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darthannie · 8 months

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kinktober day one: overstimulation with robert fischer

pairing: Robert Fischer x f!reader word count: 973 warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, Overstimulation, a smidge of non-con (you’ll see when), Robert drives himself places because I said so a/n: HAPPY FIRST DAY OF KINKTOBER. I hope I make it through the whole thing. Enjoy day one!!!

Kinktober Masterlist

Friday nights were special to Robert. It was the one night a week he set aside for himself, and more specifically, for you.

He loved taking care of you. When everything felt like it was getting too much he turned to you.

You and Robert were out on a date at a beautiful restaurant on the water. You spent the night conversing and making him laugh. You truly did make him happy.

You wore his favorite dress on purpose. You knew he’d be dying to take it off by the end of the night. The deep green fabric hugged at your waist and stopped at the knee. You took his breath away the first time you wore it. And, he almost ripped a hole in it the first time he tried to take it off.

At the end of dinner, he gave the waiter his black Amex before he could even show him the bill. You had hearts in your eyes. You never expected the honeymoon period in your relationship to last over three years, yet here you were.

When the waiter returned to the table, Robert handed him a hefty cash tip. You both got up and Robert reached out his hand for you to grab. He guided you out of the restaurant. While outside the valet returned with his car.

Robert opened the door for you and you held his hand as you slipped into his silver Mercedes. He walked around to the driver’s side and got in quickly. Robert had one thing on his mind all night. He couldn’t wait to get home and slip that pretty green dress off your body.

When he finally did get you both home he was kissing you before you were even through the threshold. He was hungry for you. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you up the stairs. When you got to your shared bedroom he took off his blazer and you took off your heels.

You reached for his suspenders and dragged them off his shoulders. He kicked off his shoes. Then, you untucked his shirt and started unbuttoning it quickly. Once it was off you dragged your hands across his chest.

He grabbed your chin lightly and brought his lips close to yours. “You really want it tonight, don’t you?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Really fucking bad, Robert.”, you played along.

“You’re gonna be begging me to stop, baby.” He kissed your neck.

You giggled and replied, “Yeah, right.”

He pulled away and raised an eyebrow, “‘Yeah, right?’ Do you think I’m bluffing?”

“Yeah, maybe you are.” You had meant it in a joking manner, but you could tell it struck a chord.

He hummed and reached his hand to the back of your dress, unzipping it. He placed both hands on your shoulders and dragged the dress off you, exposing your breasts and a lacey excuse for underwear. He hooked his fingers over the hem and tore them off. The sound of fabric ripping cut through the silence.

His jaw clenched as he reached in between your legs, feeling how wet you were.

He spoke in a low tone, “I think tonight… I’m gonna make you cum as many times as I say.”

He pulled his hand away and dragged you to the bed. He took off the rest of his clothing and dove down on top of you. You giggled as you crashed down onto the mattress. You liked it whenever Robert got playful, but tonight it seemed like it was something beyond playful.

Tonight he wanted control.

You grabbed his cock and began to stroke it. He held in a moan and grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Not tonight. We’re doing something different tonight,” he grunted as he entered you quickly.

He hit a spot so deep your body jerked up. He started fucking you with reckless abandon, using his thumb on your clit to make you cum faster than you ever had. You squeezed his cock as you came.

He pulled out before he could cum and brought himself down to your clit. Before you could even recover his tongue was working on you.

Your voice was unstable, “Robert, what are you doing? Fuck.”

He didn’t respond. He was too busy sucking on your clit. The sensation was taking over your body. It felt like pins and needles all over your skin. He made you cum again but didn’t move away from you. He kept going, making your entire body shake. Whines and whimpers were all you were able to let out. Any words you had on your mind died before they even reached your tongue.

He got back into position and started to fuck you again. You were thrashing around underneath him. To put a stop to your convulsion, he pinned down your wrists and laid on top of you.

“Please, Robert, enough!”, you pleaded.

He smirked, “Told you you’d be begging me to stop.”

You wanted to be firmer in your reaction. Fight him. Scream at him to stop. But, you couldn’t. He’s never made you feel like this before. You were completely broken and it was the best you’ve felt in ages.

He made you cum again and he let go of your wrists. You put your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He fucked you through your orgasm. You were panting as he came inside you. He was loud tonight; his moans filled the room.

He pulled out and your body trembled. All the stimulation was a complete shock to your system. You thought it was over, but then you saw him crawling back to your pussy. He licked and you yelped, trying to close your legs as he held them open.

He fixed his hair and asked, “Think I’m bluffing now?”

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka

(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)

#kinktober ‘23 #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #robert fischer smut #robert fischer x reader #annie writes

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semiweirdshipper · 1 year

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Killer reactions to a legally blind reader who had their glasses stolen from them during a trial. (Part two).

Notes: Non-binary reader. Warnings for minor, non-graphic violence and character injury.

...

Ji-woon

He saw you struggling to walk through the forest, your arms spread out and feet stuttering in caution. Concern invaded, and he quickly ran up to you. When he noticed that you didn't have your glasses on, he asked suspiciously, "Where are your glasses?"

Ji-woon watched as you gasped and tensed up as if expecting an attack, and he frowned in dejection. "Uh? Don't be afraid," He reached down to gently grab your hand, saying reassuredly, "I'll help you escape, yes?"

"You... You'll help me? Really?" You timidly asked, your body still tense, "But... Why?"

"Oh," Ji-woon giggled, grinning big and blushing, "You are my favorite. I like you."

Seeing you gape like a fish caused Ji-woon to giggle even more in fondness and amusement. "You're so cute, (y/n)," He slowly guided you over to some boxes and had you sit down on one, "Wait here. I'll be back soon, uh?"

"O-ok," You nodded, hiding your bashful face, "Thank you."

Man, you were so freakin adorable. Ji-woon grinned maliciously and took off, his blood running hot with vengeance. Vengeance that didn't take but ten minutes to achieve, especially whenever he discovered your glasses broken in David's pocket. Those no good rats.

Returning to your side, Ji-woon reached out for your hand again and smiled, "Ready?"

"Yes," You say softly, blushing as he let you use him for support, "Thank you again."

Ji-woon puffed his chest out in pride. "Anything for you, aleumdaun."

Pinhead/Elliot Spencer

He felt the calling of the lament and, realizing that it was you who was summoning him, he immediately teleported to your location. When he arrived, he spotted you shyly standing near a pallet, your exposed eyes squinted harshly as you cautiously stood your ground.

"You solved the lament configuration," Elliot tilted his head in curiosity and hidden surprise, "But to what cause?"

You hesitated, looking fretful, "You... You said that if I solved the box then I... I would get a reward? Well... I-I want my glasses back. Please? Nea stole them."

A glimmer of a smirk shown within Elliot's piercing black eyes, "You have become bold, I see. Are you to assume that 'returning your glasses' is all I have in mind for you?"

"I..." You gaped, looking horrified and regretful, like you were imagining him torturing you, "I..."

"Stay here," Elliot demanded and briefly turned away. He was able to locate Nea, hook her and retrieve your glasses. When he returned to you, you had the most defeated, hopeless expression on your face, and it tore at his soul.

"I suppose the full extent of your reward can wait until another time," He said in a much more soothing tone than what he usually used, and he handed you your glasses. "I do not enjoy witnessing you treated with disrespect."

Fiddling with your glasses for a moment, you slid them on and looked up at him with flattered yet timid eyes, "Thank you, Elliot. Maybe... Maybe next time?"

Elliot smirked and swiftly turned around to leave, "I will be waiting."

Evan

He saw you walking around calling out for Jake to give you your glasses back and, at first, he chose to ignore you. Surely soon Jake would return them to you. Well...

Apparently not.

Several times Evan had crossed paths with you only to see you struggling every single time, looking lost and helpless. It pulled at his heart and made him angry. How could anyone treat you this way?

Remembering that it was Jake you were calling out for, Evan went and found the traitor, killed him and retrieved your glasses. Then he found you respectfully working on a generator. God... He liked you too dang much.

When you noticed him approaching, you tensed up and bowed your head in miserable acceptance. "Here, darlin'," Evan said, lifting your glasses out, "Think you're missin' these."

"Huh?" You blinked at him, the sight of your exposed eyes doing things to him. Taking your glasses back, you slid them on your face, stammering in gratitude, embarrassment and fear, "Th-thank you. Really. I'm... I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Evan took a few steps back to help ease your anxiety, "Ain't no one got an excuse good 'nough to treat ya that way."

You whimpered, covering your cheeks with your palms. So adorable. "Thank you."

Evan smiled beneath his mask and turned away, damming Jake for his shenanigans and yet also thanking him at the same time. Let's just say, he really enjoyed this trial.

Pyramid Head/The Executioner

He doesn't know much about human anatomy but he does know that those glass things help you see. He's also good at sensing distress and emotional turmoil, and during this trial you were utterly decomposed unlike usual.

And the Executioner does not appreciate it when his favorite human is in distress, especially when the distress is caused by other guilty, shameful humans.

Leaving you be to your objectives, The Executioner lurks around hooking and searching for something he doesn't quite understand. It's difficult to navigate who has your glasses exactly, and he really does search. He tears apart clothes, he breaks fingers and he even shakes the survivors, but to no avail.

Eventually he hooks the third survivor Claudette and searches for you, discovering you hiding amongst some pillars. When you notice him approaching, you gasp and run straight first into a wall.

With all hope lost, you crouch down and begin to hopelessly cry, humiliation, sadness and frustration steaming from your body.

The Executioner walked closer, stopping before you and bending forward as much as he was capable of. He then dropped an object into your lap.

You jostled in shock, your eyes going wide when you felt what exactly the object was. Glasses. But... Not your glasses. "These... These are Claudettes?" You ask, slipping on the tiny glasses. They barely helped you to see, honestly.

But they would be good enough, and you were grateful for his generosity, "Thank you."

Proud and satisfied, the Executioner nodded, took a few steps away and gazed back at you. Come on. The hatch isn't going to find itself.

Wesker

You're his favorite survivor, so he searches for you first only to find you getting laughed at by Quintin. He had your glasses. You were struggling to chase him, putting up quite a fight until he purposely tripped you and sent you falling face first to the ground.

Oh. Oh, that boy was so done for. Wesker's eyes burned orange, and he flew up to the treacherous nobody, jamming him with uroboros. Quintin screamed and dropped your glasses. Wesker picked them up and finished chasing the coward, hooking him shortly.

By the time he returned to you, he was amused to see you standing and searching around, obviously focused and self-aware. "Tis a pity you can be taken advantage of so easily, (y/n)," Wesker said, twirling your glasses around, "I almost feel sorry for you."

He eagerly awaited a snappy, passionate reaction from you, but was ultimately met with deafening silence. You weren't even looking at him, your head bowed, hands gripping a barrel and your face twisting with hatred and shame.

It was as if you expected the worst out of everyone including him.

"What will I get if I return them to you?" Wesker asked, stepping closer.

You mumbled back, "Just kill me, Wesker. I'm done."

Out of all his time here, Wesker had never, ever seen you give up. It made him... Concerned. "How long has this been going on?" He stopped beside you and handed you your glasses back.

You were taken aback by his kindness and consideration, and you went to put your glasses back on, "A while."

"Well then," Wesker smirked, aching to touch your face, "I suppose we'll need to put a stop to this. Won't we?"

Max

He doesn't really understand what's going on at first. All he knows is that you're really, really struggling. The only reason he can think why is because you didn't have your glasses. Why though? Where were they?

Hesitant, shy and nervous, Max tries his hardest to avoid hooking you. There is one time, however, that he hears you calling out for Feng to give you your glasses back. Ah ha. So Feng took them. That monster. How could she do this?

Max then makes it his number-one priority to catch Feng and return your glasses. It doesn't take him long, but when he throws her over his shoulder, he hears a distinct crack, and panics. Oh... No...

Dropping Feng unceremoniously, Max searches her hoodie and finds your shattered glasses. Noooooooo! No, he broke your glasses. Ah, what was he supposed to do? You were gonna be so mad at him and upset, and you wouldn't be able to see, and he felt so bad. Just- ahhh!

He let you down. Max growled in distress, his chest aching. He really, really let you down. Oh, he was so sorry.

But he wasn't going to hide from you despite every nerve in his body wanting him too. Instead, he killed the rest of the survivors, deserted his chainsaw and hammer, and timidly approached you.

Whenever you noticed him, you covered your face and awaited pain, but felt none. Sensing that he was close, you gaped and whimpered, "Max?"

Wow, your eyes were really pretty. Max blushed, his chest filling with butterflies. He walked forward and gently tapped on your forearm.

"What?" You whispered softly, "I-I can't see, I-I'm sorry."

Even though it hurt him to speak, Max managed to say "hatch". You looked at him with utter gratitude, grabbing onto his offered arm and saying shyly, "Thank you, Max. I-I really appreciate it."

Max smiled and growled happily. Good grief, the 'butterflies'.

#ji woon hak x reader #pinhead x reader #albert wesker x reader #max thompson x reader #evan macmillan x reader #pyramid head x reader #dead by daylight #fanfiction #slashers #reader insert #killers x reader #slasher fanfiction

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miguelswifey04 · 10 months

Note

May I request Miguel “The wilderness must be explored” O’Hara insisting on eating the reader out even though the reader hasn’t had time to go get their usual waxing done?

oh god yes! i love your brain 🧠 <3

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“relax, i don’t care if you’ve waxed or not.” miguel rolled his eyes in a playful manner as he gripped onto your plush thighs. his fingers were digging into the edges of your thighs as they dipped into the pillowy areas—leaving finger marks. you slightly closed your legs on his face as you felt your cheeks warm up at his comment.

“but—miguel, i really haven’t waxed wouldn’t that make you feel—” miguel cut you off as his grip loosened a bit and went up to meet your face as he gave you a soft kiss against your lips, “i promise you, i don’t care whether you have shaved or not. please let me taste you, sweetheart.” he reassured you multiple times as he promised you he didn’t mind at all. you simply nodded while you felt yourself get wetter as miguel traced hot hungry kisses on your breasts for more reassurance. he did so to ease your nervousness. he tore your bra off in one swift motion and he massaged your small perky breasts, bringing his face up close. he always praised for how beautiful and perfect you were in his eyes no matter what. he then took one breast in his hand while he latched his lips onto your other hardened peak. he suckled gently and harshly earning moans from your pretty mouth. he took his time with you as his main focused was to play and caresses your nipples. he loved how wet you’d get every time he’d give attention to your perky breasts, and with that miguel teasingly brought his hand down to your damp panties. he could feel how swollen your clit was as he gently circled your clit with your fingers in a teasing manner. your body trembled and jolted from the immense pleasure…it was pretty stimulating since you were always so sensitive.

“ah, sensitive as always, don’t worry you’ll be screaming my name when i eat you out.” miguel’s lips left your hardened peaks with a pop as he lowered himself down to your wet panties. god he could smell just how wet you were which made his cock harden and slightly twitch within the confines of his boxers. “you smell so good…”

with one hook of his fingers miguel brought your panties to the side seeing a few strings of your wetness connected to your panties. you were a mess and to say you were also nervous was an understatement. this was your first time miguel was going to eat you out where you haven’t shaved at all. miguel looks up at you with hungry and lust in his eyes. all you could do was nod giving him your permission to eat you out. so, miguel grabbed the back of your thighs angling your knees to meet your chest so he could have the perfect view of your hairy pussy. he couldn’t lie to himself the view of your hairy pussy made him harder than other times where you’ve shaved. his warm breath ghosting against your most intimate of areas. he could see the way your pussy and the tight hole of your ass clench around over nothing.

without hesitation, his tongue darts out to swipe along your folds, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. his movements are purposeful, his tongue skillfully exploring every sensitive spot, flicking and teasing with precision. “you taste so fucking good, muñeca.”

the sensation is electrifying, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. miguel’s devotion to your pleasure is evident in his fervent efforts, each lick and caress driving you closer to the edge. his hands wander, exploring your curves and guiding you towards the peak of ecstasy. while miguel laps up the excess juices that spilled out from your pussy, he brought his other hand where his thumb rubbed small gentle circles on your other hole. he would casually dip his thumb inside the tight hole of your ass as you moaned out his name. “mmm-mmiguel mmmmm, deeper-” he always liked to give you the upmost pleasure and he loved seeing you so weak under his control. he fingered your ass with his thumb while focusing on making out with your pretty hairy pussy.

moans of delight escape your lips as his skilled tongue brings you to the brink of release, the intensity building within you. the power and control you exert over miguel, even in this role reversal, fuels your desire further, heightening the pleasure coursing through your veins. he would dip a couple fingers inside your soaking pussy that was coated with his saliva as he continued to suck and circle his tongue against your clit. your thighs squeeze his face as he grunts over on your swollen clit.

as you reach your climax, you whole body convulses as you feel the warm rush of your essence coating miguel’s face. he continues to lap up your essence with unyielding dedication, his own desire evident in the way he devours every drop. he slightly let’s go of your legs as you meet his gaze. his chin is wet from your essence and he licks his fingers all clean right in front of you. “you always taste so good…but i’m not done with you wet.” your face contorts in a confused look as miguel brings you closer to the edge of the bed as he stands up right in front of you. “get ready because i can go for a couple rounds.”

———

a/n: good god 😩

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv x reader #miguel spiderman #spider person #miguel o’hara x y/n #spidersona #ao3 works #miguel x you #miguel o’hara smut #🌱 lin writes

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sophswritingthings · 6 months

Note

PART TWO TO THE APOTHECARY WIFE, imagine that Mizu and her Wife are at the cliff during that festival with Ringo and then the four fangs attack resulting Mizus wife getting cut in the waist which made Mizu angry. (Mizu with a wife makes me happy)

pairing: mizu x fem!apothecary!reader

warning(s): blood, swearing

a/n: ooooohhhhh protective mizu how I love you. also, anon, I love you too thank you for allowing me to indulge in this. reader refers to mizu as male when around others <3

summary: after mizu finally allowed you to travel with her, you arrive on Tanabe Island to catch a boat. when the four fangs find her and you’re injured.. let’s say mizu’s not happy.

word count: 982 words / 5,223 characters

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you're glancing around, your arm hooked around mizu's as you walked. you had came to tanabe island to find a boat; a boat you had been denied until their festivities were over. which means you were stuck here until morning.

It wasn’t all bad; it really wasn’t. time you got to relax with mizu, and a rest from your travels wasn’t bad at all.

“(y/n),” mizu says rather softly, making your head come up to meet her eyes. “why don’t you go with ringo? explore a little.”

your eyes narrow. you know what she’s attempting to do. she’s attempting to keep you out of danger, which, you appreciated. but at the same time, you didn’t want to be coddled like you weren’t a grown woman.

“I’m not leaving your side,” your grip tightened on her arm. “god knows you are going to get yourself hurt again, and I need to be there and help you.”

mizu sighed. she knew she wasn’t getting through you.

“fine, fine,” she grumbled. “but leave five feet from my sight and you'll be going right back here.”

you nod, laughing a little, “I’ve got it, mizu,” you whisper back. “where are you planning to go, anyway?”

“to train,” she replied, taking your hand and leading you out into the snowy forest. you watched your wife train often. you enjoyed seeing her do it; knowing that she was secretly trying to show off for you.

you sat on a tree stump, one she had cut down previously. you watched her precise movements, her clean cuts. you loved the way her mind worked… it worked in such a different way from yours.

perhaps that’s why you fit so well together.

she had a mind for strategy, for battle. you could see her gears spinning in her mind, yet never know when she would strike, and where.

and you had a mind for healing. you knew what worked well together, and how to heal even the deepest of wounds. you were so different; yet you're love burned deeply.

a rustle in the woods piqued your interest.

mizu didn’t seem to hear it; she was too focused on her work.

you couldn’t see anyone in the forest, so you assumed it was just a small animal. something you didn’t need to worry about. you didn’t dare tell mizu; it would only worry her.

after a while, you two had settled down by a fire. you were nestled up against your wife. mizu was holding your hands, gently playing with your fingers. she didn’t have her glasses on, not her hat, there was nothing to hide between you two.

you knew her secrets. her flaws. you loved her despite them.

when the beating of the drums came, your wife looked ready to get up, and to go and see what was happening.

but she couldn’t. a sword stabbed through the tree, almost piercing her head.

you jumped up, sticking close to your wife. she had one arm around your waist, her other hand held her sword. she had her glasses back on, her eyes narrowed to the men that were approaching.

you're eyes were wide with shock.

the four fangs.

“you can take those off,” one man hissed, raising an eyebrow as his sword pointed at her. “we know what they hide.”

mizu didn’t speak, at first. she tore off her glasses, tossing them to the side. revealing the blue eyes of what they perceived as a demon.

she leant down and whispered to you,

“go. go and run, hide somewhere I can find you when I’m done here.”

you glanced at her for a moment. you saw the determination in her eyes, the strength.

you thought about it, for a moment.

but you had made your decision—you promised you weren’t going to leave her, and you were a woman of her word.

“no,” you hiss, “I’m here with you, my love, and I’m not leaving you.”

“a samurai traveling with his wife… traveling with…”

he paused, gazing at you.

“weakness.”

the four fangs had cornered them onto a cliff. there was four of them… and one samurai. they were indubitably fucked.

your eyes shot wide and your body folded with one slash to your waist.

you fell Into the snow, blood spilling from your wound. you knew it wasn’t a deep wound; but if it wasn’t treated soon you would bleed out in the snow.

mizu stared at you for a moment, her eyes wide and looking as if she wanted to cry.

though it quickly turned to one of anger, looking back at the four fangs—

“you're going to fucking regret that.” she hissed, engaging in fight with the fangs.

she took each of them down relentlessly; her anger evident from the way this man had hurt you.

she had the last one pinned to the grass, a sword at his chest. he was bleeding from multiple points—specifically where she had sliced his arm clean off, ready to do the same with his head if he tried anything.

“you'll never fucking think of touching my wife ever again,” she narrowed her eyes, stabbing the sword straight through his chest. he screamed in pain, his body convulsing before it eventually gave out.

you were still alive, cleaning your wound as best as you could.

mizu walked over to you, covered in the four fangs blood. she lifted you from the snow, placing you much more comfortably in her lap.

“.. you're going to be okay, right?” mizu asked the question, as if needing you to say yes.

“yes, my love,” you brushed a hand across her cheek. “my wound isn’t deep. It will need to be stitched, though..”

“you have no need to worry about that,” she tucked a strand of hair out of your face. “I’ll handle everything, my darling. you need to heal if we are to travel, soon.”

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a/n: okay so tell me that when mizu said she wanted to go see the “fun” she wasn’t talking about seeing naked women. TELL ME SHE WASNT I DARE YOU (also mizu having a wife makes me happy, too)

#mizu x reader #mizu #blue eyed samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #fanfic #fanfic rec #fic request #ask #asked and answered

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ethereal-night-fairy · 4 months

Text

Heavenly saviour

This short fic was inspired by this artwork.

What if we had a reverse Knight Au where the reader is female knights similar to valkyries in the Thor movies. And Ghost gets to be the pretty prince who's been unfairly kept and tortured only to be saved by his darling. (Tbh I have no idea who's kidnapped ghost but I just want to see him be saved by a female knight)

I know I said female knight but I wrote this as gender neutral to include everyone who wants to play the saviour for ghost.

Prince!Ghost x GN Knight!reader

Masterlist

Words: 1k

Warnings: MDNI, gore, blood, torture, trauma, love at first sight, pining if you squint.

The dungeon is cold, dark and decrepit. The smell of mold and iron was suffocating. But he had no other choice but to breath it. Thankfully the darkness shrouded his mangeled body. Hiding it from his own view for the time being. But the mutilated images persisted in his mind. Simon heaved the air collapsing in his lungs. They had left him hung and from his ribs, red crimson liquid pooling at his feet. The hook so meanly embedded into his tender flesh. He was no better than a pig hung after slaughter. Though his captors weren't as kind to put him out of his misery. He wouldn't be surprised if it was his father who had sold him to these people for some cheap entertainment. The kingdom was on the brink of collapse anyway, the fucker was probably hoarding as much money as he could. Nor him or his brother could do anything to protect anyone from their fathers wrath. He vowed if he got out of here alive he'd do anything in his power to save his people and family from demise.

His muscles screamed from being pulled and stretched unnaturally. His vision blurry from the pain and stray tears. His pale body scarred beyond recognition. Red hot slashes decorating his supple flesh. His breathing becoming laboured as he whispers his mother's name thinking this was the end.

In his delirium he thinks he hears distant screams followed by shouting. Heavy footsteps by the dozen clambered down like thunder over his head. Their boasterous movement rung out through the manor vibrating down to the dungeon. Had someone come save him? Had God sent him a saviour? Had salvation finally come? If he could scream he would have screamed and shouted until his vocal chords tore but he was fatigued and barely able to keep his head up. If this truly was a hallucination he wishes to see his mother caressing his cheek before he passes. If he truly wasn't forsaken, God would grant him this small request before his last breath.

The screams died down, maybe it was all in his head after all. It was hard to tell if anything was real anymore. Maybe he was already dead and this was his purgatory. All he could see was the congealed blood at his feet. The same blood painted his skin an awful shade of red. He heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs. Ones he would often dread. So he waits patiently for whoever had decided to put him out of his misery.

When the crash comes he desperately opens his eyes to look at the broken entrance to the cellar. Trying to figure out if it was a friend or foe. There you stood in all your glory. The light coming from the lit staircase bounced off your armor creating a celestial glow around you. The tears in his eyes caused the light to distort making it look like the heavens had blessed his knight with golden wings.

He watched you walk towards him with confident steps. Your expression ghastly, a bloody sword clutched in your hand. He couldn't quite make out your features; he was too delirious at this point. But you look like an angel; here to enact divine justice. Everything felt fuzzy and shapeless the closer you got. Like he was floating away.

But that changed the second you touched his mutilated skin. You brought him crashing down to reality. Like Icarus plummeting to his demise, the only difference was you were here to catch him. Every nerve ending springs alive to throw him back in the cycle of his never ending pain. Your words are soft and soothing as you try to get him to settle. He wished he could make out your features properly. Wished he could burn your image into his mind. But fresh tears obstructed his view. Gasps and groans spill from his cut face when you pry away the hook that's lodged between his ribs, taking the brunt of his weight.

You lower his body to the ground as you tell you've got him now. That you'll take care of everything from here. He shows you a smile so kind and sweet you wondered how anyone had the heart to harm him. Though It didn't matter anymore they were all dead now. Laying in pools of their own blood when you had chopped them down like the animals they were. You watch the prince go in and out of consciousness as you tie rags to his most open wounds.

“Captain! King Price has sent word! The castle has been captured! All occupants were killed before the arrival of our army. Reports say the previous King went on a murder rampage before fleeing with a small entourage. Prince Simon wasn't found among the dead bodies!”, one of you soldiers comes down to report to you waiting at the entrance of the cellar. Your body obscuring his view of the person you were tending too. You take the handkerchief off on your arm as you go to tie it around the prince's face making sure not to obstruct his ragged breathing in any way.

“Go now tell the King all noble houses have been dealt with…Prince Simon wasn't found among any of the bodies”, the soldier leaves immediately at your words as you lift the Prince's body in your arms. Ready to carry him to safety. You'll report the truth to the King later. But there was no way you'd let this poor prince suffer any more humiliation than he had already experienced.

His brother and mother didn't deserve to die the way they did. And you'd do your utmost to make sure you'll protect the prince, like he had protected you when you were only but a mere peasant. His smile never changed, not even after all the torment he faced. Even though they had tried to carve it out of him; no bruise or scar could ever take away from his radiance.

This was a new era for him. One in which you plan to be his sword. To be his shield, to be his…just his. He could use you however he sees fit. You will stand by him regardless; come hell or high water.

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lanas-delight · 6 months

Text

the one that got away.

♫ rec: when i was your man by bruno mars

✰ an enhypen scenario || word count: around 2k, w/ fem-presenting!reader, heeseung, & sunghoon

✰ description — years after an anniversary dinner gone wrong, heeseung finds himself singing at your wedding as a favor to you and your new husband, even if that meant he’d have to bury his feelings and his regrets from the past.

✰ warnings — angst. literally just a lot of angst.

✰ note — inspired by the off my face cover by heeseung (and A LOT of kdramas....). 🤍 enjoy !

(why didnt i change the warnings good god IGNORE THE OG WARNINGS ITS FIXED NOW I FORGOT TO CHANGE IT WHEN I COPIED THIS FORMAT FROM MY OTHER DRAFT OMLLL)

The sun had fallen in the early evening. The sky was dark, though plastered with stars. It was a day in mid-July, a clear day after a week's worth of rainy days, and the air felt so clear, the breeze so warm but soft. It was a day that would begin your new life, and relive in your memories every day for the rest of your life. You knew that too well.

In a white tent surrounded by a meadow of sunflowers, lights all around, lighting up the grounds as the wedding march echoed from the grand piano, everyone was standing, watching as you, the bride, walked down the aisle, hooked arms with another’s arm, as you approached your fiancé, soon-to-be husband, Sunghoon. His furrowed brows raised at the sight, you in a beautiful white dress, lace at every edge of the dress, your hands delicately shown off bare, your ring finger empty only for a few more moments. Sunghoon gazed at you, admired every piece of you, curving his lips into a smile. A whisper, “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” comes from his mouth for only you to hear. Your cheeks heated up, just like they did on your first date, when he said a cheesy pick up line to make you laugh, which it did, but you felt your cheeks heat up, like you were blushing, too. He noticed it quick.

The priest started to speak, everyone took their seats once again. It went quiet, only the soft echo of crickets in the far distance behind the strong voice of the priest’s. He goes on to welcome the guests and start the speech to where Y/N and Sunghoon would repeat his words and then kiss to confirm their marriage to one another. They had said their vows privately that morning, backs facing each other on a wide bench by the water. It was beautiful, and it respected the tradition of not seeing each other before the wedding. It was your idea, and Sunghoon tried his best to not sneak a glance but he knew you looked so beautiful.

You had this day planned out since you were six, the first time you took one of the pillow sheets and put it on your head like a veil, prancing around the house like a happy bride. You picked out your ideal dress through boredom on a late night in middle school, chose what your bouquet would like in after a trip to a community garden. You had met the most perfect man, had the perfect life, your perfect wedding, but there was something missing.

In the crowd, in the middle of the third row on the left side, sat Heeseung, his hands knotted together in his lap as he watched you kiss him. His face was pale, his eyes wide but inside, he felt his heart shatter and all the little pieces fell to his stomach. There was a part of him that knew he had no reason to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it.

He wasn’t supposed to be there. He only went because you asked, as a favor. He was a singer, a very good one, and the original singer you had hired came down with the flu last minute so you called him in a panic as a last resort. He said yes, which surprised you, but you were thankful. You gave him a list of songs that the original singer had made for their performance, and Heeseung told you he’d be there and that was the end of it. Now, at the wedding, you had forgotten he was to attend at all. You felt his stare, amongst the other eyes glued to you from all around the room, but his was distant, yet it tore you apart little by little.

After the kiss, everyone rose from their seats and clapped, cheering for you and Sunghoon, except Heeseung. He didn’t stand with the others, but once he did, he turned and scooted through the other people in the row so he could get ready for his performance at the reception.

If he was asked about how he felt, not that he ever would be, but if he was, he would say that it took everything in him to stay for the reception and to sing in front of everyone—old friends, some faces he didn’t recognize, and the family he was supposed to be apart of. It was his fault, everyone in that room knew it, claiming more than Heeseung did, but that wasn’t true. He relives his nightmare everyday, seeing you with another man, happier without him.

You and Sunghoon had gone off to change into more comfortable, though still formal outfits, with Sunghoon wearing a lighter colored suit, a loose tie and one open button at the top. Meanwhile, you looked like a diamond, white dress that fell to just above your knees, maybe of silk and satin, oh it looked wonderful on you. It was the dress Heeseung had picked out for you years ago, but you had forgotten that. It was now the dress that you and Sunghoon would have your first dance in. Nothing Heeseung ever did for you mattered anymore, maybe it never once did.

Everyone had taken their seats at their tables, drinking champagne and waiting for the speeches to start. Heeseung sat at the stage, his face low to keep hopefully no attention on him whatsoever. You and Sunghoon sat at this long table, with the maid of honor, best man, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen all on either side of them. The best man started first with his speech, his name was something with a “J,” an English name, but his accent was no American. He was apparently dating the maid of honor—who started her speech directly after the best man’s—which made Heeseung smile a bit because he had met the maid of honor plenty of times before, when he was with you. She used to be voluntarily lonely, never wanting to date because she could never find the one. But it seemed she did. They have a son, last he heard. He was happy for her, even though he knew that she hated him for everything that happened with you.

Sunghoon’s speech was next, and it was absolutely beautiful. Poetic, if you will. He spoke nothing but beauty and love of you, every word a new meaning for you, describing every perfect you behold. It made Heeseung want to fall apart right at the spot. He promised himself he wouldn’t let himself fall down this hole again, that he’d move on and fall out of love with you, but that could never happen. He was stuck on you. There wasn’t a single reason to him that made him not love you, or even consider the possibility of not loving you. You were his moon, his star, his every part of him, but you didn’t love him. You haven’t loved him for a long time. You weren't his, and he wasn't yours.

Then, it was time. Sunghoon and you walked to the middle of the dance floor, holding each other’s hands and preparing to dance as Heeseung stood up and approached the microphone stand. He glanced back at the pianist behind him who nodded at him before starting to play the song, Off My Face by Justin Bieber. Their song. But it wasn’t theirs anymore. He was sure that it never was.

Heeseung clears his throat quietly as he turns back to the microphone, one hand wrapped around it while the other fell to the stand, holding it gently, space between his palm and the pole. He starts to sing, every note and every line perfectly harmonized as the couple danced together.

Everyone watched the couple quietly, with eyes of admiration and small smiles, but only one ever looked at you and it was you. Sunghoon’s back faced Heeseung for a few moments as you and him swayed together, and that was when, just between the chorus and the verse, you had met eyes with the boy you once loved, the one singing at your wedding to another man.

Once the song was over, Heeseung stepped back to take a drink out of his water just as everyone else joined in on the dancer floor for another song, one more upbeat than the slow, love song he had just sung for the couple’s first dance. He sang another song, then another, and a couple more before his set was done and he grabbed his stuff and headed out of the reception tent. He headed to the parking lot just a hundred feet away but just before he made it there, his name was called and his heart stopped for a second. It was you.

“Heeseung, wait,” you caught up to him, holding your heels in your hands so you wouldn’t break them or twist your ankles trying to catch him before he left. “You’re leaving?”

Heeseung quickly looked over to the tents then back to you. “Yeah, I, uh, finished my set.”

You reached your hand out to him, “No, you should stay. Enjoy it,” you gave him a smile, “Might be the only wedding you’ll attend,” it was a harmless joke, but Heeseung took it differently.

“Are you saying I won’t get married?” His voice sounded hurt, but stern at the same time. He was trying to stand his ground, while dying on the inside.

“What? No, I— I was joking,” You lowered your hand, “What’s wrong?”

But Heeseung raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” He scoffed, “You asked me to sing at your wedding, of all things, of all people, you asked me to come here and relive everything that happened.”

You were confused, “Relive? You mean I would have to relive it? You broke my heart, Heeseung. You were never going to marry me. We had no future—”

“Did I say that?”

“Say what?”

“Did I say I would never marry you?” Heeseung repeated, “Did I ever say we had no future?”

You stepped back, “Well no but you never did anything that proved otherwise.”

But Heeseung shook his head and rubbed his face, trying to stay calm as you continued on.

“You never told me you would marry me, you never even asked about our future or even talked about it. You and I were together for three years and there was nothing you did that gave me any hope at all for us.”

Heeseung clicked his tongue, pushing his hair back, “God, Y/N, are you really that oblivious?”

You furrowed your brows, “What?”

“I was going to propose to you that night.”

Seven years ago, you and Heeseung met at your work—a cafe at the time—because that morning, he was craving a frappe and he knew that the cafe you just so happen to work at made the best coffee. You were his barista, and he fell in love with you the moment he saw you. He left his number on a napkin and you waited a day to call because you didn’t want to seem desperate, but also that you didn’t want to see him again either. On the first date, so memorable, you read out your favorite quotes from your favorite books, which he asked for because he knew you liked to read. Over a handful of dates and a million talks, you and him fell for each other—hard. He was all who you wanted, for three years, he was the boy you wanted to marry. He was your endgame, or you wanted him to be it.

For your three year anniversary dinner, he had made a reservation at your favorite restaurant, bought your favorite flowers, and dressed in your favorite suit of his. You wore his favorite dress, a white, short dress that fell just above your knees. You two headed to the restaurant around six, seated around six-thirty. It was good at first, he opened the car door for you, held the restaurant’s door open for you, pulled the seat back and pushed it in for you. He did what he always did. But for months, you wished for more. You had been wanting to hint for him to do something more, to take the next step in the relationship, but it was never the right time to talk about it. But instead, you dropped hints. For a year now, every day, you’ve dropped some kind of hint, and only realized that morning that it had been a year, and there was nothing. No conversations about the future, not even a poke at it. Nothing. You had enough.

During appetizers, you broke the silence, which was only there because he was eating and you were sipping on your wine, with a simple, but cold statement—“I don’t think this is going anywhere.”

Heeseung, confused and taken aback, almost spit out his food. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about us, Hee. You’ve done the same thing over and over again, for the last three years, and you’ve never even given the thought of asking me to marry you.”

“Y/N—”

“And I’ve dropped hints, every single day since our two year anniversary—a year of this cycle, I can’t,” You shook your head, “I had your mother talk with you about proposing, I had your brother talk to you endlessly about his own wife. God, I even had a fake email about wedding rings sent to you by my friends so you’d finally ask me!” You abruptly stood up from your seat, everyone in the room was staring at you and him. You sighed. “I can’t wait around anymore for you.”

Heeseung stared at you, tears slowly forming in his eyes, those bambi eyes of his, “Y/N . . .”

You shook your head, “It’s over, Heeseung.” And you grabbed your coat and left the restaurant. He sat there, completely still. Everyone stared for another few moments out of pity before turning back to their own dinners. Heeseung slowly took out the box from his pocket and set it on the table, opening it and looking at the ring he had bought months ago, waiting for this exact day to propose to you and to make you his bride. But he was too late. He was just a day too late.

“I took you to your favorite restaurant, asked you to wear my favorite dress—which you’re wearing for him tonight, ironic enough!—and I wore your favorite suit. I took you there and I ordered your favorite foods, your wine, everything. I had it all planned out. I was going to tell you how much I loved you after we ate the appetizers,” Heeseung declared to you then, a choking sob in his throat, “I was going to propose to you minutes after you decided we were over. I noticed every hint and I planned it all, from the beginning. But I was too late. Right?”

You had started to cry, “Heeseung . . .”

He shook his head, “I have never stopped loving you, since the day I met you. Not even when you ruined me, when I cried for months on end, for the humiliation, the heartache, I have never stopped loving you. Until tonight,” he turned, "Goodnight, Y/N."

“No, Heeseung, please,” you went towards him, grabbing his arm, “Please,” implying you wanted a second chance, just a few yards from your newly wedded husband. Heeseung knew he didn't love you anymore. Tonight was his closure. The regret, the miserableness, the mourning of what could've been—it was finally over.

“You remember that quote you told me? On our first date?” Heeseung stared at you, coldly, “Maybe if you were the moon, I could’ve loved you the same,” he then scoffed, “It had always been about us, huh?”

You shook your head, “Hee, please—”

“No, Y/N.” Heeseung took his arm out of your grasp, stepping back from you, “Congrats on your marriage,” and he walked away from you, leaving you to fall to your knees on the grass, crying to yourself as he got into his car and left. You got up a few moments later and returned to the wedding.

You never told Sunghoon what happened, claimed you fell on the way back to the tents after you had gone out to thank Heeseung for coming since he was leaving so abruptly, and Sunghoon, being the kind person he was, didn't question any of it. He helped you get cleaned up and danced with you until it was time to head off to your honeymoon. But Heeseung never left your mind.

Months went by, then years, and Sunghoon never knew what you had done that night, begging Heeseung for another chance, that you would've thrown everything you had for the boy you broke. He never knew.

On the night of Christmas Eve, the one following your eleventh wedding anniversary, the kids were asleep in their rooms while you and Sunghoon put out the presents from "Santa." One girl, and two boys. You didn't think you'd want kids, let alone three of them, but you loved and cherished your kids entirely. Your oldest was ten, middle was seven, and the youngest was three. You had gotten them toys, clothes, etc., but that didn't matter. It was when you seemed off, like you did every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every holiday. Sunghoon finally asked about it, and that's when you told him.

You told him about Heeseung, what he said to you, how you feel about him, and the absolute and miserable regret you had for letting him go. Sunghoon didn't say anything for a while. He just stared at you blankly, not sure how to respond or react, so he didn't. He just sat down on the couch and covered his face with his hands. You tried to sit with him but he scooted away before turning to you, telling you that he should've known. You reassured you loved him now, but that wasn't enough. You both knew it wasn't enough.

Divorce followed shortly after, joint custody where the kids will spend every other week with either parent. Sunghoon was cordial about it all, which was good for you, you guessed, but you didn't want a divorce. You loved Sunghoon, but not the way you should've all these years. He deserved better, and you wish you could've gave him what he deserved, but at the end of the day, you didn't love him. You loved Heeseung.

You searched Heeseung up the moment it came to mind, thinking you could go back to him as your last resort—just like before—but to your unfortunate surprise, Heeseung was married. On the night of your wedding, Heeseung drove to the bar to straighten out his thoughts over a few drinks. There, he met his future wife who sat beside him and actually bought him a drink because he was looking at her a lot but not actually making a move. They married the next year, and have a son around your oldest's age. He looks at her the way he used to look at you. He didn't love you, and hadn't for a long time. You lost him, and that was never going to change. There was nothing you could do to get him back, to make things right, to fix your marriage, your family, to get closure. Alone, you were, but you sought out to get better.

You started therapy, and eventually, convinced Sunghoon to go to couple's counseling with you. A year or so passed, you and Sunghoon decided to give it another try. You wanted that happy ending, and you worked for it. You loved Sunghoon, more than ever, never to lose that love, because he was your husband, the love of your life, the father of your children. Sunghoon was who you wanted to love for eternity, not Heeseung. You didn't love him anymore. You finally moved on, just as he had.

Because he wasn't yours, and you weren't his.

end.

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a/n—i'm gonna be completely honest.. i was watching a lot of kdramas when i thought of this shit, but i hope you guys enjoyed it anyways! thank you for reading <33

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lookitsaboat · 2 years

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(All I Have to Do is) Dream: Why The Sandman is Important To Me

My first encounter with the works of Neil Gaiman was in 2009 when I sat in a dark theater and was delighted by the Henry Selick adaptation of Gaiman’s Coraline. I immediately sought out a copy of the book and was entranced by his writing, as it was exactly the kind of fantasy writing I enjoyed reading, mixing the magic and wonder of the real world with that of a fantastical world that could only exist in imagination. I was hooked, and soon I had also collected American Gods, Anansi Boys, and several of his short stories. This is when I first became aware of The Sandman, but I wouldn’t actually read it until a few years later when I was in film school. I was roaming the school library for some good reading material, and they had a large collection of the trade paperbacks of each volume of Sandman. I had never been a huge comic book person despite enjoying superheroes on television and film, but Neil’s name meant It was at least worth a look. I tore through each volume (although I admit I got a tad impatient and skipped some of the stand-alone tales to finish the full arc of the story, something I have remedied on subsequent re-reads). For my senior thesis in film school, I focused on a story about dreams and traveling through them, and to say this isn’t influenced by Sandman would be an outright lie. I had written some of the basics before I read the whole of Sandman, but it really took shape when I wanted to tell my own story set in dreams. I even got to discuss it with Neil Gaiman himself when I had the great fortune to spend an evening with him and his wife. He gave me great advice to tell my story, and very kindly signed my favorite volume of Sandman, A Game of You, and his signature had the wonderful advice to “Dream Dangerously” which I have tried my best to do ever since. Throughout my time in Film School I dreamed of possibly getting to adapt Sandman for HBO or some similar television network someday, and while that has not come to pass, I was so thankful for it being a part of my education.

Several years passed, I had graduated, moved to Florida and had spent many years working at a certain Haunted Mansion in a certain theme park, and Sandman still stuck with me. I would go back and reread my favorite bits over and over again, and was excited when they were working on a film adaptation with Joseph Gordon-Levitt involved,and then even more excited when Netflix announced they were making a series out of the show, which I always felt was the best way to adapt the material.

And then my life fell apart. 2019 came into my life like a force of nature, destroying as much as it could. I wound up in the hospital multiple times and discovered that my body was basically destroying itself after I let it fall into disrepair due to a severe bout of depression. Between this and being stuck indoors during the pandemic, it got worse, and I ended up having to leave my job, which lost me not only a place I loved working for but friends too. I started to feel very alone. I wound up back in the hospital and physical rehab. I had to move out of an apartment that had been home for years, into a strange new home with a strange new roommate, and the loneliness continued to mount. I was in constant pain, and often, the only real voice I had to speak to was the one in my head, which was quickly becoming a much darker voice than it had ever been before. I used to tell myself I’d never consider suicide, it just wasn’t my style, but in the dark of lonely nights, trapped in a room by myself, I did. I thought about how perhaps it would just be better if I was no longer here, and that dark voice getting so much stronger than I ever imagined it could. I had one thing I was looking forward to…The Sandman adaptation. It feels silly to say that a television show was the only thing I had to look forward to, but it’s true. I found a small group of fans on Twitter and they were so kind and welcoming to an older guy who just wanted to watch his favorite story become a show. To help with the long wait and anticipation I finally sat down and listened to the Audible audiobook adaptation of The Sandman, which I had been avoiding as I typically have a hard time with audiobooks, but once I listened, I found myself discovering the magic of the world of The Sandman in a new way, and it felt as if for the first time. As I sat in my bed, struggling with my pain and health, I could make all that go away by putting my headphones on, and listening to Dream of the Endless go on his journeys.

When I first read the comics, one of the one-off short stories on my first read-through that didn’t quite click with me was Facade, a story that features Death meeting a woman named Urania Blackwell (Element Girl for comic savvy folk) who was cursed to be made of different elements and it was slowly destroying her life and mental state. As I listened to the Audible version of this story, it suddenly became real. A woman who can barely leave her apartment due to her condition, her only real companion being a weekly phone call, and a desire, but inability, to kill herself. I found myself silently sobbing as Urania spoke with Death about her life being miserable. I then began to imagine my conversation with Death, the kind goth woman who Gaiman imagined to whisk people from this life to whatever comes next with kindness and a smile. I realized that Sandman had saved me. The dark voice started to go quiet in my mind.

I admit, I still struggle with these thoughts sometimes, and I am still finding my way back to what I sometimes refer to as “normal” but it has been so helpful to have this world to escape to, to help make sense of my reality. It reminded me how simple it is to go somewhere special, and reminded me that all I have to do is dream.

Thanks to Neil Gaiman (@neil-gaiman), Sam Keith, Mike Dringenberg, and all the artists who have worked on Sandman over the years. As you have done so to many hundreds of thousands of readers before me, you inspired me. You inspired me in 2012, and then you saved me in 2022. I can’t thank you enough and I can’t wait to watch the entirety of the new show and find myself lost in that world yet again.

May we all continue to dream dangerously

Donald Hallene III

#The Sandman #neil gaiman #tw: sucidal thoughts #sandman netflix #death of the endless #dream of the endless

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bullet-prooflove · 9 months

Note

You’ve created a monster 👿 and because you told me to request you best believe I’m gonna %1000 come thru! So BETCH I am on my knees begging you to please do a part 2 or better yet even a full update 😆 of your Nero/Cam girl series please! I would love her reaction to him confessing his feelings for her and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WOMAN PLEASE GIVE US THE SMUT WE DESERVE FINALLY!!! You are literally torturing me with these two because every time I read an update you post of them Im left yelling in frustration because the sexual tension is legit torture when you leave us with just a tease of them!!!

So please put me out of my misery and don’t let me endure another moment of torture because I just might break

💛💛💛

Keep up the awesomeness and can’t wait for your next update Queen

Companion piece to Day Off

This did not go the way I planned...

“I love you.” He tells you. “I’ve loved you since the moment we met.”

You don’t believe him; Nero can see it in your expression. You turn your head back towards the sky, your fingertips slipping from his so that your palm comes to rest upon your stomach. There’s a tension in your shoulders that resonates through your entire body.

“Is that what you say to all the other girls?” You ask him, your voice a rasp as you stare up at the clouds. “Is that why they sell themselves for you?”

“What?” He spits the word out like a curse because never in a million years did, he expect this from you.

There’s an agony blossoming in his chest, and he tries to shut it down, to be rational but truly you’ve shaken him. He can’t understand how he could have been so wrong about a person.

“I know when I’m being played Nero.” You say quietly, toying with the silver rings on your fingers. “I know what it means when a man says that he loves you, I know what’s expected in return.”

“That’s not what…” He trails off, his lips clamping together as he forces himself up into a sitting position, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he inclines his head towards you. “You’re fucked up you know that?”

You lay there still sprawled on the grass; your arm thrown up over your head like in one of your boudoir shots on the website.

So fucking tempting and so fucking infuriating all at the same time.

“Do you think I’d be doing this job otherwise?” You ask him as you flick your sunglasses down from their place on the top of your head so that they cover your eyes. “Do you think I’d be selling myself if I was ‘normal’?”

Something happened to you, he feels it in his bones. Someone turned you out and once that happens you can never go back. You re-live the ways you’ve been used even when you step away from the life, it carves itself into your psyche. This he realises must be the compromise. The camming.

You don’t hook anymore, but you sell yourself in a different way and it erodes at your soul little by little until there’s nothing left but an emptiness right where it used to be. He thinks that’s what he’s looking at right now, that vastness. Someone reached into the depths of your spirit, and they tore it to pieces. He sees exactly who you are, and he loves you for it, the problem is your experiences have always been transactional, no matter what he says you’ll never believe him.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He tells you with a sigh. “It’s too much. I can’t be around you.”

There’s no way to win, he understands that now. In your mind, he will always be a pimp and you will always be a whore, trying to claw your way out from underneath him, even if it wasn’t him that put you there in the first place.

“Alright.” You say, your voice devoid of emotion. “I’ll get myself out of Diosa tomorrow.”

#nero padilla x reader #nero soa #nero padilla #nero padilla x you

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fleckcmscott · 1 year

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Pillow Talk

Summary: While Y/N spends some time away, she and Arthur find a way to play.

Words: 3,992

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: This story stems from a request made by @jokerownsmysoul. I really hope I got it right. 😂 Please enjoy, everyone! And thank you for reading! 💜

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Y/N's happiness at attending the Atlantic Legal Society's conference had rubbed off on Arthur. Made her upcoming absence worth it.

Often he'd tag along, see the sights while she worked. Check out clubs, sign up for open mics where no one would ever see him again. Low-risk refinement. But this week's jobs were too good to pass up, and Amusement Mile's opening day meant lots of families and plenty of tips.

He could hold down the apartment. Hell, maybe he'd even enjoy it. Pour condensed milk over frozen strawberries, smoke as much as he wanted, catch a movie on Gothamvision. (When their rabbit ears had required aluminum foil to get a TV signal, he'd convinced her cable was a dire need.)

He wrapped an apple in a paper towel, tore a banana from the bunch, and stuck both in her purse. A breakfast that'd tide her over for the three-hour ride to Baltimore. Stirring milk into her coffee, he side-eyed the oven clock. When the java was halfway cold, he made his way to the bathroom.

Toes flexed in annoyance, Y/N grumbled around her toothbrush. "I can't believe I overslept."

"You'll get there," he said, and took the hairbrush from the shelf. "Here, let me." He drew horsehair bristles through her untamed mane.

"Thanks." The foam in her mouth made it sound more like fankhs. She spat into the sink, rinsed and spat again. "I don't want to buy another ticket."

A soft scowl crossed his brow. "You shouldn't've had to buy the first."

"Well, you know my boss. He didn't think it was necessary, which is silly with the WARN act being passed. That kind of ridiculousness makes me want Phil to come out of retirement." She hung her robe on the door hook and jogged to the bedroom, calling over her shoulder. "At least they're paying me!"

Minutes later Y/N emerged, frazzled around the edges but smart. She straightened a ruffle at her collar, tugged the corner of her blazer. She wore her age and era with pride. She guzzled her coffee like an engine on empty, poured herself another and skipped the dairy. "I'll regret this on the train."

They dashed to the elevator, vinyl suitcase in his grasp, her hand hooked at his elbow. As the steel doors parted, he made a show of holding them open with his foot. A beam to rival the rising sun crossed her face.

"Thank you, sir," she said, and curtsied. The gesture made him want to lift her, spin around. They were running late - and she'd still taken a spare second to be playful.

God, how he loved her.

At this early hour, only a handful of Gothamites rode the subway. A guy sat in a corner seat. Sixty, gray stubble, wearing a flat leather cap. His outstretched arm held a wrinkled centerfold. Ms. December, judging by the Santa Hat, the sole fabric in the photo. A familiar friend that must've been in his pocket for a while.

Y/N grasped the stanchion at the other end of the car. Arthur moved to stand behind her, a protective arm at her waist.

At every stop she inched towards him. Her round bottom nudged his thighs, her back grazed his chest. She smelled good, like the strawberries he'd eat tonight. He pressed his nose to the crown of her head, filled his veins with her scent.

A scarlet stripe bloomed from collarbone to temple, her ear a crimson shell. The corner of her mouth threatened to curl. Pink tongue darting to wet satin lips.

He squeezed her hip. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," she said. An obvious untruth given how her neck tightened.

Suspicion slanted his stare. But he let it lie. For now.

Wayne Central Station was a Beaux-Arts beauty smack dab in the middle of modernization and commercialization. And it had far too many flights of stairs. After the ups and downs of finding the right track, they landed on thirty-seven, the platform for the commuter line.

"You know," Y/N said, steps slowing to an amble. "I bet there are clown conferences. You could learn to juggle."

His days of working with other clowns were long behind him. But the suggestion was sweet, so he smiled. "My hands are already busy. You're a handful."

She stopped at a concrete column and riffled through her purse. "I'll call you when I check-in and give you the room number. There'll be a direct line." Then her riffling escalated to a frantic search. Patting her coat, the inner breast pocket. Checking her bag one more time. Taking advantage of her distraction, Arthur reached into his jacket. Anticipation tickled his shoulders into a shrug.

"Oh no," she said. "I could've sworn I put my ticket with my credit card."

He reached as if to tuck her hair back. Pulled a green card from behind her ear. "Is this it?" A relieved huff as she snatched her prize. She swatted his chest, wound her arms about his neck.

The squeal of metal on metal bounced off tile walls, announcing the oncoming train. A gust of wind whirled her silvery brown locks. Despite the mundanity of it all, the thousands of people about to step onto public transportation, the moment felt like a movie. A bona fide blockbuster. The ordinary suddenly extraordinary.

Fingers brushing his, she took her bag, speaking between kisses. "I love you. We'll talk soon."

~~~~~

The McKeldin Exhibition Center seemed a blunt, bulky building for the Atlantic Legal Society's twenty-fifth conference, a number Y/N would've considered celebratory. Four stories of concrete, cold steel, muscular exterior. A once modern design that now represented an idea of the future that, if the first five months of 1990 were to go by, wasn't bound to happen.

The registration attendants were friendly and professional. But Y/N wasn't a member of the guild, so she was directed to a line at the other end of a vast, airy hall. The additional hundred dollars she'd paid to attend included extra exercise. A gilded stripe ran along the top of her name tag, like she was a flake of gold to pan for, from which extract a membership fee.

Goodie bags contained the usual swag. A pen with the organization's logo, two legal pads, a folder to hold her notes. At the bottom were a blue stress ball and a gavel pinback button, which she'd pin on Sylvia back at the office. The young intern had received so little recognition in her short life that it'd thrill her.

White tablecloths and serving trays covered the tables in the reception area. Y/N maneuvered to a buffet to the right, snapped a napkin, two cheese and pepperoni skewers, and a paper cup of goldfish crackers. Munching away, she took the temperature of the room.

Lawyers and attorneys general, magistrates and judges swarmed, chatting and laughing, giving handshakes and back slaps. Legal secretaries and paralegals circled up to chat amongst themselves. Judging by overheard introductions, their origins stretched from the Eastern Seaboard all the way to Chicago.

Y/N recognized a former Gotham District Attorney, a lawyer from one of Shaw & Associates' satellite offices. The passing years had salt and peppered his hair, too. The city's newest criminal court judge was on the premises, one Henry Jake. An upset after an affair with one of his legal aides, his promotion from magistrate had been splashed on all the front pages.

He appeared eager to continue the scandal, proceeding to flirt in the way of men who like to wield their authority. A palm on the forearm here, an unwanted compliment there. It made Y/N want to chuck a stress ball at his head.

She stirred powdered creamer and irritation into a styrofoam cup of coffee, noted the restroom sign on the left wall. A woman in a floral shower curtain of a dress approached with tiny steps. Said she'd never been to a big city before, took a sip of Lipton and pushed her plastic glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"I'm Flossie Barteux, but all my friends call me Flo." The red stripe on her nametag denoted her as a fresh recruit.

"Nice to meet you, Flossie." Though maintaining distance, Y/N spoke with warmth. "I moved from the Ozarks to Gotham ten years ago. The lobby has some brochures. I think there's an aquarium on the waterfront, a couple museums, too. You should take advantage while you're in town." Then she gave a friendly nod and excused herself to the Industry Auditorium to sign up for presentations.

Whistleblower protections sounded interesting, considering past capers; she made a note to review Gotham's statutes for the next. Tips for wage and hour investigations filled an entire notebook. The presenter droned on in one agonizingly long sentence. It was impossible to keep up, even in shorthand. Y/N's fingers grew so fatigued she dropped her pen. It took several tries to regain the ability to make a fist.

When the conference broke for the evening, Flossie hopped in the same revolving door as Y/N and suggested dinner at a chain steakhouse across the street. A good number of attendees already stood in line.

To be honest, she could've used a break from the whole thing. But she didn't want to hurt the woman who sorely needed a work friend. She put their names on the waitlist and browsed chalkboard specials. Listened to Flossie's story of how going through probate for custody of her granddaughter had led her to the legal profession.

By the time Y/N stumbled back to her hotel, she could've dozed upright. At the bar, she ordered a variation on a Sidecar, a little number called Between the Sheets. She didn't ask for permission to take it to her room. She dropped a dollar bill in the tip jar and turned towards the lobby.

It was well equipped, a fax machine and pay phone in one corner, a stand with free chocolate chip cookies to the right. In the center of the far wall stood a bookshelf, flanked by overstuffed aqua chairs. A sign was propped on the coffee table: "Please read and return!" A set worthy of Donahue's photo studio.

She stepped onto the woven rug to browse the plethora of outdated bestsellers. Self-helps with mountains on the covers, charlatans offering poor financial advice. Children's books were piled haphazardly on the bottom shelf. And right in the middle was an entire row of romance novels, the ones in which every heroine's bosom heaved and bodice ripped. Ragged covers told the tale of how popular they were, spines split from overuse. As a pre-teen, Mabel had caught her reading a few. ("Why's your face red, Y/N? Are you sick?") Amused, Y/N took the one with the deepest seams.

Forbidden Seas was a terrible if fitting title, given the coverhunk's puffy shirt. He was alarmingly muscular, as though a bee had stung him, and he desperately needed an ice bag. Long, blonde tresses brushed the careening cleavage of the woman bent over his knee. Arthur's wiry frame held a hidden strength, cleaved her tightly whenever they danced, but that position would've ended with her on the floor.

Cackling, she returned the paperback to its place, betting the hunk would be at full mast by chapter four.

When she reached her room, she stretched her arms over her head, pushed herself to her tiptoes, released a short squeal. The conference center's folding chairs had next to no padding. Soreness nagged at her tailbone, a deep-seated throb ached her rear. She could really use a bath. She checked her watch. Arthur would be calling in about fifteen minutes. Luckily, the restroom had a phone.

Pantyhose rolled down her legs, a nail caught on the reinforced toe. The star-patterned vinyl floor was cold on her feet. A claw clip kept her hair off her shoulders, spare tendrils falling to her cheeks. Steam coated the mirror as the room filled with a pleasant heat. She dabbed away her mascara and eyeliner before it could streak. She sipped her cocktail, stepped into the bath. Gave her breasts a casual squeeze and sighed out the stress of the day.

The ringer rang right on the dot.

Voice as light as a game of I Spy, she said, "This isn't reception telling me to pipe down, is it?"

On the other end, Arthur's smile sucked his teeth. "No, it's just me."

"I'm glad it's just you."

The day had gone well, he told her. One of his gigs had cancelled, but that was all right. It let him get some work done around the apartment. He'd replaced the window shade that no longer rolled up, mopped the kitchen, sorted the drawers of his desk. He'd just tuned into a movie on TMC, a screwball comedy she'd deem too silly and dislike.

When he asked how the conference was going, she told him about Flossie, how she hoped the woman's eagerness to excel wouldn't result in her being suckered into membership upgrades. That the WARN act - while a step forward - put some guardrails on the mass layoffs that'd become the norm in the last decade but didn't prevent them. And the overeager judge she was happy to never have to face in court.

"You should teach a class on how to be a gentleman." She slunk deeper into the heat. "I'm learning a lot, but I'll be happy to be home."

"You're not missing much."

"I'm missing you."

"But you saw me this morning!" His protestations didn't fool her; he was pleased as punch. A hitched giggle, one of his many laughs she loved. "Me, too. I mean, I can't wait to see you. But don't worry. I'm fine. Talk to me more. Tell me about the hotel."

"We'll have to stay here someday. There's a bar with a player piano, and I'm having a cocktail in the bath."

"You- You're on the phone in the tub?" The sound of him puttering. A drink set on the coffee table, a middle-aged groan as he sat on the sofa. "There is one thing I can't get out of my head." Nervous tongue smacked his lips. "What were you thinking about on the subway?"

Mercury threatened to crack the thermometer. But still. She was reticent to go there. "I already told you. It was nothing."

"Come on. You were as red as my clown nose."

She pressed the cool glass to her sweaty forehead. The flight of fancy had been completely inappropriate, not to mention out of character. She knew exactly what telling him would lead to, the direction in which this conversation would race. Tacky and cheap, belonging to a $3.99 a minute hotline.

And yet. She was grateful to have a husband she could blush around, whom she could fantasize about, whom she wanted to fantasize about. Besides. It'd been a stretch since they'd last made love. Tacky and cheap might be just what the Doctor of Laughter ordered.

She let the cognac trickle down her throat. Knuckles dragged up and down her breastbone. Her forearm brushed her pebbled nipple. A drop from the faucet plopped.

"Do you want to continue this?" she asked, an eager if uncertain invitation.

"Yeah," he purred. That rasp, the one positive of his cigarette addiction. "But I'm- I'm not sure what's next."

Neither was she, not quite. The next steps felt at once natural and as if they belonged to an unread novel on a hotel bookshelf. But it was him, so it would turn out all right. They'd figured it out every time before. "Tell me what you're wearing," she said. "Or what you're thinking about. Whatever you want."

"I'm in my pajamas. Um. I found my old journal when I was cleaning. I hadn't read it for years - it has everything from when I met you. Anyway, I read what I wrote our first night together? I'd wanted to touch you so badly and-" He gave a throaty laugh. "And all I knew what to do was squeeze your breast too hard."

The recollection struck a match in all the right places. She'd wanted him, too, more than was smart after such a short acquaintanceship. There'd been something that'd set him apart immediately. Whenever he'd looked at her, her heart had skipped to a new but familiar beat. His good looks, his kindness. Passion and flair hiding beneath a surface shyness, a mask you could see through if you took an extra minute.

"You knew how to look at me. How to listen. How to be gentle." She caressed her hip absentmindedly, a movement that soon became deliberate. "And when not to be."

Her knee shifted to rest on the lip of the tub, opening herself to the warm water. "I wouldn't want you to be gentle now," she whispered, and tugged at the curls between her thighs.

"I wouldn't be." Ragged breaths tempted over three hundred miles. A muted moan that meant he was palming his shaft. Her own palm felt empty. How she hungered for him to be in her grasp. Then he asked, "What- What did you pack for bed?"

"The blue nightie you gave me. The one that ties at the neck." It was six years old but a perennial favorite for both. The approval that'd radiated from him when she'd modeled it flashed in her memory. Strokes blazed at the crease of her thigh. "I'll wear it tonight - unless you want me to sleep naked."

A husky chuckle before he pressed her. Again. "Tell me what you were thinking about on the train. I wanna know."

Fingertips dipped to where she ached for him. Lower to tease plush, squishy flesh, plump with desire. Her eyelids fluttered shut, returning to the occasions she'd pleasured herself in front of him, both when he was inside of her and out. Even on the occasions he wasn't able to get hard, he loved it, asked her to do it again. Holding her. Stealing her breath from her mouth. Covering her hand with his. His thumb taking over until she cried his name.

Fever rippling through her arteries, she tapped her slick nub, body throbbing with need. She cleared her throat. She thought she'd lost her ability to be bashful with Arthur. But dirty talk didn't come as naturally now that she was alone, not the way it did when it was foreplay. When she'd beg him to fuck her, plead for more, more, more.

Yet, she wasn't alone. Though he was afar, she was abuzz with his presence. Spreading joy and happiness to others, always entertaining his audience, he was the performer in the relationship. Tonight the performer became the audience, and she was putting on a show for one.

A show she'd drag out a bit longer. Make it worth his while. "I'm touching my clit, Arthur. Slow and soft, like your tongue. God, I wish it was your tongue. You feel so good."

He groaned. Her grip on the telephone tightened, knuckles gone white. "When we were on the train," she began. "I imagined you shushing me. Your breath was hot on my ear. I wanted you to put your hand on my skin, down my skirt." Her strokes halted while she laughed. "I don't know why. I wasn't even horny."

"You're horny now."

"All hot and bothered."

A grunt came through the copper wire, luring her along. Her foot pressed the tub's curved rim. Splashes of imagery knotted her belly. The play of light on his slender abdomen when he'd put on a shirt. How his biceps flexed when he'd wash his hair. The tightening of his brow the second he lost himself to euphoria. The musky weight of him on her tongue.

She rubbed herself a little harder. A steady, firm pace. "When I come I feel your cock at my back-"

"Keep talking."

"-and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning, because I know you'll fuck me as soon as we walk through the door."

"Oh, fuck..."

Water licked at her labia with each flick of her wrist, awakening every nerve ending, cresting wave upon wave of sensation. She shoved the receiver under her jaw, lifted her shoulder to lock it in place. Cradled her breast, nipples just at the waterline Lapping, lapping, lapping. She circled the right with her middle finger, wishing her hand was as large as Arthur's, so that she could play with the left. Shivering, her knees drew together and upward, pelvis striving towards her wanton touch.

Splish, splash. Splish, splash.

A growl rumbled out of him. "I- I'm gonna come."

"Yes."

She was there. She was there. About to fly over the edge, her feet about to leap. Gasps caught in her throat. Half his name lost in a whimper. The peak of delight finally reached...

The phone tumbled off her shoulder and plunged into the water. Landed on the fiberglass. An unenthusiastic thud.

"Shit, shit-"

Locked in spasm, she watched air bubbles rise from the sunken plastic. It was hard to move mid-orgasm. Her legs weren't yet in the Jello stage. Hanging onto the towel bar, she stood on very shaky ankles.

She plucked the receiver from the water, shook it out over the tub. Yanked the drain and placed the handset on the rim. Fingers a blur, she dialed their home number on the bedside phone. How quickly had Arthur realized she wasn't on the line?

Had he heard any of the denouement?

Nine rings and Arthur answered, out of breath but with a laugh. "What happened?"

She covered her face. "I dropped the phone. It's ruined." It would be the one time she would pay a fee for damages.

"Oh. Well, I was just cleaning up."

The cord twined through her fingers. "Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me, too."

"I know. I heard half of it."

Giggling, she excused herself to dry off. Pulled the clip from her hair, retrieved her nightie from her bag. She crawled between cool sheets, fluffed her pillow, pressed Arthur to her ear.

"What'll you do tomorrow," he asked, scratching his cheek.

A Department of Labor inspector would give a presentation on the Severe Violators program, a list of closely monitored companies that violated labor laws like it was a talent and never lifted a finger to change their ways. The padding to their bottom lines was bigger than the fines. She'd chatted with the inspector during a break.

"ACE Chemicals being on the list isn't a surprise. But Wayne Steel?" A sharp inhale before she yawned the rest. "I hadn't even heard of them."

"You're tired.”

"No. Relaxed. Happy. But not tired." She curled up on her side, burrowed deeper into the blankets. "This bed is empty. I have no one to press up against." Another yawn betrayed her.

At her third, Arthur interrupted. "Y/N, go to sleep." A grin in his words, like he was about to call her cute. "You need your rest."

"And why is that?"

His voice lowered to the volume of secrets. "Because when you get back, I'm going to fuck you as soon as we walk through the door."

Her eyes went wide, then she burst out laughing. A wave of dizziness swept through her. She brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. "What time'll you wake up tomorrow?"

"Six, probably. Maybe 5:30?

"Let's have coffee together. I'll make a cup at 6:15."

He agreed before she'd completed the request, said how dearly he loved her. And, yes, to her consternation, called her cute. She kept the eyeroll out of her reply. "You're wonderful, too. Now take your own advice and get some sleep. No journaling until dawn. All right?"

"All right. Have a good night. And Y/N?"

She was already fading, his lilt her favorite lullaby. "Yeah?"

"Wear your blue nightie for coffee. I’ll be in my briefs."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes @fleckficgirl

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x reader #arthur x ofc #joker 2019 #arthur x female reader #watchwhathappens

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simple-seranade · 1 year

Text

TW: body horror, death (life series, not really descriptive)

Some people love the toy gag, others are tired of it, I just find it a fascinating plot hook whether he is a toy or not. The head canon that Joel calling Jimmy a toy repeatedly actually turns him into one is everywhere and I love the concept. While brainrotting over this, I had an idea.

Imagine with me, for a moment.

Jimmy is a completely normal human, has been for as long as he can remember. He wholeheartedly knows it, and so does everyone around him. It’s just Jimmy, the completely normal human. Sure, he struggles with his self image a bit, but confidence is key! Fake it til you make it!

The life series happen. He dies first once. Twice. He’s not quite sure when or how it started, but people start calling him a canary. The canary in the coal mine, simply an omen of the death to come. A shock of yellow in the dark and grim, extinguished too soon. He thought nothing of it. It was just a phrase, a nickname. Nothing of any real importance, not definitive about him in particular.

Then he met his soulmate.

It only made sense it was through death, an explosion, the first death on the server. Tango being the coal mine to his canary, they said. The parallels grew, the amount of people mentioning it grew, the amount of times he heard the word canary as synonymous for him grew.

It wasn’t even always bad. Tango called him Songbird as a term of endearment, and it was rarely ever said with truly malicious intent.

But just because it wasn’t bad didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

It hurt when he bolted upright in the middle of the night, back feeling like it was on fire. It hurt as he barely choked back a scream, the skin on his back ripping open. It hurt when hollow bones and bloody golden feathers tore through the gaps. It hurt when fully grown wings developed in a matter of minutes, while Grian had described the process of his own wings growing as a weekslong process, from the forming to the baby wings bursting out to the wings being large enough to fly. It hurt when he cried, even as Tango held his hands, fretting and confused.

But he pushed through it, because that’s what Jimmy did. When things went wrong, when the universe had determined he was the perfect punching bag, he kept going, to show just how poor of a decision it had been.

So he got used to the wings. Eventually learned to navigate with the new weight on his back, stopped bumping into every door frame and tree and chest. He even started building up his wing strength and resolved to talk to Grian when this mess was over to see about flying lessons.

Then he died, a third and final time, and he was thrown to a new world. When he came to, he was human again, no evidence he had ever been any different besides the dandelion yellow flowers scattered around his spawn point. Not even scars on his back where the wings had pushed through in their golden, scarlet glory.

It was just an effect of the life server, the code had gone wrong, he was back to the way he was supposed to be. All of these explanations he heard when he asked the others, most just waving it off. After all, servers changed how they looked all the time. Nothing was wrong.

Jimmy tried to believe them, he really did. But when nightmares come of blood and hollow splintered bones tearing his back to ribbons, phantom pain still making him wince, it was difficult. None of the other changes had ever been that… painful. Real.

Still, he kept going. Found a desert, built up a town, established a law. He was a sheriff now, dedicated to his Empire and making sure things were right. So what if a stuck-up god decided to make fun of him? So what if he was called pathetic, a toy? Those things didn’t define him. He was human, through and through, no matter what he had been just a single world ago.

Even if he was shrunk by a potion. Even if the comparisons to a plaything became more and more frequent. Even as all respect for him was lost, nothing but a mockery of a sheriff.

It was after the second time getting splashed with the lore potion that it happened. He was small, they weren’t turning him back, and he was just so, so sick of all of this. The Hermits had been brought in on the joke, and now almost everyone he talked to brought it up in some way. Tango was kind enough, he didn’t, and Scott… well, Scott said other things.

Toy.

It was almost like the word was echoing around in his head as he sat in his sheriff’s office, despite the rage it filled Jimmy with. He wasn't a toy! He was a living, breathing human being! He didn’t have plastic skin, or stuffed intestines, or a pullstring, or soulless glass eyes that couldn’t see anything, not really, not truly.

Every time someone called him a toy seemed to flood his mind, and tears pricked his eyes. Is that really all he was to these people? To his friends?

The air suddenly grew thick and heavy, and a lightning hot pain shot through every nerve in his body. Unprepared, he fell to his knees, barely keeping a pained screech from escaping his lips. He swayed, barely keeping himself from falling over entirely.

Jimmy didn’t know what it looked like as his insides scrambled and dissolved and hardened and numbed and hurt. All he knew was the feeling of his bones dissipating, of the phantom sensation of something stabbing his arms and legs and torso, of his back aching as something pushed its way through, so similar yet so different to the wings he had once grown to treasure.

He didn’t see the way the tears in his eyes blended in with their growing glassiness, or know how his torso looked as the organs unspooled themselves inside of him to make way for stuffing. He doesn’t realize until later that the thing protruding from his back is a pullstring, one that doesn’t give him the option of silence if used. He had to look in the mirror to notice the stitches that had woven their way into the seams of his toosofttooplushnotrealenough body.

He avoids reflections after that, because he is not a toy, no matter what his image says. He can’t be.

He doesn’t know why this happens. Why he seems to be forced to bend to the wills of those around him, to their perceptions of him. He knows he’s human. He has a real, beating heart, even if his chest just feels full and still from the stuffing inside of it, a complete and utter lack of organs. He breathes, filling non-existent lungs with air. He thinks, he feels, even though his head is full of cotton and his face seems empty and lifeless.

He’s- he’s human. He is, always has been, so why does he keep changing?

Maybe one day, someone will see the signs. One day, someone will tell the shapeshifter what he is, about the powers he can’t control, about how he’s not the universe’s punching bag, not on purpose. They’ll teach him to control his powers, so that he was the one who determined his form, not the whims of others.

But today is not that day.

Today is the day a plush sheriff squares off against a god, hides from his soulmates of past lives, and longs for the ability to cry all the unshed tears in his unbeating paper heart.

—————————————-

look, writing body horror is fun. plus i thought of the concept of jimmy being a shapeshifter without control of his powers was a cool solution because as far as he knows, he is human. and he is, most of the time. his power is just very, very easily influenced by repetition.

also i like the idea of mumbo finding him and being like “your powers are acting weird? mine did that last season, it was the moons fault” and jimmys just “my what now”

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equallyshaw · 2 years

Text

𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 4 𝖚 - 𝖏𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖍𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖊𝖘.

inspired by miss rodrigos: good 4 u.

Warnings: swearing. douchebag of a boyfriend...

Word Count: 984 words.

Sour Masterlist.

–

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

You found a new girl, and it only took a couple weeks

–

You seriously didn't think I wouldn't see you at the club that we frequented at one time? You really did not think to look around and see if you caught me or my friends eyes? Even when you did, you didn't care. I could see it all over your face, not even a lick of the deer in the headlights look. It made you feel better, huh? It made you feel as though you were untouchable? Because you sure as hell knew, I would never come over and say something. My friends would, though. Yet, I made sure they did not.

Ill never understand, how you could be with somebody three weeks after you broke up with me. I thought you had more respect and decency but alas, here we are.

–

Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy

Not me, if you ever cared to ask

–

I have been an absolute wreck since we broke up. We had been together for 6 years when you broke up with me, the night after your 21st. It's been one of the most difficult thing to have to work through. How after 6 years, did I not level up or match what you wanted? Is it because I don't fit the 'perfect' wag?

When I saw you last week, god you looked good. You had that post breakup/hooking up glow about you. The one we would whisper about when your teammates went after rebounds, thinking it would never be you. Yet, you looked good. Above all else, that was the very first thing I noticed. Sadly. But ofcourse, you looked away and carried on with your nigt. Not realizing that I was a mess and am still one.

But it doesnt surprise me that you dont care to know how I am. You always had issues expressig your feelings and picking up on them. Doesn't surprise me one bit.

–

Well, good for you, I guess you're getting everything you want

You bought a new car and your career's really taking off

–

As soon as we broke up, it was like you were somebody new. You were a fucking superstar and that killed me. Killed me because, maybe you were better off without me. Maybe it was a miracle we did break up, because you were having a breakout season. With that you got a new apartment, a new friend group, a new car and a new girl. The girl being the cherry on top, to your pedestal you were now put on.

–

Remember when you swore to God I was the only person who ever got you?

Well, screw that and screw you

You will never have to hurt the way you know that I do

–

I will never forget that look on your face as you passed me in that bar, a look of a complete stranger. It was like you had completly erased everything that we had. From your first few days in Canton to your first time away from home. I was there every step of the way, and you tore that to shreds. You told me I was the one, the one who'd you marry in a heartbeat when the 'timing was right' or the one who you would have children with. And above all, grow old together. I was the only person who you saw your whole life with, even from the first time you saw me.

We had been neighbors when you moved in, before my parents moved away. We spent everyday of that summer getting to know one another, with me promising to show you around the highschool. Which meant I had to show all the under 17/18 boys around too, and where to hang out when you had the free time. None of that matters though, right?

Thankgod you never have to feel the way I felt, in your life. You lucky bastard.

–

Maybe I'm too emotional

Or maybe you never cared at all

–

I remember one of the last fights we had, where you called me overemotional. I think about that fight today as 4 months have passed now. I debate if I want to put myself out there again, in hopes of finally getting over you. Yet at the same time, those words keep hitting me over and over again. Maybe I am too emotional, maybe you were right and that I would never find somebody like you again. But why would I want somebody who tore me down for caring? Why would I want somebody who doesn't show me the love back that I deserve?

Maybe you didn't care when I stayed up when you went out? Maybe you didn't care that even when I was exhausted after a long week, I still made dinner and cleaned up the place? Maybe you didn't care that I took care of everything, so that you could go off and live your dream? Maybe I was the fool, for believing and thinking that you were something more than what you cared to show. Maybe I did infact waste 6 years of my life, over somebody who couldn't or wouldn't reciprocate what I gave.

–

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

–

I sit here in my new Los Angeles apartment, and think back one last time about us. And how you moved on after three weeks, like it was nothing. That I was nothing. Im happy you moved on, maybe I should of too. But then again, that would of meant that we didn't matter. But we did matter, yet that still doesn't give me the closure I want. So I hope you're happier, Jack. I hope you are happier.

–

this is trash, but I hope you guys enjoyed :)

#jack hughes imagine #Jack hughes bkurb #Jack hughes #nhl #hockey #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl bkurb #hockey blurb #sour hockey imagines

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obscurecharactershowdown · 11 months

Text

Group C Round 1

[image ID: the first image is of the book cover for A Practical Guide to Evil by David Verburg. the cover is red, with gold swirling borders and text. the text reads: "A Practical Guide to Evil". above the title: "Do Wrong Right". below the title: "a web serial by David Verburg. the second image is of Järnarmen, a white man with slicked back blond hair. a scar runs across his forehead, and his left eye is a milky color, as if blind. he's wearing a black leather jacket, a black shirt, and black pants. his right arm has no hand, and what can be seen of it is made of iron. end ID]

The Scorched Apostate

A young man who lost faith in the Gods of Light as the Dead King's magical plague tore through his hometown, and took matters into his own hands to prevent it spreading. He deserved better than the miserable end he got.

Järnarmen

He's propped up to be this dangerous henchman of the local corrupt CEO. And he sure acts like one! He's got a scarred eye and a hook for a hand, and the hook has this hatch that he can shoot knives out of. He's unnervingly quiet most of the time. He likes throwing knifes out of his hook at a dartboard without looking at the board, and DOES hit one of the protagonists (or rather his clothes) without even knowing that he's there. But then we get to the climax of the film and all of a sudden he's gotten some serious "Stormtrooper aim". He switches his hook out for a MACHINE GUN and starts shooting at all three of the protagonists from like ten metres away yet doesn't manage to hit anything, not even the boat they're sitting in. The protagonists aren't even shooting him back or anything! In summary: he's surprisingly edgy for this goofy slapstick film yet ultimately pointless and I love him for it. [mod note: submitter also included a link to their friend's art]

#obscurecharactershowdown #group c round 1 #obscure poll #the scorched apostate #a practical guide to evil #järnarmen #Jönssonligan dyker upp igen

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notwhelmedyet · 4 months

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an approximately chronological list of things i've fucked up in my current bookbinding project

When merging the individual chapter files into a single pdf I messed up the page numbers and had to go back and redo it

I did that again

I fixed the page numbers but forgot chapter 7 entirely and only caught it halfway through printing. Thankfully fixed it

Realized I fixed all of that without catching an image cutting off part of the text in the colophon. fixed it in the UK edition

Didn't test my inkjet ink for bleed before designing and drawing the entire Eriador map, only to realize that the magenta ink bled horribly. Fixed it by image editing all the red elements to brown.

(there were lots of other map mistakes but we're going to keep Fred Mithrin between us)

Marbling fuckups, which deserves a whole separate category:

Tried marbling outside. As it turns out, wind moves paint when it's floating on top of a pan of water. This makes it difficult to put the paint where you want it.

Alumed the paper, then pressed it in a stack under weights and left it overnight. Turns out the alum deactivates (chemistry something something) if left in an anaerobic environment for a long time and the sheets were ghostly pale

Made the size too thin (there was a wake like I was jet skiing with those combs and the patterns were illegible)

Made the size too thick (so many. fucking bubbles. everywhere)

Air bubbles in all the wrong places RIP

Made my stencil BACKWARDS because I didn't check which arm was injured before marbling

Alumned before applying the stencils (the paper warped everywhere except where the stencil was and then it wasn't flat)

Alumned after applying the stencils (now the paint could bleed under the stencil and it didn't have clean edges)

Used freezer paper for the stencils (this was my ultimate mistake it just doesn't stick enough to prevent bleed. i think. i never fixed this so who knows)

Black paint was haunted. (That's not so much a mistake as an unavoidable reality I didn't realize when planning my marbling)

Back to regular fuckups:

Tested a new endpaper style (hidden linen-joined endpapers) on one of my good marbled sheets rather than on a blank sheet of paper, only to realize the sulphite paper was too weak and would tear. Impossible to remove the linen from the sheet and had to abandon it for one of my sub-par marbled sheets

Glued the cloth hinges for the UK editions on BACKWARDS with PVA. compounded this mistake by trying to carefully remove them with a microspatula rather than living with it. Tore the paper. Attempted to mend it with kozo and warped the paper. Attempted to color it with paste paint to cover it up and tested my color match on plain rather than mended paper, leading it to be obviously the wrong color.

When sewing the US copy of ATWW I pulled the wrong thread while doing a weaver's knot and ripped the first signature out of the book (mended it with kozo tissue)

Trimmed the head of US DR with the pages askew because I forgot to square the book in the press in all 3 dimensions. Trimmed it again to try and correct that, but didn't take enough off so it wasn't flat. Tried to sand it flat and still didn't succeed. Gave up.

Glued and rounded the spine of UK ATWW before trimming the fore edge. Had a panic. Got the trimming setup and done in under half an hour, a new record.

Rounded the spines unevenly (always)

Didn't press UK DR tightly enough while sanding the inside fore edge and some of the pages got hooked in on themselves, necessitating going through with a microspatula and unhooking each page individually, then sanding again.

Over to edge marbling fuckups:

Used too strong of masking tape to tape off the head and tail when dipping the fore edges, which ripped the back side of the endpapers while removing.

Didn't dip US edition fore edges deep enough, leaving blank spaces

Panicked and dipped them a second time, making the pattern muddled

Managed to get bubbles on both the head and tail of the UK editions, because god hates me in particular

Attempted to fix one of the bubbles with paint and accidentally washed off a patch of marbling in the process.

Didn't press the books tight enough (quick release clamps were a mistake

Should have dried off the edges gently with a paper towel before air drying - the water on the edges seeped into the pages, causing both paint bleed and the books to warp out of square

Forgot the paste paper endpages and literally GLUED THE BOOKS SHUT. Had to very carefully pry them open again. 🤦

Aaaand that's as far as I've gotten so far but never fear more mistakes are on the way

#bookbinding adventures #it might be possible (idk how) to think i'm good at this but never fear!!#i am not!!!#i am just stubborn as hell #i'll come back and edit this later once i inevitably fuck up more #long post

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mystery-fic-anon · 2 years

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I met God and He’s a Bonehead

Summary: While dragging his injured brother through the woods after an ambush, Red runs into a mysterious skeleton called Sans. (yes, this is a first meet story.)

Warnings: some semi-graphic descriptions of Edge being injured, including broken bones.

This is inspired by days 5 and 6 fantasy prompt for Kustard week, Fairy King/Queen and Forest God. I had a lot of fun with it, I hope y’all do too :) Also note that despite the lighthearted title, this fic is a bit heavy in some places. I tried to balance it.

Thank you to @nugget4550 for beta reading, I appreciate it.

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41623497

Red wasn’t strong enough for this. He wasn’t in shape enough to jog through the forest on his own, let alone when he was pulling so much dead weight. He shifted his grip on Edge’s breastplate, pulling Edge higher up on his back. His legs dragged on the ground behind Red, catching on every tree root in their path. Red was getting yanked off balance with every step, and he almost dropped Edge again as Edge’s pants got hooked on a low-hanging branch.

“Motherfucker!” Red jerked to the side, the pants tore. Edge groaned as he was jostled, and Red felt him tense up. “Shit, sorry boss.”

Red reached up with one hand, patting Edge’s right shoulder. He ran his hand down Edge’s arm, and sighed in relief. Edge’s scarf was still holding his arm in place. Red felt the place where Edge’s bone was out of place, and quickly pulled his hand back. He wiped it on his jacket, and then reached up again to tap Edge’s skull. The wound on his head had stopped bleeding, but Edge still wasn’t waking up.

He had wasted too much time, he needed to move his bony ass. His adrenaline was wearing off, and Red wasn’t really running any more. He was trying to move as fast as he could, but his legs were shaking, and the joints in his fingers ached. He looked behind him as best he could with his brother lying on his back, but he didn’t see anyone.

There was no way he wasn’t being followed, though. It wasn’t easy to ambush a royal guard, and Red had seen at least six monsters jump out of the trees before he and Edge had been buried in attacks. If Red didn’t find a safe place to hide and heal, he and Edge would be taken or dusted. Red wasn’t sure which option was worse.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure where he was going any more. This wasn’t their usual patrol route, and the snowy forest was unfamiliar. Red was just pushing through trees at this point, trying to get further away from where they’d been attacked. He couldn’t hunker down too close by, or they would be found.

Suddenly, Red felt a prickle in his spine. He was being watched. He could feel it.

Red carefully laid Edge down against a tree trunk, and summoned a sharpened bone attack. He held it underneath his hand close to his body, so it would be hidden until someone tried to lunge at him. He stepped in front of Edge, looking around.

“Is that any way to greet a new pal?”

Red whirled around, swinging his bone at the voice behind his shoulder. A few sparkles of blue magic danced over the bone, but it didn’t make contact with anything. The wild swing made him stumble, and Red took a step forward to balance again.

“Show yourself you fucking coward!” Red yelled, looking frantically around. Whoever this monster was, they were either incredibly fast or they could take shortcuts like he did. Neither option was promising.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” A skeleton popped into existence right in front of him, standing right by Edge’s boots. He was wearing the kind of baggy blue hoodie Red would wear on a lazy day at home, and he had some kind of weird flower crown on his head.

Red swung his bone again, aiming for the side of the weirdo’s skull.

The skeleton caught it like it was nothing, holding the clubbed top of the bone between two fingers. He looked at it, hummed, then looked back at Red. “Hey, that’s a pretty nice bone buddy, but this is getting old. Let’s try a new bit. You like knock knock jokes?”

Red stared at him in shock. He leaned back a bit, trying to pull the bone back to himself. The skeleton didn’t let go.

“Knock knock.” The skeleton grinned. Red wasn’t sure if he liked that smile. It was too mischievous, and entirely too light-hearted for what was going on.

After a minute, the skeleton leaned in and raised his other hand over his mouth, like he was stage whispering to Red. “This is the part where you say ‘who’s there’.”

Red clearly wasn’t getting out of this another way, so he decided to play along. “Who’s there.”

“Broken pencil.”

“Broken pencil who?” Red asked, trying to pry his bone attack loose from Sans’ grip again.

“Ah forget it, it’s point-less.”

The punchline caught Red off guard, and he actually laughed a bit. He quickly caught himself, glaring at Sans. Sans just kept smiling back, but the look in his eyelights seemed more amused than before.

“Who are you?” Red demanded.

“Sans.” The skeleton—Sans—held out his hand. “Sans the skeleton.”

“Red.” Red stuffed his free hand into the pocket of his shorts. “Also skeleton.”

“Heh, yeah, I got that part.”

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but I need to get going. If the fuckers coming after me find you here, they’re gonna—”

“Are you sure about that?” Sans asked, tilting his head a bit.

“What?”

“Are you sure they’re going to find me? Look around.”

Red didn’t usually take orders from anyone but his brother, but this time, he did what Sans told him to do. He shut his mouth and looked around again, listening intently.

The forest was quiet. Totally quiet. No screams in the distance, no taunting laughter of another monster closing in on him… Nothing, not even the sounds of animals.

“What the fuck?” Red asked, his tone suddenly far more hushed. He wasn’t an idiot. There was either something fundamentally wrong with this part of the forest, or a big predator on the move. Red couldn’t risk being caught if it was the second option.

“Yeah, you aren’t in Kansas any more Toto.” Sans waved his hand, and the forest around them shifted.

Suddenly, the wintry forest around them changed into something Red had never seen before. The trees all had leaves, vibrant shades of red and orange and yellow surrounding them. The pine trees were still green, but the shade was softer and more alive. A breeze rustled the leaves on the tops of the trees, and Red could swear he smelled cinnamon in the air.

“This is my place you walked into,” Sans said, sounding way too casual for Red’s comfort. “No one will find you or me here. They can’t get into this exclusive club.” He looked down at Edge, who was still unconscious. “I can heal that guy if you want.”

Red blinked. “Huh?”

“That guy.” Sans pointed at Edge. “The one you were dragging here. I can heal him up. He needs to wake up on his own, but I can at least close those cracks.”

Red let go of his bone and stepped back. “No fucking way am I letting you get near him.”

“Why not?” Sans stepped closer, and Red felt a prickling sensation run over him, from his hands down to his feet. “You’ve seen what I can do. Come on, let me at him. He’ll be good in no time.”

Red didn’t care what Sans was; he got up in Sans’ face and shook his clawed phalange right in front of Sans’ eye socket. “Do you think I’m still in stripes? I’m not going to let you do anything when I don’t know what you want in exchange! So come on, spit out your terms before I beat them out of you.”

Sans looked at Red for a few seconds, clearly thinking his words over. “Okay, then be my champion.”

More fucking riddles. Great. “The fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno.” Sans shrugged, and Red had to remind himself that trying to strangle this guy was probably a bad idea. “The only other being like me is my brother, and he hasn’t had a champion before. I know that old gods used to have tons of champions but nothing is really clear about what they do besides fight in your name. But I’m not really a fighting kind of guy. Why don’t you just come back, and we’ll chill out?”

“That’s it? No other tricks? You just want to hang out with someone? Fucking desperate.” Red snorted derisively.

Sans just shrugged again. “Eh, maybe. I’ve always been a lazybones, and you’re the first person to stumble across my place in a while. It’s easier for me to get you to come back.”

“Is there something else that could kill me in here?”

Sans sighed, but he spoke before Red could yell at him for being a condescending asswipe. “No harm will come to you when you’re in my part of the forest. Not from me, or from my brother.”

“Now, let me hold up my end of the deal.” Sans rolled his shoulders, the bones cracking a bit. He closed his eyes, and took a step back.

Suddenly, Red’s head began spinning. His vision blurred, and he felt like he’d just been rolled through the entire underground in a barrel. He closed his eyes and knelt down, grabbing on to Edge for stability. The feeling just got worse and worse. Red felt like he was going to dust from the pressure. Fuck, this was why you didn’t make deals with random strangers—

Everything stopped. Red sat up, rubbing his eyes. He somehow felt both like he’d run a marathon, and that he’d been asleep for fifty years. There was a sour aftertaste in his mouth, and he spat on the ground next to him.

“Nuuurgh.”

Red looked over at Edge. His eyes widened. The top of Edge’s skull was totally smooth; only the three scars that had been there for years remained. His arm had clearly been healed too, all of the bones were back in place. Even the superficial cuts and bruises on other parts of Edge’s body had been healed.

Red glanced at his own hands, and noticed the mark from where he’d grabbed an enemy’s attack was gone.

“What happened…” Edge sat up, rubbing his face.

Red moved back, giving him some space. “Uh…”

“Red?” Edge’s focus instantly sharpened, turning to him. “What’s going on? Are you hurt? Where are we?”

“Relax, boss.” Red put up his hands, his brain scrambling to think of a lie. It wasn’t usually this hard, but he was still tired and confused by what had just happened. “We’re safe. I was getting us both back to Snowdin the long way, but you weren’t doing so hot. Lucky for me, I found… a stash of healing supplies.” Red kept his poker face up, even as Edge’s glare bored into his soul. “Probably from one of the smugglers out here or something. Anyways, I fed you all of their stuff, then popped a couple of candies myself just before you woke up.”

Edge looked Red over, then looked at the trees around them. “Where was it hidden?”

“Up in one of the trees, but they had set up a branch so that if you pulled it, the stuff would fall down. Heh, probably didn’t want to try to climb a tree while they were bleeding.” Red stood up, ignoring his bones’ creaking protest. “We should probably get going, boss. Gotta get back home.”

Their height difference meant that even when Edge was sitting on the ground, Red was still barely taller than him. Red held on to that feeling of being taller though, doing his best to protect assurance, confidence, anything that would make Edge believe him. Or at least not ask any questions right now.

Edge nodded, and grabbed Red’s shoulder. He ignored Red’s yelp, using Red as a grip to pull himself up.

“We have to make a report to Undyne first, but I suppose I can do that while you go home. Straight home, not to Grillby’s.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Red was longing for some mustard, but he knew better than to argue right now.

He kept quiet, letting Edge lead the way through the woods. Neither of them really knew where they were going, but Edge had always liked puzzles and maps, so Red figured he could find their way out. Red glanced back a few times, but he didn’t see anything, and the trees where he’d met Sans quickly disappeared behind others.

Once they were about five minutes away, Red subtly scratched a line on one of the trees, angled so it was pointing back at the group of trees. If he was going to need to find his way back here, the least he could do was leave himself a clue.

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