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the--blackdahlia · 2 months ago

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Wild Horses (Beetlejuice x Reader)

Title: Wild Horses

Summary: Lydia keeps summoning Beetlejuice away from (Y/n) right when they get to the good part. He wants to know why.

Warning: Hinted sexual content, body image issues

“Mmm babes, you smell delicious,” Beetlejuice started kissing behind (y/n)’s ear, smirking at the reaction he was getting from her. They were both on her bed, where they had been listening to music and talking, but now, Beetlejuice had other things in mind.

“Beej, the door’s open,” (Y/n) was trying to find an excuse to get him to stop. She wanted to go on, she really liked him, but insecurities had a tendency to get the best of her. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and the door shut, the loud creaking of the hinges echoing down the hall.

“There, that’s taken care of,” He went back to kissing (Y/n)’s neck.

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!” He heard Lydia summon him. With a loud groan, he left (Y/n)’s side and appeared in the dining room, where Lydia, Barbara, and Adam were set around the table.

“What is so fucking important?!” He snapped.

“We need a fourth for cards. Matilda’s at work.” Beetlejuice stood there for a second, just staring at her. She swore she could see the red spreading across his ashy skin.

“YOU FUCKING SUMMONED ME TO PLAY CARDS?!” He exploded, and the Maitlands could practically see smoke coming out of his ears.

“Yes I did. Now come sit,” Lydia was calm, used to Beetlejuice’s tantrums. She had even set up a little corner in a couple of the rooms for him to throw tantrums in. Matilda had even made signs for them during craft night at the library. Beetlejuice grumbled but took a seat across from Lydia.

“Five card stud? Texas Hold ‘Em? Stripping?” Beetlejuice wiggled his eyebrows.

“We’re playing Spades,” Barbara smiled at him, and Beetlejuice groaned.

“You pulled me away from a fucking sexy woman…to play Spades?”

“Yep. Adam’s dealer first,” Lydia gave Beetlejuice a shit-eating grin. Beetlejuice let out the most annoyed groan before picking up his cards to play the game.

****

That’s how things went over the next few weeks. Every time Beetlejuice started to get intimate, Matilda or Lydia would summon him away from (Y/n). It was really starting to annoy him, especially when he would go back to pick up where he left off and (Y/n) would be asleep or otherwise preoccupied.

Finally, after Lydia pulled him away to go have lunch with Matilda, he just about had enough.

“Why do you keep doing this shit to me Lyds?” He grumbled as the three sat in the parking lot of the Subway close to their house.

“Can’t I just spend time with my friend?” She sounded so innocent, but he knew there was something deeper behind her words.

“You never wanted to do that all the time until I got with (Y/n). So what’s up?” Matilda and Lydia looked at each other.

“Maybe we should tell him,” Matilda took a bite of her Miss Vickie’s.

“Okay, okay,” Lydia took a drink before turning to look at Beetlejuice. “(Y/n) hates the way her body looks. And she’s worried that you’ll find her repulsive.”

“...She does realize I’m a dead guy, right?” Beetlejuice looked at Lydia and Matilda like they had two heads. “I mean, she would legit be fucking a zombie pretty much.”

“Gross,” Matilda commented, making Beetlejuice roll his eyes.

“That’s it. I’ve got to fix this,” Beetlejuice had a look in his eye as ideas came pouring in. He knew what he needed to do.

****

“I’m home!” (Y/n) called out, carrying groceries in. “Hello?” The house was eerily silent. (Y/n) looked at the fridge and saw a note from Lydia.

‘Date night with Matilda. Be back late. -Lydia’

“Hmmm, okay,” She worked on putting groceries away. “Beej, you home?” She called out but didn’t hear him. She sighed and grabbed the drink she had bought herself and headed up the stairs to her room to read and relax.

Upon approaching her door, she could hear what sounded to be the Rolling Stones playing. Pushing open the door, she saw Beetlejuice sitting on her bed, guitar in hand, with dead flowers surrounding him. He was singing, but it sounded more like Mick Jagger than him.

“Wild horses. Couldn't drag me away. Wild, wild horses. Couldn't drag me away,” Beetlejuice sang to (Y/n). She sat her drink on her desk and walked towards him. He stopped playing when she saw by him.

“What’s all this about?” She picked up one of the dying daises and slipped it on top of her ear.

“I thought it’d be…romantic?” He couldn’t stop staring at her. “You’re beautiful.”

“Beej…”

“Nope. No arguing with me. I mean,” The guitar disappeared as he stood up. “I’m literally a dead guy. And you are the most beautiful breather I’ve ever seen.”

“Guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one,” (Y/n) was suddenly taken aback when Beetlejuice took her face in his hands.

“We’re not leaving this room until I prove to you that you are beautiful,” He got a wicked smile on his face. “And babe, I can go all night.”

#beetlejuice #michael keaton #beetlejuice x reader #reader insert #fanfiction

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curses-of-the-void · 2 months ago

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Stars Shining - Derek Hale

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf

Wordcount: 1188

Warning(s): Discussions of death, lots of talking, kisses

Summary: Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you.

Soft jazz plays from her stereo in the corner of the room as she lounges in her bed, book held aloft as she clenches her pencil between her teeth, trying to find the part that she wanted to underline again, when a tapping sound at her window startles her. Rolling over onto her stomach, she narrows her eyes at the window pane as a tapping starts on the window once more. Sliding off the edge of her bed, she grabs the bat at her feet, inching towards the window, and she flinches as the tap of a stone on window makes her startle, before she frowns.

Unlocking the window, she slides it up with the bat still in her hand, dodging another rock as she pokes her head out the window, pausing at sight of Derek Hale standing at the base of the tree outside the Stilinksi house. Frowning, she sets her bat to the side, stepping back as soon as Derek scales the outside of the house, before he leans against the wall beside the window, crossing his arms over his chest as she drops onto her bed.

"What were you hoping to do with that?" Derek asks, jerking his head to the bat on the floor.

"You have claws, I have a bat."

"What is with you Stilinksis and your answers? It's almost like you and Stiles are the same person." Derek says, and she laughs, running her fingers through her hair as she shrugs.

"He's my little brother." She explains, picking up her book from where she had set it, pencil plucked from the spine, where she placed it to mark her place. "What's up? You've never come here like this, before."

"I just needed an escape." He shrugs. "Being alone with Peter can be draining."

"So, you thought I was a better choice?" She laughs, laying back on her bed as she folds her book shut, tossing it onto her bedside table.

"You're calm... mellow." Derek answers.

"You mean boring?" She sits up, carding her fingers through her hair to push it back from her face. "You can say it. I'm boring."

"Since we're saying it, yeah. You are boring. But, maybe boring is what I need right now." She laughs again, leaning back in the sheets as she crosses her legs, staring up at the star-studded ceiling.

"When I was younger, I was never boring." She admits, fingers gripping the sheets to pull at the loose strings, a habit she's always had- it drove her dad nuts when she started doing it, because she would pluck a hole in them, causing it to unravel further, so he'd constantly have to replace them- He never said anything though, because it only started after Claudia died. "I wanted to travel, and do stuff, and now I'm stuck in my hometown, in my childhood bedroom, no less, because I can't leave my brother to run around like an idiot, because his idiot best friend became a werewolf!" She laughs at herself, pressing a hand to her forehead, surprised when Derek sits on the edge of the bed.

"What did you want to do? Where did you want to travel?" He asks, her lips spreading into a smile as she looks up at the blue of her ceiling.

"I wanted to go to the mountains. To Colorado. I wanted to live in a cabin, and walk amongst the stars and trees."

"You can do that, here."

"At the added risk of being bitten, ate, or scratched."

"You could get that anywhere. Especially with bears." He chuckles, and she slaps him lightly on the arm.

"Look," She points at the painted blue ceiling, the stars that stick to the ceiling are meant to glow, but the lamplight is glowing now, so they won't light up. He shuffles down to lay on the bed beside her, and she smiles over at him "There's ursa minor, or The Little Bear, or the little dipper. You see at the tip of the tail there, it's Polaris, and then bup bup bup bup bup!" She points to the cluster of stars, five away from Polaris. "That is Cepheus. That star over there is Navi, and then Shedar, along with those two, it makes up the constellation Cassopeia."

"You really like the stars enough to name em?"

"I used to go outside at night, with my mom, and we'd lay under the stars, and she'd tell me stories about them. Those over there, is The Pleiades, or the Seven Sisters." She bites her bottom lip in thought. "The Pleiades were the seven daughters of Atlas, a Titan that has forever been cursed to hold up the sky. Zeus turned the sisters into stars to protect them from Orion, the hunter, but one of the sisters fell in love with a mortal, and went into hiding. That's why there are only six visible in the night sky, now."

"So, you know the stories too?" Derek asks, and she sits up, smirking at him.

"There are thousands of legends. But, I prefer the Greek ones. I have a passion for mythology." She shrugs as he looks up at the ceiling again.

"So, you studied the night sky enough, to memorize the layout of the constellations, and replicate it on your ceiling. Although, condensed." Derek frowns for a second. "But, this isn't the sky that's outside your house, is it?" She frowns then, looking away as she rubs her hands on her pant legs, and he sits up. "What?"

"No, it's uh..." She looks back at him with a sad smile. "It's the sky outside the hospital." Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he nods, reaching out to wrap his arm around her shoulders, surprising her when he drags her in for a hug.

"I'm sorry." She lets out a wet laugh, sounding shocked and hollow. "I am."

"I know." She pulls back, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I just find it ironic that you're comforting me. Yeah, I lost my mom, but you lost... everyone." She strokes his cheek as he looks down at her, his eyes flicking between her own. She sucks in a sharp gasp when he leans in, kissing her, and she hums, eyes fluttering shut as she leans into it, kissing him back. "W-Why did you do that?" She murmurs, once they part, and Derek looks down at her, a troubled furrow to his brow as he sweeps his thumb across her chin.

"Because... you're beautiful, and kind, and gentle, and you light up when you talk about things you love, and... I couldn't resist." He leans in to kiss her again, and she sighs as she leans into him, hands clutching his shirt as he tangles his own into her hair.

"You're lucky, Derek Hale."

"Lucky?" He breathes, nose brushing against her own, and she peers uo at him with wide eyes.

"I don't normally kiss on the first date."

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #derek hale #derek hale imagine #derek hale x reader

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belle--ofthebrawl · 5 months ago

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Hiya, how about “eyes meeting from across the room” and “a subtle wink” with Dew and Phantom/Aeon?

Hello! This is what happened one night at a fancier bar. :)

“Think our little Bug’s got a crush.” Swiss murmurs under his breath, lips tracing over the rim of his beer bottle.

“No shit.” Dew mutters back, too focused on flicking his thumb in just the perfect way to light his joint. He doesn't want to look up through the window yet, into the building. Doesn't want to meet the sparkling amethyst eyes that have been following him around the bar since they decided to stop in and one drink became three became five. Dew’s sitting comfortable with two beers in his stomach, followed by good old fashioned tavern food, carb-loaded and filling. He just wants a little bit more, he thinks, finally sparking up the top of his finger and lighting the little roll. Something that will make him feel dopey and happy.

“It’ll be good for him to make the first move.” Dew continues after a deep inhale. “Since everyone around here can't keep their hands to themselves.”

“Hey, that's not true.” Swiss tells him with a rich chuckle. “My Rory girl switched keys without telling me and was waiting naked in my room a few nights ago.”

“Oh good for you, stud.” Dew snorts. “You hear if Aeon's been brave enough to approach anyone yet?”

It's silly to gossip like this. They're grown adult hell spawn. But he can't deny the warm feeling of camaraderie in his chest when Swiss sidles close to whisper his next words into Dew’s hair.

“Rory said he wants to impress you.” Swiss confides. “He's just waiting for the perfect moment.”

“Well he better be quick.” Dew says, finally looking into the building. “I'm not exactly known for my patience.” It's warmly lit with a fireplace, dark wood accents and cracked green leather on the stools, studded with tarnished brass. Real nice place. Different from the dive bars they've patronized in the past. Aeon's easy enough to find, his lanky form on a couch in a conversation pit, laughing easily at something Cumulus said. Like he can sense it, and he probably can, the quint glances up at the perfect moment, meeting Dew’s lidded gaze with his own full of mischief and planning. He taps two fingers against his lips, blows a little kiss and winks.

Against his better judgment, Dew’s nose twitches in the way it always does when his pack mates do something adorable.

“Oooup.” Swiss grins, fangs flashing in the light. “Think it's tonight.”

“Maybe.” Dew says, turning away. His body is floating pleasantly, mind going blank. He looks up at the sky, admiring the stars and hardly notices the way Swiss starts rummaging in his pockets for something.

“It's a sure thing.” He says, tapping his key card against the railing. “He traded with me before left the venue.”

Dew considers this information for a moment. Thinks about the way Aeon grinned at him. The way he's been peacocking around for attention ever since their first show together.

“I think I’m alright with that then.” He finally says with a soft smile. “Won’t Aether just love to hear about it.”

“Won't he just.” Swiss says with a wide grin. Behind them, the heavy wooden door is pushed open and none other than Aeon joins them on the little patio, drink of his own in hand.

“Hey guys.” He says amicably. “Enjoying the night?”

“Just gettin’ started.” Dew mumbles, exhaling a long stream of smoke. Don't scare the guy, hey. Aether says into his mind, a recollection from the day before they left. I'm putting a lot of faith in him as my replacement.

So far he's been living up to expectations just fine. He can't wait to tell Aether all about it, as Aeon jostles in between them, saying something about a certain constellation. An invisible tail strokes up his calf and Dew smiles in anticipation for whatever happens next.

#dew x aeon #swiss is there too i guess #he wanted to meddle #ficlet #dewdrop ghoul #aeon ghoul #swiss ghoul

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filmjunky-99 · 4 months ago

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s t a r t r e k t h e n e x t g e n e r a t i o n created by gene roddenberry [all good things... part ii, s7ep26]

'Would you care to deal, sir?' - data

'Thank you, Mister Data. Actually, I used to be quite a card player in my youth, you know. I should have done this a long time ago.' - picard

'You were always welcome.' - troi

'So. Five card stud, nothing wild, and the sky's the limit.' - picard

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cobalt-knave · 10 months ago

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The Mechanized Card Deck is now AVAILABLE!

If you are interested in a deck of playing cards of the mechanisms, it is now available for purchase! Drafts of the face cards and pips are all on my tumblr under the tag "mechanized card deck". The card backs and joker designs are exclusive to those who check out the deck itself.

The price is about $20 USD (plus shipping), but I think you get a discount for buying multiple and can get the different decks purchased shipped to different addresses, so I recommend teaming up with others to buy them to get a cheaper price. I haven't tested those features, but they seem useful.

I have gotten a deck myself and was really pleased with the quality. They have been play tested with Stress, Texas Hold 'Em, Five Card Stud, and a very funny fake tarot reading for a dog.

#the mechanisms #mechanized card deck #nastya rasputina #jonny d'ville #doctor carmilla #ashes o'reilly #marius von raum #the toy soldier #raphaella la cognizi #drumbot brian #ivy alexandria #the aurora #lyfrassir edda #gunpowder tim

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darklydeliciousdesires · 9 months ago

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Nobody's Girl - Chapter Three.

Check your girl out over here like Oprah. YOU get another chapter, and YOU get another chapter, and so on! I am seriously so flattered by everyone loving the story so far, and watching you all so rabidly consuming it makes me so very happy :)

With the time off work I have had recently, it's meant the story has virtually written itself, I'm up to chapter eleven in the writing, so what I thought would originally be a shorter series has turned into a longer one, meaning I can update more regularly. Well, I can only hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous two, and if you do, remember to leave me a little comment, or a reblog. You would have my eternal gratitude for doing so!

Previous chapters - One Two

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,300

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Conversation. With a woman he wasn’t involved with. Truly, Luca couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever enjoyed such, but there he was on an otherwise quiet Thursday night experiencing just that. A soft flurry of snow gently drifted down outside, his apartment the warm cocoon he and Emily sequestered themselves within, sitting on the couch, mostly her sharing stories of her life before she’d literally fallen into his.

“I remember there was this one time, back when I first got caught up with them, I was taken for a game at this house in Queens. Joey had loaned me to his brother, Giacinto, but of course there was the issue of how he could get me in at the table. So, he made a bet on a bet, I guess you’d call it. Strode in there and announced that he bet each player two hundred bucks they couldn’t beat me in a game of seven card stud.

“Of course, part of the point of poker is counting cards, but I can do it faster and better, and I did. I won Giacinto five grand in one night, and most of the guys were pissed as hell that I’d beaten them, except for one. He was an older guy, thick glasses, big birthmark on his cheek. He told me I was every man’s worst nightmare, a pretty blonde with a brain, and he respected that.”

“That’s Jimmy Phelan, Irish mob from Philly,” Luca nodded, quite impressed that she’d grabbed his attention.

She clicked her fingers in remembrance. “Yeah, Jimmy. That was his name. I’ve met so many wiseguys that it’s hard to keep up with all of the names. I remember the ones who have curious nicknames, like Carmine the Boots, and Duck Foot Silv. I never asked how they got them, though.”

Luca knew, of course. “Carmine is the boots ‘cuz that’s what he does to those who earn it, fits ‘em with a nice set of concrete boots and sends ‘em off for a swim in the Hudson River. Silvio, they call him duck foot ‘cuz the guy was born with webbed toes.”

Her eyes widened, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you seen the toes?”

“I have,” he smirked, scratching his jaw,. “He does this trick, sticks a quarter on his big toe and flicks it about ten feet in the air.”

She snorted with giggles, sipping her drink and catching an ice cube to chew upon. The sound of her cracking it between her teeth did something to his insides that he couldn’t explain, but was very, very pleasant. “I bet he’s a good swimmer too, huh?”

“Guy don’t need no flippers, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”

He looked at her for a long moment, enchanted as usual by her loveliness. It was so easy with her. She knew exactly who and what he was, and she just accepted it without fuss, acting unguarded with him, rather than either trying to work him out or shrink in intimidation. It made a nice change, to simply experience a slice of normality like that, and especially with a woman. Most only wanted him for his money or the association of who he was.

Or his cock. He was famed for having one hell of a nice cock, after a woman he’d bedded had been very loud in her praise of it one time.

“So yeah, back to Jimmy being nice to me. He gave me a hundred dollars, said I’d earned it, being such a good card player. I was amazed, and I thought the cash was mine to keep, but not according to Giacinto. Copped a huge beating for that assumption, ended up with this.”

Hooking her finger into her mouth, she pulled her cheek back to reveal the empty gum space where her back teeth should have sat, Luca feeling caustic within. How hard must he have punched her to knock a both a double and fucking wisdom tooth out, he had to wonder, remembering how tough his own had been to have extracted by a dentist.

“Bastardo,” he hissed, picking up his drink and knocking it back, refilling it. “Ain’t no big man’s game, sluggin’ a broad. You wanna prove you have cojones? Fuckin’ walk up to the biggest fella in the room and crack him in the mouth. S’what I used to do whenever I got thrown in Sing Sing as a kid, not long after I arrived here from England.”

“Have you ever done serious time for your endeavours?” she asked, lifting the wool shawl where it had slipped from her shoulders, Luca wishing she’d left it. Any chance he got to view more of her beautiful, lily skin, and he shamelessly took it. It had been gnawing at him for the past fourteen days since she’d been there, chewing away at his resolve like a starving wolf.

Usually, he’d have made his move by now on somebody he coveted. Hell, his record was ten seconds upon seeing a woman he desired, walking up to her and brashly asking a simple, three worded question. “Wanna fuck me?” No woman ever refused him. With Emily, though, because of her sheer loveliness, as tempting as it would be to corrupt, he held himself back.

It was a fierce internal conflict he waged war with, his rampant libido dictating he simply take her to bed and bounce her on his cock until she screamed his name, the very little morality left within him castigating such, because of how innocent and sweet the girl was. He couldn’t tarnish something that lovely and pure with the infection of his darkness. Until he could come to some resolve, he supposed he’d have to simply deal with the juxtaposition of wanting to cherish her like a princess and fuck her like a whore.

She was a billion miles away from the latter, though. Hence the conflict.

Also, he got the distinct impression that she was still too scared of him. For the most part, she was settled around him, a little shy still, but definitely comfortable enough to open up to him and talk, just like she was doing on that particular evening. If he showed the weight of his desire for her, though, she’d surely bolt. The last thing he wanted was for her to flee.

“I did a few years for theft, when I was eighteen,” he eventually replied, once he’d managed to finally pull himself back out of his thoughts. “Few times being locked up here and there in the time between, too.”

“Don’t you mafia guys have the police on payroll, or something?”

That was another reason why he held himself back. Would she truly want to remain in the world she’d been held prisoner in, should he instigate anything with her? Then again, at least this time she would have a choice. “We do now, yeah. Hence why I ain’t seen a cell in a while.”

“I think I’d cry if I was ever arrested. Jail sounds scary,” she spoke, sipping her drink, her sweetness making his chest hurt. Why did she have to be the loveliest little thing he’d ever met? It was making him crazy, the want to protect her, the need to fuck her dirty, both colliding with the resolve that he’d solely keep here there until he knew all he wanted about the Calabrese family.

It was a resolve that seemed to fracture away with every second that passed in her company.

She’d given him very useful information so far, too. Safe house locations his guys had duly gone in and looted, details of deals that she’d been made privy to that he’d been able to scupper before they’d had a chance to come to fruition. Because of Emily, he had the upper hand in the war against the family who – in his mind, at least – needed to show respect and fall back into line.

What would happen when the well that was her information dried up, though? What, he was simply meant to let this beautiful little creature, this utter mythical princess of a woman unlike any others he’d encountered simply be on her way, and leave his life with a little less pure, iridescent sparkle in her wake?

He was glad of the distraction when a heavy fist pounding the door below interrupted their evening, Emily nearly jumping out of her skin.

“S’okay,” he assured her as he stood, resting a hand to her shoulder. “That’s Angelo, he has a habit of knocking like he’s the fuckin’ police.” He headed to the stairs, descending, opening the door but remaining out of her sight as he and Angelo exchanged hushed whispers. Luca appeared again after a few minutes, looking lamentable, but also angry as he pulled himself into his thick, black coat.

“I have to go out, something I gotta attend to,” he spoke, Emily rising to her feet.

“Oh, alright. When will you be back?”

He shrugged, not looking pleased at all. “Hopefully not too long, but don’t wait on me, alright?”

She nodded, and then completely on blind impulse, reached for his face, pulling him down to her tiny level and kissing his cheek. “Be careful.”

His heart all but broke the ribs covering it with the force of its rapid thuds. He winked, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “I will, doll.”

As he walked back down the stairs, he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his cheek, his pulse amped up from even the tiniest display of affection from his houseguest. He truly hadn’t expected it, and when he should have left the building with nothing but business on his mind, instead, it was only getting back to Emily again that occupied his thoughts.

Meanwhile, the girl herself flopped back onto the couch, sighing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, god help me. I want that man so badly!” she grimaced, groaning with discomfort. Truly, she didn’t know how the hell to play it, either, feeling so conflicted.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with her, but she was too shy to reciprocate it, meaning he’d pull back and cool down with how he acted around her. Other times, she knew only too well he was trying to wheedle information regarding the Calabrese’s from her, information she found herself giving, getting herself furtherly wrapped up in a world she knew truly wasn’t any good for her.

How much danger was she in, though, from her place beneath the albatross-like wings of Luca Changretta? Nobody would be fool enough to touch her. However, that was only if she became more to him than whatever she was, she supposed. Then again, he had told her several times already she was safe with him.

Falling into a silly daydream, she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her, those big, tattooed hands laying worship upon her, that sultry voice of his speaking his wants and desires. She let her mind wander for so long that she was still partially in a daze when she heard a rapid knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening, the music no longer playing.

“Luca? It’s only me,” a female voice called, her heeled feet alighting the stairs. Before she could speak, a buxom looking redhead appeared, her face surprised as she took Emily in. “Oh, hi! I’m Maggie, and you are?”

“Hi, Maggie. I’m Emily, and Luca is out,” she spoke, picking up her drink and finishing it.

“Oh, oh alright. I must’a missed him leaving,” she muttered, holding two large jute bags in her hands. “I was just bringin’ up the takings to him, but I guess I can leave ‘em with you. You’re his new gal, right?”

She shook her head. “No, just his, uh, his friend.”

Maggie snorted, placing the takings down on the coffee table. “Luca don’t have gals who are just friends, sweetie pie.” She viewed her carefully, watching the way the young blonde blushed furiously, reaching for the vodka bottle. Only a tiny drizzle remained within.

“Damn,” Emily pouted, “I drank it all.”

“Hey, I gotta load of premixed cocktails I’d otherwise throw out. Fancy coming and helping me drink ‘em while I clean up for the night?” Maggie offered, suddenly feeling like she would be being rude to go and pour it all away, and leave the girl upstairs alone, waiting on a man who would likely be gone for hours. Especially too after she’d blatantly embarrassed the hell out of her by her assertion over her boss and his lack of female friends.

Who was she to judge? Stranger things had happened, she guessed, although she had to admit, she was very curious. If Luca wasn’t giving her a good fucking on the regular, then just what was she doing there? She had noticed her boss not present down in the joint for the last two weeks, with none of his usual rotation of females making their way up to the apartment. Curiosity demanded an answer.

Smiling, Emily rose to her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. “Sure, that’d be nice.” Following Maggie back down, she was ushered over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the high stools, the clean up in full effect as people swept, tidied and mopped, the band disassembling their instruments and returning them to their respective cases.

“Here, I hope you like Manhattan’s,” Maggie spoke, pouring a large measure into a copper mug and passing it over, topping off her own and holding it out. “Cheers, Emily.”

“Cheers.” She took a swig, the alcohol hitting her throat so hard, she almost coughed, the redhead throwing her head back.

“Sorry, sugar. I make ‘em potent!” she smirked, taking a soapy cloth and beginning to clean down the bar. “So, you and Luca. What’s the story, darl?”

Emily didn’t really feel comfortable with revealing the whole truth to a perfect stranger, even though obviously she was a trusted person by the man himself. She wouldn’t have been working in his speakeasy if she wasn’t. “I’m staying with him for a little while.”

“And you ain’t knockin’ boots with him?” she was then asked.

“No, definitely not,” she replied, taking another sip of the rocket fuel in her grasp.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, beginning to pick up liquor bottles from behind the bar and clean the runs and drips away with her cloth. “But you wanna, amirite? Everyone wants to fuck Luca, ‘cept me. I like ‘em a little prettier.”

Watching her wink as a cute, almost angelic looking blonde saxophone player walked past and waved goodnight, Emily caught her drift immediately. Turning back to Maggie, she shrugged lightly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type.” By that point, she’d seen a picture of Filomena, his ex-wife when he’d shown her some photographs of his children. She was dark haired, buxom, Italian and glamorous. Everything she wasn’t.

“True,” Maggie spoke, pausing to light a cigarette, her cleaning endeavours finished. “But men like somethin’ a lil’ different, they’ll find themselves urging for a taste of the unfamiliar when it’s presented to ‘em. You should give him a go, darl. I hear he’s good with his cock.”

It was an unfortunate time to take a sip of the lethal Manhattan, Emily half spraying it back into the mug at her brazenness. Maggie couldn’t resist in teasing further. “One of the dancers here was fucking him a while back. Said he was hung like a bull and had the stamina of a guy half his age.”

Emily felt herself shrinking with every word, Maggie throwing her head back and laughing hoarsely. “Oh, ain’t you a cutie! Gettin’ all shy. Sorry, I know I’m brash. I’ll behave.”

Perhaps having a female perspective into her predicament might be helpful, she then pondered. Maggie seemed nice, friendly, too. It wasn’t like Emily had a whole lot in the way of friends, either, no gal pals to run her thoughts by. “Okay, so the truth is, I do want to,” she began, Maggie’s face lighting up as she leaned over the bar, huddling close.

“Tell me more, sugar!”

Pausing, she took another sip of her drink for courage. “I want to, but I never have before. With any man.”

The barmaid’s eyes all but fell out of her skull. “Really?”

She nodded.

“But... why? Sex is amazing with the right guy!”

Just then, a door flew open down at the other end of the room, one of the dancers striding out, mid-tirade. “It’s the fuckin’ same with all you fuckin’ Italian jerks!” she screamed, the guy following her looking nonchalant. “All of youse expect us to fuckin’ suck dick, but when it comes to returning it, nadda, nothin’, no sale! Would it fuckin’ kill you to eat me out just once, Luciano?”

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t about that.”

“Yeah, me and my thirsty kitty cat know only too well, you two-bit fuck! We’re done!” She was out of the joint in a blur of sequins and fury, Emily and Maggie sharing a wide-eyed look at having front row seats to such a show.

“Yeah, he ain’t the right guy,” the latter snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction where Luciano, one of Luca’s street guys had just walked in, softly cussing to himself in Italian.

“To answer your question, I don’t know, really,” Emily confessed, thinning her lips momentarily. “I’ve never found anyone I like enough to do it with, I guess. It’s like I’m a beacon for shitty guys with bad intentions.”

Her confidant didn’t truly know how to answer that, since Luca did seem to go through women like they were entering and exiting in a revolving door. However, there was a plus point. “Well, if you decided to, at least it wouldn’t be a lousy first experience for ya. He’s forty-three, the man has heaps of experience, so it wouldn’t be like my first. Two pumps and a squirt, baby. I was so disappointed,”

The women both snorting laughing, Emily throwing her head back as she truly began to cackle loudly. Oh, she was funny, this brazen woman who had taken her under her wing and plied her with lethally potent cocktails. While she was beginning to relax and find herself making a new friend, the topic of their conversation was walking into a speakeasy in Bushwick, his crew around him.

“Luca, glad you could join me,” Giacinto Calabrese spoke, leaning back in his seat. “Drink?”

“No thanks,” he drawled through the chew on his toothpick, “won’t be stayin’ all that long. So, Angelo here tells me you gotta deal for me, huh?”

His adversary gestured to a chair, Luca taking a seat, his eyes never leaving the man as he felt his mood darkening, looking at his hands. Those were the knuckles that had smashed the teeth out of her mouth. “I do, because you have somethin’ of ours we want returned to us, but I’m a fair man. I’m happy to exchange.” Lifting his chin, he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one up. “Give me the girl, and I’ll walk away from the warehouses in Yonkers. You have my word.”

He rolled his tongue against his cheek, chuckling a deadly hiss. “Your word is worth shit, and Emily ain’t for sale, pal.”

“Oh!” The wise assed man laughed, entertained. “On first name terms with the little puttana now, huh? Wait, I can’t call her that, though. Bitch is more frigid than a fuckin’ nun!”

Luca remained still, but his eyes moved with all the intent of a predator locking onto its target, slowly pulling the toothpick from between his lips. “The fuck you just call her, stronzo? A bitch?”

“Yeah,” Giacinto laughed, “I called her a bitch, and...”

That was as far as he got before the lion that was the head of the Changretta mob pounced, grabbing his collar and pounding his head down onto the table, their respective guys all drawing their weapons.

“You’re outnumbered, fellas,” Angelo rumbled, tutting. “Put ‘em down.” The men fell back, all watching the scene unfold before them.

Luca loomed like a shadow of death, his hand holding Giacinto fast against the smooth, dark wood. “Did you call her a bitch when you knocked her fuckin’ teeth out? Did ya? Tell me, how hard does a guy like you have to slug a tiny little thing like her to crack the goddamned teeth from her jaw? This hard?” His fist met his face in a sickeningly strong blow, the piece of shit beneath his grasp grunting in pain. “This hard?” He punched him again, this time loosening one of the teeth he was aiming for, Luca hauling him up and beginning to lay repetitive punches to his face, Giacinto flying back to the floor.

With his rage pumping like water through a broken dam, Luca loomed over him, pulling a flick knife from his pocket and releasing the blade, holding it so hard against his cheek, his blood began to seep from beneath the press. “You ever speak her name again and I will cut your fuckin’ tongue from your head. The Yonkers warehouses are mine now, too, just for the fuckin’ gall of you. Give your fuckin’ father my goddamned regards, Giacinto.”

“Fuck you, Luca!” he spat, shame and rage coiling through him.

“Fuck me, huh?” he laughed, low and deadly. “Nah, kid. Tell me, you right-handed? You are, aren’t ya? It was your right hand you used to beat her, wasn’t it?” Wrenching his arm up, he grasped his wrist, bringing the knife down between his third and fourth fingers, beginning to slice through skin, sinew and tendons. Giacinto screamed, Luca holding the knife towards Angelo, needing both hands to grab the second and third, then fourth and fifth fingers, grasping hard before literally ripping his hand apart.

“Can’t go punching little girls no longer now, can you?” Standing, he left him screaming on the floor, looking to his guys. “Step down from the warehouses as of tonight, or I do worse to all six of youse.” With that, Luca and his eight cohorts left the speakeasy, heading back to their cars, Brooklyn bound. Entering his apartment just under a half hour later, he made sure he was quiet, not wanting to wake the beauty in his bed.

Hanging his coat and jacket, he unlaced his shoes, removing his tie as he walked over to the bed, just about able to see her outline there curled up, sleeping soundly. Reaching toward her face, he gently swept the platinum strands of hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear, tenderly stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of his fingers.

He realised right there that she could never again utter anything about the Calabrese’s, and he wouldn’t care at all. He didn’t need her for information. He just needed her to be safe.

The twisted irony wasn’t lost on him, though, that the very person she wasn’t safe from was the one whose bed she slept soundly in, but for very different reasons than what the Calabrese’s represented. He lingered there only a moment longer before going to the bathroom and undressing, pulling on his grey and white striped pyjama bottoms, heading for the couch.

“Luca?”

He actually jumped a little, hearing her soft voice suddenly sound through the dark. “Yeah, doll?” Turning, he watched her sit up, peeling the bed clothes back as she shuffled over, patting the mattress. “It’s freezing. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch. I don’t mind sharing.”

He hesitated only a second before walking over, climbing in next to her, his heart beginning to race. Her warmth was the most alluring intoxication he’d ever felt near to him, wanting nothing but to wrap himself around her, meld his body to hers, tell her in no uncertain terms that Giacinto Calabrese would never dare touch her again.

Lying there, Emily could feel the tension radiating from him, not knowing why he was in such a state, but sensing it all the same. Had something happened, while he was out, something to spark his temper, amp his ire? She felt him turn away from her, turning over herself and hesitating a moment before putting the advice she’d had from Maggie to good use. ‘Just move on him. You’re beautiful, sugar. He won’t turn you down.’

It wasn’t necessarily a sexual advance, as Maggie had been specifically advocating, but it was a step in the right direction. Wrapping her arm around him, she pressed herself against his back, resting her hand to his chest. Her heart almost leapt into her throat when she felt him grasp her hand, thumb stroking, placing a kiss upon her fingers.

He clutched her hand tight, feeling her breath flutter against his shoulder blades, his heart still hammering. If he turned to her, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to hang onto the bull within him, goring against the very last of his soft flesh in a bid for freedom. Flesh that had softened for her.

He remembered how he’d felt, punching Giacinto repeatedly in the face, until he had expelled blood with every groaned breath, all for her, because of her, because no man would ever make the sweet little darling curled against him feel less than all she was ever again.

But still, he didn’t dare turn over. It’d be like Satan himself defiling the purest of angels. If only Luca knew, though, as he wrestled with the beast within, that the only thing the angel pressed against his back wanted was to feel the burn of his lust against her skin.

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x ofc #luca changretta fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily

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buckhead1111 · 1 year ago

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Five card Stud

buckhead1111

#buckhead1111 #artist on tumblr #jokers wild #thanks trev

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thisuserislilsilly · 17 days ago

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Summary: A man truly does care for them, even if they don't want to admit it

Genre: Drama/fluff/wholesome/angst

TW: Foul language, blood, mentions of gore, angst, a bit wholesome

Pairing: Commissar Gallius x Cardrean Penal Regiment (found family dynamic)

Goblin tag squad: @cardinalcanis @finchly-tintinnabulation @artemisareia

@echo-of-damnation @meervalv0 @jaghatai-khock

@druidwolf21

Names and faces (pt. 3)

Dormath was never a fan of sharing objectives with other Imperial regiments; he found them too preachy, too cowardly to accomplish something without the need of asking if it was "according to their orders" or if the Emperor would allow it.

Yet, they were his best bet to getting that blasted war to end. The battle on this planet had gone bad almost as soon as the Leman Russ and Basilisks landed. The air superiority had been in the hands of the enemy, who had managed to destroy a majority of the dropships carrying the tanks, only to be destroyed themselves by the last two. The Xenos discipline at the hour of shooting them down with the utmost proficiency did not helped Gallius protests against collaborating with other regiments either.

After some more strategies and plannings that honestly flew above the man's head, Dormath was dismissed with his orders; the man took them, gave the commissar a simple nod in recognition. As Dormath walked out into the chaotic camp, he saw a group of Cardrean troopers, their distinctive grey cloaks a stark contrast against the olive drab of the other regiments. They were huddled around a makeshift table, playing triple-eight with grim determination, the clink of coins and the scrape of cards the only sounds they made while waging their luck on their bets.

One of the Cardrean troopers, a woman with a scar running down her cheek, looked up to her officer, smiling. She nudged her comrade, a burly man with a cyborg arm, who followed her gaze. He rose an eyebrow and spoke in a raspy voice "Cap'n Dormath, care to join us?" he asked, gesturing to the only empty seat at their table.

With a smile, Dormath sat down, thinking the orders could wait just a bit longer before they needed to be executed, "What the hell, give me the cards", he extended a hand to the card dealer.

Dormath's grin broadens as he plops down onto the empty seat, his metal-studded glove slapping against the rough wooden table. He glanced at the woman with the scar, who returned the gesture, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Deal me in, Lynia" he said, his voice a low rumble.

The scarred Sister smirked and began to shuffle the deck with practiced ease. She flipped the top card, a Queen of Guns, and deals it to Dormath.

"Playing with the high rollers now, Cap'n?" she asked, her voice laced with jest. The scarred Sister smirked and began to shuffle the deck with practiced ease. She flipped the top card, a Queen of Guns, and deals it to Dormath.

The Captain laughed, "Just a short hand, baby stealer, we have to get movin' in five"

The burly man sitting next to him, whose nameplate read "Gren", snorted, "You're not sweatin', Cap'n. You sure you ain't got a secret up your sleeve?"

The officer rolled his eyes, licking his lips "Perhaps I have Gren, or perhaps you're such a bad fucking Axe that you can't count anything that isn't how many mags are left on your pouch"

The eyes of Dormath flickered back to the scattered coins in the center of the table, then to the almost imperceptible tiny mirror on the table right next to it, belonging to the Sister playing with him. He had seen Lynia cheat before, her sleight of hand subtle yet effective. But to shove a sweet victory in her face, the Tech Lunatic played along.

Lynia dealt the final card, a Three of Thunder, face down. Dormath quickly took it, a smirk appearing on his lips. The officer showed his cards to the rest, the combination making a pair.

Lynia's smile faltered a little bit. The burly man, Gren, sighed and showed his own cards, the Ace of Thunder and the Seven of Flames. A three of a kind.

Dormath showed his teeth, "Looks like I got lucky, huh boys?"

The rest of the card players grumbled, and Gren reached for his pocket, taking out a few coins. Dormath took all of the spoils of his winning and shoved it on his pocket, then rise up to his feet and made them a signal to pack everything up; there was a order they needed to fulfill now on the frontlines.

As the men moved out, the woman with the scar, Lynia, approached Dormath and leaned close to him, "I know what you did" she said, her voice a whisper. Dormath's face was blank for a moment, but it soon morphed into a shit eating grin, "Yeah, and I know you cheated" he responded, a smug look on his face.

The three Cardreans soon rejoined the rest of the regiment, with Dormath stepping in front of everyone and detailing the plans Commissar Gallius had been discussing with the other regiment officers but in a much simpler and broad vocabulary, one the men would actually understand.

They moved towards the trenches, with Dormath taking out his binoculars and looking ahead at the battlefield.

It was a mess of mud and barbed wire, all crisscrossing and intersecting with each other in an intricate pattern. A maze that could be navigated if you knew the way, but the enemy could also use that against you and get the jump on you. And the enemy was not playing around.

From their positions, Dormath could see the enemy artillery pounding the Imperial positions. Explosions were ringing out, sending geysers of dirt and rock into the air.

Dormath turned and called to one of the men behind him, "Sparks, how far do you think the range of the enemy artillery is?"

The Tech Lunatic was quiet for a moment, calculating the answer. "At least a mile, sir."

Dormath frowned, "Then we're fucked."

The Cardreans giggled at the raw reaction of their commander, trying to alleviate the tension before it got the best of them. Being the tip of the last push against the positions of the T'au was a harsh task on it's own and Dormath knew it, he hadn't been the second in command of the Legion for so long by playing dumb after all; but the lack of a decent support and the heavy losses they suffered the first days after arriving in the planet were not a good start to their task.

Their orders were simple enough though; hold the line, kill the Xenos, and push forward as the reinforcement from the other regiment trailed behind them and took out the enemies technologies and destroyed them. But the problem was not the orders, it was the enemy itself. The T'au were proving to be a challenge, their tactics and strategies were unorthodox for what they were used to. They were smart, cunning, and had an uncanny ability to adapt.

Dormath's frown deepened. He didn't want to admit it, but the Cardreans were fucked.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. Raising his cybernetic limb as high as he could and taking oxygen until his lungs were filled to the brim, Dormath yelled and charged ahead, leaving the trenches; the Legion followed him close, all with their warcries on their lips, ready to fight.

Dormath's eyes were wide open, his mouth forming a vicious snarl as his teeth were bared. He ran like a madman, the rest of the Cardreans hot on his heels. The T'au, surprised at the sudden movement, tried to respond by firing at the charging Imperials.

The bullets whizzed past Dormath, and the officer ignored the shards that flew everywhere and hit the men behind him, their objective was to tear the walls down and that was all that mattered.

"Kill the fuckers!" he yelled, and the rest of the Cardreans answered with a chorus of war cries.

The Imperials reached the trench line, and immediately began fighting the T'au.

Dormath grabbed a T'au Fire Warrior and slammed his head into the trench wall, crushing his skull, with his cybernetic arm he lifted another up to use it as a meat shield and advanced blasting away any enemy that he could see and praying to the Emperor the Xeno he was using was sturdy enough to soak up the bullets aimed at him.

The battle was fast and bloody. Dormath was able to reach a vantage point and waved his hand to signal his men to follow him; some High Axes patted his back and began shooting with their sniper plasma rifles from there, making easy targets out of the T'au. With that position secured, Dormath kept charging ahead, sometimes giving strategic positions to Axes, other's to the unhinged Raging Mutes as well as telling the Eternal Sisters to "kill like if Arbiters were chasing them".

A few minutes had passed and Dormath had lost track of how many Xenos he had killed, and the number of times he had ordered a retreat because they had reached an area that was too hot for them to advance, the Tech Lunatic noticed they were simply not capable of breaching through everything, they simply lacked numbers. Not willing to give up terrain, but neither wanting the regiment to be slaughtered, Dormath ordered a retreat; it was better to lose ground than lose men.

As the Cardreans began their retreat, a barrage of missiles fell from the sky and landed among the trenches, exploding and causing the Imperials to fall back even further. Dormath cursed as he watched the explosions, "The hell was that?"

He turned to a nearby Raging Mute, and the man quickly scanned the skies with his visor, making the sign of the Imperial Aquila as he relayed the information. Dormath cursed, the other regiment had begun firing upon them, maybe thinking they were the enemy.

"Lynia! Lynia get me a fucking Vox!" The officer tried to yell over the war around them

"Want a cup of recaff too!?!? I'M BLOODY BUSY!" The Sister replied, sarcastically

"Fuck…who the hell has one!!?!?!" Dormath asked, desperation clear in his voice

The Raging Mute next to him raised his hand, the cybernetic limb holding a portable Voxcaster.

"Good, now give me the fucking thing"

Dormath grabbed the caster, and began screaming into it.

"GALLIUS! GALLIUS YOU FUCKING HEAR ME? FUCKING BASTARDS, THE SHITTING LEMANS ARE SHOOTING AT US! WE'RE FUCKING IN THE MIDDLE OF THEIR BLOODY BLAST ZONE!!"

"Dormath? That you?"

"FUCK YEAH IT'S ME YOU STUPID GIT, WHO THE FUCK ELSE WOULD CALL YOU LIKE THIS FROM A FUCKING WARZONE!?" Dormath forgot for a second to whom he was speaking to, adrenaline taking over his rational brain

"Dormath. Watch yourself." the Commissar's voice was calm and steady, the opposite of the officer's own.

Dormath gritted his teeth and breathed deeply. He didn't like being scolded like this, and he especially didn't like being talked down to. But the man's tone snapped the officer back into his senses, inhaling deeply and trying to calm down, Dormath repeated with a nicer vocabulary the situation on the frontlines.

The Commissar was silent for a moment, thinking. Finally, he spoke.

"Dormath, listen to me, leave the strongest men you have there, the Tech Lunatics will do it well, you know as well as I do they can resist more than ten of any other"

"Okay…." Dormath nodded, his voice slightly faltering

"Atta lad. Keep your cool and get back here, I will resolve this" Gallius voice raised "I want my people alive, you understand me?"

"Yeah…"

"Good, now go"

With that, the transmission ended, and Dormath threw the voxcaster aside, sighing. He looked at the rest of the Cardreans, and yelled the orders the commissar had given him, not listening to anyone about anything else, just focusing in getting everyone as alive as he could out of the bombardment zone.

The rest of the men, the ones who could move, began the retreat. Dormath stayed in the back, giving them cover with the few weapons he had left, picking up plasma rifles or energy charges; the officer did not retreat until he was sure every single Cardrean he could save was returning back to the Imperial trenches. Throughout all the way back, Dormath kept the communication links to the Tech Lunatics left behind open, repeating as much as he could that help would arrive shortly; that would be a good lie if it turned out to be true.

When the rest of the Cardreans had reached their initial trenches, Dormath could hear the sounds of battle behind him. He dragged his feet through the mud and the filth, his arms were tired, his Implants needed repairs and the man needed to report as soon as possible to Gallius what had happened.

He could see the man's face already, and his own expression darkened; the commissar was not going to like this.

"Sir, the men are back and accounted for" Aldo reported, his voice strained.

Dormath grunted, and nodded his head. "Thank you, tend to the wounded, then give that information to Gallius."

The officer sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day, and it wasn't close to being over.

He trudged over to the communications tent and sat down in front of the hololithic projector, the image flickering into view. Numbers, some raising and others falling, but those were just numbers, no names nor dates, no faces; all of what they were at a strategic level.

The officer made his slow way towards the same tent he had gone out of in the morning, so cheerful and willing to unite again with the troops; he scoffed now at his thoughts of maybe playing cards again when they returned from the field, it sounded so stupid now. The tent cloth flapping around as he got through it.

Gallius was not on his chair, where Dormath would usually find him after a deployment; by the left corner there was a small shrine, candles were arranged around a large picture taken the day Gallius had officially entered the regiment, their first deployment together, one Dormath had not been part of yet. A younger commissar was at the center, he couldn't had been older than thirty on the picture, with some strands of hair sticking out from his well worn hat that gave it a even younger semblance, he was too accompanied by the veterans of the Regiment, two of the five were still alive today, the most loyal of all in the entire Legion next to Dormath. Gallius wasn't smiling in the picture, his serious expression was very well known by Dormath, which made a tiny smile appear on his lips; the picture as a whole had been well taken care of, not a single scratch or dirt particle in the entire frame, speaking of how treasured it had been for the owner.

Outside of the shrine, surrounding it in fact, portraits and more portraits of officers, common soldiers and even tanks were visible, arranged as so the light of the candles still shun on all of them. It was truly a little place distinct from all the others in his commander tent. The man was knelt in front of the shrine, in silence; on that position Dormath couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not, although he suspected it was the latter as the officer had entered loudly enough for Gallius to hear him.

"Who" Gallius muttered

"Two hundred dead, forty five injured as far as I saw with my own eyes, five officers will have to be repla-" Dormath straightened up, starting a practiced speech on the way there

"I said who" Gallius glanced at his second in command, Dormath almost saw a tear "Names, not numbers"

"I...uh" The order took a second for the officer to actually register, then he mumbled the names "Asphret, Vorn, Jent, Horrst, Pask, Nyms, Egoryn"

"Stop..." Gallius raised a hand, never turning to face Dormath "That'll be all, go back to your post"

"Sir-"

"I said go back to your sonin post! Now!" Gallius cursed in Cardrean language

Dormath nodded, looking to the ground, making the Aquila sign and leaving the tent. On the way out he tripped over the other regiment's commander; he looked so pristine, with those clean boots, his beard well washed, having an eye implant seemed the only thing that ruined that pretty face. Dormath wanted to smash it into pieces, but managed to resist the impulse just in time.

"Well earned victory out there, my congratulations" The man said, smiling

"Victory is what you call it, I call it trying to cover my ass from your fuck-up" The Cardrean spit on the boots of the other

"We managed to contain the T'au and made them retreat, your men did not die in-"

"If you're off to see Commissar Gallius, sir, he's in his tent" Dormath interrupted the man, watching his own implants

"Right..." The commander said between his teeth

"You'll need this sir" Dormath washed the blood off from his augmented hands on the face of the man, specially targeting that fucking beard "Now you look like you've gone through a battlefield"

Smiling sarcastically, Dormath didn't wait for the reprimands and threats of the man, just leaving in a hurry to check on anyone else but that specific commander. The Colchan officer yelled a few times, his cheeks red from the insubordination he had just witnessed, it only served to fuel his anger once he barged into the quarters of the commissar, seeing the man on his knees and apparently praying to something, the Colchan didn't had time or the patience to guess what to.

"From all the regiments I have worked with, this is surely a special one, Gallius" The men hid his anger behind a pompous sarcastic remark

"Commander Shem, my apologies for any inconvenience you had coming over here" Gallius stood up and approached his chair on the desk, pointing to the other at the end of the table

"There was no problem at all, I am in fact honored that my artillery section was of use to the Emperor's cause in this zone"

"Yes, it was, for that I thank you, Shem. Now...my intentions weren't purely to call you here for celebrations" Gallius opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of amasec and two glasses

"Then let's hear the rest" The Colchan arched an eyebrow, intrigued

"You see, I have been receiving orders from the Warmaster for quite some time now, four years to be exact-" Gallius spoke offering a full glass to Shem "And I am already getting tired of all this, of this front, of this war"

"The feeling is tragically mutual, Gallius." Shem shrugged, chugging all of his drink at once "Lord Elard is many things, but a strategy men is not one of his strengths"

"So why not select a new one? My sources tell me the Colchan's have acquaintances close to the Warmaster, why not we propose one of them and see if the other fronts agree with our selection?" Gallius serious demeanor didn't change

"That is a very appetizing offer, my good commissar" The Colchan nodded slowly "But who could fill the position?"

Gallius rose from his chair, going to one of the drawers and pulling out a data slate, handing it over to Shem as he walked around the room. It had a list of names, all of them important people of the campaign, there were some additional notes on some of the more interesting of characters,

"We could pool some of those to be chosen, I don't see why not" Gallius waved his hand

"You have done your homework, dear commissar! I cannot even begin to imagine how long could it had taken you to compile all of this"

"I am a very patient man..and have eyes everywhere" Gallius said, putting his hands on the Colchan arms

"That is good to kno-"

"Let me finish" Gallius tightened his grip on the man's shoulder's "I have eyes everywhere, or did you think I wouldn't know about your and the Colchan's plan to take my regiment out?"

Gallius pointed to the portrait in the far end of the room, there was a little camera positioned on the eyes of the painted Gallius, Shem could see it too. The officer opened his eyes widely, gasping as he looked back to Gallius, the man was grinning sinisterly, his sharp teeth resembling those of a predator that has just caught his prey.

"I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if this is accidentally leaked to the Warmaster Elard. How far down you will fall down the chain of command...I guess you could even form part of my Penal Regiment if luck is not on your side..." Gallius whispered on the Colchan ear

"Wh-wh-what do you want? Please, I can give you-"

"Nothing you do can bring my men back from the dead, you pathetic excuse for a whimpering fuck" There was venom in every syllable "You did not have the authority to decide their deaths, I do! I have been with them since the moment their lives had officially ended for the Imperium. You think these are just a bunch of murderers and thieves, well they are my people! The last face they see before their souls leave their eyes is me! The last hand they see telling them all is going to end soon is mine! Do you know their names!?!?! Do you know what they eat, where do they sleep, what songs do the Cardreans listen to in the moments their nightmares are too much to bare? I do...I do every single time I can...I...they are my soldiers, I bare their deaths in my mind. I am the only one that can send them to their deaths and be proud...of what they have done for me" Gallius grip was so strong Shem felt the nails digging into his skin

"Oh Emperor have merc-"

Gallius yanked the chair, throwing it to the ground as fast as he could, giving Shem no time to brace for the impact. Both furniture and men crashed into the cold mud, the commissar putting one of his dirty boots on the chest of Shem and drawing his pistol, aiming directly at the commander face. Gallius wished more than ever he could had pulled that trigger once and for all with no consequences, but he knew his duties, knew this wasn't about them.

"For as long as this blasted war continues, if I see your face one more time I will pull the trigger, so Emperor help me" Gallius spit the words out

"I-I-I-I" Shem was shaking

"Do you understand Commander Shem?!?" Gallius raised his voice

"Yes! Yes!"

"Good! Now, for morale sake you will swallow that fear, attempt to not shit yourself and will walk back to your regiment like if we all had a good time here, because that is the truth, right?!?!"

"Commissar please I think-" Shem began stuttering

"Right!?!?"

"Right...!" Shem nodded

As soon as Gallius had removed his boot from the chest of the commander, Shem had rushed to stand up, hastily cleaning himself up and saluting the commissar, fleeing the room as soon as he could. Gallius watched the scene without saying one more word, just glaring in judgment at the man, knowing he had scared Shem enough to not pull a stunt like that on the Cardreans never again.

Gallius collapsed on his chair, feeling the old wound on his chest aching, he hadn't noticed how much emotion the whole situation had taken out of him; his hand scrambled through the table for the pills that helped with it and swallowed it without any water to smoothing it out. He gasped for air as the pain subsided, not entirely but it should do for now; the monthly pains were coming sooner than later much for his dismay. Gallius knew he would had to leave Dormath with more responsibilities for the time being, at least until the pain stabilized and the commissar could resume his duties; it was his most hated time of the month, but every and any doctor he had gone to, both in the field and outside of it, didn't had a cure for it yet, and how could they?.

There were no cures for a Genestealer infection, after all. There weren't twenty years ago when it happened, and there would never be one.

#fanfiction #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #fanfic writing #wh40k oc #custom warhammer regiment #oc guardsman #oc commissar #Cardrean 958TH

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octuscle · 1 year ago

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My boss keeps talking about how scary it is seeing all these dyed hair, pierced, tatted up punks. He keeps saying they're going to be the downfall of society... Is there any way you could show him a real scary Halloween season? I'd love for him to eat his words.

My boss keeps talking about how scary it is to see all these dyed, pierced and tattooed punks. He says they're going to be the downfall of society…. Could you show him a really scary Halloween season? I'd like to measure him by his words.

The costume for your boss looks completely harmless. Nothing but a pretty harmless looking ring. Okay, with a skull on it. All we need is for him to put this ring on. And then we can activate his costume.

You put the ring on his desk. Between his mail. As expected, he picks up the ring, turns it back and forth. And puts it back on the desk. This is repeated four or five times. Only after the office building is almost empty does your boss put the ring on his ring finger. Too big. It fits on his thumb. He looks at the ring. And the trap snaps shut.

Your boss doesn't notice, but his body gets younger and younger. Slimmer, more athletic. His suit fits snugly. And the expensive dark blue virgin wool slowly becomes a cheap polyester check pattern. The first piercings appear in his nose and ears. And the craving for a cigarette grows. Actually, your boss doesn't smoke. But his mindset has already changed in this regard. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter can be found in his coat. He throws on the coat and goes outside to the front of the building. And lights a cigarette. And he sees his reflection in a window pane. His coat has turned into a studded leather jacket. Underneath is a Sexpistols T-shirt with heavy chains over it. Something like the ones that hang down like suspenders from his plaid pants. And his feet are in DocMartin's with red laces. His face is still his face. Younger. Slimmer. More piercings. But that's still clearly your boss. Even when the transformation comes to the finale. His stuffy haircut gives way to a gorgeous mohawk. Shit, he dropped his cigarette in shock. With trembling hands, he wants to light a new one. But the pack of cigarettes is gone. All he has left is loose tobacco and cigarette paper. Your boss rolls a cigarette with astonishing routine. And realizes that he no longer has a lighter. "Excuse me, could you please give me a light?" your boss wants to ask a passerby. "Mate, ya got a light?" comes out of his mouth instead. Most passersby quicken their pace. It takes minutes before someone takes pity.

When he has kicked out the cigarette butt with his boot, he wants to go back to the office. But his door card is gone, as is his entire wallet. There are a few coins in his pocket, that's all. He rings the night bell. After a few minutes, a night watchman comes and opens the door. And yells at him to fuck off, he can't scrounge money or food here. Your boss still wants to say that he pays the night watchman's salary. But the door has long since closed again. "Fuck ya" yells your boss and shows the middle finger. Between his boots is an army backpack full of patches and scribbles. Hopefully he still has a beer. Thank God, yeah! The beer is warm. But it's better than nothing. Air is getting cold. And he's getting hungry, too. Shit, there are also a few of these miserable punks loitering around at the bus stop and mooching off passers-by. Disgusting and lazy riffraff. "Mate, dee ya hav anutha 'eer for us?" asks one. Your boss realizes the seriousness of the situation. He sits down with the punks on the sidewalk and shares his beer with people who are his last hope.

Three days later. Halloween. The party is raging in the condemned house where your boss has found a place to sleep. Somehow enough beer, booze and weed always come together. The tattoo artist, who your boss blew for a bit of money, has promised to tattoo a Union Jack on his neck tomorrow for free. Your boss doesn't know yet that tomorrow at 08:00 he will wake up in his old body again. Let's see if he likes it….

#male tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #leather tf #punk tf #halloween tf

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complexsaviour · 9 months ago

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Milgram 4th Anniversary Art Analysis Part 1/3: Mikoto, Kazui, Shidou and Fuuta

I'm going to post these in a few parts since my analyses ended up getting so long...oops. Here's the first! Please let me know if I've slipped up at all or if you have anything to add.

Mikoto

Mikoto is standing very straight and to attention with his feet together, in the same way that he carefully curates his public persona and tries his best not to stand out. His suit jacket seems to be fully done up, all neatly and presentably, and he's similarly removed his stud earrings. Trying his best to come across as unproblematic, respectful and polite. But he's also standing a bit like a corpse in a coffin, holding his flowers like a dead man in his grave. This is probably related to Mikoto's associations with the Death tarot card (which does not in fact signify death but a new beginning — rebirth in a way) and his VD being titled 'John Doe' (that is, the placeholder name for an unidentified dead body) — perhaps a part of him died when his alter John was born? But that part of him was also reborn as someone bolder and stronger...Mikoto could also be considered a dead man walking, perhaps, working himself to death...he holds his bouquet in front of him in full view, just as he presents himself and his supposed crime since he has no memory of it — believing he has nothing to hide, trying to come across as trustworthy.

Kazui

Kazui is standing in contrapposto as he often does, only leaning his weight on half of his body — refusing to lean into both sides of himself. He also has his jacket half buttoned up, affording it a slightly more casual visual effect, and I think his tie is slightly loosened (half loosened?) in keeping with his half/half theme and general deliberately casual approach to most things. As seen in Cat and in other artwork of him, he is wearing a waistcoat underneath his suit jacket. I find it interesting that Kazui is consistently depicted with that extra layer in formalwear. Maybe I'm reading into things too much, but I wonder if it's to do with his devotion to trying to fulfil a masculine ideal — the three piece suit is often considered one of the most masculine forms of attire. It's also often associated with performance imagery, like the magic tricks we saw him doing in Cat. Unlike the others, he insists on that extra layer beneath his jacket — almost as if just to make sure he's really playing his role to the best of his ability. An extra layer of constriction, even beneath his jacket...anyways, he holds his bouquet with one hand — with only half of himself — sort of nonchalantly. His pose sort of reminds me of the way an actor might hold a prop he is planning to gesture with, which brings to mind Kazui's performative nature. Kazui holds his bouquet in front of himself, but his holding it with one hand makes it sort of feel like he's holding back a little. He isn't exactly outright presenting it to the viewer like some of the characters do, but he's also not actively trying to hide it (anymore?), which seems to be his attitude to the circumstances of his supposed crime as well — just as he implored us to find out and uncover the truth about him in his second voice drama.

Shidou

Shidou's body language is more open and relaxed than Mikoto and Kazui's, sort of reminiscent of the way his sprite's body language opened up in Trial 2 when he settled into his saviour/healer role in the second season. I also get the impression that his tie is the least loose of the five male characters, though I'm not exactly a tie expert — very intentional and meticulous, just like Shidou and his actions. Like Mikoto and Haruka, his buttons are all done up as far as I can tell (it's sort of difficult to see behind his bouquet to be fair, but that seems in character). I think this reflects how the three of them have a more decisive and resolute attitude to their crimes: while Mikoto insists he didn't do anything, both Haruka and Shidou admitted to killing from the very beginning, and all three of them were initially very accepting of their circumstances (albeit because Mikoto was in denial). Haruka and Shidou already committed to dressing up for the funeral from the very start— they both accepted their circumstances wholeheartedly, at least to begin with. Interestingly, he's the only one whose jacket is double breasted. I looked into this to see if there might be any particular significance to this choice, but I don't think I found anything of particular note except that it makes him stand out a bit, kind of like his straitjacket design's turtleneck style collar and long coat do. Double breasted jackets are associated with the navy, but I don't think that has much relevance to him as a character. As for Shidou's bouquet, he holds it just like a baby, cradling it close to himself with a sort of parental tenderness. It's in full view of the spectator and he makes no pretence about it. I think this reflects his attitude to his victims and to his crime — perhaps it implies that he considers his own children his victims, too? But I could also see this just reflecting his general attitude to lives — at least those of other people anyhow.

Fuuta

Fuuta's pose sort of reminds me of how a petulant teenager might stand at the funeral of a distant relative, irritated by the proceedings. It's quite open, like Shidou's, but much more defiantly so, leaning back slightly on one leg as if to challenge the viewer — sort of like a 'so what?' — much like he acted in Trial 1. He's not making much of an attempt to present himself formally or respectfully — his jacket is only half done up and his tie is the loosest of all the five male characters, one hand stuffed into his trouser pocket. I think this reflects Fuuta's general tendency to chafe against convention and expectations, but also his initial refusal to accept his circumstances and responsibility. He holds his bouquet behind himself but largely visible — refusing to accept responsibility or be open with the viewer, but still self-aware enough that it's not exactly hidden — I think this reflects how he acts standoffish but ultimately is only really superficially in denial. He does hold his bouquet a little like a weapon, but he doesn't seem fully committed — he's not really holding it like he's seriously trying to threaten anyone. He's the only one who isn't smiling at all, which is just like him.

#milgram #milgram project #ミルグラム #analysis #character analysis #mikoto kayano #milgram john #kazui mukuhara #shidou kirisaki #fuuta kajiyama

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itssotragic · 10 months ago

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12. “Did something happen to you that I don’t know about?” with maybe Rhea/Damian/Dom 🤔

Rated: T Tags: References to past sexual assault, therapy, nightmares.

Prompt List

Quiet nights at home were few and hard to come by. There was always something that needed to be done—unpacking, packing, getting ready for the next show, traveling, training, press. Rarely did the grind stutter to a stop long enough to be still and breathe. But somehow, they'd managed to find one of those precious nights among the chaos—a respite, a chance to simply be and be together. Damian cooked, they ate, then JD and Finn disappeared into the back bedroom with a few soft murmurs exchanged in the leaving. Both had looked so exhausted that Damian had no reason to doubt they really were turning in early.

And so five became three.

They shifted to the living room, where Dom curled up against Damian's side, head resting in his lap as if he belonged there—which, he mused, maybe he did—and Damian held him close as they put on a movie Rhea had rescued from a discount bin somewhere last week. It didn't take long before Dom was half-hidden behind a blanket, peering over the fringe and clutching onto Damian's hand with every jump and pop of noise. Damian was only half paying attention, idly carding his free hand through Dom's hair, his thoughts and gaze both drifting to where Rhea had plopped down on the floor in front of the sofa, meticulously hammering studs and rivets into a trim expanse of black leather. He had no idea what event it was for—he didn't even know if she knew—but he liked watching her work. Once in a while, her tongue would poke out from between her lips, poised at the corner of her mouth, her brow furrowed in concentration as she lined up sharp bits of metal, measured with her fingertips, counted, then swept the whole mess onto the floor so she could start hammering again.

It was hard for him to imagine a more perfect night than this—to have not just one person who fit so well into every crevice of his life, but all of them. The warmth of Dom pressed against him, Rhea always lingering just within arm's reach, Finn and JD safely tucked away in the other room. It was a kind of contentment he couldn't even imagine until he'd met them. One by one, they'd slotted into place, and a sense of peace had wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.

He had half a thought lingering somewhere in the corner of his mind—something he'd been about to say, a notion that hadn't quite formed into words yet—but it was lost in the rustle of Rhea suddenly rising to her feet. She cracked her neck and stretched her arms above her head with a soft groan and a little pop of something somewhere at the base of her spine. Dom reached out and batted at her hip, and she stepped out of the way of the television with a laugh, pivoting on her toes, practically dancing between the piles of tools and fabric and supplies.

"You headed to the kitchen by any chance?" Damian asked, watching as she flicked the hem of her shorts back into place around her thigh.

"I think I need glue," she answered.

"You wanna grab me another drink on your way back?"

"Please," she teased and wiggled her fingers at him as she reached for his empty glass.

He rolled his eyes. "And thank you," he offered, handing it over with a small, fond smirk. Their hands brushed, his touch lingered, thumb grazing over her knuckles before he let go of the glass and let her slip away toward the other side of the space.

Damian's gaze followed her, tracking every movement through the room, lingering just long enough to see her slip around the corner of the island counter. Then he turned back to Dom, fingers sliding into his hair again, scratching gently at his scalp beneath a mop of dark waves. Dom hummed softly, a barely audible noise, tilting his head into Damian's palm and shifting ever closer against his side. His focus slipped, settled, sank—grasping onto nothing in particular, at least not long enough to matter—shifting from Dom to Rhea and back again with ease. Rhea's footsteps pattered softly against the tile, punctuated by the glide of drawers as she rummaged around. But even that faded into the background after a moment or two—a rhythmic pulse like a metronome, a steady beat for him to track her by.

Time slowed to a crawl. The movie played on without him; he didn't care. His eyes slipped closed, lashes heavy, comfort guiding the way towards a drowsy sort of almost-rest. Then Rhea's fingers brushed against his shoulder, cold and damp with condensation off his glass, and he hummed a soft sound of acknowledgment as she passed. He heard her nails scratch softly over Dom's blanket, skipping down his side and hip before he felt the couch cushion shift as she settled down and rest her back against it again. A gentle silence settled over them like a fog, warm and comforting, thick enough to sink into and soft enough to mold around his body.

He drifted, lulled by the feeling of Dom's fingertips brushing slowly up and down the side of his arm, tracing shapes that felt nonsensical at first until one curved and glided just so, and his attention honed back in on his own body. Slowly, the shapes Dom was drawing began to make sense. The swoop and arc of his fingertips traced tangled serpents and caressed the side of Medusa's face, almost—maybe entirely—unconsciously. His gaze was focused on the television, one arm tucked up against his chest, while the other hand simply trailed the lines as if he had them memorized. Damian's fingers stroked down the side of his neck, thumb tracing over his collarbone and shoulder before slipping back into his hair again, and shifted his arm a bit closer, easier to reach.

"Have you seen Adam's show?" Dom murmured, turning just slightly to look over his shoulder at Damian, his big, dark eyes wide and gentle and curious.

He couldn't help but laugh. Of course, to Dom, it was Adam's show, even though he was only in—what?—three episodes. But he nodded, twisting one long strand of hair around his finger. In his gut, he knew what question was probably coming next, but he still offered a soft smile and said, "Yeah, why?"

Dom shrugged. "Just wondering if that's why you got her—" His fingers swooped across Medusa's face again, then down towards Damian's wrist. "Because of the story, I mean."

It was innocuous enough that Damian probably could have skirted around the subject if he wanted to. But it felt—maybe not pointless, but unnecessary. There were parts of himself he'd always kept hidden away—for good reason—and Dom's innocent question brought one of those shadowy things stumbling out of the dark to sit in the center of his chest. And, somehow, it didn't feel as heavy as it once had. Maybe time did heal all wounds or some trite, cliche shit like that; or maybe the salve they'd been applying to it over the last months—years, in some cases—had finally started to heal something. Either way, it didn't feel as deep as it had three years ago when he'd sat down in a tattoo parlor, across from a woman with the prettiest rose-colored hair he'd ever seen, and spilled the entire story over the course of a six-hour session.

He swallowed around the knot that tried to form in the back of his throat, the phantom tingle of needle pricks flaring up along his arm, and nodded again, his smile soft and genuine even if there was a heaviness still sitting just below the surface. But Dom had already seen the flicker in his expression, the slight deepening of the lines around his eyes, the way his fingertips stuttered then stilled where they rest on the arc of Dom's shoulder.

"I'm not supposed to ask that, am I?" he said—timid, a little hesitant, a trace of worry in his voice that he had upset Damian.

But he just shook his head and gathered Dom a little closer, watching Rhea out of the corner of his eye as she set her tools down and shifted around to face them both. "No, no, it's alright, hermano. You can ask. It was a really long time ago, and I'm mostly okay now."

"Mostly?" Dom echoed, looking up at him again, searching his face, trying to find an answer in his expression.

There was no reason to try to hide anything—not with them. They didn't need the pretty version of things—the glossed-over, watered-down, sanitized truth. It was messy and ugly and uncomfortable, but they were safe, and that was the only thing that mattered. Still, he felt that hard throb in the center of his chest, the last dying ember of a fear he'd spent years trying to extinguish and couldn't quite snuff out completely. He'd learned to live with it, to maneuver around it, and it remained largely inconspicuous if still softly smoldering somewhere in the distance. But here, now, he felt like he could pick that ember up in his bare hands and not get burned by it. It was as small a spark as it had ever been.

Rhea leaned her elbow against the back of the sofa, resting her chin on her hand, looking at Damian with a softness that made his heart ache, but he couldn't quite bring himself to meet her gaze just yet. Instead, he shifted a little and tugged Dom upright, coaxing him into his lap so Rhea had space to move up onto the couch next to them. He slipped into the space between Damian's thigh and the arm of the sofa, legs draped over and between his, shoulder tucked just under his arm, blanket folded around their limbs.

He felt Rhea's lips fall against his cheek as she rose and took her place on the other side, her legs tucked beneath her as she reached for him and tangled their fingers together. Part of him was glad it was just the three of them, then. It wasn't that he didn't want Finn and JD to know, just that it seemed easier to deal with when there weren't so many people staring at him. The wound had healed, sure, but it had scarred, and some of those scars were thicker, deeper than others. It was hard to know where to start sometimes. He cleared his throat, blinked a few times, and stared up at the ceiling.

"Truth is," he started, gaze gliding back to the television and the credits rolling there. "I wasn't fully aware of what was happening at the time. There were just a bunch of whispered conversations I don't think I was ever meant to hear, and then, all of a sudden, I was being shipped back to New York. I didn't understand why I had to leave—just that everyone was upset all the time, and all I knew was that I was at the center of it. I thought I was being punished for something, but I didn't know what, and I didn't know how to process everything that was going on either—so I just didn't."

Silence hung heavy for a few seconds, but Damian needed that pause to ground himself—to settle into the warmth that surrounded them, the feeling of Rhea's thumb brushing over his knuckles, and Dom's hand curled softly in the front of his shirt.

"I didn't start dealing with any of it until a lot later," he continued, still staring at some vague spot in the middle distance. "I had a coach who basically told me to get my shit together, then shoved me in the direction of a therapist. I hated it. I thought it was stupid and pointless—that there was nothing I could benefit from knowing—that it was gonna be a massive waste of time. Then, little by little, it started to help—even if, eventually, it opened up a can of worms I didn't realize was actually full of snakes. Once I started digging, I started to remember, and it hit me like a fucking truck. I had nightmares for weeks. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I could barely make it to practice. I was a wreck. And, thankfully, a lot of people gave me a lot of grace while it was happening. They didn't know—no one did—they just knew I was trying to get my head on straight and that, hopefully, I was going to come out the other side of it better."

His throat was dry, and he could feel his voice faltering, but he forced himself to keep going. It was cathartic, in a way, like taking a hot knife to an infected wound and prying it open so the poison could drain out.

"There were things that had grown around that initial memory, though—rooted into it, branched off of it—things that needed to be handled separate from everything else. But by the time I moved to Vegas, I'd gotten a hold of most of that, too. The real bone-deep pain wasn't there anymore. Every once in a while, something still flares up, and I have to sit with it for a bit, but..." he shrugged, "but at least I can sit with it now. I can look at it and acknowledge that it's there, and it hurts, and that's okay. Most of the time, it's just phantom pain, anyway; something that aches because it remembers, not because it's still bleeding."

Rhea's palm slid against his cheek, cupping his jaw as she guided his face towards hers, and he felt the slightest sting in the corners of his eyes. That was residual, too—a reflex left over from all the times he'd secluded himself in some small, dark place, hoping he might feel safe enough to cry through the pain. He blinked it away and leaned into her touch, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. He could feel her eyelashes flutter against his, her fingernails gliding softly through his beard, holding him there as he breathed deep and steadied himself. When he pulled back, he found Dom's dark eyes still watching him, quiet and curious and unassuming—a dozen different questions lingering in his gaze. Damian carded his fingers through his hair, tucking loose strands away from his face, tracing the line of his jaw with his thumb. Dom's lips twitched into a soft smile, and he pressed his cheek into Damian's palm.

"Is that why you've always been so good with me and my bad dreams?" he asked.

He laughed and nodded, his smile finally softening into something more natural. "I'm sure it has something to do with it, yeah. But you're easy to take care of."

His smile faded for a moment as he shifted his hand to curl around Dom's shoulder, holding him snug against his chest. If he'd noticed the flicker of emotion on Damian's face that time, he didn't let on; he just tucked himself in closer, drawing his knees up, and nuzzled into the solid expanse of Damian's chest. Sometimes he wondered how alike the two of them were and how much Dom kept quietly closed off for the sake of everyone else around him—to continue being the bright little ball of sunshine they all knew. But it wasn't the right time to start digging into that. He could only hope that offering this small fragment of himself would be enough that they might also feel safe in unburdening their darkness with him—more than they already had. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dom's head and shifted his gaze back to Rhea, catching the soft, sidelong glance she cast in his direction.

"I'm proud of you," she said, her voice low and warm, gentle as she drew her fingers through his hair and grazed her thumb along his temple. "You know that, right?"

Damian hummed, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat, and nodded, turning his face to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I do," he murmured, reaching for her other hand again. "But it's still nice to hear sometimes."

#damian priest #dominik mysterio #rhea ripley #the judgment day #poly judgment day #wrestling #tragically written #mature audiences only #no beta we die like men #you should know #i had leonard cohen on #the entire time i was writing this

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nonobadcat · 1 year ago

Text

For @oklolnoty

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Whole story TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, severe quirk based discrimination, binge drinking, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (give/receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

Chapter 3: Choice - 4.1k words

TW: Oral (giving), mentions of quirk discrimination, non-con in entertainment media, and sexual harassment

At exactly 1:56 PM, you turned the corner from the main street onto a wide, concrete alley. Low, overcast ceilings hovered down around tall, glossy buildings. Vermillion hues, a product of human smog more than mother nature, washed the bottom of the clouds. From below the eaves of a grey high rise, a pair of narrow eyes, the same color as the sky, glared at you.

Shigaraki kicked off the hard wall, scratching his neck. “Aren’t you supposed to say something like: ‘Sorry, did I keep you waiting?’”

You hiked your bow-studded messenger back over your shoulder and sauntered to his side. Wrapping your hands around his arm, you smirked at him. “Why? I’m not sorry and I didn’t keep you waiting.”

Tomura stiffened. “What are you doing?!”

Huh… That reaction? At his age? Guess his mentor sent him to the hostess bar for a good reason.

You clamped down on him and sneered. “It’s 13°C and I’m in yoga pants. Shut up and be grateful for the view.”

Shigaraki’s gaze raked over your outfit. Tactically unzipped to the perfect level, the oversized hoodie gaped open to reveal a grey, ribbed tank almost as touchable as your ears. Its plunging neckline promised more cleavage than it delivered but the way it hugged your tits more than made up for the tease. The yoga pants in question smoothed your thighs and butt into sculpted perfection. Chunky, black sneakers with rhinestone accents added a girlish kick to the casual clothing. Taking a page from Lola Bunny, you wrapped your lop ears high on your head in a velvet bow.

“Hot, right?" you taunted. "It's too bad the club has a formal dress code. I think I causal-up really cute."

He scoffed.

You tugged his arm. "Third floor. Come on."

You dragged your date across the bland, grimey tile and past the money exchange service. A short ride up the cramped elevator carried you to the third floor. The bright, blue and red sign proclaimed “24 hours/365 days a year”. Beyond fingerprint-pocked glass doors lay the hidden depths of “MyStyle Manga Cafe”. You strolled in and dug your membership card out of your bag.

“I have a reservation for the VIP flatbed pair suite.”

The balding middle age manager scanned your card before handing you a ticket. “Room ten, just next to the copier. Payment is due when you leave.”

You nodded, tugging your victim's arm. Cherry flavored lips brushed against his ear. “I got the one with the locking door. It costs a little more, but you don’t mind paying for the upgrade, right, Tomura?"

Your date inhaled as if he’d been shot in the leg.

Oh. This was going to be fun.

Only about eight steps from the check-in desk, room ten was a cramped space, barely big enough for two adults. You flopped onto the thick, black floor pads and shoved the foam-stuffed pillow chair aside. The lock clicked from behind. New weight shifted the mat beside you. You rifled through your bag, humming the “item get” tune from Zelda as you produced a cheap USB drive. Within seconds, a pop colored menu burst to life on the computer screen.

“Animal Attraction: Tails of Love!” five different girls cried out from the crackling speakers.

Red eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

“You wanted the real me, right? Today, extra special for your royal pain-in-my-tail, I’m giving you the side I don’t show clients.” You held out a pair of cheap, padded headphones to him and flashed him a crooked smile. “Chase the cat girl, and I will claw your eyes out.”

A few hours later, a fluffy, white haired girl with blazing red eyes and tall rabbit ears stood at the back of an empty lecture hall. She picked at the heart shaped buttons of her pink sundress, refusing to look the player in the eye.

‘The truth is… the professor makes me feel uncomfortable,’ she explained, shifting nervously in her strappy sandals.' ‘Why? Did he do something?’ the player replied. She shook her head. ‘No. Not really. I mean, maybe I’m just imagining it but it just feels wrong. It makes my hair prickle and my stomach hurt when I’m around him.’ Fat tears welled at her pale lash line. ‘He asked me to go to his office hours today to discuss my grades but I... I just… I don’t know. I can’t put it into words.”

Choice:

Calm down. You’re just imagining things.

Your grades are fine, right? Just skip the office hours.

If he makes you uncomfortable, I’ll go with you.

Tomura clicked option 3.

‘Oh no!’ she protested. ‘He hasn’t done anything. I swear.’ Chewing her soft lips, she began to shake. She forced a smile. ‘Anyway, I’m sure I’m just being stupid. I’m sorry to have worried you over nothing.’ As she turned to bolt, the player grabbed her arm. 'Don’t say that about yourself! You’re not stupid!' Hard teeth bit quivering lips. Her nostrils flared. All at once her beautiful face contorted into pure pain. The camera panned high. A detailed CG filled the screen. Crumpled into her thighs, the heroine wailed at the top of her lungs. ‘I know I’m not! Everyone thinks I am just because I’m a bunny girl!’ she shrieked, grabbing at her ears. ‘I’m so sick of it. Day in, day out it’s ‘Smile for me sweetie. You’re so much prettier when you smile’ and ‘wow… isn’t a bachelor’s degree kinda hard for you?’ and ‘You want to join our club? No problem. Why don’t you grab us some drinks and you can sit here so everyone can see you?’' Twin fists slammed hard against the tile. ‘I’M A PERSON, NOT A MASCOT.’ The player kneeled beside her, their hand hovering for a moment before they pulled it away. “That sounds rough.” ‘It is rough,’ she agreed, fumbling for her abandoned purse. The player held out their hand towel. ‘Here.’ Watery eyes stared up at the player. ‘Look,’ the player continued. ‘You really aren’t stupid. If you say something is wrong then something is wrong. Even if you don’t want me to come, don’t go by yourself.’ She took the towel with a bright smile and shook her head. ‘No. I want you.’ Red eyes slipped shut as she buried her nose in the terry cloth. ‘I trust you, Tomura.’

Beside you on the floor, the real Tomura sneered. “100% guarantee the professor is a perv.”

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder.

His body went rigid.

“Something wrong?”

He coughed, tilting his legs so that his lap remained hidden. “It’s a pretty lame plot device. She should just drop-kick him through a window. Problem solved.”

You clicked your tongue. “It’s not that easy. She’s a senior in college and he manages her internship. If she makes him mad, her chances for getting a reference go up in flames.”

Boney fingers raked his neck. “That’s a load of crap.”

“But realistic,” you argued with a finger wag. “Despite being an indie project, the game got really good reviews specifically because the bunny girl route was such a realistic portrayal of sexual harassment.” A dark shadow filled your face. “Though there were some complaints.”

“Such as?”

Your eye twitched. “Apparently, the bad end wasn’t bad enough. If the player tells her to calm down, she quits school and leaves town, never to contact them again. Several reviewers insisted the professor should have on-camera raped her to really drive the point home that sexual harassment is bad.”

“...so they wanted to watch her get raped so they could whine about how rape is bad?”

“Yup,” you explained, flipping down onto the mat.

“That’s stupid.”

You laughed. “I know, right?! You need to just own your kink at that point! Don’t pretend you don’t like it just to feel morally superior.”

“You wrote this, didn’t you?”

“Oh no, no, no. I wrote AND coded it.” You slapped the computer and pointed to your head. “There’s more than good hair between these ears.”

“Good hair or good hare?”

“Hares are not the same as rabbits,” you reminded him.

Tomura snorted. “Okay. Okay. I got it.”

“You better!” You shoved his shoulder. “I have no interest in stupid guys.”

He stared down his nose at you. “So why play dumb yourself?”

“No matter what they claim, people have expectations based on appearances,” you muttered with a frown. “A hostess is selling a fantasy. Turns out customers don’t fantasize about smart bunny babes.”

“They should.”

You flashed him a coy grin. “Are you saying I’m not so boring now?”

He scoffed and turned his head, but you caught the pink tinge at the tip of his ears. You hummed knowingly. He scowled and pointed at the screen.

“Why even work as a hostess if you can do this? Was the pay crap or something?”

"No one wanted me."

Tomura raised a peeling brow. "Huh?"

"Well, not for my brains anyway," you huffed, crossing your arms. "One look at my bunny ears and suddenly everything on my resume might as well have read, 'S class whore'. Women whispered behind my back and men kept staring at my tits. No one bothered to hear what I had to say."

Tomura glanced back at the screen. Shining with tears, the bunny girl in the game peered at him from above her declaration of affection. His eyes rolled back to you. "So when did you make the game?"

"College, during my internship." You scowled. "Didn't go so well in the end either."

"The professor?"

You shook your head. "Two 'friends'. One kept demanding I write stuff about heat cycles in the bunny girl route to 'spice it up'. Bunnies don't have heat cycles. They have receptive periods. I tried to explain and he told me I was just being nit picky."

"Receptive periods?"

"Bunnies and cats are induced ovulators, meaning mating causes ovulation. Cats go through a period where they are super horny called a heat. They'd bang anything," you explained, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Female bunnies just become more tolerant of mating for a few days a month called a receptive period. They don’t crave it. It's totally different!"

"And outside that period they claw your eyes out?" he teased.

"Google it if you're so curious."

"So what happened with the other 'friend'?"

“He backed me… At least until I told he figured out I wasn’t just a pussy-machine that you put kindness coins in until it dispensed sex. Then he sided with the other guy.” You pulled your knees to your chin. “I don’t like shallow guys like that, so it wasn’t much of a loss.”

Dry lips pinched into a thin line.

A mischievous glint sparked in your eye. “Aw… not going to ask me what type of guy I do like?”

He scratched his neck, turning back to the game.

“Now who’s boring,” you muttered, pressing your cheek to his boney shoulder.

Mechanically, Tomura tapped through the dialogue line by line until the two characters reached the professor’s office. The love interest knocked twice and fixed her companion with a nervous smile before slipping inside. Listening at the door, the player was privy to only half the words shared between the two.

“...concerned for you… Your grades are...” “...doing my best!” “...under a lot of stress.”

Chapped lips quirked into a cruel smile. “Bad flag.”

“Professor! What are you doing!” “...calm down. Just let me—” “No!” THUD.

Tomura whistled. “That escalated quickly.”

You winced at the choices. “This is one of the parts where we got into a debate about the ‘true ending’.”

Choice:

Open the door

Make some noise

Leave. This is not your job.

He tapped the quick save in the top corner. “Two arbitrary choices and an obvious bad end? Pretty typical to me.” He clicked the first option.

The door knob refused to budge.

He save-scummed and clicked the second option.

No one inside the room heard a word.

“Oh.”

You crossed your arms. “The other developers thought the best way to win her heart was to go all ‘hero to the rescue’. However, if you were to do that, she won’t get a reference for a job.”

Red eyes shifted from you to the screen. With two taps, he quick-loaded the choice again. “Don’t be heroic, huh?” He sneered. “I like it.”

Tomura tapped the last box.

The player headed down the hallway, and around the corner. One screen shake later, they found themselves face first in the Dean of Students’ chest. Armed with an authority figure and a set of skeleton keys, the player returned to the scene of the crime. “You lead me on, you little slut!” “No! I swear I didn’t—” “You want to pass this class, right?” “Please don’t!” “Shut up and just—” The Dean shoved his keys into the lock before throwing open the door. “What on earth is going on here?!” Within seconds, the love interest threw herself into the player’s chest. “T-Tomura. I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Work smarter, not harder,” you cheered.

“Chcc…” Brittle nails raked his scabbed neck as he clicked into the next scene.

Down a long, winding side street, the player walked their love interest back to her home. When they reached the gate, she paused for a moment, digging her toe into the chipping sidewalk. Orange light streamed through the fluffy purple clouds. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at the player from under long lashes. "You walked me so far just so I wouldn't be scared." A warm flush flittered over her button nose. "Would you… would you like to come in for a snack before you go home?"

Choice:

I'm not hungry.

Sure.

A manicured hand slapped Tomura on the back so hard he jolted forward. Your claws pointed to the second choice as you cheered. "GET SOME, PLAYER!"

Tomura stuck his pinky in his ear, jiggling it to clear out the ringing noise. "Could you be a little more loud?!" he muttered, selecting the latter option.

You hummed and rolled your eyes.

On screen, the player followed their love interest up a short flight of stairs to a violently feminine bedroom. Pink polka dots and chubby cartoon carrots splattered the bedspread like some sort of kawaii-pox. Impractically sheer curtains provided no privacy from the tall windows. Taking a seat on the heart-studded floor cushions, the player listened as nervous rambling poured from their love interest’s lips. “—could get you some tea if you want? You know, like green tea? You like green tea right? Oh, wait, you might prefer barley… Do you? I don’t know if I have barley but I could go get some really quick from the convenience stor— er… oh… but that’d be rude to leave you alone since there isn’t anyone here right now.” She flushed pink from head to toe, furiously waving her hands. “Not that I planned it like that or anything! I mean… well… maybe I did but it wasn’t for that reason, I swear! I just have something to tell you and it was too embarrassing to say in front of people. Oh crap! No wait! No! I mean, I’m not embarrassed by you or anything! I-I’m just not confident in myself!” She melted into her palms, steam pouring from her ears. “Ohmigosh what am I even saying?!” Confused silence was her only reply. A low thumping vibrated from the speakers. The girl quickly gripped her long leg, forcing it to stop tapping the ground. Red eyes looked everywhere but on the screen. Glossy lips trembled. “I… I’m in love with you!” she blurted out, clipping the old speakers.

Choice:

I love you too

I prefer cat girls

The mouse hovered over the second option for a moment.

“You’re horrible!” you laughed, elbowing him in the rib.

He sneered at you before clicking the first line.

“Tomura… Can I… Could I kiss you?”

A gentle pop smack popped from the speakers.

“M-maybe… just one more?”

Small tongue clicks matched with a well timed lip bite, kept the IRL Tomura’s eyes glued to the screen.You reached for your purse.

“One more?” she begged, her voice raspy with need.

Tomura shifted, tugging at his pants. The back of your hand grazed his thigh. He didn’t budge. Satisfaction filled your stomach. You leaned in for the kill.

On screen, an erotic CG filled the screen complete with a covert cleavage shot and animated drool pooling at the corner of plush lips. Wet sucking noises split the needy whining. “Ah… Tomura… I feel so hot.”

“Ah… Tomura… I feel so hot.”

Your prey jolted as dual bunny girls echoed in his ears. His head snapped to you. You smirked at him and cupped his thigh.

His breath hitched.

Peering at him from below your lashes, you shuffled to your knees.

“What—” he gulped, leaning away “—are you doing?”

Your moist tongue flicked out, tasting your cherry lip balm. “That depends.”

Red eyes flashed to your lips. “On what?”

You chuckled, angling your chest until your top gaped open. Manicured nails dragged down bare skin into the valley between your breasts. “How much do you want?”

“How much of what?”

A fake, high pitched giggle rapidly devolved into a sensual sigh. Your lips grazed his ear. Warm breath tickled his cheek. “Of the truth?”

The mouse hit the floor mat with a soft pap.

“Like all truths, there’s a pretty part and an ugly part.” Walking your fingers up his thigh, you pressed onward with your tease. “The pretty part is I always wanted to try something like this with my boyfriend.” With a nod to the computer screen, you nuzzled baby blue locks from the edge of his jaw. “But of all the guys I’ve dated, you're the only one I know is nasty enough to be down for it.”

You snapped the button on his jeans open. He groaned.

“Neh. Tomura. You know that hostesses can get fired if they sleep with their clients, right?”

His zipper fell. Your hand slipped below his elastic band. Warm sweat beaded in the pile of wiry, pale curls. You combed lower. Something firm jumped at your touch.

“After all, men pay for the chase. If they catch you, they have no reason to come back. No club wants a hostess that loses clients.”

Tomura’s eyes lulled into his lids as you wormed your way down the shaft. More on instinct than rationale, he leaned into the cushion behind him and arched his hips. Little by little you wiggled him loose from the confines of stretch denim and into the cool air. Musky arousal left a sticky trail up your palm.

“But the ugly truth is I don’t want you to come back. You cause too much trouble, crusty boy.”

Crinkling foil caused his eyes to drift open. You wagged the pink rubber in front of his face, before lowering it to his weeping, red head. Gripping his thigh for balance, you leaned down and wrapped your mouth over the strawberry flavored plastic. You tongued it down his shaft. He gasped.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Tomura.”

He squinted down at you through watery eyes.

With a smirk, you nodded to the screen. “Keep going.”

Click.

“T-tomura… Ah! Wait! When you touch me like that I—!”

Keeping your lips tucked over your teeth, you teased down with pressure, making him fight you just enough to squeeze into your mouth. One hand cupped his shaft as your fingers made a firm ring. The other slipped lower, gently threading his balls between your rolling digits.

He moaned, closing his eyes.

You popped off his cock, giving him a long stroke. “Keep going.”

Click.

“Ah… Your tongue! Hah… so wet. **gulp** It’s so different from when I— ngnn!”

You tugged his shirt and caught his gaze. Your tongue fanned wide, taking a languid taste of artificial strawberry. Saliva pooled at the tip before dripping onto him. With rapt attention, he watched the droplet wind its way between every crease of the condom. When it bulged over the rolled rim, his cock throbbed against your mouth.

Click.

“—feels so hot.”

You plunged down over his length, sucking in your cheeks.

Click.

“M-my brain is kinda… ahhhhh… mu-shy…”

Angling him for mid-throat, you pressed on until coarse hair tickled your nose.

Click.

“Just like that! Ohmigosh Tomura I need—”

Who knew crusty boy was packing a good cock? Not some hentai-worthy pussy destroyer or anything but the curve would have been nice to ride. Too bad the girth made your jaw ache.

Click.

“Tomura. Oh, Tomura. Right there! Please. Hah. S-so close.”

She wasn’t the only one. Half of Tomura’s hand clamped down on your skull. Sharp nails pricked your scalp as he curled most of his fingers into your hair. Insistent tugs set a punishing pace. Your neck burned. Salty snot dripped from your nose. A stream of garbled cuss words slipped from his lips.

Click.

“—gonna! Mmmm gonna—!”

As the screen flashed white, Tomura stuffed you into his crotch. His swollen head pressed hard into your tender throat. You gagged. He groaned. Cum-filled condom ballooned at the back of your tongue. You jerked your head to the side, trying to free yourself.

He ripped his hand away. “Don’t do that!” he snapped.

Hacking into your fist, you glared at him. “Then d-coughcough-n’t choke me, moron!”

Beady eyes narrowed. He grabbed your shoulder and wrapped his legs around your thigh. The world flipped. Your head collided with the hard mat. Vision spinning, you coughed again through painful tears. Tomura snatched up the torn wrapper, dangling it over your chest.

“Watch,” he commanded.

One at a time, he brought his fingers down onto the pink foil. After four exaggerated pinches, nothing appeared to change. You opened your mouth to tell him off just as all five fingers touched the packet. All at once, dry ash fluttered through the air. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Welp, that explained why he seemed so touch starved.

“Understand now?!” His hard fist smacked the padding beside your head. “I could have killed you, idiot!”

Between a tight throat and breathless lungs, no words could escape. Ice snaked through your veins. For the first time in a long time, terror rippled across your skin like a shock from a cattle prod. You swallowed, sniffing back tears.

With a deep breath, Tomura rolled off of you and shuffled away. He picked at the drooping plastic like a child picks at bell peppers. Cracking lips pouted. “How do I get this thing off?”

“O-oh…” You shoved off the mat and kneeled beside him. “Here. Let me—”

When your hand bumped his, every hair on your body prickled.

He pulled his arm away and averted his gaze. “Whatever. Don’t force yourself.

You grunted before lunging for his lap. One hand caught his jaw. The other circled his now drooping cock. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before turning him to watch.

“Not uh. Not until you understand.”

Centimeter by centimeter, you carefully dragged the condom free. Your fingers brushed his weeping tip. It jumped from the contact. The hand on his face trailed down his chest, following every dip until it bumped its twin. Three deft twists and a tight knot secured the payload. You swung it back and forth from your fingers and fixed him with a sultry grin.

“Don’t tell a professional how to do her job,” you warned.

Tossing the condom over your shoulder, you wrenched his face to yours and locked him in a blazing kiss. His eyes bulged. Your knee slipped between his as your tongue dove through his defenses. Nip after nip, you coaxed him into your clutches.

A low groan vibrated from his chest. His hands slid up your hips.The hair on your neck prickled. You ignored it, pressing slow, sensual affections deep into his skin. A whiff of your perfume slipped by your nose. Something twitched against your pants. Your toothy grin pricked his chapped lips.

Got him.

Careful to peel away rather than pull, you scooped up your bag and the evidence of your little ploy. Through heaving pants, he shot you a pointed look. You nodded to the computer clock. It read a quarter to nine.

“I have another arrangement at nine thirty, so I have to get dressed. Make sure you clear out by midnight or they’ll charge you extra.” You nudged his now swollen cock with the tip of your toe. He shivered. Manicured nails clacked on the door handle. “Hope the rest of your night is less boring—” You flashed him a wink. “—Tomura. ❤”

You swung your hips and strutted away.

Violent curses chased you down the hall.

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Next Chapter Expected: July 30th, 2023

Expected Completion Date: Mid-Aug 2023

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