass shattered. A quick mental scan of the lab’s inhabitants revealed two dozen panicked and evacuating employees.

The health and well being of each were subsequently confirmed using the internal security cameras, accessed through the AR implant in her artificial left eye.

That was a disappointment. The lives of a few lab coats were more than a fair trade for the advantage such a tragedy would provide her argument in both the public media and in the Praxis boardroom. That had been the whole point of steering security away while she puppeteered the saboteurs inside.

Trust a bunch of tech phobic hippies to fuck up making a bomb. Rivka would have to satisfy herself with whatever dollar amount of damage they had done. The bottom line was the only thing that mattered to the board anyway. Damage assessment would wait. It was time to make an exit.

Rivka never walked anywhere when she could saunter there instead. The clack of heel against tile. The sway of hips. It was a complete artifice but an enjoyable one. Calm. Collected. A true leader arrives exactly where they mean to, exactly when they intend to arrive there.

A man and a woman in egg blue scrubs staggered out the stairwell and into the hallway, arms over their mouths, coughing furiously. Rivka pursed her mouth into a worried frown even as she buried her irritation. She knew for a fact the smoke wasn’t that bad on the second floor yet. “Gladys, Howard. Good to see you’re okay.”

“Mrs. Abrams?” Howard’s eyes widened. One didn’t need to be a mind reader to see the confusion and fear etched into his face. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a small incident in Lab 3. We should evacuate into the parking lot.” Rivka explained, her voice steady. With an invisible hand, she sifted through both of their thoughts, tamping down their base responses.

Panicked people were stupid and unpredictable. Even more so than normal. Seeing Gladys and Howard relax in her presence, Rivka urged them along behind her with a finger.

In the parking lot, a scattering of lab coats and pretend-security milled around like lost children, watching the smoke coming out of the third floor windows of the complex. Worried gossip and cries of relief at each new person to congregate at the evacuation site.

There was the wail of a fire engine approaching in the distance, followed by police sirens. Perhaps the Montgomery chapter of the CTF would pay a visit. Now there would be a group worth getting a hook into.

With no sign of them yet, and the police yet to arrive, Rivka turned her attention to rounding up her charges. A side effect, it had turned out, of prolonged control was a lack of initiative. People got accustomed to having a little voice in their head telling them what to do. Whether they realized it was happening or not.

Who said every experiment the lab ran had to be on the books? Sometimes you had to treat yourself.

Still, it made for annoyances like this. One legal charge was enough. She wasn’t interested in adopting twenty-two grown adults. Shoving her hand into the air, Rivka shouted over the noise. “Everyone assemble and check-in here!”

With that nudge, the chief of building security was finally stirred into action, training taking over. Sometimes you had to kick an engine to get it to engage. Rivka stood back, satisfied to let Minako do her job of shepherding the group together.

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…

Not one to trust a public-school washout, Rivka did her own headcount, touching lightly on each mind in turn. Her own personal tracking chip, only answerable to her. It amused her to think of it like tagging the ear of a cow at a farm. Or a rat in test facility. Perhaps that was more appropriate. At the end of the day, they all had about the same level of freedom, didn’t they?

Once the police arrived, the time for private amusements had ended. Put away, drawer shut. Rivka was to look suitably disturbed. Upset even. Worried for her team, and for their experiments. The consummate scientist.

Never mind that she had made a point to back-up all test data off-site before the attack. In the moment, she wasn’t to be in a state of mind to recall such facts. Let someone else helpfully ‘alleviate’ her worry.

One tedious conversation with the head of security and emergency response services after another. Always so painfully slow, to have to pretend like she didn’t already know exactly what they were going to say before they said it. It’s not like the telepathy was a secret. But no one liked to be reminded that the inside of their head was no longer private.

Firefighters got to work, EMTs attended to the few scrapes and bruises the staff had sustained. Rivka was called back over to confirm, yet again, with the police officer in charge there were no missing persons still in the building.

Yes, yes. Everyone accounted for. Rivka waved a hand, not bothering to mask her annoyance. She could feel all twenty-three employees clustered around. Stop bothering her with this.

Wait.

Twenty-three?

Minako and the police officer stared at her, as Rivka stopped mid-sentence. She cast her mind back out, checking each mental tag. Taking inventory. Olivia, Helen, Andy, Lee, Rodrigo, Howard, Gladys…

Where was the lab-rat? The other telepath?

Where was twenty-four?

#my writing #rough draft #soul rebel #feeling pretty pleased with myself after getting the partner seal of approval #so here we go because why not

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littlemisspascal · 4 years ago

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Death and an Angel part 10

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Neither you nor Din are handling your capture well.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,978

Warnings: captured reader, surprises, plot plot plot, violence, Din goes a bit dark side

Author Note: So sorry this is coming out late 😳 Between making YouTube videos and New Years everything got hectic, but here it is. I attempted writing from Din’s perspective this time so bear with me cuz he’s having a rough time😬

Links to Part 1 and Part 9 and Part 11

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

When you wake up, you’re lying facedown on a pallet in a dark and cold room. You groan, head pounding, and try to sit up, but your weak muscles protest, resulting in you rolling awkwardly onto your backside. Squinting up at the ceiling, you notice it is made of rock, as is the wall to the right of you.

Your head lolls to the left, granting you a lovely view of a red laser gate trapping you inside this strange cell. The faint glow it gives off produces barely enough light to reveal more rocky walls curving off to the side. You’re in a cave, you realize, processing everything at the rate of a snail’s pace, or some kind of underground tunnel.

At first you can’t remember how you ended up here, or what happened to you, but then everything hits you all at once.

“Finally,” a voice declares from beyond your cell. The purple twi’lek from earlier steps out of the shadows and leers at you from the other side of the laser gate. “I was beginning to think I misjudged the dosage.”

With monumental effort, you push yourself onto your knees, dizziness slamming into your skull with the brutal intensity of a hammer, and reach a hand out to summon your bow.

Nothing happens.

“What—why isn’t it—” The words are thick and clumsy, slurring together as if your tongue has forgotten how to form them individually. Closing your eyes to stop the room from spinning, you feel nothing but unbalanced and vulnerable. You try to speak again, taking a steadying breath. “What is wrong with me?”

“You’ve been collared. All the pets in the Moff’s collection wear one,” she answers, as casually as if she’s discussing the weather outside. “Keeps you from using your abilities and causing trouble.”

She has no reason to lie, but you still gasp when your trembling hand brushes against the metal band encircling your neck. Panicking, you pull on it without thinking, only for a responding jolt of electricity to shock your fingertips and fry every nerve ending in your body. You cry out at the pain, but the sound is drowned out by the twi’lek’s screech-like laughter.

“That never gets old,” she says, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.

“Death,” you mutter hoarsely, closing your eyes again and breathing shallowly through your mouth. “Death is going to slaughter all of you.”

“Oh, pet, you just don’t get it, do you?“ Her voice is practically dripping with condescension as she coos at you, “The Moff wants you here because you’re precious to Death.”

Against your better judgement, you open your eyes to look at her, confused by the wide smile you see stretching across her face. At headquarters, Gideon and your superiors had seemed far more concerned about the fact you had a second soulmate rather than who it was you matched with. If Gideon is punishing you for being Din’s soulmate (a fate which you had no control over whatsoever), you can’t help thinking he must be insane or have a legitimate desire to have his body dismembered piece by bloody piece. There is no denying that Din will do anything he can to get you back. Even break the rules of the universe.

You freeze.

Kriff. The puzzle pieces begin fitting together and you loathe the hideous picture they form.

“You are Death’s weakness. And anyone with a weakness can be taken advantage of if the right strings are pulled,” the twi’lek says, confirming your fears. She then winks at you coyly. “Congratulations, pet, you’ve just become Moff Gideon’s favorite puppet.”

You barely refrain from shouting curses at her as she walks away, leaving you alone with your chaotic thoughts.

Lying back down on the pallet, you press your hands over your eyes, tuning out the coldness of your surroundings and seeking out the warmth of your soulmate bond. You call out Din’s name within your mind, a repetitive chant increasing in urgency as you pray against all odds he hears you. But as the silence continues and you start to feel a phantom sensation of pain emanating from your throat, as if you have actually scraped it raw by how loudly you call, your heart breaks as it accepts the bitter truth: he can’t hear you.

You touch the collar again, every internal instinct you have screaming it is to blame for the invisible wall blocking you from reaching out to Din. How long have you been collared? How much time has passed since you were drugged at headquarters? Regardless, you don’t have any doubt Din is losing his mind right now. And his temper.

A few tears leak from the corners of your eyes, but you do not sob or sniffle. Gideon and his minions will not have the satisfaction of hearing you crying. Din wouldn’t like it either, you think, remembering his reaction on the Razor Crest when he’d found you panicking. He had held your hand, offering you any support he could to end your sorrows. Even offering to kill for you.

It’s funny, though, because few people seem to realize the feeling is mutual. You would do anything in the galaxy to spare Din a second’s worth of pain. If Gideon is under the impression you’ll just silently let him use you in order to exploit Din to do his bidding, then he’s going to be thoroughly pissed to learn just how stubborn you can be. Taking away your Cupid abilities might have weakened you, but you’re not going to be a helpless kriffing damsel.

Although, you correct yourself ruefully as you lower your hands and look around your confines, you might currently be a little helpless. You take in the high ceiling above you, thinking you’ll be able to stand at full height once the effects of the drug wear off and still not be able to touch the top. It scares you to think how far your cell has been dug beneath the surface of whichever planet Gideon has imprisoned you on. The twi’lek had referenced he had a collection of others hidden away in these tunnels. How many have died here with no one up above being any the wiser?

Pushing the morbid thoughts aside, your gaze drifts along the walls, noting the varying shapes and sizes of the rocks. They are all different shades of brown except for one odd green one in the corner. You look at the laser gate, knowing it can’t be shut off unless you have access to the generator which severely limits your plans of escaping since—

Your thoughts screech to a halt as your eyes snap back to the corner.

A rock does not have a little green body clothed in brown wool or long pointed ears. Nor does it peer back at you with large, innocent eyes as it clutches a piece of dirty black fabric with tiny three-fingered hands. And it certainly doesn’t waddle up to you and coo curiously in your stunned face.

You rub at your eyes, half-convinced you have now begun hallucinating things.

Nope. That little green face is still there when you open them again. It’s official, your brain isn’t screwing with you.

Your cellmate is a kriffing baby.

Decades ago Din was approached by a man who begged to be killed. He had been separated from his soulmate against his will and compared the pain he felt to the sensation of a thousand needles injecting acid straight into his bloodstream. However, Din had sensed the man’s lifetime was far from over and ignored his pleas.

Thinking about that incident now, Din has determined the man’s comparison to be a gross understatement. Being forcefully separated from his angel is as if an invisible force is holding him underwater, wishing him to drown. His brain is on the verge of exploding, torn between thoughts of bloodthirsty savagery and the overwhelming agony of not being able to breathe without her in his sight. Every hour they remain apart threatens to rob him of his sanity and transform his outward appearance from man to monster.

Already he has experienced a lapse in control of his powers the moment he’d first felt their bond had been blocked. He’d been forced to teleport away from Kuiil’s farm, lest he risk reaping the Ugnaught’s soul before its destined time, and unleashed his wrath upon an uninhabitable Outer Rim planet. His powers had pierced its core in the same effortless manner a vibroblade cuts through flesh, killing its essence instantaneously. In a matter of minutes, the planet would be nothing more than scattered dust particles floating through the vastness of space, though he did not linger to witness the destruction.

Instead, he returned to his ship and sent a holographic message to his most trusted reapers, assigning them the critical task of searching the galaxy for one specific target: Valin Hess. While they hunted down the bastard, he dedicated his time to searching for his better half. He extended his powers to each individual planet and moon in every region, tendrils of darkness looking through homes and alleyways for even the faintest trace of her vibrant aura amongst trillions of souls.

Now, ten hours later, he is interrupted by the chime of an incoming call.

“Come to Trask,” Bo-Katan says bluntly, not one to waste crucial time with excess words. “I've got him ready for you.”

“Good,” Din says. His own voice sounds strange even to himself. As he reaches for his helmet, his reflection in its visor reveals his eyes have changed from brown to solid black, his true form beginning to break through the human facade he cloaks himself in.

He had been warned in the past of the grievous consequences that will ripple across the galaxy should he ever lose control of his internal darkness. But if unleashing that force brings him even one step closer to reuniting with his angel?

He won’t even hesitate a heartbeat.

You are quick to learn three important facts about your cellmate.

First and foremost, the baby adores attention. Within minutes of discovering him, he climbs into your lap and snuggles against your stomach, making a strange purring sound of happiness. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest when you notice the tiny collar around his neck, identical to yours. Why would Gideon be keeping a child in his collection? Any potential answer that comes to mind makes you feel sick.

“You’re safe with me,” you tell him gently, stroking your fingertips over his wrinkly brow and the sparse amount of fuzzy hair on top of his head. He coos as if he understands you, ears perking up. “We’ll get through this together.”

Secondly, he is extremely possessive of his belongings. You learn this the hard way when you reach for the torn piece of black fabric he has gripped in his hands, intending to get a closer look at it because it doesn’t resemble a usual child’s blanket, but instead more so a torn bit of clothing—only for surprisingly sharp teeth to nip at your fingers.

You pull your hand away and hold it up, showing you mean no harm. “I’m sorry, bud. I should have asked permission first.”

Brown eyes stare back at you for a silent beat, painfully reminding you so much of Din you almost can’t bear to look at them, before the baby bobs his head with a low grunt. You chuckle at his cuteness. Although you hate the unfairness of the situation, you’re grateful for his presence as it stops you from worrying incessantly about your disconnected bond. As long as you wear the collar, you remind yourself, there isn’t anything you can do to reach Din. So you’ll just have to continue being patient and live with the uncomfortable hollow sensation until you can determine the best opportunity of freeing yourself.

And the baby now, too, you can’t help but silently add, looking down at him.

It is impossible for you within your cell to tell how much time passes as there are not any nearby clocks or windows providing a glimpse of the sky. As a Cupid, nourishment isn’t a necessity like it is for mortals, so you’re unsurprised no one has come by to offer you food or water. However, the same apparently can’t be said for the baby whose stomach growls unexpectedly, startling you both with its loudness.

He looks down at himself then at the laser gate. His ears twitch, as if he hears something, before he lets out a quiet whine. You open your mouth, wanting to console him, only for him to push himself out of your lap and waddle quicker than you anticipate towards the corner you initially spotted him in.

Thirdly, he is a master escape artist.

“What—” you start to ask, only for your jaw to drop when he squeezes himself through a small hole you failed to notice earlier, no bigger in diameter than a womp rat’s body, and disappears from view.

You stare at the corner, a million questions swirling inside your brain, each one focused on the baby. Where the kriff did he go? What is on the other side of the wall? Will he be okay?

The laser gate abruptly vanishes, plunging your cell into total darkness. You immediately press your back against the wall, blinking rapidly to try to adjust your vision, but you can’t even see your own hands in front of you. There is a distinct clicking sound of a button being pressed and then a glowing black blade lights up mere inches away from the side of your face, nearly singing your hair. You’re unable to stop yourself from crying out in terror, flinching backwards and hitting your head hard enough you see stars.

Over the pounding of your heartbeat and the eerie humming of the weapon next to your ear, you hear a familiar chuckle.

You freeze. Dank farrik.

“Believe it or not,” Gideon begins, looming ominously in the darkness. “I remember our first meeting when you awoke after your transformation. You weren’t special by any means, not one detail even remotely suggesting you would become such an invaluable asset to my plans. I’ve come to realize your unmemorable appearance was the universe’s attempt of concealing you from me. It might have worked, too, except the universe is a hopeless romantic, unable to help itself from matching soulmates. How else can it be explained why you were chosen out of all potential Cupids to monitor Death each month, thus increasing your affections for each other, if not for fate’s divine intervention?”

Gideon lifts the blade away from your personal space and holds it in front of him, outlining his features enough you’re able to see him peering down at you, expression blank and giving you no hints as to what is going on inside his head right now. “Your capture has driven Death into quite a frenzy. His influence can be felt in each region of space. Even his reapers have become involved.”

He pauses, as if he’s expecting a response from you, but you’re unable to look away from the laser sword in his grip. You wonder if all seraphs possess them, such as all Cupids wield bows, or if he had it specially crafted for his own pleasure. Regardless, the negative energy it radiates is strong enough that you feel as if dozens of spiders are crawling over every inch of your entire body.

“Your soulmate has no notion of my involvement, but even if it were revealed to him you are being kept here I thoroughly warded this location to hide myself from those intending me harm. Your presence will continue to remain invisible to his powers as long as he desires bloodshed. So I suggest you better make yourself comfortable because this cell shall be your home for the foreseeable future.”

Swallowing against your suddenly dry throat, you ask, “Do you honestly think keeping me hostage will grant you control over him?”

Gideon inclines his head. “I think you underestimate his willingness to guarantee your safety. He’ll commit any sin imaginable if it means not one hair harmed on your head.”

“Death won’t listen to a single word unless he has proof I’m okay,” you say, the beginnings of a risky plan forming in your head. “Which means you have to let me talk to him.”

“I’m not the fool you think I am,” he replies, shaking his head in a reproachful manner, as if you are no older than a child. But your hopes rise when you notice there is the smallest glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

You position yourself on your knees, eyes wide and brimming with tears, clasping your hands together as you start to beg. “Please, sir, the separation is tearing me apart. I can’t handle the pain anymore. I must see him. I’ll convince Death to kill whoever in the galaxy you want. He’ll do it without question if I’m the one who asks.”

Gideon considers you wordlessly for a long moment. The hum of the weapon and your heavy, anxious breathing are the only audible sounds. And in that moment you pray harder than you’ve ever prayed in your entire lifetime.

Let this work. Please, please let this work.

You know the exact second he gives in to your begging because a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, teeth bared almost predatorily.

“Very well then. Tomorrow I will make preparations for you to contact Death. Think carefully until then about what you will say in order to convince him to be agreeable with me. It would be a shame to use this ,” his sword hovers in front of your face once more, the tip nearly touching your chin, “to cut off your tongue should you fail or if you attempt to be clever and alert him of your whereabouts.”

Step one complete, you think to yourself after he has departed and the laser gate returns. Wiping away the lingering tears, you begin to plan step two.

Getting this kriffing collar off your neck.

Valin Hess is every bit the smug bastard Din predicted him to be. Despite the binders securing his wrists to a pipe high above his head and his bleeding split lip, the high-ranking Cupid still has enough arrogance to smirk at Din when he arrives at the abandoned warehouse Bo-Katan chose as the setting for the interrogation.

“Tell me where she is,” Din demands through clenched teeth as he marches up to the pompous prick without sparing a glance towards the red-haired reaper silently leaning against the nearby wall. He knows Bo-Katan is smart enough not to intervene.

“Just who would you be referring to?” Hess blinks innocently back at him.

His nose crumples beneath the knuckles of Din’s fist, blood bursting from his nostrils and staining Din’s gloves crimson.

“I am not known for my patience,” Din says. “Your suffering will only worsen the longer you keep me from my soulmate. I know you are aware of where she’s being kept. So tell. Me. Now.”

Untamed fury burns hotly beneath his skin, threatening to incinerate his mortal guise and his armor as if both were made of paper. It takes all of Din’s self-control not to give into the wicked desire to break each one of the Cupid’s bones, to peel off his skin layer by layer, to twist and carve and scar his body until there is not a single identifiable feature left.

“I haven’t the faintest notion nor care where she wound up.” Hess’ naturally gruff voice has changed to a nasally sounding one due to his broken nose. If the response hadn’t further stirred Din’s annoyance, he might have smirked beneath his helmet instead of snarled. “As soon as that twi’lek dragged her unconscious body out of headquarters, she became a nonentity to me.”

Din places his gloved hands over the other immortal’s shoulders, resting them there long enough Hess starts to twitch, unable to hide his increasing panic, and then Din squeezes until both clavicles shatter at the same time with a resounding crack . Hess tosses his head back, howling like a wounded animal, but Din is not yet finished.

He slams his fists against Hess’ torso, growling loud enough to be heard over the merciless snapping of each individual rib, “Give me a name.”

When the only answer he receives is agonized screaming, Din decides another approach is necessary to produce the desired results. He rips his gloves off, this time unable to resist smirking when Hess immediately starts to choke on his tongue and blood as he shakes his head emphatically, eyes blown wide with fear.

Din’s fingers reach out towards the Cupid’s temples, the veins in his hands ominously black in color.

“Xi’an!” Hess shouts, blood spraying from his mouth and painting Din’s visor. He doesn’t even notice, already planning the hunt for his next target. “The twi’lek that took your whore is named Xi’an!”

Din stills. “My... whore?”

Every lightbulb within the warehouse shatters, glass and sparks raining down upon them and the concrete floor. Hess starts babbling, a litany of apologetic words, but Din is beyond reasoning. Something sinister and feral has awakened within him, intertwining itself with his powers and enhancing their strength beyond what he ever imagined possible.

Din has reaped countless souls over the span of his existence. He has mastered the precise method of coaxing a soul out of a corpse, persuading them gently with his powers. Once the essence is held within his grip, the universe judges it, deciding either eternal damnation or a glorious afterlife. Most people tend to think Din is who chooses their fates, one of the many reasons why they fear him, but he has never been powerful enough to personally influence anyone’s destiny.

Until now.

He lowers one hand to hover over the center of Hess’ sternum, sensing the soul living deep within. It is a little battered from Din’s assault, but otherwise it resembles every other soul he’s ever reaped: a glowing, fidgety, amorphous bundle of energy.

Usually, he’d patiently guide the soul towards the corpse’s esophagus. But Hess is undeserving of such kindness. Din’s powers sink into the essence like sharpened claws, yanking it into Hess’ throat. The soul puts up a valiant fight, recognizing its host is still alive and thus should not be prematurely abandoned. But Din will not yield to its struggles, his powers manifesting dark tendrils to wrap around it in an unbreakable hold.

“You’re killing him!” Din hears someone call out over the harsh choking sounds Hess is making. Their voice is familiar and feminine sounding. “It’s not his time, you have to stop!”

Stop? No. He can’t. Not now when he’s on the verge of fulfilling the oath he’d sworn to his angel.

With one forceful twist of his wrist, the soul is helplessly torn from Hess’ bloodstained mouth and ensnared by Din’s awaiting hand. Without the essence of life, the light fades from the Cupid’s eyes and his broken body hangs limply from the binders.

The afterlife was never going to be an option as the soul’s final destination. However, Din has decided damnation is also too kind a place for vermin like Hess. There must be a third fate, he thinks.

Din squeezes his fist tighter and tighter, generating a cacophony of anguished shrieks from the soul. Ignoring the near-deafening cries, he gradually increases the pressure until at last it lets out one final high-pitched wail before disintegrating into dust that forms an unsuspecting pile on the floor when he uncurls his fingers.

A sharp gasp has Din turning, forgetting he has a witness present, and he finds Bo-Katan staring back at him with blatant horror. “What have you done?”

“What was necessary.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster, @lin-djarin, @oh-no-a-whovian, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #death and an angel #my fic #my writing #soulmate au

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monsterlovinghours · 4 years ago

Note

Okay. You asked for robofizz prompts and I think I have something. Character (reader or OC, totally up to you) works at Loo Loo Land as a maintenance worker for the rides and games. Their day is busy as hell because, let’s be honest, shit breaks down a lot there. But, out of the blue, management makes them robofizz’s new mechanic because he killed the last one. This is the first time they’re meeting the deranged clown and things get pretty, you know, when character tries to fix his sparking wires. 👀👀👀👀👀

oh fuck here we go y’all sluts better buckle up

Ducking behind a row of rigged carnival games, you let your work bag fall to the ground as you took a breather, wiping sweat and what looked like engine oil (but could be anything from burnt sugar to cremation ash) off your forehead. Taking a job as a ride mechanic had seemed like a good idea at the time; get into the park for free, discounts on funnel cake, access to all the shows. All you had to do was tighten a few bolts and make sure nobody got electrocuted too severely.

But here, like the rest of Hell, imps like you were disposable grunt workers and nobody gave two and a half shits if you were overworked or exhausted. Everything was broken or breaking. You were shocked (metaphorically and literally) your first day when you saw that behind the novelty prizes and shiny veneers, the park was just a rat’s nest of rusted metal, sharp edges, and exposed wiring. Mechanics were routinely crushed or mangled or fried, and within a day another had taken their place. So far, you’d managed to avoid the various death traps and make it a solid month, which made you one of the more senior employees.

Today was especially busy; there was some important fuck and his daughter at the park today, and orders were to keep the place running as smoothly as possible, though “smooth” was a relative term. It had seen you running like a maniac from one end of the park to the other, your uniform shirt coming untucked from your grease-stained pants as you jogged from one disaster to the next. Predictably, as soon as you had a second to take a breath, your phone went off, the splintering chitter of its message alert drilling into your ears.

Another mechanic was down, this one working to repair one of the main acts. You groaned, big machines you were fine with, but intricate wiring and robotics? Not your strong suit. And this was the top-billed show, the most loved (or most feared) performer the park had to offer. Fizzarolli himself. You hadn’t seen the show yet, and his ominous circus tent was one of the only places you hadn’t yet been called to to fix something, but since you were currently the most senior mechanic on staff at the moment, and seeing how RoboFizz had just crushed his last mechanic, the job fell unfortuitously to you.

Fantastic.

You sighed and slung your tool bag over your shoulder, walking briskly through the crowds to hastily erected circus tent, which had been cleared of people for the time being. You took a deep breath before ducking inside, blinking a bit as your eyes adjusted from the bright light of midday to the dim green glow that filled the tent. Some benches were knocked over, a few still had blood spatter on them, but you'd straighten that up later. At the moment, your focus was on the shadowed figure bent in unnatural angles slumped on the stage. His eyes and grinning mouth were lit with the same dull green, and they narrowed to slits when they saw you.

"Its about ti-time you got here, toots!" He laughed, the sound skipping like a damaged record. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you knelt behind Fizz to access his mainframe; at least the rides didn't talk.

"Yeah yeah, its busy work keeping this shithole operating, sue me." A few twists with a screwdriver, and the panel popped free, exposing the tangled wires and hydraulics, and you groaned inwardly. This kind of detailed work was way beyond your level of experience.

"Ya waiting for a formal invitation ba-ba-back there, tinker? Get moving, I've got an audience waiting!"

"Hell's sake, keep your bells on. I'm not exactly a robotics expert." Clamping a small flashlight in your teeth, you started to poke around inside the hydraulics, looking for any leaks or broken connections. Not seeing anything right away, you probed deeper, focused on finding the problem in the less than adequate lighting. Had you been more experienced in dealing with robots, you would have perhaps remembered to inspect the outer body for any exposed wiring. As it happens, you did not, and your inexperience led you to brush against an exposed set of wires that threw sparks and burned a dark, circular mark on the back of your hand. The pain made you jerk back on instinct, yelping and cursing. It took you a moment to notice that the posture of the clown had changed, straightening from his slumped position with his head cocked sharply to the side. With the soft ratchet of moving machinery, Fizz turned his head 180 degrees to look at you, and you noticed more quickly now that his stare had changed as well. Before, it felt derisive, a touch irritated behind the ever present smile he'd been programmed with. But now there was more intent inside the green, more interest...almost as if he were leering at you.

"Ohhh," he rasped, "so its gonna be that kind of show?"

You were confused, until you noticed a dot of red within the green, a new light in the mainframe, with tiny lettering indicating what new function your little spasm had switched on.

18+ Mode On

Your eyes widened as the reality of your little mistake finally began to sink in. It was a well known fact that Fizz had an “adult” mode, mainly for private shows where wads of cash exchanged hands behind closed doors. Sometimes, the crowds at night were bigger than the crowds during the day. Sure, on a lonely night or two, you’d wondered just what a sex-capable robot clown could do and if shelling out a small fortune would be worth it. Now, it seemed, you were about to get an accidental freebie.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea, sweetcheeks.” Fizz got to his feet with a whir and a shower of yellowish sparks, his body jerking so that the back panel slammed shut, hiding his exposed mechanics and thwarting any attempt you might have made to switch his mode. From somewhere within the tent, jaunty calliope music began to play, the pitch slow and wavering at first, like playing a record on the wrong speed. “So what’s your ple-pleasure, sweet stuff? Your ol’ pal Fizzarolli can do it all-upstairs, downstairs, butt stuff, you name it.”

“I...uh…” Your entire body felt numb, frozen, unable to do much more than stare as he advanced toward you, looming over you with that malevolent, leering grin still on his fanged mouth. “I’m not...I mean, I don’t…”

Fizz paused, his head once more cocking sharply to the side as he regarded you, then he let out a laugh, the bells on his hat jingling as his head did a complete roll on his shoulders. “Aww, looks like someone’s sh-shy! Don’t worry, tinker,” he growled in a smug, condescending tone, reaching down to pat you on the head. “I’ll take the reins on this one. You just sit back and enjo-jo-joy the show!”

With a sinister chuckle, he lunged for you, wrapping his entire body around you like an electronic boa constrictor, that laugh still buzzing in your ear as he coiled tight, then unwound himself, flinging your body towards the ceiling of the tent. There was barely any time for you to pull breath into your lungs to scream, and then suddenly, you weren’t falling anymore. Something else was wrapped around you, something cold and biting as steel. Around each wrist, each ankle, your waist, and your neck, whiplike appendages were wound, thin and covered in shifting metal plates. You were being held in midair, suspended like a puppet; if the advertisements you’d seen plastered around the park were any clue, you would guess that you were getting a taste of the “real tentacle action” Fizz boasted. Indeed, from within the loose panel on his back was where the appendages seemed to originate.

As he stalked closer, you gulped, the sickly green glow of his eyes bathing your face and throwing your shadow in harsh relief against the canvas wall. Fizz wasted no time, and with only a deranged giggle as a warning, he shoved his hand beneath the untucked hem of your shirt to slide into your pants, cold hand cupped firmly between your legs. Barely a sound had left you, everything happening so fast you could barely process, let alone react, but a moan left you now, the silk of his glove and the ruffle around his wrist feeling so strange and yet so good as they brushed against your most sensitive parts. Fizz chuckled, or at least, he attempted to, the sound glitching into a series of strange beeps in response to your apparent openness to his touch.

"Boy, hardly touched at all and you're already moaning? You must need it ba-bad, impling." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, and you shied away from those sharp teeth, so close to your face. Without warning, that hand between your legs began to vibrate, and you yelped, wriggling in your bonds.

"Ohhh...oh fuck…!"

"Like I said," he crooned. "That's the idea-ea-ea." The vibrations cranked up a notch, and you could no longer keep still, your breath coming faster, tail thrashing behind you out of sheer pleasure. Truthfully, it had been a long time; when you were fighting to keep a roof over your head and passing out from near exhaustion the second you returned home at night, there wasn't much time to try and get laid. It was lonely and it sucked, but that's life. Now, touched for the first time in what could have been centuries for all you knew, your toes curled inside your work boots, tears forming in your eyes as your hips bucked against his hand. It was so good, so fucking good, and with every increase in speed, your moans and cries got louder, more desperate, until-

"Ah-ah-ah, tinker, no you don't!" Suddenly that hand was gone, all stimulation withdrawn, and you whimpered. The tentacles around your extremities tightened in response. "You thought I was just gonna let you co-come so soon? Poor, dumb little imp-slut, it ain't gonna be that easy."

You swore, your teeth bared in an impotent snarl, but the clown only laughed, more carnival-striped tentacles unfurling and wrapping around you, the metal cold against your overheated skin. Now fully immobile, you were lifted higher, splayed out, shaking and wanting. The new appendages began to nudge and press around your body, seemingly exploring your form while the clown stepped between your spread legs, hands groping at your trembling thighs. His smirk was near evil, merciless, piercing as a laser as he watched his tentacles divest you of every stitch of clothing, torn and tossed aside without care. The tips of his jester hat brushed along your legs as he leaned closer to your core, mouth opening to graze the tips of his sharp teeth along your inner thighs, chuckling when you writhed, uncertain if you were trying to pull away or get closer. “Please,” you whimpered, not quite knowing what you were begging for, your body reduced to firing synapses and electric pulses of pure need.

Again, that mocking giggle issued from somewhere behind his sharp teeth. “Begging now, slut? You really want it tha-a-at bad, huh?” His open mouth neared your center, and you noticed now that there was heat coming from him, like the brush of warm breath, and saw a faint reddish glow shining from somewhere within his maw. “Want Ol’ Fizz to make you come again and a-again like the greedy little tramp you are?”

“Yes,” you choked out, so far past caring how desperate you sounded. “Yes, please, please, please!”

A soft whir was your only warning before something long, warm, and slippery was sliding between your legs; your body spasmed, jerking against the restraining appendages, your head lifting to see his striped tongue pressing against you, coated in shiny lubricant. He licked experimentally at you, seeing how much pressure you liked and where you were most sensitive, continuing his brutal teasing as the needle-sharp tips of his fingers raked down your thighs, nearly drawing blood. Then that mouth opened impossibly wide, eyes narrowed to knowing slits as that tongue probed at your entrance, nudging against it before shoving inside with no warning. Gasps and choked half-words fell from your lips at the delicious stretch of being suddenly, violently filled, his tongue twisting and pushing, the stripes not just for decoration but denoting a raised, almost ribbed texture.

When it began to vibrate inside you, you couldn’t help but scream.

He cooed filth up at you, still able to talk despite his mouth being wrapped around you, voice distorted from the vibrations. Yellowish sparks would issue from his limbs as he fought to keep you still, burning against your skin like vicious little kisses. You weren’t coaxed to the edge so much as dragged toward it, your orgasm slamming into you with near physical force. The clench and thrashing of your body didn’t slow him; if anything, the vibrations intensified, more tentacles issuing from him to stroke and tease other erogenous zones, your entire body his to play with, helpless against his ruthless pursuit of your ruin. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he ripped your pleasure from your body with no care to be gentle, teeth and hands leaving marks in their wake. You were his slut, his eager imp-whore, his pretty little toy; at least, you didn’t deny it when he growled these claims up at you. As long as he didn’t stop, you would be anything he wanted.

But while he couldn’t grow tired or drained, you certainly could, and through a veil of tears you begged him to stop, half afraid that he wouldn’t. Fizz paused, then slowly unwound himself from around your violently shaking form, tentacles disappearing back inside the panel they had come from. He regarded you curiously, still grinning as you collapsed in a boneless, shaking heap, unable to do much except pant for breath. Finally, you looked up at him with hazy eyes, your sweaty hair falling limply in your face.

“Didn’t you have a show to do?”

Fizz threw back his head and laughed, the bells on his hat jingling merrily, a stark contrast to the cold, malicious sound of his glee. “Not the sharpest t-t-tool in the shed, huh, tinker? Look around; you a-are the show.”

To your horror, you could see dozens of yellow eyes pinned to your naked form, imps of all shapes and sizes, eyeing you hungrily. The light of day outside the tent was gone, and the depraved crowds that only came around at night had filtered in while you were...preoccupied. Ruby skin turned a mortified burgundy as you scrambled to cover yourself with any scraps of your clothing you could find, but Fizz wrapped his arms around you and hauled you to your feet, his arm secure around your waist as he bowed to his audience-your audience. They began to applaud, some whistling, others throwing out lewd comments. Fizz pulled you into his side, the hand on your waist slipping just a little lower.

“Seems like we make a pretty good duo, dollface,” he rasped, showing off his pointed teeth in a lascivious grin that at your already weak knees nearly buckling. “Whaddya say we gi-gi-give them an encore?”

#helluva boss #robofizz #honk honk buzz buzz welcome to robot clown hell

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quillandink333 · 4 years ago

Text

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part III

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

The investigation was still underway a week or so later, still without even a semblance of a lead to go on, or at least not a favourable one. Auntie Purah still had yet to take the Slate into the lab as she’d promised, which was understandable. She was still in deep mourning, after all. I, however, still got up at six o’clock each and every day to make my way to the site, as if the murderer would one day just walk out into the open if I waited long enough.

Truth be told, despite my conscious efforts to suppress it, a part of me deep down was growing weary of one fruitless search after another. Most of the cases I’d led up to this one had been closed within a maximum three days. Admittedly I’d even begun to consider ways to dispose of the fatal evidence I’d been carrying with me since the start of all this. No one but Paya and I knew of its existence, and no one but us would ever have to. Besides, if these egregious felonies truly were the designs of the organization—which they had to be—there was no way I’d ever find any clues leading toward the perpetrator’s true identity, let alone that of their ever elusive boss.

And yet, every morning when I returned to the scene of the crime, with officers bustling about and those who remained of my family sitting quietly in another room, I was reminded of my ultimate purpose. It wasn’t a matter of being able or unable to catch my godmother’s killer. It was one of necessity. Letting them roam the streets as they pleased was not even a part of the equation. I hadn’t spent the better part of the last decade toiling away to reach my current level of authority as a detective investigator simply to throw it all away as soon as my will was tested. That wasn’t what Auntie Impa, nor what Mother, would’ve wanted. I had to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

What happened next, however, would make my distress up until then seem almost laughable.

I was made aware of it via wire on one muggy afternoon at my office, when I’d decided to work on typewriting up some reports. I picked up the phone only to hear the wails of one distraught Auntie Purah on the other end.

“Zelda, it’s terrible!” she cried. “The Slate—Impa’s Slate—I’ve looked everywhere, and so have Paya and Symin and all the men here on duty, but I—it’s...we can’t—we haven’t...” The poor, old woman was hyperventilating, creating awful static noises through the speaker’s papery membrane.

“Auntie, it’s okay. Calm down,” I urged gently. “Take a few deep breaths.”

“Alright...” A few moments of silence went by before I heard her voice again. “Thank you, dear.”

“Not at all. Now, what were you saying about the Slate?”

“It’s been stolen.”

I froze, breath stagnant and eyes glued to the edge of my desk. “It’s—what?”

“Stolen,” she repeated, only deepening the pit forming in my stomach, from where my heart was now pounding. “Right out from under our noses. We’ve searched high and low for it, but there’s been no sign of it, or the thief.”

I had to reign in my voice before I’d start shouting at her. “H-How can you be sure it was stolen?” The vigilant Link’s eyes now bore into me with intensity from his place by the file cabinets.

“The lock on the safe,” blubbered my auntie, “the one in the study that it’s always kept in. You know the one?”

“Yes?”

“It was broken, and the safe was empty.”

“But...that’s impossible.”

“Precisely!” she cried, giving me a start. “I still haven’t the foggiest how they did it.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

With that, I hung up and prepared for immediate departure, my assistant just a few paces behind me. I had to see this for myself.

Surely enough, when we arrived, the safe’s lock was destroyed beyond repair, and there was nothing but dust to be found inside. Unsurprisingly, the thief had been careful to leave no fingerprints behind, just as the killer had been. For now, though, it was too soon to say for certain that the same individual was behind both crimes.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed the lock mechanism had been melted. My eyes widened. “That’s not something you see every day.” Constable Fyori crouched down beside me, then gave a similar reaction when he noticed the cause of my astonishment.

The thief had to have been someone with access to a welding torch or something along those lines. There certainly weren’t many who fit that description, save for the police. In fact, the whole reason they were issued out to a select few officers was for this very purpose, but situations requiring said officers to break locks such as this one using such extreme methods were few and far between. Nevertheless, the possibility stood.

It was for this reason that I finally gave in and decided to take up the case with the chief detective once we’d finished here. As always, Constable Fyori accompanied me thereto.

Chief Bosphoramus’ office was neither too grand nor too modest, not unlike my own, though it still clearly belonged to someone of high rank. It resided on the third floor of the three-storey building where my dear colleague and I made our livelihoods, boasting a broad view of the deceivingly peaceful streets below.

“It seems UC3680G662LL was the only officer on the scene who was equipped with a cutting torch,” relayed the old man, hunched over the records lain across his desk. “Unfortunately, however, he resigned just yesterday.”

I waited a number of seconds for him to follow up with something useful, but to no avail. “So...what? You’re saying we can’t go question him now? Because he ran away?”

He clasped his fingers together in front of him, looking at me like an elementary school principal. “That is what I am saying, yes.”

I wanted to growl like a bear as imitated by a child, but I held it in. “You do realize what this means, don’t you?” I scoffed. “No doubt he was a member of the organization sent to steal the Slate after killing its owner.”

“Now you listen here, Inspector.” The chief’s tone turned serious. I closed my mouth. “You of all people should know that not a single square inch of this town is safe. Not even this precinct.”

“Yes, but Sir, surely you agree that this entire case has ‘Yiga’ written all over—”

“Are you mad?!”

His thundering voice made Link and I jump. The room fell silent, the chief’s eyes flickering between the door and the open window behind him.

Then he rose from his seat to close the shutters. “Have you some sort of death wish?” he continued at an infinitesimal volume in comparison.

I bit my tongue, restraining the urge to retort with, “Whose fault is that?” for I knew I would only be spinning my wheels. There’d once been a saying in this city: “When one sheep leads the way, all the rest follow.” And Chief Detective Bosphoramus was a perfect reflection of this. Every last member of the force was the same. Weak-willed curs. Shirking from their sworn duties and hiding away behind their shields of specious ignorance.

But despite the virus of cowardice festering throughout the bureau, my partner’s lasting air of calm resignation reminded me that no one could truly blame those affected by it.

The power that the Yiga organization possessed over the town was beyond compare. Those on City Council were nothing more than their puppets, and likewise were the police. Fear and massacre were the whips they raised to drive us all into submission and to punish any and all who had the will remaining to fight. But the one group who’d dared to challenge their might, who’d stood tall ever in the face of their tyranny, had been my godmother’s company. Thanks to her intelligent mind and righteous heart, the people had been given access to technology that would keep them safe, to a degree, from crime, and little by little, the company had developed into a beacon of hope for the town and its inhabitants. Until now.

Now, that hope had been snuffed out, like it had never been anything more than a week and vulnerable candle flame, flickering faint against the darkness of obscurity, in the first place.

Later that evening, when my gaze happened upon the knife block sitting on my kitchen counter at home, my steps halted. The scars on my arms left over from my last couple of years in secondary school—the period in my life following the yet unexplained events that had taken away the one I’d cherished most—had only just begun to fade. Even so...

I shook my head, turning my back to the kitchen. But then, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder once more. I recalled the rush of adrenaline that took hold each time my skin was breached by icy steel. It was true that letting my emotions control me would get me nowhere, but maybe...maybe just this once, I could at least do something to assuage them.

Then the image of the gaping, dark red hole running straight through Auntie Impa’s neck flashed before my eyes. I covered my mouth, quickly swallowing the bile rising up from the bottom of my throat. The idea slipped my mind that very instant.

It wasn’t until the following day’s investigation that a substantial piece of the puzzle finally revealed itself to me.

For it to have taken a whole two days to find wasn’t all that unbelievable. Even I had to admit, although my stepsister was a spineless, tattling suck-up who’d always received far more credit and affection than she was worth, no one could have imagined her ever turning criminal.

Even so, I was certain that what I discovered there in her bedroom went against the expectations of all. Upon my entering, a faint glow of teal and tangerine peaking through the floorboards caught my eye. I went to lift the plank doing such poor work of hiding the thing from sight. There it was, unscratched and in perfect working condition, its screen lighting up and displaying that dastardly riddle I’d been confronted with several days prior and still didn’t know the answer to.

Although the mystery of where it had disappeared to had been solved, its reason for being here of all places was still unclear. Why would Paya have gone to such lengths just to get her hands on the Slate? It was difficult to imagine there being any information contained therein that she would want so direly to be kept secret from the world. She and her grandmother had been close since before I’d become a part of their family as a six-year-old.

Then something hard and marble-sized went flying across the floor when struck by the pointed toe of my shoe. I gave chase, soon realizing what it was when it slowed to a halt just before the south-facing wall of the room:

A bullet.

I didn’t even need to perform a striation comparison; anyone could clearly see that it matched the one I’d pried out of my mother’s memorial shrine. Whatever blood might’ve been here at one point must have simply been wiped up, and she must have stolen Link’s revolver with whatever methods she’d used to steal the Slate. Without a doubt, this room was the true crime scene I’d sought after since day one of the investigation.

But even in the face of this victory, I could hear the voices of those who would oppose me ringing in my ears. “Paya’s the mastermind?” they jeered. “Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?” But at this point, this case had already pushed me far beyond the boundaries of my patience. I didn’t have a single damn left to give about how flawed my logic might or might not have been. All that mattered now was that I had a suspect, and so help me, if I was correct in my line of thinking as suggested by the evidence, this criminal would receive no mercy.

#my writing #fanfic #botw #zelink #botw zelink #zelink botw #link x zelda #zelda x link #botw link x zelda #botw zelda x link #zelink fanfic #zelink fic #zelink ff #zelda pov #detective au

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liesfallaciesfabrications · 4 years ago

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Mr. Queen Analysis

My take on the rather heartbreaking and vague ending of the KDrama, Mr. Queen.

Okay, I’ve been thinking long and hard on this subject (way too much) and have come to the following consensus:

Bong-Hwan and So Yong are both versions of the same soul. What got me thinking about this was that scene in episode 5 where SoBong talks about original and past lives but then mentions parallel time-streams. To illustrate, she draws two lines running side by side and explains how a past life can be in one and the original/current being in the other. This had me stumped a bit, and I thought it a bit random that they put that in there, but then I looked up “reincarnation and parallel lives” and there’s a surprising number of articles on it - though obviously not conclusive or scientific as it involves spirituality.

Episode 5 also explains why time in the present is flowing at the same rate as the past, which we discovered when BH’s consciousness briefly reentered his body and explain why they chose to reveal that fact. Time isn’t linear here but more fluid with both versions existing simultaneously - harkening back to the two lines Mr. Queen drew to illustrate.

The reincarnation theory would explain many of the elements of the story that I found hard to accept. For example:

If So Yong’s separate soul was in there with Bong Hwan’s soul then why did he never feel her? In fact, the show repeatedly makes reference to the idea that Bong Hwan does not feel another soul and attributes characteristics of SY to the body (telling her after the kiss that the soul is in control of the body so she ought to behave and in another scene he tries to get her soul to return by addressing the lake - where he believes she is hiding). The only time he accuses her of being a separate entity inside of him is when he wants an excuse for his feelings and reactions to CJ. The “it must have been her that took control. If I knew it was CJ I would have....still enjoyed it?!? What’s wrong with me?” moments. LOL What if the reason he couldn’t feel another presence was because there wasn’t another? He merely had his consciousness wake up in the body of his past life but didn’t realize it.

It would explain the gradual integration of both personalities. For example, when CJ returns the book to Mr. Queen, she never thinks of herself as NOT being the girl from the well as she did when he first confesses his love for her at the lake. As BH spends more time in her previous body, the lines become more blurred not just in memory but also in identity because he IS her. If they were two separate souls, I don’t think she would have that same reaction nor do I see anything to indicate that So Yong “took over” in that moment or any other. Memories were accessed, personality traits were mingling, but we saw SY come out in episode 20...that personality was immediately recognizable. Fantastic acting by SHS - especially as she had me loving the one and hating the other, despite being both.

It would explain why Mr. Queen falls for CJ so hard, despite his initial protests. I never liked the idea of his feelings being manipulated, but I can get on board with the idea that he accepts his feelings for CJ because this is a man that some part of him has always loved - and falls in love with “again” through their shared experiences and journey.

It would also explain the question of why Bong Hwan. What was the connection between this man and So Yong? They are reincarnations of each other. When So Yong was feeling hopeless and needed strength, she pulled upon her stronger version of herself to help her - made possible in that moment when she desperately wanted to give up on life and he desperately wanted to live. She came to him in that pool and appeared to the queen again when she was looking for answers in the lake. This does not give the impression of a soul cruelly imprisoned in her own body against her will.

It would also explain why, when Bong Hwan briefly went back to his body, So Yong did not reappear. She wasn’t being suppressed. She purposefully had her reincarnated self come to give her strength and was not ready at that time to assume her life again. I found her choice of words at Byeong-In’s grave to to be telling. She said he always knew where to find her whenever she was hiding. It’s also why I believe BI didn’t realize Mr. Queen wasn’t SY - for the same reason CJ doesn’t at the end of the drama. These two men, both of whom deeply love her, could sense it was her, just in reverse order. CJ-SB-SY and BI-SY-SB.

It would also solve the pesky issue of why BH is an overall better person - not just at the moment of his return but before. Someone on Reddit mentioned the implausibility of CJ’s political accomplishments causing a ripple effect to change BH, and I agree. However, if we look at BH as SY’s reincarnation, then the positive attributes he now displays in the altered timeline can be accounted for because he prevented his previous incarnation from killing herself, therefore in his next lifetime his soul didn’t carry those grudges. This fits with the idea of reincarnation as a person’s life experiences and emotions/grudges/regrets/mindset at death will determine the psychological and even physical manifestation of their next life.

SY was told by evil Kim that she had no power b/c she was a woman - next life is a man.

SY had her love cruelly rejected - next life is a playboy who doesn’t seem to believe in love.

SY felt that she was living a lie - next life is a man who doesn’t care who he offends with his opinion and does what he wants when he wants - to the point of selfishness - though this changes when he prevents many of these resentments by his actions in the past.

Finally, it would explain why CJ is so “oblivious” at end of the show. He promised when he returned the book to SB that he would never fail to recognize her, and he doesn’t. While her personality has changed, it’s intrinsically also the same person, though this is the area I felt the writers dropped the ball in execution, but I get that they were pressed for time. The implications of this aspect also seem to be what KJH meant in his comment to a fan’s question of whether the king knew that BH had left.That it didn’t matter: SY or BH didn’t matter, only how CJ saw her.

So why send BH back? I believe they did it because it wouldn't make sense for him to live a life he essentially already lived as SY. Reincarnation is meant to be for a soul to grow and spiritually evolve, which it could not do by simply repeating what it had already done. Also, for some reason (I suspect so as not to offend Koreans by skipping over one of the most prominent historical figures in their culture - Queen Min), they still have CJ dying at age 32. This can be seen in the book BH is looking at when he's seeing his portrait, and is mentioned as early as episode 1. This was never going to be a happy ending for CJ/BH in the sense that many viewers wanted. Rather, he was going to facilitate the relationship of SY/CJ so that his previous life could run its course...ugh, I feel sick typing that out...with the hope that they meet again in another lifetime. Our SB is many things but trapped in Joseon without modern medicine, a miracle worker she is not. CJ dies without any heirs; his baby with the queen dies at just six months. If the BH decided to stay for love and then lost the baby and CJ, that would be just as heartbreaking for me as the ending I received.

Wiki and other sources speculate the CJ was poisoned by the Andong Kims, but many historians (including Bong Hwan’s mother, it seems) dispute that fact as it would serve no purpose since he was a puppet king and since his death then allowed the Jo family to briefly take control until King Gojong’s father pretty much crushed both the Kims and the Jos. In reality, he probably died of unhealthy habits and a life of excess. In the show’s world, who knows...cancer or any number of possible illnesses that could not be treated at that time. During the banquet planning, we see CJ suffer a nosebleed. In the spinoff, Mr. Queen mentions how CJ is trying hard not to collapse from the strain of his burdens. These could be hints left by writers to indicate that CJ’s health has been compromised by the grueling struggles and stress he’s had to endure, not to mention allowing himself to get blown up.

They writers did give us the hope for another reunion - perhaps in BH’s lifetime or perhaps another one. It’s why I think they tried to imply a SY/CJ connection in the Bamboo Forest prequel (the only prequel in the spinoff) as well as end Bamboo Forest with a reincarnation wish. The setup seemed quite intentional and in specific order. The prequel created a sense of destiny. The next segment was about Mr. Queen confirming if it was just his body or his soul that was attracted to CJ...literally the words out of the character’s mouth...and they gave an answer to that with the last shot. The final segment introduced the wish for CJ to meet his queen again, and he is clearly thinking of Mr. Queen - so why the prequel, which would seem to introduce a separate love interest, unless it’s actually not because they’re one and the same with the middle segment emphasizing the genuine attraction and love for each other.

This might not be everyone’s cup of tea; it certainly wasn’t mine, and I think the writers should have handled the leaving better instead of going for an quasi mind-wipe of all the characters’ remembrances of Mr. Queen. I mean, CJ went from being horrified at Mr. Queen acting like a perfect little queen for a few seconds a mere handful of episodes ago to just asking "why the formality" at a more permanent display of temperament and seemed practically oblivious otherwise. Then Choi and Yeon were "shocked" when So Yong didn't revert to her witch of the palace act and chastise the maids that were laughing by the pond - as if Mr. Queen didn't already change that way of thinking months ago. Not to mention that they were also nonplussed by the fact that their relationship to the queen had gone from being regarded as family back to a servant/master status quo. Even with the soulmate angle, there was to much deus ex machina thrown in. The idea of soul mates is a romantic one, but the execution of it fell through.

They should have never gone with the reincarnation route, especially if they were never intending to let SY have a true voice in the drama, even if it’s just a final conversation between herself and BH before he leaves, made possible in that split second before true separation. Viewers never got to bond with her, and in those moments we did see her, she was either a watered down version of the personality we were emotionally invested in or emphasized the opposite characteristics (demure, feminine, etc...) that we loved Mr. Queen for rejecting. Also, this angle gives us no true feeling of completeness and satisfaction. SY is with CJ in the past - we won't see them develop their feelings for each other and grow to like them as a couple. BH is in the present but who knows if he'll find CJ's reborn soul and happiness with whoever it is. Promises without fulfillment demand too much from the audience to fill in the blanks. If that's the case, next time just give us a tag line and tell the audience to imagine the rest.

Even if they share the same soul, we are given two distinct personalities and not enough connection between them in terms of their recognizing each other, acknowledging their feelings for CJ to each other in some sort of passing the flame moment that would make it feel more homogeneous and prevent feelings of resentment at what we perceive as an injustice to a personality we adore.

Instead of creating an emotional divide between the two, they should have just have SY die before BH's soul enters, and develop the romance between CJ and HB's as the novel and even that cheap and campy Chinese version did. Having SY there just muddied the waters, and became a distraction and an excuse for every emotional milestone Mr. Queen experienced, negating that character's development and laying it at SY's feet or claims of deliberate interference.

They should have chosen a fictional king and not boxed themselves into a limited outcome. Granted, it gave them a valid reason for booting BH back to present times, but look at the result: limited number of years with someone the audience isn't really familiar with for our beloved ML (plus their baby dies) and a huge question mark for our F-turned back into ML in the present with the hope that maybe the reincarnation thing works in his favor but who knows because they couldn't even toss us that small crumb which would have alleviated some of our heartache for BH as well as give more credence to the fact that SY/BH are the same and thereby lessened the feelings of resentment to the SY character as well. Or they could have gone with a multiverse theory and left it wide open as to what sweeping changes would occur. BH being initially thrown back to the Joseon era as a result of his dying would have achieved that because then the audience would have no reason to revisit the present nor see that the worlds were linked via changes upon his return and stuck with the poisoning threat averted. Blow recorded history to smithereens and leave that to our imagination instead.

Yes, the fish-out-of-water hijinks were great fun, but the completion of the character arcs/relationship/etc...shouldn’t be an afterthought.

The other element I would have liked to have seen that was in neither of the televised versions (though the Chinese one came very, very close) but was in the web novel is the king fully accepting that his wife is not the woman she was, believing that her previous body was a man, falling in love regardless and she with him. However, I think we all knew that wasn’t going to happen in a kdrama.

#MrQueen #MrQueenep20 #MrQueenexplained #mrqueenfinale

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hallowed-be-thy-username · 4 years ago

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Hi! Can i just say that i absolutely love your writing and your vibe as a whole? 🥺💞 If i may, I’d like to request a fic where the reader is a very well known socialite, but she gets very bored of her life and wants something different. She suddenly meets J in some sort of situation and becomes infatuated with him & his lifestyle. You must be busy with other requests & your personal life, so if anything, i just want you to know that i love your writing! 💘

Sweet anon!!! AKADJSBAJSND 😭💖 I’m SO sorry this has taken me so long to get to and I hope you see it!! This was a really fun one and I had a great time writing it so I really hope you like it 💕

Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader, first time meeting Joker

Word count: 1,954

Warnings: tension, light violence

Something Different

Another boring party with boring people in a boring place. How many more of these must you endure?

Ah the fabulous life of the daughter of Dr. Thomas Elliot, famous Gotham City surgeon and longtime family friend of the Wayne family. Being born to one of Gotham’s founding families, she lives a life of luxury. Chauffeurs, butlers, ritzy charity events, fashion shows, brand promos, intense boredom. You were certainly grateful for the fact that finances were never something you had to worry about, but at the same time, money imprisoned you. It controlled your every move like a puppet master. Stand like this, wear that, speak this way, don’t forget to smile. And don’t even think about having your own dreams. You had access to all of the means in the world to do whatever you want, right? Wrong. If it’ll tarnish the family reputation on any way, its not gonna happen. Ever. And you’d be surprised at what they consider “tarnishing.” Learning to drive, going to school, coloring your hair, going on dates, having a job, getting ice cream with friends. What friends? You never got to experience these things. Things that were normal. Now you were in your late twenties and the life of the average young adult was completely foreign to you. Its been ten years now. Since you started to hate this life.

You were attending yet another fundraiser at Bruce’s place. What was it for this time? Friends of the Gotham Railway? Society for the Performing Arts? Gotham Heights Country Club’s new golf course? District Attorney Harvey Dent. Didn’t he just get elected? Okay then. It really doesn’t matter anyway. They’re all the same. Gourmet hors d’oeuvres, expensive champagne, some phony inspirational speech, bland conversation, smile through how much your feet hurt in these heels, send a check tomorrow. The predictability you lived your life by was astonishing. When were you finally going to get to do something different?

You lifted another glass of champagne from the tray drifting past you and took a heavy sip. Can’t get to drunk though, what would the media say? You were tempted to do it on purpose, just to mix things up for once. The sound of rough whirring broke you out of your melancholic trance and you turned to see a helicopter landing on the roof top balcony outside. The man himself arriving ever so fashionably late. Linking arms with three women you could only assume to be models, how classy. And here comes the motivational speech. I believe in Harvey Dent, a safer Gotham, optimism, face of our bright future, blah blah blah. Now everybody claps. Just wonderful. Back to our mindless mingling.

The evening continued on like they all do. This time you were stuck trying not to stare at the speck of food stuck in Mr. Kane’s teeth while he droned on about the new hotel, they planned to open it across from the opera house. Would it be uncouth to express to him how little you care about any of that? When you were seconds away from excusing yourself for a bogus trip to the ladies’ room, a loud boom rang out from the entryway. You spun around and your body froze at the sound of his voice.

“Goood evening, ladies and gentle-men.”

It felt like ice was running through your veins when you saw him. Purple suit, shotgun over his shoulder, unkempt green hair, painted face. His face. Covered in white with black swallowing his eyes, bright red over his mouth and crawling up his cheeks in a wicked grin. On the news they called him The Joker.

“We are… tonight’s entertainment! I only have one question… Where. Is. Har-vey Dent?”

He was so tall, walking with a slight slouch but had an air of confidence like you’d never seen. Like he knew just how much attention his presence attracted. No, attention it demanded. Like he knew you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He made it look effortless. Almost like he was bored by it. He tossed food into his mouth, chewing noisily while he spoke. Then he stopped and turned to walk toward the crowd, pointing his shotgun toward the people in front of him before moving on down the line. Your feet grew cold when you realized he was heading in your direction. He tossed champagne out of a glass before mockingly tossing his head back to let the last drop hit his tongue. You couldn’t move a muscle as he leaned in and muttered questions at the people standing nearby. He kept coming. Your heart pounded, climbing into your throat as he got closer.

Then you could see it. It was scars. The red smile stretching across his face, it was painted over scars. Someone had cut through the corners of his mouth on both sides, leaving behind a twisted, permanent, grin. It made your stomach drop. He said something to Mr. Kane, but you couldn’t hear it, only the blood rushing in your ears. He got so close. You swore you could feel the heat from his body, smell something sharp like acetone.

“You remind me of my father.”

Then he suddenly grabbed Mr. Kane by his collar and growled, “I hated my father.”

“Ok, stop.”

Mr. Kane was shoved into you while Joker turned to face the voice coming from behind him. Rachel Dawes, Bruce’s friend for as long as you could remember.

“Well, hello, beautiful. You must be Harvey’s squeeze-ah. Hm?... and you are beautiful.”

He circled her like a wild dog stalking prey, practically licking his chops. Relishing the feeling of cornering his victim. Waving a knife blade at her.

“You look nervous. Is it the scars?... Wanna know how I got ‘em?”

Then he reached forward and gripped her by the back of her neck and her face. You felt your cheeks abruptly grow warmer. He pulled her closer to him, holding her there, not letting her look away. A thought suddenly cut through you mind like the knife in his hand. You wondered if the leather of his gloves felt warm or cool on her skin. Your heart fluttered and a shiver ran down your back. Why were you thinking about that? He intruded without warning and started threatening people, but here you were wanting to know what it was like to be that close to him. You found yourself wishing you were her, just to know what it was like, him touching you.

You hung on to his every word. He had a wife once, who told him he worried to much, that he should smile more, she gambled, got in deep with the sharks. They carved her face, had no money for surgery, she couldn’t take it, he just wanted to see her smile again, he didn’t care about the scars, he stuck a razor in his mouth and did that to himself. He… he did that to himself?

“And you know what? She can’t stand the sight of me! She leaves. Now I see the funny side... Now I’m always smiling.”

You blinked and the next thing you knew, punches were being thrown and men in clown masks were falling to the floor. Batman. The masked vigilante everyone was talking about. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, coming out of the shadows to beat up the bad guys. Reality struck you in that moment. This was real. This was happening. The word surreal doesn’t quite cover it. You wanted something different. Well, this was different. Instead of fear you started to feel something else rising up from inside of you, tingling up your back. Excitement.

A punch from a clown masked man landed square on Batman’s jaw, sending him to his knee and giving Joker the opportunity to start kicking him in the stomach. All you could do was watch, spellbound by the violence occurring before your eyes, wide with anticipation. It almost happened too fast for you to see. He really had nothing holding him back. He couldn’t care less about what people thought of him. Showing up in face paint and a purple suit with a posse of men disguised as scary clowns, commanding even more attention than Bruce. He basked in it, not caring one bit what they thought, only that he left an impression. He did. Especially on you.

You blinked again and he had Rachel. He stood behind her, his arm wrapped around her chest to keep her from running, his other hand waving a handgun in the air. He wasn’t going to drop the gun, not unless Batman took his mask off, show us all who he really was. Then the window behind him shattered with a shot from the gun and he dangled Rachel by her arm out into the open air. Your chest felt tight, as helpless as everyone else watching and unable to do anything about it. But you still couldn’t shake the thrill you felt buzzing in your arms and legs, fogging your mind.

“Let her go,” Batman’s hoarse voice demanded.

Joker squinted his eyes and grinned with ironic amusement as he answered, “Very poor choice of words.”

He let go. His laugh reached down to your bones and held on, pulling you toward him while Batman dove out the window after Rachel. You didn’t know what you were doing but you couldn’t stop yourself. Your feet kept carrying you closer. People all around you started rushing for the exit, running from the taunting men in clown masks like the crowd at a Halloween fun house. Except this was real.

You kept your eyes forward, getting within a few feet of him when he turned and saw you. A chill washed over you, both icy cold and burning hot at the same time when his eyes traveled up and down your body where you stopped in your tracks. Your skin felt like it was on fire.

“Hello, there,” he purred.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out. You just stared at him. Then he started to saunter toward you, slowly closing the gap that separated you, and you almost couldn’t breathe.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a sideways grin. “Aren’t you a pretty little flower, hm?”

Your heart fluttered and your lungs pulled in a sudden gasp of air, that sharp smell filling up your senses. He was right in front of you now. He was right in front of you and you could undeniably feel the heat radiating off of him. Your heart pumped faster, the adrenaline in your veins saturating every tissue. That tingling in your spine came rushing back as his tongue flashed out of his mouth to run along his lip.

“Can I, uh, help you with something, little flower?”

The last sounds of panicked voices faded, and it was completely silent. You were alone. With him. Fear tried to wrestle for a place in the front of your mind, to pull you away, to make you run back toward the door, but the allure you felt was too pervading. You remained still, trying to steady your breath while the gaze from his black-rimmed eyes seemed to swallow you up. Sirens started to echo in the distance.

Then your voice found its way out of your mouth, “I… I just wanted to… um, to get closer.”

His eyebrows shot up and his grin widened as a low hum rumbled in his chest. Your brittle nerves nearly shattered when he lifted his hand and gently took hold of your chin, lifting it and stepping forward to press his chest against yours. “Mmm, this close enough?”

His gloves, they felt cool on your skin.

Taglist!

@youmaycallmebrian @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @jokersqueenofchaos @into-crazy @killingjokee @astheworlddturns

#ledger joker fic #ledger joker x reader #joker x you #Heath Ledger Joker #the dark knight #tdk joker #joker fanfiction #one shot #anon request

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disaster-fruit · 3 years ago

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67 with the pairing of your choice?

67) “If you want to cum you’d better beg.”

I wasnt gonna write this one with brarg since oxiosa already did it but then i realized we didnt actually get to see martin begging, so yep, its brarg.

Trans luci again because im in a mood these days apparently

CW: sounding

Martín considered himself a simple man in love. Love, the feeling, could be messy and intense and painful, but was, at its core, extremely simple. So was love the act. He never quite got the appeal of complicating it, of adding to it more than what came naturally and easily.

Loving Luciano challenged this a little. Martín, who had never used a single toy before, now had memorized the different sizes and feelings of each option in Luciano’s small dildo collection, and interrupting a make-out session to announce in a breathless whisper his choice for the night had quickly become a habit. He got used to these small changes, these moments of interruption and of waiting, but loving him was still, at the end of the day, extremely easy and extremely simple. Most of the time.

But once he got used to one type of toy, curiosity about others got the best of him. And Luciano, who had more experience with those things, was always more than happy to indulge his curiosity, but he had his own curiosities too. Mostly, about Martín himself, like an object of study, of a fascinated pursuance on how best to break him.

And that’s how they ended up like this.

Martín was on his back on the bed, with his hips settled on Luciano’s thighs. He wasn’t restrained, in theory, but in practice Luciano’s order – said softly like a request, a mere suggestion, but with a firm edge underneath – was very clear. Martín had both hands busy holding his legs spread up in the air, offering himself, granting Luciano full access, which was somehow much more embarrassing than having the choice completely taken from him with a physical restrain. And he was to remain like this, because Luciano needed both hands free.

Luciano was comfortably seated over his ankles, with only the tip of his vibrator inside Martín, buzzing lowly at minimum speed. All his focus was on the shiny metal rod on his hands, sliding on his palm to generously cover it with lube. It was about the size of a straw, but silver and cold, with small ridges along the length and a ring on top. It was something called a sound, and it was more intimidating than it had looked on the website.

“Remember,” Luciano said with a small lazy smile. “That you can’t come with this inside.” He took Martín’s erection in one hand, holding it straight. “But don’t worry, I’ll take it out when you’re close.” His other hand positioned the sound hovering over the small entrance on Martín’s cock. “If you ask nicely.”

Martín swallowed at the hidden threat behind these words. He closed his eyes shut when Luciano gently pushed the tip of the rod inside, but a hiss escaped from his mouth. The sound slid down easily with its own weight, controlled by the little ring on the top so that it would go slowly. Its ribbed body somewhat reminded Martín of Luciano’s textured dildos, but the feeling itself was quite different, and completely new. Every tiny ridge seemed to go through a thousand nerves in his cock he had never known were there, and though it burned, the pain itself was surprisingly little. Martín groaned in approval and slowly opened his eyes to find Luciano smiling it him, holding the sound still by the ring before it was fully in.

He pushed his hips slightly forward, making Martín moan in surprise as the vibrator went in a little further, stopping also not fully in, but very close to his sweet spot. Luciano moved again, very little, and when Martín let out a helpless cry of pleasure as he hit it, he halted.

He turned the vibration up a few points, making Martín’s entire body shake. He was used to being pounded and filled, but that constant, loveless stimulation of the vibrator only in enough to hit his spot was its own experience. Satisfied with his reaction, Luciano remained still and let the sound slide down all the way, and that was when Martín understood the trouble he had gotten himself into.

He gasped at first then threw his head back in an open moan. His heart was racing on his chest, his nails dug deep on the soft flesh of his tights to the point of hurting as a lightning strike seemed to destroy the whole world around him. It hit, so, so right, so strange yet familiar, overwhelming and maddening and new.

He read on the internet about how sounds could be used to hit the prostate from inside, in a way that was even better than the usual way. That had seemed very interesting, but Martín wasn’t expected to get both at the same time, and certainly no one could’ve prepared him for this. And Luciano was using a free hand to calmly stroke him from the outside, in such a combination of sensations, so much at the same time from every direction, yet Martín was thankful for the warm touch of skin, soothing him, taking care of him. The position didn’t let them kiss, but Luciano was softly rubbing his cheek against Martín’s leg, that was what he had closer at reach, grounding him to his loving attention.

“Good?”

Martín nodded a little more desperately than he would’ve liked, but Luciano looked very pleased. He pulled the sound slowly and Martín had to bite his lips to hold a moan as he slid it down again. He settled into a rhythm, sliding a little further every time, but pulling back before he could quite hit it again, at least most times. He would randomly let it slide down all the way to drink from Martín’s helpless reactions, but making each time a complete surprise. Martín had never imagined he could be fucked there, but yes, there wasn’t another word for it. Fucked inside out, there was nothing simple, nothing easy, nothing natural about it, but it was so, so right.

At some point he didn’t even quite see, Luciano raised the speed of the vibrator a little more, and Martín felt himself close incredibly fast, but using every will in his body he held it back.

“Something wrong, honey?” Luciano asked in an infuriatingly smug tone. “Close already?”

Martín refused to answer.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Martín bit down his lip harder. Luciano let the sound down completely, and his world was spinning. He was so close, if he talked, if he moved, if he let it go for even a second, he would come.

“Just say it, baby. Just say it and you can cum.”

His voice was so sweet, like warm honey luring him in. Martín was decided not to ask, Luciano couldn’t torture him forever, he told himself he couldn’t, but he was shaking and his body was promising such delicious release, he couldn’t hold back forever.

“Please, I-”

Luciano giggled, and, looking at him with his eyes full of love, thrusted his hips forward and buried the vibrator completely in him for the first time. Martín screamed in shock, and he would’ve come, he would’ve come beautifully but the sound was still fully in place.

“You can do better than that.” He whispered, so softly it could’ve been sweet loving words, if Luciano wasn’t evil. “I love making you feel good, baby. But if you want to cum, you’d better beg.”

Martín wanted to cry. He had held back orgasms before, to make a moment last longer, but he had never been denied one. He’d never let someone have such power over him, such control of his pleasure as to demand something like this. He didn’t beg, he- But Luciano was fucking him again with that evil little sound, pulling it by the ring like an evil puppet master about to make him say anything he wanted. Martín held his breath, not ready to give in even as he pushed it down, slow, always slow, and the vibrator now fully in him and at maximum speed, and well, at least Luciano wasn’t properly fucking him there too, it was already too much as it was. But he was smiling, such a relaxed little smile.

“Spread your legs a little wider for me, love. You’ve closed them a bit.” He asked, or it sounded like an ask, but it very much was an order.

And Martín hated following orders, so it was incredibly frustrating that the hidden authority in his words were more arousing than anything else. And Martín obeyed.

“Good boy.”

He would die on that bed, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t survive this man. Luciano started rocking his hips slowly, settling everything in one single rhythm, from the hand stroking his cock to the sound and the vibrator inside him. Martín felt his whole body shiver, his denied orgasm wasn’t even allowed to dissipate, and now Luciano was sliding the rod all the way every time, making sure to drive him mad. It was so much, from all directions, the tension pooling in his stomach was begging for release, begging for him to beg.

There was just so much he could take.

“Please, Luci, please. Please my love, I’m-” his voice came in breathless desperate gasps. “Let me- Please.”

He heard a chuckle. Luciano pushed his entire body forward, buried the vibrator all the way inside him, and pulled the sound out in one swift move. The way out was in itself maddening, with every single ridge passing through again, and the moment it was out Martín felt his orgasm take over completely.

After such delay, so much accumulated lust, it crashed like an ocean wave breaking against stone, magnificent and perfect and so intense and everything promised to him and more. Then, as it faded, Martín found himself floating, satisfied and relaxed from head to toe. And Luciano was smiling.

“How are you feeling, love?” Luciano asked in a whisper, running his fingers softly through his hair. “Was it too much?”

Martín opened his eyes slowly to meet his lover’s. All he wanted now was to bury his face in the safety of his chest.

“A little bit, yes. But I liked it.” He answered, doing exactly that.

“I’m glad.” Luciano kissed him on the crown of the head and closed his arms around him “I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Don’t worry…” Martín raised his face to give him a peck on the lips. “It’s hot when you get all bossy on me.”

Luciano let out a laugh.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could make you beg. You’re stubborn like a mule.”

Martín laughed too, snuggling closer to him. That, at least, was still as simple and easy as breathing.

“You’re very persuasive.”

#im actually happy with this one!! earth is healing #thank you for coming to my sub bottom martin ted talk

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yukiwrites · 4 years ago

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Sothis, Loathing

Thank you so much for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! I hope you like it!

Summary: In Askr, there were many stories of Heroes who had fought against Dragons of Destructions back in their own worlds, to the point that at least one out of three people had come from a world threatened by an evil dragon. Sothis felt the presence of one tailing her as she and Byleth went to look into their circumstances...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Having a physical body was more exhausting than Sothis remembered; if she had any memories at all, though.

Not counting the pesky Golden Deer poking at her patience at every waking moment, there was also the issue of walking with your own two feet to move from place to place. Never would Sothis think that she would’ve preferred to be a non corporeal being if it meant never having to stomp her bare foot on the cold stone again.

Of course, it wasn’t as though she actually had to stomp on the floor, but not stomping wasn’t an option, especially whenever she felt irritated, so the goddess could always be seen wearing a scowl unbefitting of her small stature. She crossed her arms as she and Byleth headed to the library as it had been their custom for the past few days.

Commander Anna and the Summoner had made it seen through their actions that the books in Anna’s office weren’t privy to the heroes, so it fell on Byleth and Sothis themselves to research their circumstances. Unexpectedly enough, there were many books that hailed from Fódlan in that strange, almost mystical, library. It looked like the size of a small room from the outside, but spammed rows and more rows of bookcases as though they headed ad infinitum.

Once they entered, Byleth immediately made eye contact with Robin, the ylissean tactician.

“Oh, Byleth. Reading again today?” The white-haired man smiled politely, nodding to his fellow researcher.

“Yes. Literature from my own world hasn’t been helpful so I wanted to broaden my scope.” The Professor replied with a business-like tone, making Robin nod in agreement.

“Mhm, mhm. I, too, read many books from other worlds while looking into my own, so I can give you a few recommendations if you want?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Byleth concurred, stealing a glance at Sothis as though she was a child getting in the way of adult’s talk.

She squinted once their eyes met, as though she could read his thoughts. “Even if I possess a physical body at the moment, it does not mean that our shared mindscape is empty, you fool.”

Perhaps it was because Sothis was a non corporeal being from the start, but Byleth found it difficult to access their mindscape once they reached Askr, so hearing her confirm that she had access to his thoughts to some degree only made his smile grow.

He patted Sothis on the head as he chatted away with Robin, picking up the tactician’s suggested books before heading to an empty table. The three of them sat there -- Byleth and Sothis on one side with Robin opposite of them -- as they discussed the similar topics of their worlds as well as other interesting connections.

Robin tried to insert Sothis into the conversation from time to time as well, but she only rolled her eyes and pretended not to hear him, wanting to have nothing to do with a conversation borne out of pity.

It’s here again, Sothis thought with annoyance as she felt a piercing gaze burn a hole at the back of her neck,. She had felt someone observing her movements the day after they had arrived, wondering what they could possibly want from a goddess that’s probably not even the one they had in their world.

Narrowing her eyes, Sothis looked back from her seat, seeing the tips of a fluttering cape -- or cloak -- disappear behind a large bookshelf.

She then jumped onto the floor from the tall chair, landing without a sound as Byleth checked on her with the corner of his eyes. She tapped on his hand before leaving, as though signaling him that she would be close.

Nodding, Byleth simply let her do as she pleased and kept talking with Robin.

The only sound following Sothis was the low hiss of her long dress dragging behind her calm yet rushed steps towards that revolting presence she had felt observe her.

The moment she reached the bookshelf, she crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, most likely to make herself sound imposing although she could barely reach people’s chests with her short height.

“State your business at once.” Sothis commanded with the authority of a goddess towards the malevolent aura that surrounded the man Sothis had just been with back at the table: the presence wore Robin’s face and body like a cloak.

“... Why are you so chummy with your vessel?” Grima’s distorted voice sounded from deep within Robin’s throat, making Sothis narrow her eyes even more at the disturbing question. Sothis stole a glance at the table, confirming that Robin and Byleth were still chatting away.

“You are not making any sense. Vessel?” She turned her gaze to this revolting individual.

Grima, who had been slouching by the bookcase, stood straight as his scrutinizing gaze observed the little girl in front of him. “I have been watching you and your vessel for the past few days, but it is truly an incomprehensible sight, so I’ve had no choice but to ask. Why are you forming bonds with him when all you’ll do is overlap his ego with yours?”

Sothis’s eyes shook and she almost forgot how to breathe. “What manner of nonsense are you speaking of right now? It is indeed true that we are here in search of ways to separate ourselves but- for me to take over a body that isn’t mine?”

The man surrounded in a dark aura took one hand to his chin in thought as he observed the girl in silence. After a few seconds, his eyes slowly widened as though he had come to a conclusion. “You truly have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Enough with this play with words!” Sothis seethed, somehow remembering to keep her voice down despite stomping her foot hard on the wooden floor.

Shaking his head, Grima peeked at the direction of the table, watching as another vessel that was made specifically for him laughed as though his future wasn’t set in stone. He slowly opened his mouth to speak. “I, too, suffered from memory loss after taking over this body -- I still have gaps in my memory, so I’ll let you in on a good piece of information, from one god to the other: that man you’re so attached with, he’s even more twisted than this flesh I wear.” Grima placed one hand over his own chest. “You managed to make a meat-puppet that was capable of thought while infusing him with your own power as his center.”

Everything Grima said flew right over Sothis’ head, making the girl blink in confusion. However, Grima continued.

“For me to be able to inhabit this body, I had to wait a millennia for the right vessel to be born. Countless years I waited for the right combination of blood and darkness to gather in a human so I could wear him to unleash my power to the world.” Grima spoke nonchalantly, as though they were talking a stroll. A devious smirk grew on the corners of his mouth. “But this? You managed to accurately craft a jar of flesh and blood with the minimum of free will necessary to make your take over as smooth as possible. It is inspiring -- perhaps the next body I inhabit will be crafted to perfection just so I don’t have to deal with that buzzing ego that never seems to go away.”

The tips of Sothis’ fingers grew cold at the sheer absurdity of what she was hearing. Her heart beat wildly inside her chest -- something that would be impossible were it not for Askr’s magic -- which also made her recall some long lost memories.

They were simple glimpses of what once was, and immediately disappeared from her memory as she grasped them, like dust to the wind. She felt like the darkness of those who live under the ground was shaking her very being into remembering something vital to her sense of self.

Each time she saw it, she forgot it immediately. Only the vague and unsettling sense of foreboding engulfed her like a wave.

“Do not-” her voice shook, “do not compare me to servants of the darkness like you filth!” Sothis’ shoulders trembled, though not by fear nor self-preservation.

She was angry.

She was furious.

That entire speech hit her the wrong way, making the girl want to stomp on that bug who wore Robin’s face.

Grima, however, threw his head back in a low, mocking chuckle. “Servant? I am the lord. Wherever I step, darkness follows.” His sharp gaze pierced into hers, as though they shared a battle of wills.

That made Sothis open and close her fists lest she used the draconic power inside of her to obliterate that lowly being that dared to suggest that she- that she did something so inhumane!

“Besides, it is fruitless to direct your anger at me; the deed is done and the meat-puppet grew into a fine specimen ready for the overtaking.” Grima pointed at Byleth’s back, accurately pointing to the place where his heart would be. “The center of your power is there, you need simply to call upon it.”

Angry as she might’ve been, Sothis felt compelled to look at the direction the finger was pointing. She gasped once she noticed something she had never paid attention to before.

Perhaps it was because she and Byleth had shared the same body, so it was a different issue to be able to pinpoint something within one’s shared body and when looking from the outside. Sothis could see that Grima’s finger pointed straight to the center of Byleth’s body; to the place that his heart should’ve occupied.

She felt a power akin to her own in there -- no, it wasn’t merely ‘akin’, but identical! She could feel as though a piece of herself was there, right inside Byleth’s heart.

Or perhaps, it was there in place of his heart, as the core of his entire being.

When had she left that power there? Was it the reason why Byleth had been so apathetic the first time they met?

Loathe as she was to trust Grima’s words, Sothis couldn’t help but feel that what he had said was true: Byleth barely had had an ego before he started teaching. He also had the power of a god sleeping inside of him.

Perhaps the anomaly in this case was Sothis appearing in his mind instead of overtaking his body right away as Grima suggested.

She had heard about Grima from Robin during their constant meetings in the library, so Sothis was aware of how a god could descend onto a human being of their choice -- but to think that Byleth seemed like a fabricated being that would only serve as her medium to the world?

That felt wrong. No, that felt terrible.

Was Sothis this kind of person before she lost her memories? Someone so terribly calculating that they would make an entire new body from scratch and imbue it with some power before being allowed to take over it once the time came?

Sothis was confused.

She felt repulsed by Grima’s acts, but since there was not much for her to go on regarding her and Byleth’s situations since it all already happened, there was nothing Sothis could do apart from keep on researching.

Robin wasn’t even the only proof of a god descending on a human’s body in this world, either, so the more Sothis thought about it, the more sense Grima’s words made. But she refused to even think that he could have been right at some point, not wanting her own self to be someone she loathed.

Noticing the horror in the girl’s eyes, Grima simply took a few steps back to hide beneath the shadows, ever observing these new players that had come to this immense play that was the world Askr.

#fire emblem three houses #feheroes #fe3h #fire emblem heroes #byleth fire emblem #sothis fire emblem #my writings #yuki's commissions

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vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

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The Simple Honor of Domesticity

Category: Family Fluff

Characters: Rukia Kuchiki, Ichigo Kurosaki

Requested By: @deliazeedork (Tumblr)

Rukia held the flat of her hand against her forehead as she gazed up at the brilliant azure sky stretching above Karakura Town. Her indigo-hued eyes beheld the bright landscape dotted with fluffy white clouds moseying along, occasionally masking the intense luminescence blooming from the burning white-yellow sun peaking at the atmosphere. The time had just reached the height of noon, and to celebrate, the life-giving star blasted all its heat down onto the welcoming earth.

“The perfect time to dry the laundry!” Rukia chirped blissfully, dropping her arm so she could stoop down and scoop up the laundry basket resting by her feet. She scurried across the threshold of the front door and into the freshly-cut front yard, where the clothesline strung from the side of the house to the wooden fence outlining the small suburban property. Humming pleasantly, Rukia dropped the basket so she could begin plucking clothespins from the taut wire gently swaying on the afternoon breeze. One by one, she pinned them into her shirt so she would have easy access to them when she began stringing up the clothes. She paused when she heard the front door rattle, eyebrows knitting in confusion. Her expression then melted into soft affection as her five-year-old son, Kazui, carefully held the door open so his three-year-old brother Takeshi could waddle through the doorway.

“Mama,” Takeshi boy purled as he spotted her with his round, warm brown eyes. Cooing, he gestured at her with grabby hands, while Kazui regarded Rukia with a serious expression so like his father that she almost had to do a double-take.

“Mom, I tried to keep him inside, but he just won’t,” the orange-haired boy complained. Takeshi squatted down so he could cautiously descend the stairs, going down backward by lowering his feet while grasping the ledge of the stair above. Rukia smiled warmly as her baby boy settled on the pathway and then hurriedly whipped around so he could begin running toward her.

“Oh, it’s all right,” she sighed contently, crouching down to embrace her son with her slim arms as he plowed into her. Rukia chortled as he nearly threw her off-balance with his eager embrace, only managing to stay upright by pushing the balls of her feet into the dirt. “Takeshi, would you like to help Mama with the laundry?” The little boy peeled away from her to look curiously at the mound of fabrics piled into the plastic bin.

“Okay!” he chirped in agreement. He toddled forward to plunge his chubby fists into the pile of cloth, digging in to drag out several articles of clothing at once. Rukia hastily lunged forward to keep the freshly-washed clothes and bedsheets from tumbling into the dirt, allowing Takeshi to cling to the bottoms of the fabric while she carried it over to the line. The boy screeched delightedly, apparently very amused at the way the damp material wiggled in the wind. Rukia regarded him affectionately before instructing him to hold the fabric still so she could secure it to the wire. Takeshi watched her with rapture as she plucked up two clothespins to clamp the bedsheet onto the clothesline.

“Kazui!” Rukia called over her shoulder, holding the sheet at bay as it attempted to ripple into her person. The boy was sitting on the stoop, watching the two hang the clothes with a blank expression and fists pushed into his cheeks. He perked up as his mother addressed him, straightening and dropping his hands onto his knees. “Would you like to help?”

Rukia smiled in amusement as his internal debate reflected clearly in his expression. After a few seconds, he called, “Okay,” and trotted over. Rukia watched him in endearment as he gently stopped his brother, who was growing frustrated at how the wet clothes were tangled together, and showed him how to pull apart the clothes properly. Kazui gifted Takeshi two socks; the boy squealed in excitement and stamped his feet in elation as if he had won first prize in a race. Giddily, he ran over to Rukia to hold them up proudly.

“Thank you,” she praised as she kneeled. “Let Mama show you something fun!” She took one of the socks from him and slipped it over her hand, ignoring the way the water within cooled her skin. Grinning, she thrust the sock into his face and began flapping her hand like a mouth, making nonsensical noises. Screeching laughter and high-pitched cackles exploded from his small body as Rukia nuzzled the damp sock-puppet into the side of his face, squirming away at the odd sensation of the wet sock in his jet-black hair. Still giggling, he shoved his short, stubby arm into the sock (which was one of Ichigo’s and therefore covered nearly up to his shoulder). He waddled back to Kazui, who was watching with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

“Ha-ha! I got you!” Takeshi screamed and began mimicking Rukia, bouncing up and down as he paraded the puppet in Kazui’s face. Rukia held her free hand over her mouth as she laughed mirthfully, pleased by the flush of delight rosing his round cheeks. Kazui flinched away from the wet sock, snorting in laughter and batting at his brother’s hand. As his big brother took off to begin running in circles around the yard, Takeshi chased after him, chubby legs stamping through the grass as he tried his best to catch up. Rukia resumed hanging the clothes on the line as the two boys frolicked through the grassy space. A serene smile graced her face, and her cheeks shone with a rosy hue as she listened to their gleeful laughter and spotted their forms flitting through the gaps in the clothes.

If you had asked her ten years ago, Rukia would have abhorred the proposition of settling down and resigning herself to domesticity. She was a Soul Reaper, for crying out loud- a fierce warrior, a fiery spirit who lived for rising through the ranks and hunting down the Hollows. Where was the honor of being a housewife? Now, however… As she paused to peek around the fluttering bedsheet and watch as Kazui allowed Takeshi to clamber on top of him and pinch his nose with the damp sock-puppet, Rukia couldn’t imagine her life as anything else.

There was a simple honor within domesticity- the honor of watching young lives bud into maturity under her careful attention and care… Now, after all this time, she understood Hisana’s devotion to her adoptive elder brother and deep desire to have a family. Rukia already experienced more love than she ever thought possible, and yet it grew every day as she watched her boys slowly navigate their shared childhood. Her heart swelled, enjoying them tussling in the grass, with Kazui being gentle so as not to unduly hurt his sweet and energetic younger sibling. I’m so grateful…

“Rukia!” The woman turned to see her husband walking up the path, clutching a plastic bag from the convenience store down the road. A gentle smile brightened his angular face. Rukia dropped the piece of clothing that she had been clutching back into the basket so she could skip over and press a kiss onto his cheek. “What’s that for?” he laughed.

“I missed you.”

“I’ve only been gone ten minutes,” he reminded amusedly. Rukia puffed out her cheeks, displeased at his disregard for her affections, and lightly hand-chopped him on the crown of his head.

“I missed you for those ten minutes, dummy!” she scolded, striking him several more times. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, so he only chuckled and reached up to grasp her hand. Her face flooded pink as he brought it to his lips so he could kiss her palm.

“I missed you, too.” Rukia hurriedly turned away; even after years of marriage, she still hated for him to see her blush. Ichigo laughed at her cute embarrassment, pressing little butterfly kisses across her knuckles to fluster her further. Though the temperature of her face rose several increments with each passing second, Rukia could not bring herself to retract her hand. She was both grateful and disappointed when Takeshi and Kazui charged through the drying sheets, simultaneously screaming “Daaaaad!”

“Hey, hey!” Ichigo grunted as they slammed into his long legs, making him stumble back a bit. Rukia laughed at his crooked smile and the way he leaned over to bear-hug them each with one big arm. “You’ve been helping Mom with the laundry, I see. Good boys. I love it when you help out your mother,” he praised as he ruffled their hair, Kazui’s bright orange and Takeshi’s midnight black. After a second of nuzzling his children, Ichigo let them go, and they immediately ran back to the laundry to play around in the damp clothes. It was only a few articles, so Rukia was content to allow them to slip them on and dirty them up; she would have to rewash them eventually, after all. As she watched them affectionately, Ichigo sidled up to wind his arm around her hips.

“Ya know,” he hummed, pressing his lips into her fluffy black hair, “sometimes it still surprises me that you adjusted to all this so easily.”

“Huh?” she blinked, pulling her head away to look up at him in surprise, though she’d basically had the same line of thinking just a few minutes ago. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s just… I dunno… You’re such a firecracker, ya know?” Rukia huffed haughtily and crossed her arms. As soon as she looked at her two boys chasing each other around the yard, Kazui bogged down with one of Ichigo’s hoodies and Takeshi chasing him with one of Rukia’s cardigans wound around his neck like a cape, the tension melted from her body like snow.

“What do I have to miss, Ichigo? I have everything I need right here.” Ichigo remained still beside her for a moment. He then huffed in amazement. She could feel him smiling as he pressed his face back into her hair to press a lingering kiss into her scalp. His big arms enveloped her smaller form, drawing her into his body to cover her in his gentle radiating warmth.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Together, they continued to watch their two bundles of joy play around the clothesline; together, they simply enjoyed the product of their union, the simple honor of domesticity.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#ichiruki #rukia kuchiki #kuchiki rukia #ichigo kurosaki #kurosaki ichigo #domestic fluff #bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach fanfic #ichiruki fanfic #ichiruki fanfiction

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pigtownchronicles · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1.11 - Shadow’s Den

Whether it was morning or night now, Marlon didn’t know. One moment, he’d been on the sidewalk with Jimmy, talking about the streetlights or the shadows or something, and the next, he’d stepped into the dark and everything had disappeared around him--and now he was here. It wasn’t that he was falling, or at least, it didn’t feel like falling. There was nothing to fall relative to, so he could have just as easily been floating. He called out to Jimmy, but his voice wouldn’t cut through the vacuum. After some amount of time, it was difficult to say whether it was minutes or seconds, a figure had appeared in the dark with him. It was the man who had stepped from the shadows, before he’d fallen in. He called out to him, asking him for help. The man came close, and perspectives shifted. He became larger, and swaddled Marlon somehow, there in the dark. Cupped him in the darkness itself, and he felt it crush against him, even though there was nothing there. It was like drowning, like he was seven in his cousin’s pool again when hadn’t quite mastered swimming enough for the deep end. He was certain he should have died, at some point. Perhaps, he told himself, he had. But the darkness ebbed away, or pulled back from him, replaced with a deep red light.

There was space again. The colored light was disorienting, but he could make out that he was in what looked like a basement, or at least, a room with no windows--or doors, he realized after that. The floor was concrete, and the walls were adorned with what he could only really describe as a dungeon, though he’d never been one for fetish porn on the internet. He himself, he realized, was in a cage--thick metal bars, not tall enough for him to stand up inside. There was a sound behind him, and he managed to twist around. There on the wall were two figures hanging from a pair of wooden crosses, their limbs in steel manacles and pulled tight. Their faces were hooded, they were naked, and Marlon realized that he was naked as well. There were no clothes anywhere that he could see in the room.

He was aware of the darkness in the room somehow solidifying, and the man from the street stepped out of what should have been a wall, just appeared with no way to explain how. Marlon scrambled back, banged his head on the metal of the cage, his vision bursting with stars. The man chuckled, strode over to the cage in the middle of the room, and squatted down. “A shame, the two of you would have been fun together, but this will be just as nice, and more filling.”

“Who...who are you? Let me out of here, please, I’m not into this shit!”

“You’re not?” the man said, pushing his face closer to the bars. The light in the room was strong enough that Marlon knew he should have been able to see the stranger’s face through the shadow of his cap, but it was made of the same inky darkness that had surrounded him before. “How do you know, little one? Have you ever tried any of it? Did you ever ask your shadow what he might like to try?” his mouth gave a little smile, “I asked him for you, by the way. He was more than a little curious.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Later, little one. I’m famished.”

“Wait! Don’t leave me here.”

“I’m not going anywhere little one, I have my meal right here,” he said, and walked over to where the two figures were strung up against the wall. The man made a little motion with his hands, and the hoods that were covering the faces of the prisoners melted away--Marlon realized that what he’d thought had been leather had been more shadow. A moment later, one of them gasped, his eyes opening wide, followed by the other, looking around, before staring at the leatherman in front of them. “You--you’re not a puppet, you’re Shadow! But you’re in the fucking jail, how did you get out?”

“Oh, it was harder than I thought it would be, I’ll admit that. Almost gave up a time or two, but why give up when I had such good reason to get out again, and see all you officers of the law again, after where you put me?” he said, gripping their faces with his hands. “One thing is for sure though, I am absolutely starving.”

Their eyes went wide. “No! Wait, we...we’ll get you the commander, that’s who you really want, right?” one said, “Please, Shadow, don’t!”

Marlon watched what happened next, from just a few feet away, and when it was done, he still couldn’t convince himself that he hadn’t dreamt it. Shadow, or at least, that’s what he assumed was the leatherman’s name, pulled one hand away from a face, and his fingers started to wriggle, and then extend. The way they slid across the man’s face, they were somehow flat, and yet retained all of their texture, then divided into even more tendrils, and began to dig their way into his nose, his mouth, his eyes, his ears. The man choked and shuddered as Shadow did his work, thrusting in deeper into the man’s mind, and then there was light--or a kind of light. It pumped it’s way backwards, drawn from the man down the tendrils of shadow and into Shadow’s arm, and when it reached his body, he gave a contented sigh. “Oh yes, quite delectable.”

After a few minutes of pulling whatever that light was from the man, he retracted the tendrils and the man’s face sagged forward. The last thing Marlon saw was the man’s eyes, which were now hollow sockets, as it dropped. He wondered if he was dead, but when Shadow unhooked the man’s manacles and the body slumped to the floor, he could see that he was still breathing, though it was shallow. His face had landed facing him, and Marlon stared into the hollowness, but the eyes were still there. They were just pitch black. Then the man’s own shadow rose up from the floor, spreading up around him, drawing his body in and holding it in something that looked like a cocoon. As soon as it was sealed, it shuddered and there was a scream from within--muffled, but obvious. The other man was shaking and pleading, but Shadow did the same to him, and when he was finished with his meal, there were two blobs of shadow there on the floor of the dungeon, quivering occasionally, mumbling and shouting and yelling. He drew down some darkness from the ceiling, strung the two cocoons up and left them to hang, while he turned his attention to Marlon again.

He was pressed up against the bars of the cage, trying to reach something that he could use to fight back, but there was nothing near him. Shadow squatted down in front of the cage again. “Much better, little one--now where were we?”

“What did you do to them?”

“I ate some of them, and left the rest of them for their own shadows. They’ll be ready in a while. You don’t need to worry about that just yet.”

“Are...you gonna eat me?”

“I don’t know, are you delicious?” Shadow said, and Marlon gulped. After letting the silence hang for a moment, Shadow laughed, “No, I don’t think I’ll be eating you. I already promised your shadow that we’d play for a while.”

“What do you mean?”

Marlon felt something come unstuck from him, something he didn’t even know could come away, and there, standing outside the cage, was a silhouette. His silhouette. He looked down, and underneath him where no light should have been, his shadow had simply disappeared--or rather, left him somehow. Shadow stood up, and embraced Marlon’s shadow, pulled it close, and he felt the embrace there in the cage, and shuddered, felt Shadow’s tongue press into his silhouette’s mouth.

“Oh yes, I do like you, very much. I think I will keep you,” Shadow said, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Marlon objected, but realized that Shadow had not been talking to him--he had been addressing his silhouette, who nodded vigorously, and then looked to Marlon there in the cage.

“Don’t worry about that--come now, I want to play, little darkness. Here, taste this,” Shadow said, put a finger to the silhouette’s lips and a bit of the light that had come from the two men before slid into it--and Marlon watched as his shadow shuddered, and popped. For a moment, it had definition, depth, presence. And when it had, Marlon gasped, and felt a moment of weakness wash through him.

“See? Doesn’t that taste good? He’ll never be able to give you that, but I can. I can give you so much. All you have to do is let me guide you. There’s so much I can show you--pleasure, pain, power. Isn’t that what you want?”

Marlon’s silhouette nodded, and Shadow embraced it again, then bent it over a bench, and fucked it--and Marlon, there in the cage, felt every thrust--but he felt something else too. Delight. Ecstasy. They weren’t his feelings though. It was his silhouette thinking and feeling all on its own, and realizing it was thinking and feeling on its own, and delighting in the sensation of the world around it. Marlon begged, when they finished. Begged Shadow to let him go, but Shadow never addressed him again, directly. He was no longer important. In the darkness, shades ruled, and Shadow ruled the shades of Pigtown--and Shadow was back at last.

***

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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years ago

Text

Princess of Parnassus

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

The night was uncommonly warm, for a Christmasland Eve, Charlie thought, even as he looked at his own personified Summertime, in her fluttery blue sky dress with its white blooms, and those evergreen eyes that winter itself was loathe to kill. She smiled softly at him, catching him looking at her, noticing the opal specks on the glistening wings of her gold butterfly necklace. He'd picked it up at an antique shop in Hartford, after following her to the library one day. I caught you, My Butterfly, now didn't I?

She had just reached for the passenger side door of the Wraith, yanking him out of his reveries of watching her read alone in the park, laying in the grass as green and proliferous as her eyes, snapping up her hand just in time, smiling sheepishly. He had made a few small, shall we say, adjustments to The Wraith where her touch was concerned....... Women really shouldn't drive.

"Forgive me, My Dear, but you won't be going anywhere, not without these......" He chortled, slipping her long white silk gloves from inside his coat pocket, and she shivered, as she eyed them nervously.

She shook her curls, shaking loose her suspicions with them, and gracefully extended her long, pale arm out to him, forcing a smile. Don't ask if he intends to laud you as authoress tonight, don't draw attention to the pen, or else your grave is like to be where you stand.......

"My Charles, I would be so delighted to exchange those ghastly cuffs, for these far lovelier accessories. Would you, Sir, be so kind?"

Charlie smiled to himself, and then at her, grazing his fingertips down the soft part of her arm, noticing the bloom in her cheek, and the eye circles faded, leaving faintly a trace. Someone's rather excited to be going out, adorning her husband's arm. You, yourself, are the far lovelier accessory...... he thought with a sneaky grin, sliding one glove on and then the next, before kissing her covered fingertips.

"Together now," he whispered gently, moving swiftly to the driver's side, as her gloved hand hovered over the door handle. He tested the mirroring, raising his own gloved hand with flourish, and she gasped as hers followed suit, the puppeteer and his brunette marionette. They touched the doors on each side, in the same breath, at the same time, and both sprung open, much to Charlie's open mouthed relief. Had she attempted to so much as touch the car without him there, his own leather gloves, the second key, as it were, not unlike a deposit box, the results would have been much less stellar. I do not care to be a widower again, in fact..... I rather like being the doting husband. I know how to do it now....... keep a woman from leaving me.

She grinned at him graciously from across the shiny black hood of the Wraith, and moved to lower herself into the car, when he flew like a flash to her, taking her in his arms. "Charles! Whatever are you doing!?" She giggled, out of breath, as he held fast to her, his obsidian eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"I almost forgot......." He whispered softly, tipping her head gently back, resting his palm against her cheek, and he lowered his lips to hers, in a open-mouthed kiss, waiting for it.

Ally parted her lips too, as Charlie's eclipsed hers, letting his mouth intrude, excitedly aching for the warm taste, the flooding tenderness, and the heat to rise between them, but instead, she felt herself choke hard, struck to the center of her soul by a peculiar cold, and if darkness itself had a taste, it lingered in her mouth even now, bitter and full of smoke. She coughed and coughed, as he held her, stroking the back of her head to soothe her. "I know, I know....... that's it, poor thing, swallow, and you'll be just fine."

"Ch-Charles," She coughed, again and again, barely able to speak, and then swallowed her fear, feeling the cold sensation intensify, and then dissolve all at once. "What-What was that? What did you just do?"

"The Night Road, as it is called, requires a certain...... quality to access," He mused, and he knew she'd never forgive him if she knew what he'd done. No matter....... The effect would wear off in time, and she'd be no worse for it. "A quality, I possess, that you did not, that is, until I shared it between us."

"Wh-? What is this quality?" She breathed, and shivered, touching her throat, as he kissed her cheek.

"Believe me, My Dear....... I am doing you a kindness in keeping that secret."

She nodded, averting her eyes, gulping the frosty air. "Say no more, Charles, please......."

Smart Girl. He smirked, tucking his arm under hers, wrapping it around her back, and gingerly slid her into the car, shutting the door, before climbing in on his side, smoothly turning the key. The engine roared to life, making him grin wickedly, sitting tall in the driver's seat. He missed this....... being here, with her. Remembering how she'd delighted in the Wraith, calling it his ebony sleigh, slumbering peacefully in the back seat, wearing her tiara of sparkling snowflakes. The last time they rode together in his Wraith, things had been much less ideal. He wanted that back, that sublime magic. Her looking at him like he was a miracle, named Manx.......

The silence lingered between them, as they rolled slowly through the twin candy cane gates, the coloured lights reflecting off the window.

"Static," She mumbled, and he looked at her curiously, both hands on the wheel.

"What static, My Love, is something wrong?"

"Oh Charlie, I am afraid! What if it happens again? I was swallowed by The White once, the static, what if I cannot get back in?" Ally looked at him fearfully, even as he fought to hide his own cloying guilt. Tying her soul to his inscape, making her a living part of Christmasland, so that she could never leave it again, had inspired a few....... unfortunate side effects. True, last time he'd had to fight his way through the static, yank her with tremendous effort through an unyielding, snow-blinding, white noise forcefield, but he had prevailed, and if necessary, he would do so again. He had hoped however, that his newest failsafe would kick in, and they'd be spared that whole awful business.

"My Darling Girl, never you fret. Inscapes are tricky avenues of the mind, and can be prone to their own quirks and glitches. I am sorry if my own Lost Paradise was less than welcoming upon your last return......."

"It's not your fault, Charles," She whispered gently, and he smiled to himself, as she drew closer, nestling her curly head atop his shoulder, as he drove, tucking her legs underneath her. That's it, My Dove, come closer....... his mind ached, not wanting to think about how wrong it was, a perversion of the creative process, stealing away one's own reality. It's for your own good, Allyssa Jolene. I'm not just keeping you in, I'm keeping her out.......

"I am sorry....... Charles, for stealing your car, commandeering, and crashing your beloved Wraith," She whispered sadly into his shoulder, hiding her face in his woolen, royal blue chauffer's coat. He smiled fondly, brushing his cheek against her soft hair as he pulled out onto the St. Nick Parkway, not a snowflake in the evening sky, which was filled with even more diamond stars than usual.

He could feel the Wraith hum around them, listening in to her heartfelt apology. See...... I told you she didn't mean it, he insisted telepathically, and his smile widened, impressed, as the snowflakes fell in a dazzling array inside the car. Ally perked up immediately, looking up with wonder at the snowfall, reaching her hand to touch the sparkling flakes.

"There now, see for yourself........ No need to apologize, My Sweet, The Wraith, while it never forgets, does forgive...... and it's always had a soft spot for you."

Ally beamed, with a slight blush, snuggling Charles' shoulder. "And I, for it....... What a beautiful car, and its debonair driver, come to whisk me away to a place made of dreams." The glove compartment popped open, making Ally jump, and her heart melted as she picked up the gingerbread girl cookie, with green eyes, wearing a blue icing dress.

"Awwww, now isn't that sweet?" Charles simpered, his heart feeling light, as she held the cookie, adoringly, looking all around her, mystified. "Thank you! Thank you very much, it's so pretty, and looks delicious!"

"As do you," Charles whispered softly, rubbing her shoulder, as she took a bite, and then sighed happy. I know, I know...... She's a hard one not to love, isn't she? Believe me, I’ve tried. Now, aren't you glad you didn't kill her, you finicky automobile?

**********

They drove for a while, the night descending darker and darker, Ally fast asleep on his shoulder, her cookie eagerly eaten, as The Wraith's wheels found its way onto The Night Road. The snow inside the cab stopped, the air frigid, and biting, and she moved closer to Charlie, to keep warm. The purple neon ushered them into its eerie glow, catching in his wife's hair, glinting on the windshield, illuminating his dark irises, until they too glowed a fantastic purple. The old buildings came into view, along with the famed bar, and the neon formed the curved writing of the sign, glowing freeform in the night sky. Parnassus.

Ally stirred in the purple glow, as he pulled smoothly into the gravel parking lot, turning off the ignition. "What is this place...... ?" She marveled, sitting up slowly, and she could feel it so strong, both a draw to the intrigue of the purple iridescence, and the power of a darker creative force, warding her away.

"Welcome to Parnassus."

Charlie moved to open her door, but the Wraith was all too quick to accommodate her, springing open of its own accord, letting her out into the transcendent light. No one likes a show off, he remarked in his mind, frowning slightly, with a raise of his intense brow. He exited too, and the Wraith went dark, leaving only the glow of the sign, and she stopped in front of it, looking curiously at the purple neon diamond glowing in the glass window of the door, drawn to it, transfixed, by something she didn't understand.

Charlie reached his arm around her possessively, taking a deep breath, as he pulled open the door, and followed her inside. The bar room was mostly empty, and very dark, save for a few huddled patrons and some low hanging lights, not to mention the bar itself and its taps, awash in green neon. The blacklights and neon glow flickered with each step the Manxs’ took, and the rainbow jukebox, that had been spilling a slow rock ballad into the room, burst with the proud symphony of Once Upon a December.

Ally gasped, her fingers flying to her lips, looking curiously at the odd collection of Dark Creatives that had turned in their stools to see the new arrivals. A murderous looking clown with red paint dripping in trails from his eyes on his white face, clutching a red balloon looking back with a withering glare. A man with a scaly face, and arms, rolling a pair of red dice over and over always getting the same result. A tall, spindly black woman with wild white hair, and blank white eyes, drinking with another young woman with heavy eye make-up, leather clad and covered head to boot in tattoos. There was also a shadowy figure sprawled out in the corner booth, a sharp looking man in a devil red suit, with every strand of his jet black hair in place, and Ally shook her head, stunned as his shadow on the opposite wall revealed pointed horns.

Ally felt the eyes on her, lurking from every dark corner of the room, as she fluttered past, woefully out of place, like a butterfly that had wandered into a bat cave. She held fast to Charlie's arm, clutching it tight, as they made their way through the funny little pub, and she cast her eyes down, trying not to stare at the ominous collection.

"Damn it, Chuck, if I have to listen to this festive racket every time you come breezing through that door, I'm going to start charging you a cover!"

Ally stopped short, and so did the wild-eyed mechanic in his brown, grease-covered smock, staring back at her incredulous behind his magnified glasses.

"Hot damn."

"Come now, Abraham, we both know, you'd give the devil himself a floor show, audience be damned." Charlie taunted, with his slow poured drawl, his eyes dark and dancing, as he shot a glance to the horned figure in the corner booth.

"Don't give him any ideas," Abe shot back, with his accusing finger, his gaze drifting back to the beautiful young thing that had no business in a place like this.

"So the rumours are true," He smiled crooked, and Charlie shifted his feet uncomfortably, as Abe extended his arm, not so subtly searching the loose folds of Ally's dress with his roving eyes, despite its flowing fit.

"Mrs. Manx, I presume?" He whistled low, looking her over. "Wow, Honey, Charlie told me you were beautiful, but I'd be lying if I said I believed him this much. The bastard's nothing without his grandstanding."

"Allyssa Manx needs no embellishment, she is everything I promised, and more," Charlie cut in, shooting Abe a warning glance as the vulgarian took her snow white hand. "Darling, I'd like you to meet Honest Abe, the proprietor of this fine establishment, and sometimes my friend."

"A pleasure to meet you, Abraham," Ally smiled brightly, shrugging off the ill at ease way this peculiar, leering man made her feel. "A friend of Charlie's is surely a friend of mine, and I thank you for the compliment, though I am undeserving of it. Charlie's the pretty one in this marriage,"

She giggled shyly, making him laugh too, and Charlie rubbed his thin lips together, unnerved, as Abe kissed the back of her hand a little too long. She drew her foot behind her ankle in a quick curtsy as a thank you, holding her fluttering hem.

"Call me, Abe, Doll," He insisted, looking over the top of his bug-eyed frames, slowly letting go of her hand. "Pleasure's all mine, and you and your good for nothing husband are welcome here anytime."

Charlie cleared his throat, and stepped between them, wrapping his arm possessively around Ally's waist, arching his brow at Abe, with another imposing stare.

"Sugar Plum, why don't you go get us a table, and I'll be with you presently....... Abe and I have much to discuss."

"Of course, Charlie, I shall await your return, My Love," She smiled sweetly at him, swallowing her nerves, at being left alone in such....... colourful company. Charlie watched vigilant as she walked to a table and sat herself down, crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing her forearms, as she looked around, surveying the bar, and he reminded himself not to leave her unattended for too long.

He strolled to the bar, turning his back on Abe, tapping two of his sharp talons on the glowing green glass.

"Two Peppermint Twists, one virgin, hold the schnapps, and a whiskey for Abe, all on my tab."

The pale, looming insect of a bartender, narrowed his slits of eyes derisively at Charlie, clearly offended.

"I KNOW what a virgin is, you condescending-"

"Really?" Charles mused, feigning shock, with a snicker, as the bartender poured the drinks, resentfully. "You surprise me, Hob, I'd have thought you'd be utterly unfamiliar with the concept, due to the particular company you keep."

Hob slammed the drinks on the bar without another word, as Charlie smiled to himself, impressed with his own sharp wit.

"A virgin...... for your virgin, huh?"

Charlie shot Abe a glance over his shoulder, and slid the shot glass of whiskey over to him, with a half smirk, half snarl.

"She is, isn't she? Let me guess? Pure as the new-fallen snow, 'course that is your type. Guessing that means you didn't exactly make waves on the wedding night."

"I wouldn't say that......." Charlie smirked, stirring his Peppermint Twist with his candy cane. "Ironically these were the waves I made, that prevented those of the far more pleasurable nature. Though I sense even those beckon on the not too distant horizon."

"Cut the coy shit, Charlie, what the HELL is a beautiful, classy dame like that, doing with an old, crooked codger like you, and in a joint like this!? How the HELL did you even get her here, there's no way that- no..... wait....."

Abe shook his head, as he spun his glass around and around, his magnified eyes widening with the realization. "Damn. I knew it. I knew as soon as you sauntered in here, the smouldering draft wasn't coming off you quite as strong. You seemed...... lighter. Let me guess, Kiss of Death?"

Charlie nodded, impressed. "However did you guess? Yes, it does seem the most effective delivery method."

"Look at you...... parsing off a piece of your dark soul on her, just to have date night with your wife........ Or did you come here looking for a favour?"

"You know me too well, Abe," Charlie sighed, the two clinking their glasses together, before knocking back a drink."

"I heard you were stupid enough to get yourself hitched again, but part of me didn't want to believe it. Thanks for the invitation, Friend." Abe scoffed, taking another drink.

"Oh come, Abe, don't pout. It was a small, tasteful ceremony, an altogether intimate gathering. Just the bride, the groom, and an indentured priest. Not even the children attended."

"Course not, you think she'd ever say I do, with all those tiny biters around, chewing up the scenery? Usually when a man says to his prospective bride, I hope the little ones don't eat you up alive, he's just being comical. You crazy kids. I should buy the house a round to celebrate the occasion.

"Don't pretend to be happy for me, Abraham, I know you're not," Charlie snarled, taking another drink, motioning for Hob to bring Abe another shot of whiskey. "At least I know you can pretend to like her, although I don't know how anyone could resist it. She's most persistent in that pursuit.

"Are you kidding?" Abe chuckled, arching both of his coarse, twisted brows "Hell yeah, I like her. Third time's the charm for Charlie Manx!!! Seriously, how'd you pick up a hot piece like that, WHAT Hallmark Card did you snatch that one out of, huh? Mrs. Christmas even curtsied to me, and all Ice Queen Jolene ever did, was say hello with her right hook.

Charlie chuckled merrily, his eyes dancing, fond with the memory. "I remember....... She hated you. To be fair, Abe, you did rather wantonly place your hand on her posterior, so you see the assault wasn't entirely unprovoked."

Abe shrugged his shoulders, starting in on his second drink. "What can I say? Jo had a nice one...... But your new squeeze, damn, now that's a woman. Lucky Son of a Bitch, she's real easy on the eyes, sugar sweet, well-mannered, and my GOD that upstairs-"

Charlie's black eyes snapped furiously, cutting to Abe, angling his chin down, brow terse, as he raised his hand sharply to silence him. "Do spare me your lewd depictions, and perverse metaphors, Abe. Not with her, she's....... delicate. She requires a softer address, I must insist. And I'll have you know, I am well aware of what is........ upstairs."

Abe nodded with a suggestive grin. "You're a man, Charlie, yeah sure, maybe a fancy dandy of one, but your blood runs just as hot as mine."

Charlie cracked a smile in spite of himself, arching both brows. Touché Abe. "A touch hotter, I should think....... Especially when it comes to her. You would do well to...... govern your gaze, however. Touch her again, and you’ll WISH I’d left you to the Walking Backwards Man."

"Easy, Charlie, you don't have to go all slaying song on my ass, I meant no disrespect to your lady, just admiring what you got. And my, you sure got yourself something special........."

Abe leaned in secretively, his eyes steady, and unusually serious, making Charlie take pause and lean in as well.

"She's stronger than you, creatively speaking, you know that, right?

Charlie stared back hard, his smirk furtive and haughty, tilting his silky head sardonic. "You don't say?"

"I mean, the potential is there, Charlie Boy, yeah, sure she's still green, it's a raw energy, but I felt it all the same, the moment she walked in. This girl...... She may be damn near perfect for you, but she's trouble."

"My, my, whatever am I to do?" Charlie clicked his tongue, making a mockery of his distress. "If only there were a way to harness that delicious creative energy for myself, make sure it can never be used against me, reign her in, before the little thing realizes how just powerful she really is......."

Abe frowned, bewildered, and Charlie decided a demonstration was in order, tugging his leather gloves tighter on each wrist, and he eyed his young bride, brushing his fingers across his own cheek, and Abe watched, spellbound, stunned, as she did the same, her fingers on strings, without taking notice.

"You Clever Bastard..........." He breathed, and Charlie's smirk grew even more menacing, reaching into his coat, running his fingers along the seam of his waistcoat pocket, as hers mirrored his with the ruffles just below her neckline. "You have no idea...... just how CREATIVE I can be......" Charlie whispered, moving to withdraw her magic wand, before stopping cold....... deciding against such a covetous display. The power radiating off of that mighty pen would make it irresistible to every, how did she call them, ne'er do well, here. "I've been keeping this one close to the vest for decades, Abe," He whispered cleverly, running his gloved fingers though his shiny, raven coif, and watched satisfied as hers did too, trailing through her own curls, and this time she did notice, and flinched, startled.

He dropped the hold, and finished the rest of his Peppermint Twist, Abe turning back to look at him in quiet reverence. "It’s her, isn’t it........? She’s the long game you've been jawing on about all this time........"

Charlie nodded, his eyes like stoked embers. "I told you.......... I'm going to be the most Powerful Strong Creative of them all."

Abe looked back at him, his eyes somehow even bigger, struck speechless. "Jesus, Chuck...... That was what, twenty years ago......?"

"Twenty-three," Charles finished softly, gesturing to her with a gentle nod of his shiny head. "I felt her power come into the world when she was born, after finding out a hundred years previous, that she was going to be Mrs. Manx, The Second."

"Damn....... You caught this one right from the cradle, didn’t you?" Abe shook his head again in a daze, sneaking another look at her, as she lay her head demurely on the table. Twenty-three years Charlie had been chasing this skirt, and there she was........ Now THAT'S an endgame.

"Precisely......." Charles simpered back, with a clever purse of his lips. "How else do you suppose to keep them loyal?"

"Amen to that, Brother, Amen to that......" Abe straightened his glasses, with another conspiring smile. "Poor thing, never stood a chance against you and your holly jollies. I'll bet she thinks you're in love with her!"

Charlie's eyes lost their mischievous shine, and he smiled a little taken aback, pressing his lips together

"Damn it, Chuck, don't tell me......." Abe groaned, reading the worst emblazoned in Charlie's dark, romantic eyes. "No, no, oh you poor lovesick Son of a WHORE!!! You've got yourself a sweet scheme going here, don't wreck it to hell by putting your skin in the game, and falling for her!!!"

"An unforeseen complication, Abe, winning her affection, somehow garnered my own, but the scheme is just as sweet, as imagined, even sweeter, you might say........ I was so loathe to take a wife after Jolene's scathing rejection, and my multiple attempts on her life, but being married again, even if it began as a ruse, has been pure bliss. I fully intended on ruining this young woman's life, and now I am more than happy to let her ruin mine."

"Real poetic, Lover Boy. And yet........ Here you are, your dream girl in tow, sneaking a snatch of your black soul on her, just to ask me for a favour. Do I sense trouble in your sordid little paradise?"

Charlie frowned, his dark brow knit, wrinkling his nose. "The trouble isn't with my wife, strangely enough, but the other woman, attempting to come between us........"

Abe's face lit up like a Christmas tree, clapping his hands together, bringing his elbows up onto the bar. "Oh GOOD, I was wondering when we were going to get to her. Miss Shorter Way herself, the other special lady in your life. Do you want me to take care of it?

Charlie bit his lip in distaste, his ire rising, stirring with the candy cane in his empty cup, snapping it in half. "Yes....... I want her GONE. Vic McQueen has already turned my bride against me once, and I'd rather not see that happen again. It’s time Abe, the bill has come due, and I am here....... to collect.”

"Hold on...... Peaches and Cream over there, made a move AGAINST you, that little sweetheart who keeps looking over here like a lost puppy? And you DIDN’T kill her!? Damn, Charlie, now that's what I call progress. You never would have given Jo a second chance."

"Jo never would have asked," Charlie finished smoothly, gazing at the lovely creature that had fallen asleep, head down on the table. "Every marriage has its........ problems, I suppose. The little quirks that keep things interesting. My little minx befriended my whore nemesis, and then they tricked me, in league together, STOLE my car to escape, but in the end....... She chose me. I cannot kill her, let all that loveliness and enviable energy go to waste. I've been at this too long, invested so much of myself, watching....... Waiting. And yet........ I can't have her be tempted again, she's too trusting, too good, Vic will prey upon her pesky empathy, and that's a problem for me. I want you to get rid of her, Abe, use her own tricks against her, by pretending to help her."

"How many of these have you had tonight, Chuck? I'm cutting you off. Lay off the schnapps, and the CRAZY talk, go on! Be with your girl, cop a feel for me, and forget everything you just said."

"Abe........ I am deathly serious about this," Charles snarled, leaning in, palms down on the bar, his chest shuddering." I am not drunk, nor mad, this is how I'm going to end that conniving bitch, Vic McQueen. You told me once, I had to kill her, and you're going to help me do it, by rallying your riff raff, and making a play to side with her, against me."

Abe stood up abruptly, shoving his empty shot glasses away. "That's DAFT, Manx, I won't do it, they won't do it...... It's unthinkable, it's-"

"CREATIVE," Charlie hissed back, the corner of his lip curling up maliciously. "You see...... I need to keep my poor, confused wife away from the BAD influence of one, Victoria McQueen. I need a different battlefield, one where my inscape is not at risk. You lure her here....... Convince her of your shared insatiable hatred for me, offer to join her in authoring my demise, and then, just when she thinks she's not alone, that she has an army, we strike, we FINISH her. Ally need never know........"

"Damn it, Manx, that's some kooky kind of suicide play, not to mention risky......." Abe's shifty eyes darted all around him, motioning for Charlie to lean in closer. "I'm with you, you know I am, you fa la la la fop, but there are folks here..... your fellow dark creatives that would jump for a shot at killing Christmas, you get me? You get it going around that somebody's making a big move against Charlie Effing Manx, and I can't promise you some won't be throwing in their hat for real."

Charlie grinned, showing off all of his teeth, hardly phased, his voice a hushed rasp. "Then it's a good thing....... I have my secret weapon, and her very special flaming knife...... Once my hidden enemies reveal themselves, caught up in the tangled web of this deception, after I destroy Vic, I will raise her against them. My initial folly was in attacking Victoria head on, relying solely on blunt force, but no, I understand it now........ This crafty femme fatale requires a stealth approach. She'll never see me coming........ until I am driving my sword through her heart.

"I'll do it, Chuck, I'll get the word out, but how are you going to get the rebel spitfire here anyway?"

Charlie slowly stood up from the barstool, snapping up Ally's untouched drink with a shrug, and an especially smug smile. "She's a drunk, Abe...... She'll find her way here, we all did. And if not...... you'll just have to reach out with a more than generous invitation."

Charlie sauntered over to his sleeping beauty, running his nails across the back of her dress, feeling the tight lacing of her corset, and she drowsily raised her curly head, her long eyelashes, fluttering.

"I must apologize vehemently, My Sweetness, that bit of urgent business, and catching up with good old Honest Abe, took much longer than anticipated. He arched both eyebrows very sweetly, his dark eyes coaxing. Do you have it in your heart to forgive your neglectful husband? I come with a peace offering."

Ally grinned adoringly, hugging his neck, as he sank down into the chair beside her. "Always........ I'm so happy you had a nice chat with your friend!!! You needn't apologize, Darling, I've been perfectly fine with my uh people watching........ That horned fellow did ask me the oddest question, however, before he left. Goodness, what IS that? It smells delicious!"

"This, My Dear, is called a Peppermint Twist, and I believe you'll find its effects most........ invigorating."

Ally's gloved fingers curled gratefully around the ceramic mug, bringing it to her lips, the swirling peppermint and white chocolate flowing warm, and comforting over her tongue.

"Mmmm oh my, Charles, that has to be the most scrumptious drink I've ever had! Yes, its effect is most......." Ally breathed deep, her eyes glowing eerily green, and the lights in Parnassus flickered erratic, as she felt it, the energy pulsing through her veins, her mind razor sharp, her hands shaking. "Powerful........."

Charles watched satisfied, breathing it in with pleasurable leisure, stoking the wildfire inside her that was just aching to be released, and just as he'd planned, every dark creative eye in the place was now on her. The bats were afraid of the butterfly.

"Take another drink," He insisted firmly, his gaze intense as he invoked his hold, bringing an invisible cup to his lips, as she brought the real one to hers, drinking deeply.

She gasped as the coloured neon died all at once, plunging the bar into complete darkness, the juke box music falling dead silent, and Charlie propped up his boots up on the table, leaning back in his chair relaxed, as the bats swarmed in a panic all around them, swooping out the door.

That's it, my little butterfly, make them flee.

"Oh my God, I don't understand, did I-!?" Ally froze, fearfully setting down her cup, and the ceramic shuddered on the table. "Impossible........ Abe, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I-I don't know what’s just happened!!!"

Abe, who had sidled up next to their table, scratching the back of his head, now yanked off his glasses in bewildered awe.

"You're a knock-out, Doll........" Abe mouthed, utterly baffled, him and Charlie exchanging a knowing look. "You and your man here, you're gonna own The Night Road. Queen of Christmasland, and Princess of Parnassus.

#charlie manx x oc #charlie manx #honest abe #vic mcqueen #parnassus #the wraith #paranormal romance #paradise for the lost

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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

i could make you need me all the time (pt.1)

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Akechi

Tags: #justice rank 8 spoilers, #slight angst, #persona 5 royal spoilers, #new semester spoilers

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Akechi is counting numbered days, preparing himself for the end. Akira being himself doesn't help.

Note: Part 2 | Inspired by “Make it Holy” by The Staves.

i could make you need me all the time

Here is the thing: Akechi did not expect to get such a kick out of seeing the leader of the Phantom Thieves kneel in front of him with his nose bleeding and a purple bruise blossoming on his cheek.

The fight was brutal and mean. Loki has knocked a couple of times against a door Akechi refused to open even though Akira’s insufferable, mocking smile tested his patience over and over again. He’s out of breath, the fabric of his white jacket glued to his sweaty back and the dull pain in his shoulder throbs more and more. Copper fills his mouth; he wants to spit out the blood and swallows it instead. He feels sick.

“I really wish you weren’t such a disappointment to me,” Akechi snarls, surprised by how harsh and cold his voice is. Something flashes in Akira’s eyes as his head snaps up. Hurt is a pretty big, meaningful word, so instead Akechi settles for defiance and moves on, looking away quickly. Entangling gazes with Akira is confusing at best, dizzying at worst. He thought after spending so much time near him, sometimes on or under him, he’d be immune to Akira’s presence and any conflicting emotions following him like a noose around his neck. He hates being wrong.

Akira’s answer is an audible exhale. He sways a little as he raises to his feet and even though Akechi can’t remember what he did exactly, he’s holding one side and leans into the other, saying, “Seeing how this isn’t how you usually fight in the Metaverse, I call it cheating.”

Closing the distance between them, Akechi makes a sound that comes close to a laugh. He quickly covers it behind a cough. “Says the one with access to infinite Personas.” He joins Akira’s side and ducks under his arm to steady him. His body is like a furnace, radiating heat that sips right through Akechi’s clothes. He dips his fingers into Akira’s side, earning a soundless gasp he knows a little too well for comfort.

“You’re pretty strong with just one Persona.” Akira’s head hangs like a puppet’s lifeless body, its strings cut off. It makes his hair fall forward, thick locks obscuring his eyes. Akechi smells blood and sweat, and underneath that coffee and the lily washing powder he’s come to known as Akira’s natural scent. He turns his head away. “You don’t need anyone else than Robin Hood.”

Akechi simply smiles and digs his fingers deeper into Akira’s side where he’s sure a bruise stands against pale skin. Akira bites his lower lip. Loki’s scarlet grin flashes before his eyes, the pressure on his chest from a golden hoof that glints like the wicked edge of a knife. If Akira notices him stumble, it’s surely because of his extra weight and the overgrown railway, nothing else.

“You’re right, I don’t need more Personas. I can eradicate my enemies with just one.”

Loki snickers like a child that’s in on a secret with an adult, feeling rightfully included in shady business. Akechi ignores him, too occupied following the way back to the platform without tripping on bones.

Akira snorts. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“We just saw how that will end, no?”

Akira glares at him and Akechi wonders if he’s aware it’s the same look he wears every time he’s about to climb on his lap and leave dark hickeys all over his shoulders and neck. He thinks about how easy it is to lean down and silence that pretty mouth for good. He also thinks how easy everything would be if he’d wrap both hands around Akira’s neck and end it here and now, saving him time.

A vicious tug, a hard wall against his back and Akechi finds himself in the very same position as last evening. He tries to smile, but the adrenaline is still pounding in his blood and it comes out crooked and wrong. Akira is already on his knees, fumbling with the zipper of Akechi’s white pants.

“Someone is a sore loser,” he points out indulgently, one hand pressed against the black wall behind him, the other running through Akira’s soft hair, forming a loose fist.

They return to Kichijouji twenty minutes later, Akechi’s cheeks flushed and Akira’s hair sticking to all sides, but no one pays them attention save for a boy staring at Akira in awe like he’s just had a revelation—or rather an awakening. Akechi steps in his sight of line, a wide smile plastered on his face, but it feels all wrong as if someone stuck the donkey’s tail right on its eye.

“Well, should you demand a revanche, you’ll find me in Shibuya from now on,” he says and busies himself with studying his watch, pretending he has plans after this—show him that he’s nothing more than another business meeting between many others, just a scribble on a page that’s taken up by dozens other scribbles. Unimportant. Replaceable. Just the side character to an insignificant short story.

Akira, however, doesn’t seem to be in any hurry, kicking up some dust, his hands deep in his pockets as he shuffles around Akechi like a lonely puppy seeking comfort. He tolerates it for about twenty seconds. “Is there anything else?”

Movements halting, Akira stands still as a stone, his body tense with anticipation for something Akechi can’t name. It’s subtle but he sees his shoulders straightening out, his head hovering above Akechi’s—a phantom inch separating their heights.

“You tell me,” he says, adjusting his glasses. Akechi stares at the tip of his nose, remembering how it pressed against his cheek this morning. It looks sharp, just like the bridge, but he knows how soft Akira’s skin is. Those facts are irrelevant and useless, but they keep him awake at night just like the screaming and pleading voices of his ghosts, never shutting up. When they finally go silent, it’s always Akira’s voice he thinks of shortly before falling in deep, dreamless slumber. Right now, it asks, “What’s this duel really about?”

Akechi snaps back to attention, his control of his expression slipping just a little, but it’s enough to elicit a confused stare from Akira. “There really is no deep significance to it,” he says. “I’m simply interested in seeing all of your capabilities.” Capabilities, strengths, weaknesses. Anything that might give him an advantage.

“You want to see who will win between us,” Akira translates, shrugging. “Which is a weird way to assert dominance, but okay.”

Akechi wants to kiss him, right here, right now in front of all these faceless people. Instead he turns away, grip tight enough on his suitcase his hand cramps up. “If that’s all, I will hear from you later.”

He doesn’t come far. Akira’s hand is hot, leaving where it touches Akechi’s bare strip of skin between glove and the end of his sleeve burning. He whirls around—too fast, too sudden; too many prying eyes on them already whispering about what this means—Akechi tears himself out of his grasp so fast, a joint pops in his back.

Akira’s eyes widen, clear as windows. He takes a step away, arm dropping back to his side. Time halts, Akechi’s control of his expression completely gone. He has no idea what face he’s making; he can’t even read Akira’s. All he knows is if he doesn’t save this, he’ll give everything away; every minute spent being someone else was for nothing; his whole life wasted.

Don’t give anything away, whispers Loki into his right ear. He’ll be dead by next week anyway.

Trust him, pleads Robin Hood into his left ear. It does not have to end like that.

In unison, they say, Be yourself.

“Sorry, my bad.” Akira shoves his hands back inside his pockets quickly enough before Akechi can look at them. “Thought you had something there.”

“I see,” he says to the Liar. “Thank you. And do take care of that.” He nods towards Akira's bruise. “We wouldn't want your friends to worry too much.”

Akira nods, still too awkward, still too taken aback even though Akechi doesn’t really understand the reason. It’s frustrating, Akira is frustrating. Two more days, then everything will be over.

“Good night,” Akechi says. Akira’s reply is drowned in people talking, people laughing.

He wants this all to go away.

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #persona 5 #p5 #persona 5 royal #p5r #shuake #goro akechi #akira kurusu #ren amaki #persona 5 joker #p5 joker

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