#on a tantalizing glimpse into what this story could have been

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

David Baker has returned to the narrative! David Baker has charmed everyone at the Williamson home, including Timothy! David Baker wants to know why he has been summoned back into this story!

David Baker would like to remind you that he is a eugenicist! "He did not betray the surprise and dismay he felt at learning that Eric had fallen in love with a dumb girl of doubtful antecedents; and the strange case enlisted his professional interest."

So Eric takes David to meet Kilmeny, and David is, of course, utterly bowled over by her beauty. Eric, meanwhile, never passes up a chance to be weird about Kilmeny: "Eric smiled as he recalled HIS first meeting with her. He suddenly realized how far Kilmeny had come since then and how much she had developed." This is how my friend talks about her toddler. 'Oh, she's developed so much these past few months! She's so much more confident now!'

There is also, as others have already pointed out, a massive difference between having an appointment with someone who has come recommended by someone you trust and looking up when you think yourself alone and suddenly seeing a complete stranger staring at you. Like, never mind the fact that Kilmeny has had the worldview-shattering character moment of finding out her true reflection, she was expecting David Baker.

“Eric, she is simply unutterable!” said David in an undertone. “Last night, to tell you the truth, I had a rather poor opinion of your sanity. But now I am consumed with a fierce envy. She is the loveliest creature I ever saw.”

I suppose there is something admirable in how blatantly all these men state that all they want from a wife is a pretty trophy. I'm also curious if we're ever going to get David Baker's tragic romantic backstory, which was alluded to back in chapter one.

Eric leaves David with Kilmeny and goes off to school. I had thought he was done for the summer -- are we into fall by this point? I have fully lost track of the timeline of this book. It's all a kind of hazy dream of endless summer. Again, we can definitely see the kernel of something that Maud will become much better at over her career. She eventually uses the seasons extremely deftly, tying the setting, the time of year, and the narrative together seamlessly. Even within one season, she will take us from early summer to high summer to late summer and the passage of time will matter. Here, I have no idea how much time has passed. I feel like the last month marker I saw referenced was July? But maybe it's now September? I have no idea.

Anyway, we run into Neil again. Remember Neil? Yeah, he's not doing so hot. "Neil’s face had grown thin and haggard; his eyes were sunken and feverishly bright; he looked years older than on the day when Eric had first seen him in the brook hollow." Eric feels a sudden surge of pity and asks Neil if they can be friends, while delivering a complete non-apology. Eric is not even listening and learning, that would be better than what he actually says. What he says is, "I am sorry if I have been the cause of inflicting pain on you."

Eric is very sorry you were offended. Eric does kind of think he did nothing wrong and this is entirely a you problem though.

Neil, unsurprisingly, does not want to be friends. Dire proclamations of 'I'll get you back yet!' aside, I wouldn't want to be friends with someone who had only ever been a dick to me, even without heartbreak in the middle.

But we put Neil out of our mind, because why should we spend any time worrying about this man who has threatened vengeance on us several times? There's a woman to talk about! Eric goes home and finds David, who tells him that there is nothing physically wrong with Kilmeny at all. Her trouble is psychological, not physical. There is nothing that a doctor can do for her. What David does say, however, is that he thinks maybe Kilmeny could cure herself, if she "wants it badly enough." This is straying very close to victim blaming, but I'm actually not mad at it because it is reminding me very strongly of the climactic scene from Ella Enchanted, when she breaks her own curse through sheer willpower and wanting it badly enough. And imagining Kilmeny bursting out the door and proclaiming, "I shan't marry the prince!" is tiding me through.

Meanwhile, David Baker is playing with an antimacassar decorated with a lion, and it has to be symbolism, because this has so far not been a book that draws attention to non-plot relevant props, but I cannot for the life of me figure it out. He pokes his fingers through the lion's eye-holes as he's delivering his verdict, which could just be a crude metaphor for curing Kilmeny with sex but feels awfully violent. Anyone have any ideas?

Eric protests that Kilmeny does want to speak, and David says:

“Yes, but I do not mean that sort of wanting, no matter how strong the wish may be. What I do mean is—a sudden, vehement, passionate inrush of desire, physical, psychical, mental, all in one, mighty enough to rend asunder the invisible fetters that hold her speech in bondage. If any occasion should arise to evoke such a desire I believe that Kilmeny would speak—and having once spoken would thenceforth be normal in that respect—ay, if she spoke but the one word.”

So Margaret repressed her own desire to speak and forgive her father so strongly, and under such a weight of emotion, that it will take a similar emotional event to unlock Kilmeny's ability to speak. Honestly I wish LMM had been able to just include a supernatural element here, because 'Margaret Gordon cursed her daughter with literal magic' would be so much simpler than this weird medical-but-not-but-kind-of-supernatural-but-not thing the book has going.

Eric is distraught, because he knows Kilmeny will never agree to marry him while she is still mute, and there seems to be no way to change her ability to speak. He can't rely on a climactic emotional event to occur, after all. He goes to the Gordon house and finds that Kilmeny has refused to see him. Janet hands him a note that says he must never come back, because it will be better for both of them if he forgets her. She is calling him Eric instead of Master, which is nice.

Eric, who does not know how to take no for an answer, says that Janet must go upstairs and fetch Kilmeny down and make her see him. Janet obliges, but Kilmeny will not be made. Like her mother before her, Kilmeny hears a man she loves pleading with her to come down and see him and will not do so. Eric comes back the next day, and same thing. She will not see him. Janet sits him down and says that, since Kilmeny won't marry him, he should stop coming to the homestead. It would be better if they didn't see each other anymore.

“I know I am asking a hard thing for your own good, Master. It is not as if Kilmeny would ever change her mind. We have had some experience with a woman’s will ere this. Tush, Janet, woman, don’t be weeping. You women are foolish creatures. Do you think tears can wash such things away? No, they cannot blot out sin, or the consequences of sin. It’s awful how one sin can spread out and broaden, till it eats into innocent lives, sometimes long after the sinner has gone to his own accounting. Master, if you take my advice, you’ll give up the Lindsay school and go back to your own world as soon as may be.”

At this point it's starting to feel as though, rather than Kilmeny being the one to venture into fairy land, it is Eric who has crossed the threshold into another world. I haven't really gotten a lot of otherworldly vibes from Lindsay or the Gordons for a while, but now they're back with a vengeance. And with them, the hint of a more interesting story! Once again, if this story had been able to fully commit to the magical/supernatural elements, it would be a lot stronger and more interesting. Eric, with his capitalist mindset and strong ties to the outside world via logic and learning, having to navigate fairyland would be interesting. But Eric hasn't learned anything, and so his being ejected from fairyland without his fairy queen doesn't have the ring of tragedy that it should.

#kilmeny of the orchard #kilmeny readalong #i was hoping to finish this today #but i got started late and that is not going to happen #so i think i will leave you here #on a tantalizing glimpse into what this story could have been

[nostalgebraist]

declare

Read Declare by Tim Powers recently.

It had some really good individual bits, and was well-written throughout, but overall I found it kind of a slog.

Partly that was just due to pacing, or me not quite being in the target audience, or other similarly ordinary and boring reasons. But, on reflection, I think a lot of my troubles with the book come down to one big, uncommon flaw it had -- which is my reason for writing this post.

----

Declare is a hybrid fantasy/spy novel.

The spy stuff, which comprises most of the book by mass, is drawn from real history -- in particular, from the life of real Soviet spy Kim Philby -- and strives to be consistent with all particulars of that real history that are publicly known.

The book is a "secret history" as opposed to an "alternate history," intended to produce the impression: "for all we know, this really could have been what happened." It sticks to the historical record about the kind of matters that make it into said record, and only invents things in the blank spaces in between them.

As Powers put it:

I made it an ironclad rule that I could not change or disregard any of the recorded facts, nor rearrange any days of the calendar – and then I tried to figure out what momentous but unrecorded fact could explain them all.

You'll note that I'm being vague about what "the fantasy elements" are.

I'm doing that on purpose. Revealing much about their nature would be the kind of spoiler that actually spoils, because one of Declare's virtues -- and I really did admire this -- is the way it makes its fantastical secrets feel really secret. Like a secret doctrine, a mystery cult, an epistemic Rubicon that one does not cross lightly.

They are talked about elliptically, even among initiates (and Powers makes this feel naturalistic, not like cheap and pointless reader-teasing evasion). Before you know much else about these "fantasy elements," you know that encounters with them have a tendency to leave people scarred, broken, changed -- and disinclined to say much about what they saw.

The early chapters of the book almost feel like the opening of a "mundane" spy novel. Except they are dotted with stray glimpses, from odd angles, of... something else. Something that is clearly one single thing, with a coherent shape, only you cannot make out in full what that shape is. Something that feels, authentically, like it was not meant for your innocent eyes.

It's all very effective. Really great stuff.

But then, at least by the halfway mark if not earlier, the reader catches up with the characters. The shape of the thing comes into focus. You get what the deal is, insofar as anyone does, and insofar as there is a "deal" to get. The nature, if not the logic, of the hidden world is laid bare.

"The nature, if not the logic": this is the book's fundamental flaw. The fantasy elements of Declare eventually land in a worst-of-all-worlds no-man's-land between mystique and mechanism.

They are explained to the reader just enough that they lose their glamour; what initially feels like the mystic doctrine of a lost gospel, or the forbidden fruit of a Lovecraft story, ends up feeling more like a collection of "lore" passages accompanying tables of numbers in an RPG rulebook. Yet they are not explained enough that they make sense, the way a law-bound "magic system" makes sense; despite Powers' ambitions, they never quite become capable of explaining anything else.

To put the point a little differently, and set things up for my next one: Declare mixes together two ingredients which, on their own, are perfectly fine -- indeed, actively good -- but which absolutely cannot go together. Namely:

Mysterious, supernatural forces that feel properly mysterious, numinous, not quite bound by "our" human logic and thus fundamentally beyond our ken.

A secret-history version of bizarre and partially unknown real-world events, which supplies explanations for the weird parts and fills in the tantalizing gaps.

Why do historical mysteries draw our interest? It is not just that there is something we don't know. There are a lot of things we don't know, about history, and mostly they don't trouble us.

But there are some questions for which it does not seem possible to imagine an uninteresting answer.

When a real historical figure behaves in some bizarre manner -- as the real-world Kim Philby frequently did -- we know that, whatever cause moved them to do so, it must be outlandish in a way that matches its effect. When people act strangely, they do so for strange reasons. That is roughly what "acting strangely" means.

But! Once you allow "ineffable, partly unpredictable magic" to be a cause with effects, the link between interesting events and interesting causes is broken. You can now invent explanations which are less interesting than any real-world one could possibly be.

You can survey the historical record, note down all the intriguing gaps, and then sculpt an infinitely pliable magical putty into the precise shape of each gap, so as to fill it. These fillings do not have the shape of real things; they are made retrospectively, and modeled after the patterned obstructions marring our view, rather than the real patterns which are being obstructed. They do not have spiraling implications, as real things do; they plug the gaps they were made for, and do nothing else.

Human behavior has human causes, and human causes are frequently interesting, to us humans.

It is usually a virtue, in fictional depictions of magic, for that magic to feel nonhuman.

But it ceases to be a virtue when that magic goes on to become a substitute for the real human causes of real events. It provides answers to all our questions, at the cost of removing the reason we imagined we might want to possess those answers.

"Why on earth," you ask me, "did this bizarre historical event happen the way it did?"

And I respond: "a wizard did it."

You protest that this is not an explanation at all. You profess to be just as confused as you were at the outset.

You say, in exasperation: "it can't just be that. There has to be something more. Why did the wizard do it? Is it... the sort of thing that wizards do? Is there a 'sort of thing that wizards do'?"

In real life, you'd have a point. In real life, for every X, there is a sort of thing that Xs do.

But not for wizards. Remember #1 above? Wizards are beyond your ken. Perhaps there is "sort of thing they do," but if so, it is too subtle for your dull, unmagical brain.

Which is to say: they can do whatever the author, or the plot -- or the gaps in the historical record -- need them to do on any given occasion. And then they go back into their box again, until they need to be retrieved, in order to do something else entirely.

And worse: although the introduction of the wizard does not leave you any less puzzled, it frees you from caring that you are puzzled.

There is no longer the unscratched itch of an unsolved mystery about human behavior. You are not confused about a person, anymore, but about magic. And it is perfectly clear that you are never, ever going to understand magic. Your confusion is now expected, predictable. Everything is properly in order, as you can now see. You are free to go.

And yet somehow, you find, the book is not over. It will not be over for a while yet. You have other confusions, you see, which have not yet been stripped of their human interest and robbed of their allure.

(Not everything in Declare is like this, to be clear. I may be making too much of a few sore points in the plot, I guess. Still, there's no denying that I found the later parts of the book tedious, and this is at-least-sort-of why.)

[blondedmuse]

WHAT MEETS THE EYE

finnick odair x reader

part I of pure heroin.

synopsis. ꩜ on your way to the capitol, you run into the capitol’s so called prince and he's not who you think he is. he's worse.

author's note. ∿ chapter 1 of pure heroin!! decided i needed to start writing again and what better way than with finnick!! drug themes/use will get more prevalent throughout the series; if that makes you uncomfortable I suggest you don't read it. angst!

word count. ⨾ 1.5k

Only in such a vain society could the word for a person you have yet to meet be a “stranger.” Their label in your mind plants their roots in the word “strange” with a remote emotional predisposition towards rejection. But you lived in this society and everyone you had met, had their strange; strangers or not.

You weren’t fond of meeting people but you had to pretend to be. Just like you pretended to be a lot of things. You pretend to be a persona, the one Caesar had given you since you first hunger games interview. Beloved, bewitching, tantalizing, tempting, and almost precarious. Those were the words that any citizen of the nation would use to describe you—not solely exclusive to the capital. Those were the words you'd been deemed the moment you'd won the 70th hunger games.

You pretended to be a lover, adored since they'd announced your victory, lusted after since you stepped foot out of the arena. You woke up in different bed every so often, desired by many but loved by few. You were merely a trophy wife for the capitol to show off time and time again.

You pretended to be happy.

You had to be all of these things because who were you if you weren’t? You’d be dead, one way or another.

But pretend isn’t reality. There were moments when you had decide what was and wasn’t—when to be their darling and when you could turn it off like a switch and the facade of sincerity would fade away like sea foam on a shoreline.

The facade crumbled the moment you settled on the train heading for the capitol. The peace and quiet gave you more than a few moments to yourself, allowing you revel in reality. You could do what you wanted for a few hours without eyes watching in judgement. But mostly you thought about the dread that consumed you, the dread whose culprit was no other than the capitol.

You made trips to the capitol more than often and more than you wanted to. You had to make appearances—you had to pretend.

The dread that filled your travel was interrupted once the train arrived and you quickly gathered your belongings. Late to a meeting with you stylist, you were haphazard in getting yourself together. So haphazard in fact, you’d almost left your watch behind. Almost. You went back to grab it before leaving the train car. People complimented the object like they seemed to know whose it was, the stories it held. It was like a glimpse into you life; a piece of reality.

It rested in your hand along with the handle of your bags along with a few other items, having no time to put it back on you wrist while rushing out of the train car.

Once you made your exit, you were met with a sea of people you were sure you could drown in. You caught the eyes of most no doubt, you were one of their many beloved victors—it was inevitable.

Making your way through the station, a woman and her daughter approached you, asking you to sign her notebook. Her mother stood by, easing her excitement as she watched you interact.

"Sure," you said accepting the book and pen, smiling as you did so; the facade was back once again.

"I want to be like you when you grow up!" The girl exclaimed. Your stomach dropped. You laughed. You played pretend.

"Why's that?" You asked handing the book to her.

"You're so pretty and cool, I wanna win the games like you did."

No she didn't. You thought.

If only she knew the truth. But she didn't. She knew you for what the capitol made you to be, ever since your very first interview with Caesar Flickerman. He provided you with the impression, the character, the place you'd be stuck in for the rest of your existence. You charmed him, and to your demise you'd from then on be known as district one’s Belladonna; beautiful, but he believed you to be just as deadly. And your victory only confirmed that.

If only she knew you fought tooth and nail to survive. That you've killed. That you can escape the arena but never the games. That there are no winners, only survivors.

You looked in her eyes, making sure she understood your sentiment. "Good luck." Your words were genuine.

You greeted them goodbye, checking the time and you were running even later than before. You picked up your pace, strides getting longer—only to be cut short. You ran into somebody, the strong figure knocking your belongings out of your hand. Your bags dropped and your watch flew to the ground, immediately stepped on by the foot of a passerby. Abandoning your bags you picked it up and the glass was cracked, but it was still working. Barely.

You were already upset, now you were sure your blood was boiling. Tapped on the shoulder, you were met with the man you had run into and he was handing your bags back to you. He was Finnick Odair.

Finnick Odair was the nation's golden boy, the capitol's prince so to speak. He was wholly and utterly charming; you hated it. His reputation spoke for itself: numerous lovers, a flirty personality paired with power and skill, and that movie star smile. Repulsive. But he was like you. A victor with an image to maintain, however, you didn't know him. You didn't know what parts of him were real and what were a part of a made up fantasy.

And right now you didn't have time to dwell on it. Right now your watch was broken, you were still late to your meeting, and Finnick decided to make it all the more worse telling you to, Watch where you're going, sweetheart. With those renowned white teeth and famed dimples.

"You should take your own advice," You retorted, not missing a beat and taking your bags back from his hands.

“Don’t deflect this to me now, i’m just the messenger,” He smirked, holding his hands up as if he’d been caught red handed.

“I’m not deflecting, I’m telling you the truth since it’s something I know you don’t hear that often.”

He feigned hurt, clutching at his chest as if you stabbed him in the heart.

“You really live up to the title, Belladonna. Keep going and my ego will be dead in minutes.”

You scoffed. “I think you need more than a hurt ego.”

He cocked his head, playing along. “Like what?” He asked.

“A reality check.”

“Oh, honey, what’s got you riled up?” His tone is phony you can hear it in his voice, it's almost condescending. Patronizing. You could try and make it to your meeting sure, but taking the golden boy down a peg seems much more enticing.

“You made me drop my watch. Now, thanks to you, it’s one crack away from broken.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t make you do anything, honey. You ran into me.”

“Call it what you want. You were in my way, it's your fault.”

“And it’s just a watch.” He’s not teasing now, not even a hint of charm left in his demeanor. Not any that meets the eye. You choose the second option.

“Of course you’d think that, I mean, what would you know anyway?” You see a flash of affliction in his expression before it was gone in a heartbeat, lost completely.

“All beauty, no brains. It must be so hard being nothing more than pretty face. Someone to spend the night with.” You laugh pleased with yourself. You words cut deep and you know it because you’d practically been told the same thing, it was ad nauseam.

You could tell he wanted to say something, whether to express his hurt or defend himself, he held back and bit his tongue.

You quirked your head to the side, your pride taking over. “What is you head hallow?”

You laughed once again to yourself, happy with your accomplishment. You feet start to move from under you but Finnick grabs your arm before you can get much farther.

You turn around and he pulls you towards him, his lips at your ear.

“I’m going to whisper this since there’s camera’s all around us and I want to save you the humiliation. It’s going to look flirty, intriguing even, but I hope you know it’s anything but,” He told you.

“You and I, we’re the same. But right now I have something you don’t. Humility. You’re upset and you can go for blood because I broke your stupid watch, sure, but I could eat you alive. I know things you don’t. Secrets. So I’d be careful about what you say.”

You pulled away from his ear so that your faces were merely inches apart.

“I guess you act entitled enough to be a prince if that’s what the capitol calls you,” You remarked looking in his green eyes. It was a shame they were so beautiful.

“But empty threats don’t look good on you,” You muttered and you swore you saw his eyes flicker to your lips. And so with your last attempt to stick it to him, give Finnick a taste of his own medicine: you winked. He smirked with contempt or sincerity; you couldn’t tell.

“Have a nice day.”

MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#finnick odair #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick ordair fluff #finnick ordair angst #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #the hunger games #the hunger games catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark

[witch-and-her-witcher]

Caught in a Feeling

gwynriel | G | 2k | fluff, canon divergence AU, childhood crush, first kiss

ao3

This is silly, childhood fluff (with a tw for Az's canon abusive upbringing.) First gwynriel, just sat down and wrote it, so don't judge me too harshly! 🤭

~*~

The shadows have been Azriel’s steady acquaintances for months.

At first, he thought he was losing his mind.

He was terrified to mention it to his mother or risk setting off her nerves, already so frail during their sparse visits.

But now, Azriel knows these shadows are real. And they’re his friends.

They’ve transported him to an idyllic riverside, lush with thick, green grass that feels at once like seaweed on his bare feet and occasionally like saw teeth when he drags his skin against them backwards. The sensation has left him marching in place in wonderment, bending over to further investigate with his fingertips.

Azriel has seen grass before. Of course he has.

Right?

The shadows tickle along his cheeks along with his overgrown hair that's begun to curl at the ends.

They assure him he’s seen grass, touched it even, it’s just a different kind here.

Where is here?

They don’t answer — for his safety.

Azriel sucks in a deep breath. Safety is his cell. If he’s away for long, if they discover his absence —

We’ll bring you back when it’s time, young master.

He settles, trusting his friends. It’s possible he shouldn’t, they could be nefarious creatures trying to get him into trouble, but in a world where the visits with his mother have been the only glimpse of kindness, of freedom, Azriel decides it's worth the risk.

Stepping out of the shade of the great weeping branches of the tree he’s arrived under the cover of seems daunting. The sunlight is filtered through cotton trees on the banks of the sparkling river with its iridescent waters so clear, Azriel believes if he gets close enough he could see every rock shining through its depths.

But it’s still so bright.

A shadow twirls around his fingertip, grabbing his attention, and pointing him towards a bundle tucked against the tree’s trunk.

Someone’s fishing tackle.

Azriel enjoys the tales of adventures his mother leaves him with, especially when the young fae featured do such useful yet enjoyable sounding tasks as fishing. A skill, a hobby, something to be enjoyed while also enjoying the labors of later.

Azriel could be a fisher, yes.

He picks up the hand line with a hook attached at the end and an ebb and flow of darkness reveals a dirt filled cup. Within the dirt, worms wiggle.

Bait for the hook. Right, he’s heard about this. Fish won’t simply bite a shining piece of metal.

The squirming worm is difficult to secure on the hook, but he feels satisfied enough once he’s twisted and contorted the writhing creature in what he has to assume is a tantalizing meal for a fish. Not wanting to risk his vision out of the shade, he goes about trying to cast the line from his current spot.

That quickly proves to be a fool’s errand.

Azriel keeps his face carefully neutral, he won’t crack even if no one is watching, and swallows down the frustration of his inability to do this activity that sounds so natural to the younglings in his mother’s stories. The line keeps catching on the branches, on the fallen branches in the waters below.

His friends whisper to step out of the shade.

Azriel swallows thickly.

“What if someone sees me?”

A creature of stones, chains, darkness. His brown skin is unnaturally pale, his wings are gangly and roughly unkempt where he keeps them closely tucked into his back. If he saw his reflection in the water, Azriel is sure his father’s hazel eyes would stare back at him in his gaunt face, hollow and emotionless.

As he likes to keep them.

It’s safer that way.

Safe, this place is safe.

Against the gnawing anxiety in his gut, Azriel steps out into the filtered sunlight on the river bank’s edge.

He winces and lifts a hand to shade his eyes.

The air smells like honeysuckle and woodsmoke. Birds chirp pleasantly in the trees and a cooling breeze keeps the air comfortable.

When he adjusts to the lighting, several slow, blinking minutes later, Azriel shuffles as close as possible to the bank’s edge to peer into the sparkling waters. It’s much deeper than he’d imagined now that the sunlight is piercing through the river, illuminating the green and silty white currents until the rocky riverbed.

It looks lovely to swim in. If only he knew how to swim.

But for now, he’s set his mind to learning how to fish. He can’t waste his chance, this may be his only opportunity.

Over and over until his shoulder is aching, his lower back sore with maintaining what his shadows whisper is the proper form for fishing, Azriel feels a glimmer of hope when he finally feels a tug on his line.

The tug quickly turns into a yank.

The yank quickly steals the line right from his hands.

“No!” Azriel calls, cursing his weakness as the line slaps into the water.

No fish. Azriel stares down at his hands, immersed in his failure and missed opportunity, until he hears slapping of water and tromping of the ground.

Oh no! No no, he can’t be caught.

Why have his friends abandoned him —

“Hey! You, kid!”

Azriel stands his ground, although his insides shrivel and all he wants to do is run. He turns to face the voice.

And feels his mouth drop open in surprise.

A girl.

With shining red hair like autumn leaves and round teal eyes that are so big he swears they’re swallowing him up. She’s skinny and taller than him and she must be part High Fae because her ears are pointed and she’s the most beautiful thing Azriel has ever seen.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Azriel nods, dumbfounded.

The girl jabs a finger at him — which, he realizes, has his hook jammed through it.

“You need to pay attention where you’re fishing, you could have taken my eye out,” she reprimands and she doesn’t stop approaching until she’s standing right in front of him.

Azriel is frozen in place. His eyes dart between the girl’s pale face that shimmers from water and some inner magnificence and the hook in her finger.

“I-I’m sorry.” He tries to clear his throat, voice scratchy with disuse. He doesn’t actually have to speak out loud for his shadows to understand him.

His shadows.

Azriel glances around and finds them dancing around the long, wispy shadow this girl who has climbed out of the river is throwing over the green grass of the river bank.

Something shifts in the girl’s face. Instead of anger, she looks curiously over Azriel, saucer eyes landing on his wings. “You aren’t from around here.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Alright, well,” she crosses her arms over her chest in a huff, aside from the skewered finger she leaves hanging out. “I’ll give you a free pass, then. You’re lucky it was me you snagged and not my sister. She would have bitten your head off.”

Azriel doesn’t want to consider that. He’d thought he could handle having voices raised against him, but coming from the mouth of a walking angel …

“But since I’m nice, I’m just going to have you get the hook out. Got it?”

“Get the hook out?”

The girl wiggles her injured finger, scrunching her freckle dusted nose. “Yeah. I … I don’t care for the sight of blood, and this is set pretty deep.”

“I … Alright.”

Azriel’s hands shake, and his heart is beating frantically in his chest.

The girl narrows her gaze on him. “I’m Gwyn, by the way.”

Tell her your name, the shadows urge, dancing and giggling around her.

“Azriel.”

“Azriel? Nice. So, think you can pull the hook out?”

He nods and holds his own hands out, waiting for her to place her finger into his grasp. He tries not to flinch as their skin touches. His mother has been working with him, trying to gentle him to contact, but his brothers seemed determined to undo her work after every work.

But he is capable of treating his own wounds, even giving himself stitches. So, he can help this girl he’s hurt.

“Truth be told, Azriel, I’ve been watching you try and fish for a while now,” Gwyn chatters, looking up at the trees. “You’re really bad at it.”

Azriel nods and makes sure he doesn’t look as sullen as he feels over the factual statement. Then he blushes at the realization she’s been watching him. How embarrassing. 

“My mom is a natural when it comes to catching fish, but I do alright. I like to use a fishing line better than my own hands; fish are so slimy — what are you waiting for?”

“I … It’s going to hurt.” Azriel looks up at her from beneath his lashes. Despite being taller than him, his hands seem so much bigger than her delicate one. When he thinks of the force he’ll need to use to get the hook out … It feels wrong. Like crushing a butterfly.

Gwyn nods. “Probably. I’ll shut my eyes. Do it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Azriel?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t … make fun of me, if I cry? It’s just a natural reaction, that’s all.”

“Alright.”

Gwyn takes a few breaths through her nose and then shuts her eyes tight. She grits her teeth. “Alright, go!”

Azriel is worried he might cry as he pushes the hook back and then down to slip the barb back into her skin and then twists and yanks the metal back out. The painful whimper that pushes through Gwyn’s lips from the back of her throat hurts him. 

All of this over a silly activity like fishing. Something he’ll never get to do again.

We must return, young master.

Azriel’s heart clenches. He presses his fingertip down on Gwyn’s, trying to stop the fat drops of blood gathering at the exit point of the hook.

“Again, I’m so sorry. Don’t look.”

Gwyn stomps back and forth. There’re tears gathered on her lashes. “Ouch! Wow! I knew it would hurt but …”

The shadows tug at Azriel.

“I-I have to go —”

“Wait!” Gwyn shoots her eyes back open. “You have to go?”

Azriel nods his head urgently.

“You can’t just abandon me in my time of need!” She waves her bloody finger in his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, taking one shaking step back. The shadows are starting to swarm around him and he can feel the anticipation of their magic ready to envelop him. Still new, still unfamiliar, yet it already feels like a part of him.

She doesn’t seem bothered by the dark, writhing presence of the shadows. She lurches forward to grasp his hands and a furious blush has crept up her neck and to her cheeks.

“Wait, Azriel — I, I let the hook snag me. I was looking for an excuse to — well …” Instead of trying to find the words, she presses forward.

Her lips press against his and Azriel’s eyes widen impossibly. He lets the emotion roll across his face, forgetting all of his carefully trained restraints. His lips tingle at the chaste contact, his blood rushes with heat and his ears heat to ten times their normal temperature.

What is this beautiful girl doing, kissing him?

Gwyn pulls away, hand shooting up to cover her mouth as giggles begin to roll out. “Sorry! Sorry! That was — I read it in a back, and it sounded so romantic, but you’re a stranger and — well, you’re Azriel, but —”

Azriel’s fingertips raise to his lips, and he continues to blink owlishly. Dumfounded.

“You … kissed me.”

Gwyn nods and drops her hands to spill her overflowing laughter openly in the space between them. Giddy. 

“I hope I see you again, Azriel!”

The cool embrace of the shadows begins to take him away, but Azriel gives a small, shy wave before the idyllic scene is gone and he’s left with nothing but sunshine in his hair and a berry sweet taste on his lips.

Azriel hopes to see Gwyn again, too.

#gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #azriel #gwyneth berdara #acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing

[j0kers-light]

His Lighthouse: Losers Aren’t Weepers (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Losers Aren’t Weepers

series summary:  

Y/n is an aspiring writer living in Gotham City and struggling to find her next muse. Her recent novel is getting all the buzz, earning her far more attention than she signed up for. But when a chance encounter results in her nursing The Joker back to health, will she find the time to write another best seller or will her own story become front page of the Gotham Gazette?

chapter summary:  

Y/n copes with the fact she's seen the infamous face of The Joker in the aftermath of having sex with him. The decision to take their newly found relationship is taken more seriously than before and it only weights on her as well. Will the two new love birds settle quietly within their new role or will things be even more awkward now that they are together?

Authors Note:

I want to thank everyone who sent out thoughts and messages as I struggled with the loss of my furbaby. For a while there I didn't have the mindset or the energy to write, but I found a way. I couldn't leave you all hanging and on a cliffhanger no less!! So here is another installment of my dreams turned fanfic that I hope you all thoroughly enjoy! I truly look forward to any comments and feedback: They are my fuel to keep going!

Taglist!    

@blackreaderatrisk   @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angell

Let me know if anyone else would like to be added to the taglist!!  

Last Chapter  |  Next Chapter 

Shocking news at the top of the hour.

Popular YA author, Y/N L/N, found dead in her apartment at the age of (insert). Authorities suspect foul play as the young writer was found in her shower with the water still running. Her work precedes her as the famous hit series, Will Hunter Bill is in the works of being turned into a movie starring famous actor...

Okay Y/n, maybe that's a bit too dramatic. Was it too pretentious of you to write your own breaking news headline? You didn't think so since your days were numbered after seeing a glimpse of Joker's bare face.

You were still huddled in the corner of the shower, wet hands covering your eyes and awaiting sudden death. Hopefully Joker would be merciful and make it quick.

A good snap of the neck or perhaps bashing your head into the tiled wall. If he got creative, he could choke you with the loofah string. Once again, writing mystery and thriller novels really broadened your knowledge of ways to kill people.

The possibilities were endless! You just wished Joker hurried up and picked one. You didn't dare to turn around but you ultimately became curious when nothing happened after a while.

Obviously you weren't tripping.

Makeup + fake name = secret. Joker was keeping his true identity from everyone yet here you are alive and well with a portion of that truth. He killed others for less. So why were you still alive? You considered yourself a somewhat lucky person but this didn't feel right. You pinched yourself to see if you were dreaming but the pain confirmed what you already knew. This was really happening. So you tempted fate and stole a peek through your fingers.

Sweet baby Jesus and the grown one too.

The sight was straight out of a Shojo anime. Joker's profile was facing you with sharp lines and dripping with masculinity through the shower fog.

In another life you believed Joker could have been a teenage heartthrob or some famous model. His eyes were closed as he washed the remainder of his makeup off and the swirls of white, red, and black dripped down his toned arms in a tantalizing manner.

And he would tip his head back underneath the shower head like this was some moody cologne commercial! Your heart skipped a beat from the fan service. Now you understand how high schoolers in anime could pop nose bleeds on command. Watching Joker wash off felt illegal. Maybe you did die and this was heaven.

You weren't hiding it anymore. You were openly staring with no shame. The man was all types of fine and right there for your viewing pleasure, heck yeah you were going to indulge!

Joker was foul for hiding his athletic build underneath dark suits and cloaks but you were glad you were the only one that got to see him like this. Each moment you spent with him felt intimate and sacred. Joker was gorgeous and all yours to admire. Without his signature red lipstick, his facial scars were more subdued and not as prominent. If you weren't actively seeking them out, you wouldn't have paid any attention to them.

You were biased of course but who cared about that? His scars took a backseat in your observation. His skin was surprisingly normal in appearance and your hands itched to touch it now that there wasn't any grease paint in the way.

Would it be soft just like you imagined it was? Scratch that. Would Joker allow you to touch him so intimately? You were sure he was going to kill you for catching just a mere glimpse.

You were so caught up in your own head, you didn't see when Joker opened his eyes and noticed that you were staring. He knew you were drifting off into lala land by how distant your e/c eyes were. He dragged a wet hand through his hair before reaching out towards you.

That put an end to your thoughts real quick. This was it; he was gonna kill you.

"Don't kill me! My favorite tv show isn't complete yet!" You screamed when Joker's hand came in contact with your wrist.

He wasn't surprised by the crazy things you said anymore. It was just a trait of yours that he accepted long ago but he did take offense to the former part of your statement.

Your other bouts of nonsense were muffled by Joker covering your lips with his own. You stopped talking and automatically looped your arms around his neck to return the romantic gesture.

Joker was such a good kisser he could quite literally reboot your thought process. It was still reloading when he pulled away to speak.

"M'not gonna kill ya sweetheart. Why would I do that?"

You stuttered trying to come up with a reply as Joker warmed you back up to his touch. The hot water pouring over his shoulder and down your naked chest in a rapid downfall aided his efforts. Anywhere that the water touched, Joker hands followed soon after. You hardly noticed him grabbing your favorite colored loofah and lathering your skin up since his kisses distracted you so well.

He cleaned you so effortlessly– like this was an everyday occasion between the two of you. The level of trust you surrendered to him was both comforting and concerning. You really did trust Joker wholeheartedly. He had free reign with your body to do with as he pleased.

'I slept with Joker. Just what were you thinking, Y/n?' You thought to yourself.

Even worse, you were actively showering with him! The aftercare was far too romantic and it didn't match Joker's character at all.

You weren't quite sure if you liked this soft version of Joker yet. It was unusual to see him so caring and eager to please. Maybe sex changed his perception of things? You doubted it.

He was still clueless about his true feelings but you could still sense his intentions in the way he barely touched your skin with each pass of the shower puff that sent goosebumps to blossom all over your body. Joker was treating you like fine china and given enough time, you could get used to being pampered but right now you kept an eye on him.

As Joker washed your upper body, you finally addressed the elephant in the room.

"Why would you kill me? B-Because I saw your face that's why! I-I know what you—" You gasped when Joker raised his head and stared you down.

You saw an array of freckles scattered across Joker's nose and you really wanted to count each one along with the long eyelashes he had. They fanned across his cheekbones every time he blinked, mesmerizing you with their beauty.

"Yeah? What about it? It was only a matter of time you saw me with-out my makeup." Joker rolled his eyes and continued rubbing the loofah down your back in soothing circles.

You hoped he wasn't downplaying the situation as a coping mechanism. This wasn't something to be taken lightly. He revealed a crucial part of himself! Shouldn't he be angry that you saw his face? You were so confused by his nonchalant attitude.

"Joker.. This is a big deal. I could go to the GCPD with this!"

He knew you weren't going to the police. He rolled his eyes at your empty threat and continued scrubbing you down. You didn't like his sass and reached up to grab his cheek, practically pleading for him to see the bigger picture here. Surely he felt it.

The innocent touch was amplified now that there wasn't a layer of white in the way.

You gained a huge portion of Joker's well guarded trust and you needed to be sure he didn't regret sharing it.

There wasn't much to focus on in the shower yet Joker found a way to avoid eye contact. Your hand felt so warm touching his cheek and it took everything in him to not lean into its comfort.

You faintly registered the mindless shapes the shower puff made on your skin as Joker washed you. His hands were covered in soap as they groped and relaxed on your body with each pass. A man like Joker showing signs of nervousness baffled your brain. You didn't like him so out of sorts and set about calming his nerves.

"Joker look at me." A kaleidoscope of greens immediately returned your gaze.

You saw the color in a brand new light these days. You were forever changed by the unusual hue. It was scary how easy you could decipher what one shade meant over another. Right now, Joker was hiding behind a smokescreen of juniper green indifference. That wouldn't do in your book.

You wanted to drag Joker into a world of acceptance. It was okay to be human. He didn't have to pretend anymore and definitely not around you. Whenever Joker was with you he could be himself and face no judgment. You tried to harness that feeling and translate it into words.

"You know this changes things between us right? We can't go back to.. w-we can't. Ugh screw this! You don't have to pretend with me anymore! I know you now. I shouldn't, but I do. It's okay to be yourself." You finally got your thoughts out and looked at Joker.

He searched your face; for what, you'll never know but apparently he found it. He huffed and dropped the shower puff to cup the back of your neck affectionately.

"I wanna know you too." He mumbled.

Your laugh chiseled away at his cold, dead heart. Since when did he get so soft? Perhaps the exact moment you tripped and fell into his life.

"I'm an open book, you know that."

But that didn't stop Joker from wanting to know more. He wanted to know you word for word, cover to cover. He wanted to immerse himself in the story of Y/n, if you'd let him.

"My favorite one." He mumbled to himself before leaning in.

He kissed you with a subdued energy, savoring what he already knew and learning each new nuance that made you unique along the way. You craned your neck back to deepen the kiss and clawed at anything your needy little hands could grab ahold of. In this case it was Joker's shoulders, still damp from the shower.

Your water bill would be extremely high this month but screw it, that didn't matter right now. Joker's mysterious aura and the hot shower blended together in a wonderful way that clouded your brain from any rational thought.

It felt silly to ever think that Joker would kill you especially since he was steering your body backwards into the shower tiles with love on the brain. You arched your back, gasping from the cold surface and Joker quickly swallowed up the sound while silently commanding you to jump up into his arms with a rough squeeze of your thighs.

You broke away from his lips hesitating, "W-What about your leg?"

His ongoing injury constantly nagged your mind. He carried you just fine out of the warehouse but that could have very well been due to adrenaline. The last you remembered he was recovering from a nasty infection.

Joker grinned and moved his hands to cup your backside before he lifted you up into his arms. From this angle you could look down into his swirling dark eyes. He thought your frown was cute and replied coyly.

"I got it checked. Doc said it needs more time to heal properly but—" Joker flexed his arms pitching you higher in his grasp. Your high pitched squeal of fright made him chuckle.

"I'm not gonna drop ya, Y/n. But uh... you're stuck with me for five more months."

Was he serious? You arched an eyebrow at Joker. Then you remembered the mutual agreement the two of you made that fateful day.

You volunteered to be his nurse in exchange for your life. Joker would rest and recover while keeping a low profile at your apartment then he would be out of your life, that is until feelings and other outside forces extended the original timeframe well past its due date. It was supposed to be two weeks tops dealing with the notorious clown. Almost a month later and Joker had fully integrated himself into your life. You couldn't get rid of him even if you tried.

Your original decision to help a wanted criminal in need clearly went off the rails but could you handle Joker for five more months?

That was enough time for him to officially move in and for you to develop deeper (toxic) feelings, not like you already have, and start adding labels to things that clearly had no business being labeled. But you found yourself unable to tear your gaze from Joker. He had a way of sucking you into his orbit with no guarantee if you would make it out alive.

You felt like Icarus skirting too close to Joker and his fervent destructive powers.

You had to remind yourself that Joker was just a temporary diversion before the inevitability of life tore the two of you apart. He was not a 'happy ever after' book troupe. He couldn't be your endgame, but that didn't mean you would waste the time you did have with him. If this arrangement was only temporary, then you were going to make the most out of every last second. Starting right now.

You wrapped your legs tighter around Joker's waist and played with a wet strand of his hair.

He desperately needed to wash it. "Wow, just five months? Whatever will I do with you?" You teased him.

You were convinced Joker's eyes glowed. "I can think of a lot of things I can do to you, Bunny." He dropped you down just a tad and you felt his growing erection rub against you.

Oh. Oh...

And he had the audacity to call you a bunny. It had barely been fifteen minutes and he was already in the mood for round two. You thanked the gods up above for Joker's stamina. Your last fling called it a night after the first round that hardly lasted ten minutes. Side note: you didn't get to cum. And here Joker was spoiling you rotten in the same hour.

You looked away, "You are seriously a danger to my health."

Joker grinned and repeated his statement from earlier. "Buuuut did you die sweetheart?"

You flushed a faint maroon and scoffed. "Yeah! My hair did! Florence is gonna murder me for not lasting a full month." You patted your braids that were being exposed to the elements even as you spoke.

Unfortunately, Joker wasn't listening to you nor did he care.

He was too busy grinding his dick against your folds and mapping out your plushy curves with his hands. You shivered when he traced your spine with his damp fingers and felt yourself grow wetter. As much as Joker liked holding you in his arms, he did need to get off of his injured leg. He spotted a seat nearby and carried you over.

It was the same bench you used to hold your candles during a nice soak. He wondered how it found its way into the shower but didn't think too much about it.

Joker sat down and plopped you down right on top of his hard on. Green eyes immediately found your gaze and for a moment– time stood still.

The steady stream of water still reached this section of the shower and it beat upon your back in gentle waves however it was nothing compared to the fervent heat that was Joker. The man ran like a furnace and his touch was even hotter. Joker continued to prove your theory of him being the sun correct and you would gladly get burned just to be in his presence. You loved playing with fire.

One day it would be your downfall.

"Lean back Y/n." He whispered.

You tilted your head and Joker admired your puppy-like confusion for a brief second before he pushed you back himself. Your startled moan was the confirmation that his idea had worked. A small jet of water traveled down your chest and concentrated straight onto your clit.

You held onto his shoulders afraid of falling over. "J-Joker!"

"I got ya.. Trust me, Y/n. I got ya." With that heated vow uttered, Joker lowered you down onto his cock. There was no resistance as his dick split you back open.

He was successful in preparing you for entry well without your knowledge. Your body was so responsive to him it was actually rather embarrassing. A little kiss here, a subtle but firm touch there; Joker could play you like an instrument.

You just had sex with Joker yet he managed to take your breath away again. The searing stretch was making you lose all train of thought. It was just too good. Your eyelashes fluttered closed and your mouth fell open in a moan that never escaped your throat.

The trickle of water kept your clit preoccupied while Joker came to a stop, fully sheathed within your warmth. He would never get used to your vice-like grip. After a shaky deep breath, he found the strength to move and slowly rocked you back and forth, groaning from the feeling.

You whimpered at the friction Joker created but he wasn't satisfied with the gentle sway. You deserved so much more. He needed more from you.

One of his hands was big enough to cup your entire back and it was a nice reminder to keep it arched. Not like you needed a reminder since the heavy drag of Joker's dick grazing your walls had your back naturally trying to snap in half. You didn't know whether to accept him or shy away from the sensation.

Joker picked up on your inner dilemma. He felt the tension in your body and also with how you clung to his shoulders with a grimace on your face.  He knew exactly what you were worried about.

"I won't let you fall, Y/n." You met Joker's gaze before bashfully looking away.

You decided to trust Joker and relaxed your body within his hold. He felt the transfer of control and for a brief moment, he almost exploited it, (he really wanted to) but he decided to focus on shifting your weight better so he could begin bouncing you up and down on his dick.

The only thing keeping you from tipping over backwards was Joker's arms and you laid on them moaning out in bliss. You felt put on display for his gaze and tried shielding yourself away but Joker read your body language and slowed down.

"No no no no.. Y/n. Don't be shyyy. Look at me." It wasn't a request, more so a demand– one that you quickly obeyed.

Your e/c met his iridescent green. "Good girl." He grinned and sped back up. After Joker said that, your brain unplugged from the socket.

You couldn't think straight with the heat from the shower and Joker's thrusts into your pussy happening all at once. Each jarring thrust up into your pussy had you gasping for air and clawing at Joker's forearms. He could see all of you splayed out in his arms and he didn't take his eyes off of you less he miss something.

Your breast bounced with each thrust and the water fell off your body in hypnotic patterns. Every inch of you was a work of art, even your moans had a special pitch to them that he could listen to for hours on repeat. Your head was thrown back in pleasure, most likely getting your braids soaking wet although you hardly cared.

You were adrift in a sea of pleasure.

Joker was utterly entranced by you and mumbled who knows what under his breath. You raised your head, straining to hear his nonsensical praises and noticed something spectacular. You weren't the only one caught up in the moment. Joker's cheeks had adopted a rosy hue like he was running a marathon and his handsome smirk was front and center even as he tipped his head back groaning.

"You.. ahh m-make me feel so good.." He canted your name like a prayer and slammed you down harder on his dick, making you whimper. "Sooo. Good." He growled.

This wasn't about gentle touches anymore. This became nothing but primal urges and the pursuit to come undone. If you didn't know any better, you would've been fooled into thinking Joker had it out for your pussy with the way he abused it for his pleasure.

Joker yanked you upright by your neck and you moaned right in his face as his other hand returned to your hip gripping it tight. More bruises to worry about later.

Joker's grip on your waist helped him maintain the brutal pace he created and he would not stop until something deep inside the both of you snapped. The distinctive sound of skin slapping against wet skin echoed throughout the glass enclosure– much louder than the shower still running. Funny how he brought you in here to get clean yet achieved the exact opposite. A shame about the wasted water though.

Perhaps he could help pay your water bill as an apology. You quoted a rough estimate in between a series of hard thrusts. He thought it was cute how your brain blurted out such insignificant facts mid sex.

He was doing a good job of making you go dumb on his cock. Joker loved seeing this new submissive side of you. There was a hot sensation slowly spreading from your core straight to your head and Joker's hand clenching around your throat made the tip of your nose tingle as well.

You would never have imagined you'd have a choking kink if Joker didn't introduce you to the idea. You wondered what other debauchery you'd discover with this madman. Hidden versions of yourself were being forced to the surface. Joker was unlocking your inner slut at every turn, why not embrace it? This was only temporary after all.

If only it weren't. Regardless, you warned Joker about your impending climax with the limited air supply you had. He didn't let up his grip on your throat just because you wanted to talk. In fact, he squeezed even harder.

He took your slurred speech as an open invitation to let go himself. He relocated his arms to wrap around your body in a fierce embrace and you sucked in a deep breath; getting dizzy off the ability to breathe again. Holding you like this was a power high Joker had never felt before. It was beyond incredible keeping you safe while tearing you apart at the seams.

His touch made you this way, no one else's. Only he got to see you writhing in pleasure crying out his name. You were all his.

You gave Joker full control to do whatever he wanted with you. That rush of control spurred Joker on to drive his dick deeper into you. He would never hold back when it came to you.

His bulbous tip repeatedly hit your g spot causing a moan to get caught in your throat. Joker felt your fingers grip his wet hair and glanced your way. Your eyes were heavy lidded but locked onto his dark forest green orbs.

He saw your tongue dart out to lick your lips and dove in. He breathed in your exhale and grinned when you chased after his lips wanting a kiss. He teased you once or twice until he granted your unspoken desire. It was a clash of teeth and tongue but the sheer desperation was felt in each lip lock.

He could taste the thought you didn't dare speak aloud. It wasn't the right time and you didn't want to ruin the mood despite your lips already parting to do just that.

You rested your forehead on Joker's and shuddered when you began to teeter over the edge. "Joker, I.. l-"

He interrupted you by biting your lower lip. He tugged at it and witnessed the exact moment your brain turned into mush. Any other thoughts fizzled away as you stared into a green void.

Maybe the heat was getting to you because you swore you heard Joker whisper a soft, "I know." on your lips before stars exploded and you crumbled apart one atom at a time.

Joker laughed as your world came crashing down. It was better than any heist he could ever plan and no reward was sweeter than watching your pleasure consume you whole.

Your body twitched uncontrollably in his hold, so he held you tighter. "That's it Bunny. L-let it ahh.. out. Breathe and give it all to meee." You obeyed without a fuss.

Joker tried to prolong his own release but your fluttering walls gripped him so tight he couldn't escape. Not like he wanted to. Joker wanted to stay buried deep inside your pussy forever but he wouldn't last another minute within this glorious torture.

He chanted praises to your name as he chased after his own climax, not once caring about your overstimulated body weeping for mercy.

Your nails left claw marks on his shoulders and upper back as you cried out for more. Like you could handle anymore. You were seconds away from a heatstroke. Maybe this was the way Joker would kill you off. This was fine. It was a great way to go. You definitely had to applaud him for choosing a fun method because Joker turning you into his personal fleshlight was euphoric.

You were a ragdoll crying on his lap as he worked himself to a peak he never reached before. He thought the first round in the bedroom was mind blowing, you just kept getting better and better.

The steam only hyphened the rush of endorphins as Joker lost the ability to think straight when he came. His lips brushed your ear and you got to hear every grunt and incredibly hot broken moan leave Joker's mouth. How utterly amazing it was to render Gotham City's most notorious criminal into a moaning mess. You would celebrate that feat later.

Joker mindlessly grinded his cock into you but gradually came to a stop after he was spent. You were grateful since the overstimulation was beginning to hurt.

The shower was still running in the background though you hardly heard it over the sound of your heartbeat pounding loudly in your ears. Joker was in the same boat, panting like mad, but he still had the urge to stroke your skin– he still needed physical contact well after the sex was over to ground him back to Earth.

You clung to Joker absolutely numb, trying to come to when he decided to let you go.

The sudden loss of him snapped you out of your afterglow. Joker slipped out of you and laid you down on the bench so he could go retrieve the long forgotten loofah off of the shower floor.

You just blinked owlishly, ignoring the trickle of cum leaking out of you. You hoped to regain brain function soon.

Joker stood under the main stream of water for a minute (secretly pulling himself together) before returning to your side. And like he didn't give you another earth shattering orgasm– Joker picked up right where he left off, rubbing the shower puff along your body and bestowing kisses along the way.

He cleared his throat when your body jerked at his touch but continued unfazed. Joker picked up your limbs to give them gentle scrub downs before moving on. He was a blurry figure focused on the task at hand in your eyes.

His actions confused you. Your curiosity couldn't take it anymore. "W-why are you being so nice to me?"

Joker glanced at you for a spell until his eyes averted back to your stomach. He avoided your question by rubbing your organic soap into your skin in tantalizing circles. You grabbed his wrist to get his attention.

Joker popped a bubble on your waist and shrugged his shoulders. "Do you wanT me to be mean, Y/n?"

On cue, a dark sinister air overtook Joker's features. You secretly loved it. You knew Joker could flip a switch and be mean if you simply asked him to, but that's not what you wanted– at least not right now. He was avoiding the point here.

This soft, doting version of Joker would take some getting used to but you didn't hate it per se. It was just.. different. A new concept. You found the energy to sit up before standing on your own two feet. Joker rose to his full height to tower over you and kept a cautious hand outstretched– ready to catch you when your knees would eventually give out.

You took a step forward and just like he predicted, you stumbled. Your Dark Prince was there for you to lean on. He did get a little cocky witnessing your weak state (that he caused) and received another glare from you.

Once you were stable enough, he quickly spun you around.

"Joker!" You slapped your hands on the subway tiles in front of you to brace yourself. If he was gonna take you again, all he had to do was ask.

You jumped when hot water hit your body from all sides in a calm drizzle. Joker had redirected the shower head to suit his needs again. Since when did he become an expert on your shower controls?

Your breasts were squished against the wall as he kissed the back of your neck and idly scrubbed your back. "You were saying?" He reminded you.

How did he expect you to reply like this? His hands were massaging your soap in with a firm touch and his tall frame caged you against the wall like a frightened animal. It was definitely a turn on.

"L-Like right now! You're washing my back and giving off soft daddy vibes. WAIT!" You looked over your shoulder at Joker's amused grin. "What I meant to say is... your hands are used to detonating bombs and carving smiles on people's faces, not washing..."

You moaned aloud when he grabbed a handful of your breasts with wet, soapy hands. His words floated into your ear.

"I don't hear ya complainin' doll." Joker kissed the back of your burning ears and slotted his hands down to your waist. He cursed under his breath and you flushed harder at his compliment.

It was truly amazing how Joker could make you feel both sexy and insecure at the same time.

His touch danced across your body like a skater on ice but you felt the possessive drags of his fingers carve into your dark skin. Underneath his sweet caresses was a man who could tear you apart if he wanted to. You turned your head and met Joker's neon green eyes again. It was literally like staring into a hungry wolf's eyes.

Your only coherent thought: You couldn't believe Joker actually covered up such a handsome face every day. And his: He couldn't believe someone as beautiful as you gave him a chance.

Both thoughts were made at the same time and both of you came to another agreement without saying a single word.

You had nothing to lose throwing yourself into this torrid affair. He would lose nothing in return. Five more months with you. Did he deserve such an honor? Probably not, but it was all he could spare. Any more wouldn't be fair to either of you. Some things weren't meant to be.

Neither of you were quite sure who kissed who first. You simply fell into Joker's open arms and the shell protecting his heart cracked open to let you in.

"We should seriously get out, Joker. My hands are all pruney."

A pale hand rose up from under the water to grab yours. Joker held your hand up to his line of sight and hummed in agreement but didn't move to exit the claw foot tub.

You had venomously complained about your future water bill while in the shower with Joker well over an hour ago. Of course he didn't relocate immediately upon your request. He had his fun showing off his meaner side and used your hips like handlebars while railing into you from behind.

You had nothing to hold onto as Joker forced more orgasms out of you. You had already passed your personal record but you'd never tell Joker that and stroke his ego even more. It became an obsession to see you come undone. With that knowledge, he would be unstoppable.

He loved extracting orgasms from you probably more than he loved watching Gotham burn.

You must've passed out in the shower since the next thing you knew, Joker had you lying on his chest submerged in the bathtub. He didn't try any more funny business here. The time in the bathtub was strictly used to clean up the mess that he made in the shower.

Your head was still spinning but you felt his hands wash you properly before he leaned back with you in his arms. Joker mysteriously kept the water hot as the both of you lay in the bathtub soaking and enjoying each other's company.

He took up drawing lazy patterns on the bruises forming along your body. He didn't mean to be so rough.. but he literally couldn't help himself when it came to you. Joker tried so hard to be gentle but you tested his patience time and time again until he finally snapped.

You got a glimpse of what Joker was truly capable of and now you were facing the consequences.

Although you would happily poke the bear as many times necessary to feel this good again. Sex with Joker was indescribable. You knew it wouldn't last so you slid your hand from his chest up into his now shampooed hair. Apparently you were the one who washed it in between getting your back blown out in the shower.

Months ago you thought that all of Joker's hair was dyed his signature green. On the contrary, his hair was a beautiful shade of brown with various hues of green running throughout it. You were dying to see its true potential, blow dried and styled. After all, Joker was an attractive man.

His choice in hair color completed his overall terrifying look as The Joker, yet for once you wanted to see a normal version of the man who terrorized Gotham. He already peeled back a layer of himself by removing his makeup. What was next?

You glanced up and was taken aback by his raw beauty all over again. Joker's head was reclined on the back of the tub and his eyes were closed, looking every bit a Greek god. He appeared to be asleep and as much as you wanted him to get his rest, (the man rarely slept) you had an urge to kiss him.

You were leaning in to claim your prize when a piercing gaze startled you.

His eyes were so warm like two cups of matcha. They displayed his satisfaction and relaxed state all because of you. You were unable to look away.

"Can I... uh helP you with something?" He asked.

Dewy fingers rose from the water and dripped down your sides. Joker must have some kind of obsession with your hips since he couldn't keep his hands off of them. He loved exploring all of your body but his hands always found their way back to his favorite handles.

"I... um. We should.." You stalled and Joker arched an eyebrow, urging you along. "We should get out. I need to moisturize." You finally mustered out.

You didn't wait for him. Seconds after you mumbled your suggestion, you rose from the bathtub and stepped down the platform towards the towels Joker set aside.

Joker eyed you like a hawk toweling off before you sat down on the wooden bench (dragged from the shower and put back in its rightful place) to start lotioning up.

His nose was hit with the rich smell of shea butter. He could watch you hum and lather your body up with lotion all day long. Not one inch of your skin was spared from the enriching moisture. You ended your session with a generous amount of butter directly onto your face. You glistened like a shiny new penny under the warm glowing lights.

Unfortunately you ruined the show by donning a bathrobe and tying it around your waist tight. That's when you looked up at Joker still submerged in the tub.

"Well? Aren't you getting out?" You laughed.

"You're the one who hopped out unexpectedly, Y/n. I was fine with just relaxing." Joker stressed his syllables again but rolled his eyes when you didn't look impressed.

He pulled the drain with a sigh before standing up, not catching your reaction when he stepped out of the tub bare naked and dripping wet.

"Sheesh.."

Joker quirked an eyebrow at you. Why were you shocked at something you've already seen and touched? It didn't make any sense to Joker but he was a chiseled Adonis, tall, mysterious and deadly in your eyes.

You cleared your throat and turned around to pout at your reflection in the mirror. Your faux locs were beyond saving. With the steady stream of water from the shower, to practically drowning them in the tub, they were waterlogged and puffing up at the scalp. You only wore them for three weeks tops.

"Great. I'm gonna have to do my hair tomorrow."

You didn't notice Joker walking up behind you but felt when he rested his chin on the top of your head and returned your gaze through the mirror.

"I can help you uh take them down.. ya know." He picked up a loc and twirled it in between his fingertips.

Your doubtful eye roll had him sighing. "Why so serious Y/n? I offered up my services did I not?"

"I wouldn't have to take them down in the first place if someone were a bit more careful while having his way with me! Were you trying to sweat my braids out?" You asked.

"Yeah." Joker said it like it was common knowledge.

You dragged a hand over your face and ignored your eye twitching. "Sure you did. Do you even know how to take down braids, this particular kind at that, Joker?"

"I can show ya way better than I can tell ya." He smirked, glancing down at your neck poking out of the fluffy bathrobe you wore. The first of many love bites were visible, a testament to Joker's insatiable lust. The rest would develop as the night dragged on if he didn't add any more. You had no doubt that he would.

Who knows how long you spent in the bathroom with Joker. The sun had already set when you two finally made it inside your penthouse and you didn't have any clocks nearby to tell the actual time.

There were a ton of questions you wanted to hound Joker with but he didn't give you a moment of reprieve to ask. How did he find you so fast? Why did he care enough to come rescue you after two weeks of radio silence? How many cameras did he have installed in your apartment, and where did the two of you stand at the current moment?

Of course you two shared a moment in the shower, amongst other things, but you were a woman of clarity. You liked important things written in black and white so no discrepancies could be found.

Five months was a big deal compared to two weeks. Did Joker really want to stay in your apartment for that long? Would he contribute anything to its upkeep? How were you going to keep him a secret this time?

"Aht aht aht, Y/n. Stop thinking." You blinked back to the present to feel Joker turning you around to face him. "I know that look from anywhere. You don't have to think about anything else, at least not tonight. You've been through a loT today. Let me handle the rest."

"But–"

He shut you up with a kiss. "Can I borrow your lotion?" His random request threw you off guard and your soft 'huh' wasn't any better.

Joker was already reaching for the bottle before your brain caught up to what he was asking.

"Go get dressed and meet back up in my room. Bring all of your uh hair stuff. Actually... whatever you need for the rest of the night. You're sleeping with meee." He kissed you again and shoved you towards the door.

In your confusion you didn't comment on his rough treatment. "Wait what? I am?"

One look at his green eyes had you turning to do as he said.

"Geez, sir yes sir." You mumbled under your breath.

"I heard that Y/n."

You heard his footsteps following yours and quickly slammed the door closed. You'd regret that later, judging by his sinister laugh.

Right now you had a mini slumber party to prepare for.

Your heart was beating wildly in preparation for whatever Joker had in store. As you walked towards your bedroom, you eyed the clock in the kitchen. It was well past midnight.

"Tch. Good thing I don't have work in the morning." You joked to yourself. Your hand rested on the brass doorknob of your private bedroom.

You wanted to trust that Joker respected your privacy and didn't install any cameras in here. But how could you be so sure? The handle was cool to the touch and you opened it with caution. A rush of cold air greeted you and the sight of pristine conditions and an undisturbed room.

You knew how you left it down to the placement of the pillows on the bed to the stack of books on your nightstand. No one had entered in your absence, at least that you could tell. And so you breathed a sigh of relief. This room was your sanctuary and you'd wage war if anyone disturbed it. Even with Joker.

It was then you remembered why you were in here. Pajamas and hair supplies. You honestly didn't have the energy to take your braids down tonight, especially after knowing it was so late. The darkness pouring in from your windows confirmed the hour. Gotham City's nightlife was thriving down on the streets below but with your current mindset, you didn't care much for it. You were beat after today's harrowing events that were slowly creeping up on you.

Not including surviving through Joker's three plus romps in the shower, a girl was tiied. But if Joker was offering to do all the work then by all means.

"Might as well change into some clothes for the night." You walked over to your closet where overhead lights illuminated a room full of racks and drawers.

Joker mentioned you were sleeping with him tonight. Should you wear what you normally wore to bed or jazz it up to try and seduce him again? Not like he needed any more incentive. Joker was quite the aggressive lover. If he wanted something, he simply took it, no questions asked.

You rubbed your sore waist from learning that the hard way. Maybe that was enough sex for the day. Your vagina would thank you tomorrow morning after some much needed rest. With that thought in mind, you stuck with your usual pjs and quickly put them on before standing in front of the floor length mirror. Comfy and suggestive but not overly so.

You knew Joker wouldn't keep his hands to himself, not after getting a taste of you. Five months of this delicious torture. Oh, whatever would you do? Milk it for all its worth.

You grabbed your trusty rat tooth comb, a bin of hair clips to part your hair, a satin bonnet, and your trusty scissors. A bag for disposal and another that contained your detangling creams and aftercare serums were grabbed before you selected an old towel to collect any stray hairs or wayward hair products. This wasn't your first rodeo.

You knew how long this was gonna take. Joker would probably tap out well before he started once he realized just how tedious this task was. You made a short pitstop to your living room to grab your laptop to work on. It would help you stay awake in case you had to take over. You were planning on it in fact.

Everything was hauled back into Joker's bedroom. You proceeded to dump everything you collected on the bed sheets. You were straightening things out when the bathroom door opened behind you.

"Is that everything?"

Joker didn't mean to startle you, he just had that effect on people. Occupational hazard. He walked past you to the large dresser in the room and tugged a drawer open to grab some clothes to change into. He should've known that would cause a commotion in that pretty head of yours.

"Woah woah now, wait a minute! Since when did you get clothes and make yourself comfortable in here? Honestly Joker! You're acting like nothing is wrong when in reality, if you haven't forgotten, I was kidnapped! There is so much I need to ask you but you're ignoring it!" You shouted.

He chose not to answer in favor of choosing between dark grey sleeping pants over a deep navy pair. He never slept in pajamas before since he needed to be ready at a moment's notice. He actually looked forward to a full night's rest again. On a real mattress no less. You were slowly domesticating him back to society, one small act of charity at a time. But back to the present.

He had clothes now. Joker wasn't the only one who went shopping last week. He hit the town stocking up on essentials he would need if he was staying with you. The original duffel bag Frost smuggled into the apartment with only a suit and two spare shirts wasn't gonna cut it anymore.

You were unaware but Joker had already moved in and filled your place with his personal effects. He didn't have much but you were bound to notice after a while.

"Joker. You need to start talking. What am I getting myself into here?" You begged him. You had more to say but seeing Joker drop his towel and step into a pair of pants had you tongue tied.

Why were you acting like you'd never seen Joker naked before? Sure it was quite the sight but still! You really needed to stop acting like a blushing schoolgirl and focus for once.

"Ah- ahem.. um as I was saying.. What did you get into while I was gone?"

Joker tied the drawstrings together and steadily approached you.

You held your ground until the back of your knees hit the bed and you were forced to sit down. Joker then stood above you eyeing you with an unreadable expression. You really had to get used to looking at his face without any makeup on. It was like looking at a completely different person.

The staring match ended when Joker averted his eyes down at the supplies you brought.

It was all things he was familiar with or could use without your assistance. The laptop however sparked his curiosity but he returned his focus back on you by picking up a lone braid off your chest.

He played with the ends as he spoke. "A loT happened in two weeks Y/n. I was tired of waiting around, sooo I made good use of my time. I did say, You'd be back and I'd be waiting. Now look at you! asking questions to things that shouldn't concern you."

Joker saw your sassy comment queuing up and tapped your lips with a pale finger.

"Ahhtt aht aht shush. All that matters is that you came back and that I'm here to stay. Suck it up and deal with being in the dark. I think it's uhh payback for leaving me high and dry for that annoying billionaire. Which reminds me.."

You gasped when Joker trailed his finger down to your neck, playing with the first hickey he made.

"How did Brucie handle being rejected, hm?"

You scoffed and batted Joker's hand away while doing your best to drown out his sinister laugh. He was enjoying the suffering of another person way too much. But this was The Joker you were talking about here. So you fought back.

"Sooo I'm supposed to ignore the fact that you're hiding things from me all because you think I'm hiding things about my time spent with Bruce? What is this? A game of tit for tat?" You offered.

"Exactly!" Joker beamed and bopped you on the nose. You jumped by default.

"But that's not fair, Joker! I'm willing to tell you everything that happened while I was gone. Are you?" You snapped back.

That seemed to zap Joker's joyful mood. You saw his eyes cloud over and become serious. Without warning, Joker reached behind you to grab the scissors and cut a few of your braids.

"WAIT JOKER! THAT'S TOO HIGH!"

He rolled his eyes and tossed the cut braids onto the floor. "It's called... shrinkage my dear. Turn around. Lemme cut the rest." He was already snapping the scissors together, eyeing your faux locs like a madman.

"No! I'm cutting the rest! You don't know how long my natural hair is and I definitely don't trust you with scissors anymore." You eyed him warily as he leaned back, clutching imaginary pearls.

"You don't trust me? I could've drowned you in the bathtub or snapped your neck in the shower but now you're afraid of scissors? I'm disappointed you think so.. lowly of me! Too bad you already accepted my offer twice now. Turn around. Now."

You couldn't argue with his dom energy.

With a pout you did as you were told, but not without an attitude. You flicked your remaining braids over your shoulder (most likely hitting Joker in the face) before opening your laptop.

The distinctive sound of hair being cut made you change that attitude real quick and apologize.

The only sound in the room was the constant tapping of computer keys and the light patter of rain against the window.

The time in the bottom corner of your laptop read 3:39AM but that didn't stop Joker from his current job nor you from getting a few more pages added to your WIP. The two of you worked in silence, feeding off each other's energy without conflict.

After Joker scared you with how close he cut to your natural hair (he was thoroughly impressed by how long it was) he made up for his blunder by working efficiently in the removal process. It was almost like he had done this before, but you weren't going to ask.

Probably another prison thing. His agile fingers unbraiding the artificial strands while gently detangling your natural hair from its hold. It was rather soothing. You kept falling asleep much to Joker's annoyance.

"Y/n keep your head up." He slapped the back of your neck with the end of the comb. It brought back memories of your mother doing the same thing on Saturday mornings. She loved styling your hair but had little patience for you if you didn't cooperate.

The sharp sting had you sitting up straight on reflex. Your hands hovered over the keyboard trying to remember where you left off before you dozed off. You were so exhausted you began brainstorming aloud to stay awake. "Uhh what's a good synonym for hot?"

"Stifling. Sweltering. You." Joker suggested.

He knew you weren't listening when you thanked him and continued typing— so he looked over your shoulder at what had you so scatterbrained. The font was ridiculously small but he knew a novel when he saw one.

"Mmm? Another L/N masterpiece? What riveting tale are you drafting this time?"

You slowly turned your head like an owl and came face to face with Joker reading your rough draft over your shoulder. The lid of your laptop was immediately slammed shut.

"I don't think you uh... saved your worK, Y/n." He joked. Joker watched you shake your head, now free, save for one pesky loc, and stand up from the bed.

You had been sitting for way too long and your legs had fallen asleep but Joker was there to catch you (again) before you hurt yourself. "T-Thanks."

Joker let go of your elbow. "Don't let it happen again." He frowned at your retreating form. "Where you goin' sweet thing? I'm not done yet."

He heard your annoyed groan coming from the bathroom.

"You and these ridiculous nicknames Joker. They just get worse and worse. I'm brushing my teeth if you must know and," He heard the water running, drowning out your voice until you spoke up, "You're more than welcome to join me!"

It sounded boring but he'd do any mundane task if it was with you. He was getting too soft. Joker sighed but made his way into the bathroom and saw you dancing to some unknown beat while brushing your teeth.

You made the otherwise messy task look absolutely adorable. He leaned against the doorframe to admire you in your natural element. It was peaceful until you tossed his long forgotten brush case at him.

"C'mon Joker! Ideally two minutes on each side if you want to keep kissing me in the future." You had spat out your paste and was swishing some mouthwash around as your hands tackled the last braid in your hair.

Joker did a marvelous job taking them down with the least amount of hair loss possible. The last piece was freed from your real hair and you shook your puffy mane out into a big afro. You definitely had to wash it tomorrow. You rested your palms on the sink when Joker walked up behind you in awe.

You saw his green eyes taking in the atrocity that was your natural texture. "I uh... that's a loT of hair, Y/n. May I?" He brought a hand up, hesitating. You eyed it warily.

Normally your hair was a hands off type deal. Only you or Florence touched it but Joker's genuine curiosity was too cute to deny. He wasn't a rude Karen in the supermarket touching it unprovoked like it was some freak attraction or a snotty nose kid who thought it was cotton candy or their next toy.

Joker was asking for permission so you obliged him. You wouldn't make a habit of it though. "You do know you were just taking it down, Joker."

"That's different. I was taking out the fake stuff. This is you. The real you." His words stirred up butterflies in your stomach.

You rinsed out your mouth and gestured for Joker to come closer. He wasted no time sinking his fingers into your tresses. His uneven fingernails worked wonders scratching/massaging your scalp. You couldn't hold back the pornographic moan in your throat.

"Ohhh it's like that huh?" He eyed your blissful face in the mirror and tested out a theory.

He intensified the pressure and was rewarded with your head tipping back into his touch. "Just like a puppy. Maybe I should call you that instead of Bunny."

And there went the mood. You groaned and backed away.

Joker frowned when you turned on the sink faucet. "Wash your hands and brush your teeth. You are so weird."

So are you. He thought. He did what you asked and begrudgingly brushed his teeth under your watchful eye.

It was nice knowing the yellow tint was just harmless paint and not his actual teeth— it was a huge turn off the first time you kissed him. You were so caught up in the moment you didn't interrogate him about it. Thankfully you came to your senses and fast. If Joker was staying under your roof he would abide by your rules. Personal hygiene was a given. You eyed his half air dried hair with a pensive stare.

Its lax state made you refocus on your unbound hair. You were too tired to wash and style it, so a protective bun would have to do for the night. You set to work throwing all of the wild frizz into a high bun and securing it with a silk scarf before topping it with your go-to nightcap.

Joker was finishing up his dental care but was distracted by watching your nightly routine. "You sure you don't wanna–"

"Nope! That's a problem for tomorrow me. I am beyond exhausted Joker. I just wanna sleep and forget that today ever happened. Again." You smirked his way, hinting at his successful method of distracting you earlier.

He smiled back and dried off his mouth with a nearby towel. He was expecting red to transfer onto the white material but being barefaced around others was something new, even for him.

He couldn't believe he trusted you with this. Just like you said, there was no going back. Joker was still lost in his thoughts and failed to hear you complain about your absent lip balm. He snapped out of it when he noticed your frantic searching.

"What is it?" Joker asked while looking around the bathroom for something he'd never seen before.

"It must be in my bathroom then. I'll go grab it and meet you in bed?" Honestly, you didn't mean to word it like a question but you were a little nervous about sharing a bed with Joker tonight.

He hardly gave you a choice on the matter but being an only child and not having any friends, you never had to share before. How would this work? Would you be the little spoon or what? Were you two moving too fast? What if he only wanted sex from you? And the spiraling thoughts began.

You jumped when Joker grabbed your shoulders. He said your name loudly to finally get your attention, "Go grab whatever you need and come to bed."

Orders. You could follow orders. You could overthink later. You nodded and left to get your balm, leaving Joker to stand in the bathroom alone. He sighed and returned to his room to clean up the mess he made and prepare for bed.

He only hoped you overcame your obvious fear and decided to join him. You weren't afraid to have sex with him but sleeping in the same bed was where you crossed the line? Of all things to be worried about, you chose the silliest thing but he accepted your weird quirks and hyperactive brain at this point.

He could only wait and hope you returned. What's the worst that could happen? So what if you didn't show?

He would roll over and catch some z's while contemplating what he said or did that drove you away. If only you didn't have that nasty habit of running away from your problems, it's what got the two of you so deep in this.... this.

What was this? A situationship? Friends with benefits (Joker laughed at that one) or was this an attempt at an actual relationship? He surely hoped it was the latter.

He would be a fool to pass up the chance to date you, unconventional circumstances notwithstanding. Joker could play the aloof game all day long but deep down he was panicking too. Should he go check up on you? Were you coming back? Maybe the reality of today's events were finally crashing down on you. He saw your mini panic attack moments before in the bathroom. What if he came on too strong and scared you away? He couldn't stomach another cool off period with you.

Joker wanted to hit the ground running with this romantic stuff and taking baths, fixing your hair, and falling asleep next to you were just a few things he wanted to experience during his short time with you.

There was so much more he wanted to do. Joker breathed a sigh of relief when you walked through the doorway wearing a sheepish smile.

"Ah sorry it took so long. I forgot to lock up and then I wanted to grab my phone and... yeah." You glanced away from Joker propped up on the headboard and already under the covers.

He looked like he belonged there. You were intimidated by his heated stare.

You shuffled your feet stalling– anything to avoid jumping into bed and coming on too eager. Joker seemed to notice your dilemma and chuckled to himself.

He crooked a tan finger, "C'mere Y/n."

You stared at it in longing. This was it. Yeah sex with Joker was great, more than great actually. That same finger urging you closer did unspeakable things to you.

But at the end of the day it was just that. Sex. But sleeping with Joker, literally, was a level of intimacy you were scared to explore. He inadvertently saved your life twice now and revealed a crucial part of himself to you. It was time to return the gesture.

With a deep sigh you slowly walked over to the side of the bed and climbed in. The plush bedding gave way to your weight and falling into Joker's arms was that much easier. You could never go back to sleeping alone if this was how couples went to sleep.

His arms were bands of warm steel trapping you into his dark cocoon. He made sure you were comfortable before throwing the covers over both of your bodies. You were rigid as a statue but quickly melted when you felt Joker's content sigh fan against the back of your neck.

Of course Joker would be the big spoon. That made you smile, then the weight of today's events hit you like a bulldozer. Your eyelids grew heavy and you didn't know you yawned until Joker cooed in your ear.

"Aww. She's all tuckered out. Try to get some sleep I guess." You were going to reply but he reached over you to hit the nightstand light, plunging the two of you into darkness.

Then it was nothing but absolute silence and the twinkling lights of Gotham City shining through the window. You had to say something. You could feel his arms subconsciously winding around you like a security blanket as his breathing slowed down.

It didn't dawn on you that maybe Joker was just as exhausted as you were. Yet you felt compelled to say something in this delicate air. Then it hit you.

You fixed your lips to finish the phrase you were trying to say in the shower. Joker stopped you then but he couldn't stop you now. It was right on the tip of your tongue, desperate to dwell in the space between him and uncertainty.

Yet the words you wanted to say never came.

#ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #black!fem!reader #heath ledger #joker x y/n #Smut #reader insert #yandere #Long Reads #a03 writer #slow burn #Tsundere vibes #dc comic #batman #romance #angst #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on AO3 #thank you for the support #and waiting #his lighthouse

[lady-exophiliac-musings]

Monsterfucker Mansion: Intro

Note: This will be a multi-chapter work. Requests are wide open. Ask for a monster, and ye shall receive a fucking from it. ;)

This intro contains no sex, just some small worldbuilding and exploration. This story will include impregnation, and probably a lot of it, by all sorts of different exophilia crushes.

There's an old, abandoned building you know of. It's a far trip for you, but the rumors surrounding it are the most enticing things you've ever heard:

Anyone who goes in comes back out changed. In the case of all the women you've heard of, they come back out -- pregnant.

And not with human offspring.

Nervousness and disbelief had kept you away for years, constantly hedging over the validity of the claims and debating over the possible consequences of going there, yourself.

Lots of "what if" scenarios filled your daydreams and nighttime ponderings.

What if the rumors were true? What if you went there and met a vampire? What if you met a demon? What if you met an entire group of satyr brothers? What if a werewolf pack happened to visit it at the same time you did?

What if they fucked you silly and you came back home pregnant with some monster's baby?

How would you care for it? Would you care for it? Would you just go back after the birth and hand it off to the father? Would you keep it? What kind of mother would you be to a little half-demon or half-vampire or half-lycan? Was that even how it worked -- or would the baby take after its father fully?

Several years passed as you argued with yourself over this, constantly checking any reports you could find of continued activity in the abandoned mansion. Dozens of "interviews" were conducted in that time featuring people who'd claimed to have gone in, and they all had one thing in common:

Ecstasy.

They'd loved cavorting in that mansion with the creatures they'd encountered. And while there was nothing saying that they weren't just the lucky ones, that maybe hundreds had gone in and never returned at all, the very real possibility of you finding yourself at the mercy of a who-knew-what for a night and then returning home carrying its offspring was beyond tantalizing to you.

Eventually, you broke. You ventured to the mansion, opting to borrow a coworker's motorcycle for the trip to hide it easier once you got there. After all, you had no idea how long you were going to end up staying and you didn't want your vehicle to attract attention.

No, you'd much rather remain as anonymous as possible until the very end.

Giddy, you drive for well over four hours before finding the path leading into the spooky woods where the mansion waited. And, you soon discover, the path is notably worn by vehicle tread despite being a dirt road.

A lot of people had come here before you.

Even more excited, now, it's a little hard to focus as you continue down the road. By now you don't even need directions or your GPS; the road is so well-used it's obvious where you need to go.

Before long, the mansion comes into view.

And it is a mansion. The few images of the exterior you'd managed to scrounge up don't do it justice.

It's a massive building, four stories in the center and three for the two wings. The road winds left and right, giving you incomplete glimpses of it for a while, but it isn't hard to estimate that there's around fourty sets of windows on the front, implying numerous rooms on every floor.

It's definitely been damaged over the years, some windows badly boarded up and others visibly shattered. An overhang held up by columns create a wide front porch, and one of the columns has splintered and been semi-shredded in the middle. A set of stone stairs lead up to that porch, and chunks have been broken off from it.

Your heart's already pounding as you break free of the wooded area and follow the path as it curves up to the front of the building, a non-working three-tier fountain featuring a mermaid on a shell taking up a place of honor in front of it.

Giddy, you slow to a stop and remove your helmet so you can take a better look. No lights shine from within -- but, then, you'd expect that any monsters that frequent this place would probably be able to see in the dark. They wouldn't need the light.

Excitement hums in your veins. Was it twisted of you to find what comes next all the more appealing because you expect it to be scary?

Taking deep breaths to control the shaking in your core, you leave your helmet and riding jacket on the bike, stuff the keys in your pocket, and proceed up to the door.

It's ajar, you notice, as if inviting you to venture within.

You take out your phone and switch the flashlight on to illuminate the interior before you step inside, getting a lay of the land. After all, if it turns out this place was full of asbestos and tetanus, well -- that would be bad.

You want to get fucked by monsters, not diseases.

The area within is surprisingly clean, given the outward appearance. It's dusty, but more at the edges than anywhere else -- like it's been traveled quite frequently, you note. And there's a definite lack of broken or abandoned furniture as well.

Only a few pieces remain, and they're all visibly intact. A small table in the entryway with an attached mirror; a vintage sofa in a room to your left; a small dining table with a set of six chairs around it; a tall cabinet, empty within but the glass doors intact and clean of dust.

Someone had to be tending to this place, you realize, which means it definitely is occupied.

Now even more excited, you creep inside, the nervous part of you driving you to keep quiet just in case. It's stupid, maybe; you're here to get railed by the creatures that might be living here, yet your voice and actions are suppressed, caution and a constant feeling like you're being stalked forcing you to try and be stealthy.

Not even the recognition that you were definitely not ever going to be stealthy enough to avoid getting caught by monsters can halt the impulse for you to step quietly and avoid anything remotely wobbly.

Plus, you think, you are using your phone as a flashlight. If anything else is in here, it probably already knows that you are, too.

...Yet, disappointingly, nothing shows itself, not even after you've started to get a feel for the mansion's layout. It's a surprisingly intuitive design, actually. You feel like you don't get lost despite the size of it, able to follow the hallways, anticipate turns, and connect the three individual staircases you find without difficulty.

It becomes a secondary form of fascination to you. You even catch yourself testing your guesswork by finding your way back to the front door with increasingly roundabout paths and feeling impressed when you successfully locate it.

Still no monsters pop out at you, but by now you don't mind so much; you're having fun just exploring. And, at last, you decide to expand your search to the second floor, ascending the stairs.

...Every single room up here is, unequivocally, a fucking room.

The first one you find, nudging open the ajar door, takes you by surprise. It's a bedroom with a four-poster canopy, red velvet blankets, and a fur rug on the floor. A fireplace is situated against one wall with a desk and a 5-prong candelabra at another.

Oh yes, and there were leather cords with soft shackles affixed to each of the bed's posters.

A little stunned at the discovery, you move on to another room.

This one had a single mattress on the floor with a trio of pillows at the head and torn, bloody sheets tossed over it. Strangely, there was also a mini fridge in the corner, which -- when you checked it out of sheer curiosity -- was actively running and was full of various kinds of alcohol -- and ice cream.

A third room was dressed up nicely in pastel pinks and lace, including a vanity of pure white with gold trim, a mirror with lipstick kisses on it, and a large wardrobe across from the king-size, comfy-looking bed.

The next was a mixture of black and dark violet, everything styled in a leather-and-chains goth aesthetic, the window covered in heavy black drapes.

It went on and on. One room didn't have a bed, but rather a pile of soft fur blankets and throw pillows in front of a fireplace. Another was pristine and perfect, everything in white, black or grey and cut in sharp angles. The next was in rich blues and greens, a string of pearls embedded in the walls up at ceiling-level, the room itself notably colder than the others. Yet another was more rugged and worn-down, the floor scuffed, the walls scratched, everything in shades of brown, red and orange -- earthy, beastly, rough.

Things definitely were living here, you conclude, and there were a lot of them -- with vastly different styles and personalities.

Now if only you could figure out where the fuck they were hiding.

#monsterfucker mansion #sfw-ish #intro #part zero #next part starts the fun #and it's gonna be a doozy #was planning this for so long y'all #i hope you enjoy

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Titanic: First ever full-sized scans reveal wreck as never seen before

Titanic departing Southampton on 10 April 1912

By Rebecca Morelle and Alison Francis

BBC News Climate and Science

17 May 2023

The world's most famous shipwreck has been revealed as never seen before.

The first full-sized digital scan of the Titanic, which lies 3,800m (12,500ft) down in the Atlantic, has been created using deep-sea mapping.

It provides a unique 3D view of the entire ship, enabling it to be seen as if the water has been drained away.

The hope is that this will shed new light on exactly what happened to the liner, which sank on 15 April 1912.

More than 1,500 people died when the ship struck an iceberg on its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York.

"There are still questions, basic questions, that need to be answered about the ship," Parks Stephenson, a Titanic analyst, told BBC News.

He said the model was "one of the first major steps to driving the Titanic story towards evidence-based research - and not speculation."

The Titanic has been extensively explored since the wreck was discovered in 1985.

But it's so huge that in the gloom of the deep, cameras can only ever show us tantalizing snapshots of the decaying ship - never the whole thing.

The new scan captures the wreck in its entirety, revealing a complete view of the Titanic.

It lies in two parts, with the bow and the stern separated by about 800m (2,600ft). A huge debris field surrounds the broken vessel.

The scan was carried out in summer 2022 by Magellan Ltd, a deep-sea mapping company, and Atlantic Productions, who are making a documentary about the project.

Submersibles, remotely controlled by a team on board a specialist ship, spent more than 200 hours surveying the length and breadth of the wreck.

They took more than 700,000 images from every angle, creating an exact 3D reconstruction.

Magellan's Gerhard Seiffert, who led the planning for the expedition, said it was the largest underwater scanning project he'd ever undertaken.

"The depth of it, almost 4,000m, represents a challenge, and you have currents at the site, too - and we're not allowed to touch anything so as not to damage the wreck," he explained.

"And the other challenge is that you have to map every square centimetre - even uninteresting parts, like on the debris field you have to map mud, but you need this to fill in between all these interesting objects."

The scan shows both the scale of the ship, as well as some minute details, such as the serial number on one of the propellers.

The bow, now covered in stalactites of rust, is still instantly recognisable even 100 years after the ship was lost.

Sitting on top is the boat deck, where a gaping hole provides a glimpse into a void where the grand staircase once stood.

The stern though, is a chaotic mess of metal. This part of the ship collapsed as it corkscrewed into the sea floor.

In the surrounding debris field, items are scattered, including ornate metalwork from the ship, statues and unopened champagne bottles.

There are also personal possessions, including dozens of shoes resting on the sediment.

Parks Stephenson, who has studied the Titanic for many years, said he was "blown away" when he first saw the scans.

"It allows you to see the wreck as you can never see it from a submersible, and you can see the wreck in its entirety. You can see it in context and perspective. And what it's showing you now is the true state of the wreck."

He said that studying the scans could offer new insight into what happened to the Titanic on that fateful night of 1912.

"We really don't understand the character of the collision with the iceberg. We don't even know if she hit it along the starboard side, as is shown in all the movies - she might have grounded on the iceberg," he explained.

Studying the stern, he added, could reveal the mechanics of how the ship struck the sea floor.

The sea is taking its toll on the wreck, microbes are eating away at it and parts are disintegrating.

Historians are well aware that time is running out to fully understand the maritime disaster.

But the scan now freezes the wreck in time and will allow experts to pore over every tiny detail.

The hope is that the Titanic may yet give up its secrets.

#Titanic #shipwreck #deep-sea mapping #RMS Titanic #Magellan Ltd #Atlantic Productions #Gerhard Seiffert #Parks Stephenson #White Star Line #North Atlantic Ocean #15 April 1912 #iceberg #digital scan #3D reconstruction

[maelstrom007]

@ghouljams Has been building a fantastic Fae!Au Cod universe, and I haven't been able to get my own self insert OC for this world out of my head. Behold, Mal! (Their real name isn't Mal, they know how shit works.) Below is a copy of the original ask I sent in to Ghoul when I first imagined this OC.

Their trade is textile and fiber craft work, and they have one of those combination buildings where the bottom floor is a shop, and the top floor is their home. Although when they open their back door it opens into a pasture that really feels like it shouldn’t fit there given the geometry of the nearby buildings. . .

They work on commission and imbue magic, intentions, and spellwork into custom made pieces of textiles for clients. Quite literally they handle every step of the process (shearing/collecting fiber, processing, spinning, weaving, finishing) and while this means it takes them a very long time, the quality is nearly unmatched because there is no opportunity for outside influences on the finished product. I can imagine they could make things for protection, separation, binding/collecting, obscuring/hiding (), and maybe even revealing truths/seeing (making a cloth and then tearing through it with a knife, as if removing a blindfold). 

Protection and obscuring is definitely their bread and butter, so I think that to human eyes on the outside the place just looks like a hole in the wall joint that their eyes easily slide off of in favor of more tantalizing stores around it, but Fae (and humans who have specifically been told of its presence) can at least see perceive it. Whether or not they can come in is another story altogether.

Here is what Mal's outward appearance is to humans and very unobservant fae.

And here is what Mal can look like to Seer's and nosy Fae, trying to get a glimpse at their True Form. Since they specialize in obscuring, I imagine that their hand made obscura can visually feel like those patterns that people put on documents to hide sensitive information. Like visual snow, to break up the edges and contours to make it pretty much impossible to see through it.

#maelstrom speaks #oc: Mal #fae au #ghouljams fae au

[lord-squiggletits]

Hi hi what’s your favourite thing about megop in any continuity? And which continuity has your favourite megop?

IDW1 MegOP is the best megop for me by far. I'll reblog and enjoy content for other continuities, but no other continuity truly captures my mind/heart the way IDW1 MOP does.

It's hard to explain why in a concise way that doesn't involve a full essay's worth of content, but I'll do my best:

Megatron and Optimus are utter narrative foils. One began on the good side, turned bad, and then turned back to good; the other began on the bad side, came to good, and then fell. Both of them are on similar paths but in reverse, and the tragedy is that they only ever get to meet each other passing by and never as long term friends like they easily could be :( But that's the beauty of IDW MegOP, the tragedy.

Best part is that OP being the hero at all is significantly influenced by Megatron both as an inspiration and as an enemy. "Hero, patriot...and it's all thanks to me."

The megops have some truly iconic banter in this continuity, which is helped along by the fact that IDW OP's personality has enough bite and darkness to match Megatron. Bastard to bastard communication. But seriously, the MegOP would NOT be so high quality without both of them being equally nuanced and they're basically the same guy but flipped and mmmmmm

They're truly obsessed with each other and make SO MANY uncomfortably friendly/intimate decisions regarding the other like??? Optimus letting Megatron go free on the Lost Light? Megatron turning Damus into Tarn just to make a point to Optimus? The entirety of Chaos Theory?? The story doesn't spell it out or give them a lot of screen time together, but so many of their decisions are based on what the other can/will do and skfjskdmd if you read between the lines they're scarily in sync with each other it's so cool and gay

I just think their dynamic of being strangers who met at exactly the right time to change each other's lives only for circumstance to corrupt them and cause them to become enemies, yet the chemistry between them is always present, and the strategies of war still end up being intensely personal, and Optimus believes in Megatron despite barely getting a glimpse of his best while Megatron does his best to break Optimus' spirit, and then Megatron finally does become good and they have a scant few moments together only to end up on separate paths once again is just AAAAAAAA it's so complicated to me and much more interesting than a cut and dry "they used to be friends and now they're not." It's the tantalizing hope/despair of what they could have been together but were doomed to never have. That's what gets to me.

#squiggle answers #megop #ty for the?question #hope that explains my idw megop obsession

[sailingonthewindowsill]

Content (An Our Flag Means Death Fanfic Snippet)

SPOILERALERT: This story contains quite heavy spoilers for Our Flag Means Death up to episode 10, be warned!

TW: Contains thoughts of physical violence and a lot of cursing

So, this is a little AU/thought play of how a certain scene of ep 10 might have changed if Izzy had not had his final outburst of toxic masculinity but somewhat more self-conciousness. Just needed to get that out of my system. You can keep spelling errors ;) (and please excuse any weird phrasing or strange sentences and punctuation, English is not my native language but I tried to do my best).

So, here we go,

enjoy!

I could not take it anymore. Not a second longer was I able to stand there in the corner, listening to Edward mumbling something about how wholesome it was to clean up the room. As if any of this mess would have been wholesome. Nothing of it even made sense: not the exquisit green and gold panelling of this far too luxurious quarters, not the stupid little library full of books whose gold-studded spines seemed to mock me whenever I had to enter this room; tantalizing and disgusting they laughed at me, a constant reminder of Bonnets presence, even if he himself now was finally gone. What he left behind was worse. A thousand disgusting, cheesy decorations, all the ornate candlesticks and figurines, screaming of the soft little rich boy who owned them, the drapings and curtains and tablecloths with their colourful patterns and exquisite embroidery, this aggregation of random stuff that had no actual business being aboard a fucking pirate ship.

What made this living hell even worse was the soft whisteling of my boss collecting empty rum bottles in what seemed to be a maidens basket, made only for delicate flowers or some more unnecessary cloth. The man I had sailed with for so many years and which I had now trouble recognizing in this in this new, much too tidy, almost juvenile appearance, drowning in the awful red robe whose mere existence would have made him choke back in the old days.

It made me choke. Looking at him hurt, even though I could not tell why exactly. Was it just the sickening softness that Bonnet’s presence had imprinted on him? Were it the shadows under his eyes that spoke volumes about what he had spent the last few days doing? The fact that he had been weeping for that ungrateful canaille who had left him behind at the first opportunity to return to his cushy, soft life without so much as a second thought about what he had abandoned? Of course I was glad to be rid of that unbearable imbecile. But as much as I hated to even think about it, the way Stede Bonnet had dumped Edward made me even angrier, if that was possible, than the alien man who was standing in front of me right now.

„Izzy?“

I totally had missed the question, trying to avoid the pathetic sight by reluctantly flipping through one of Bonnet‘s books. Not just any book, though. The letters on the cover had felt like a punch in the stomach and the lines blurred before my eyes as if I was blacking out – or was I crying? – as I came upon the illustration. An almost grotesque woodcut, rough, foreign, yet in a way so familiar that it hurt even more. Blackbeard, the caption read, but I could not bear to look at it, precisely because it was so accurate. Instead I tried to meet Edwards eyes, probably hoping to find some glimpse of that icy, frightful impatience, that on-the-edge tension I had seen so often when he called my name like that. It turned out to be a mistake.

No impatience, no anger, no trace of that slightly unsettling, deeply impressive, unwarranted wild fire that used to chill me to the bone. The familiar dark eyes looked completely different in the beardless, much too soft face. Their expression was itself far too soft. It was not Edward who was looking at me, it was Stede. Stupid fucking Stede Bonnet, again. How I hated him.

Gripping the book tighter, my fingernails digging into the cover as if I wanted to tear it apart the same way it tore me apart, I stared back at that scumbag, desperately trying to find my voice again.

„I’m gonna speak plainly“, I declared more calmy than I would have thought possible, and took half a step toward him, maybe expecting - or hoping? - that he would come at me after all. But Edward only nodded mildly, still far too understanding, and added another bottle to his collection with a soft clink.

„Wonderful“, Stede Bonnet said with Edwards voice, „you know we share our thoughts on this ship.“

Again, I was so taken aback that it took me a moment to find the right words, and for a moment all I could do was stare at him, the way he patiently waited for my judgment, faintly smiling as though he expected me to say something nice. No sign of my captain, who had never given the least fuck about what his crew were thinking. But maybe that was exactly the problem.

„I should have let the English kill you.“ There it was, all my disappointment in that simple statement. It cut deep, I could see it in his face, the way he slightly rised is brow to the faintest knockoff of a scowl, but even more I felt it. As if my words were a double-edged blade and I just cut myself open. But I had passed the line now, so I might as well keep going. Wasn't that what Bonnet wanted? Talk it through as a crew. Only that I had never felt so alone.

„This – whatever it is that you have become – is a fate worse than death.“, I added, letting out all the contempt that consumed me from the inside out as if someone had set my guts on fire.

That little scoff, the hurtful smile that flashed over his face, it cut even deeper. He knows, it shot through my head, he knows exactly. Or was it my heart, throbbing with pain, cramping so badly I almost could not breath, now clasping that book like a lifeline, so anxiously waiting for the answer as if my life depended on it. In a way, it did.

„I am still Blackbeard“, that alien man declared with a glimpse of the familiar Edward-kind of confidence, maybe even the slightest hint of a warning trembling through his voice. Don’t try me, dog. It was almost there. But was it? Or was it just what I wanted to hear?

NO, I wanted to scream at him, dramatically ripping the page with the real Blackbeard out of that stupid book and throwing it into his face. This, THIS is Blackbeard!, it echoed in my head, my own voice, distorted with anger and pain, while Edward was just looking at the picture with this big, innocent, girly eyes as if he did not even recognize it. I wanted to hurt him so badly, let him feel all the rage that had built up over the last weaks, give back at least some of the pain it had inflicted on me watching him throw aside everything he was, throw me aside, me and the years of loyal service and what I had thought was friendship. All for the first best dumbass who happened to come along, simply because he was more interesting than anything I could offer him. Oh yes, I had deceived myself when I told Edward the story of how this incompetent idiot Bonnet had deprived me of my spoils by mere luck.

THIS is Blackbeard. Not some namby pamby in a silk gown pining for his boyfriend!

He would probably hear how jealous I was, and I hated the thought, but that was my fucking problem all along. And it would not matter. If he was right, if he told the truth – if he was Blackbeard after all – he would be at my throat before I would have finished my pining for the past, for the time when it had been just me and him against the world. It was so pathetic that I even felt this way, but far worse that I had let it come this far. I seriously had the wish to provoke him until I had the unmistakable proof before my eyes that he was still in there. I desperately needed to see him. My Edward.

Blackbeard is my captain, I would then go on, when I finally saw the cold fire in his eyes again, the beast that slumbered deep down in the abyss of his soul, the darkness that mothers warned their children about. The part of him that made me feel strong, almost invincible when he was around, even though it was frightening as fuck. I had learned to deal with it, even enjoy the thrill, to endure the omnipresent threat that he might turn against me the next second because I somehow failed him. I had even been proud that I could bear the tension, proud that he trusted me to channel and translate this concentrated amount of irrationality for the crew.

I serve Blackbeard. Not Edward. Edward better watch his fucking step. It was a promise, a promise of loyalty to my captain, but also to myself. Don’t let him become weak.

But it was a lie, wasn’t it? That was why it hurt so much. Because I had failed us. Even worse: I let him get hurt.

It is my job to make sure that Edward is content. The memory flashed through my head, leaving a burning trace behind my eyes that still had trouble to focus on a certain point. I had said it myself. Edward, not Blackbeard. As. It. Had. Always. Been. Had I not known all the time that Blackbeard was just a mask, as much theatre performance and acting as what Stede Fucking Bonnet had the nerve to call a fuckery? And he adores you, memory-Izzy went on, punishing me, Why, I will never understand, but he does. And then fucking Bonnet’s stupid, clueless face. This fucker hadn't even known what treasure he held in his hands. But I had not realized either.

Only now I could see that I had lost this battle long before. Even when I had challenged Bonnet to that duel, trying to finish Edwards unfinished business – trying to force him to keep up his play – I had already lost. All I had achieved was driving my captain, my friend, even further away – with my own fear of loosing him. Whoever he was, exactly, since my fantasy of him obviously was nothing more that that – a fantasy, the delusion of a lonely fool who was overwhelmed with his own darkness and therefore desperately needed someone even darker, even more dangerous by his side. Someone stronger. Safer.

That was why I hated „Ed“ so much. Because I could not relate in any way to that unsettling amount of kindness and goodness that Stede Bonnet had unearthed in the man I thought I knew oh-so-well, and I hated them both even more for the fact that I had not been able to do anything even remotely comparable for Edward. I could not let go of my idea of him because it would have meant to let go of my idea of who I was and that scared the shit out of me.

With a muffled clatter, the book fell from my numb fingers. It felt like hours that we had stood there in silence, Edward warily – or was he worried? – watching me as if he expected the attack I had launched in my mind. I was doing it again, wasn’t I? Making him put up his mask, for me. Locking myself out from the real person that was or was not Blackbeard. Not the Blackbeard I wanted him to be, at least. In a strange, twisted way he was making sure I was content. But wouldn’t that mean he needed me, after all? Wanted me here? I did not dare to ask.

„No“, I finally managed to say quietly, my own voice sounding strange to my ears, hollow and tired. It is my job to make sure that Edward is content, it echoed through my mind again. That was all I had ever been: his loyal dog. And if I could be content with that we might even be able to get over Stede Bonnet. Together.

„No, Edward, you are not.“, I declared, emphasis on his name, trying to make clear that it was okay without having to say it out loud. You don’t have to be Blackbeard, I am okay with that. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.

He stared at me, motionless, as if he could not comprehend the meaning of my words, while I slowly bent down to pick that damned book from the ground, open it up and carefully rip out the page with the picture before putting it back on the shelf where it belonged. Clasping the paper tightly so that he would not need to see that horrific idol I had made him, I gathered all the strength I had left for the words my own rage had made so terribly necessary.

„I’m sorry.“ Two and a half words, but they seemed to be stuck in my throat, clenching themselves into the flesh that very much deserved to be ripped open, harder to get out in the open than anything before. Apologizing seemed to become my new thing with the captain, apologizing from the horrible things that came out of my mouth when I was hurt. „Of course I don’t want the English to kill you. I’d rather die myself.“

I die seeing you like this, anyway.

Reluctantly, I turned to the door, deep down hoping – or fearing – he would say something instead of just looking at me with this obscure expression somewhere between hurt and wonder. Oh how I wished for I could take back everything I said before, and how at the same time I hated myself for that weakness.

„Let me know if you need something, Boss“, I said before I cut the retreat, scrapping up my last pieces of dignity to make it out of here before I could say anything stupid. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs for some reason, while I tried to think straight. What next? Get rid of that ugly picture and then – what? Leave for good? Or just –

„Iggy!“, exclaimed the last person on earth – why, besides Bonnet, of course – I wanted to see now, when I bumped into him just outside the captains quarters. Stupid fucking writer-boy.

„Fuck off, Spriggs!“, I spat into his grinning face with all the contempt I had the strength left for, and tried to make my way past him, but he blocked my path and sneered down on me in a way that stirred the desire to peel that fucking grin of his face piece by piece. Or feed him one of his oh-so-talented artist fingers. 

„Need a hug, little man?“

For a second, the absurdity of the question – not to mention the wording – froze me to the ground, leaving me even more speachless than the encounter with Edward had, but the stonehard ball of paper relentlessly cutting its way into my hand reminded me I had a task to fulfill. Yet still –

„Why the fuck –“, it was so ridiculous! – „Why would I want a fucking hug?“ From anyone, but you little slut in particular?!

Immediately, the boy swapped his stupid grin for his best bitch-please expression and somehow managed to make me even more angry, gesturing at my face in this annoyingly feminine way of his.

„Because“, he said softly, as if I were to stupid to understand, „you are crying, dizzy Izzy.“ He now looked almost friendly. Disgusting.

I glared at him, petrified, trying to look intimidating in some way, but the urge to punch him in the stomach was suddenly gone when I slowly realized – He. Was. Right.

„… FUCK.“

#our flag means death #ofmd fic #edward teach #blackbeard #dizzy izzy #izzy our flag means death #izzy hands #ofmd fanfic #ofmd au #ed x izzy #izzy hands fanfic

[fallonfrisk21]

Reveal the Jaigarh Fortification Holiday Package: Check out Royalty Amidst History

Introduction: Welcome to the realm of regality and heritage encapsulated within the majestic limits of Jaigarh Fort. Nestled amidst typically the Aravalli hills around Jaipur, Rajasthan, this kind of imposing fortress stands as a testament in order to the valor in addition to grandeur with the Rajputana dynasty. Our Jaigarh Fort Holiday Package beckons adventure-seekers, record enthusiasts, and traditions aficionados to begin on an enriching journey through period. Discovering Jaigarh Fortification: Unraveling the Rich History (H2) Jaigarh Fort, built-in 1726 by Maharaja Jai Singh II, is a captivating share of Rajasthan's storied past. This H2 subheading succinctly features readers to the particular historical significance associated with the fortress. Exploring Architectural Marvels (H3) Delve into typically the architectural splendor associated with Jaigarh Fort, seen as its sturdy ramparts, intricate lattice work, in addition to strategic watchtowers. This kind of subheading invites travelers to marvel at the architectural genius preserved within typically the fortress. Immersive Encounters: Heritage Walks plus Guided Tours (H2) Start a fascinating journey through period with the curated traditions walks and advised tours of Jaigarh Fortification. Traverse the labyrinthine corridors, royal sections, and ancient armories while unraveling reports of valor in addition to intrigue. Spectacular Sun Views (H3) Witness the ethereal attractiveness of the sunset from the vantage points of Jaigarh Fort, offering panoramic vistas of the particular surrounding landscape embellished with hues regarding orange and silver. This subheading portray a vivid image of the spectacular views awaiting guests. Luxurious Accommodations: Palatial Stays (H2) Indulge in the lap involving luxury with each of our handpicked accommodations located next to Jaigarh Fort. Experience regal hospitality amidst opulent adjustments, ensuring a truly memorable stay that complements your search of the castle. Culinary Delights (H3) Savor the flavours of Rajasthan with this gastronomic delights, presenting a delectable assortment of traditional dishes and exotic delicacies. This subheading tantalizes the taste sprouts of travelers trying to find an authentic culinary arts experience. Engaging Routines: Archery and Tools Demonstrations (H2) Partake in exhilarating archery sessions and weaponry demonstrations inside the premises of Jaigarh Fortification, channeling your inner warrior amidst typically the historical ambiance. This particular subheading highlights the interactive experiences provided to visitors. Standard Rajasthani Performances (H3) Immerse yourself inside the vibrant culture associated with Rajasthan with live performances featuring folks music, dance, and theatrical arts, offering a glimpse into the region's rich traditions and artistic cultures. FAQs (Frequently Inquired Questions): What will be the best months to visit Jaigarh Fort? The excellent time to check out Jaigarh Fort is definitely during the wintertime months from Oct to March when the weather is usually pleasant for exploring the fortress and their surroundings. Jaigarh Fort Tour Package ; Jaigarh Fort Travel Package ; Jaigarh Fort Travel Agent ; Jaigarh Fort Travel Services ; Jaigarh Fort Holiday Package ?

While certain places of Jaigarh Fortification may pose availability challenges due to wrinkled terrain and high steps, efforts have got been made to provide wheelchair accessibility to main destinations and facilities. Are usually photography permits required for Jaigarh Fort? Yes, visitors have to obtain photography licences for capturing photos within Jaigarh Fortification premises. These licences can be acquired on-site or by way of authorized vendors. May I purchase souvenirs at Jaigarh Fort? Yes, visitors could explore souvenir shops offering a variety of handicrafts, artifacts, and traditional Rajasthani memorabilia near Jaigarh Fort. Exist bathroom facilities available at Jaigarh Fort? Yes, bathroom facilities are obtainable at designated locations within Jaigarh Fort to the convenience of visitors. Do they offer a dress code to become followed while browsing Jaigarh Fort? While there is no specific dress code enforced from Jaigarh Fort, you should dress modestly plus comfortably, especially taking into consideration the cultural significance with the site. Conclusion: Start a captivating journey through history plus heritage with each of our Jaigarh Fort Vacation Package, offering some sort of seamless mixture of high-class, culture, and adventure. Explore the timeless charm of Rajasthan's iconic landmark while creating cherished reminiscences that last the entire life.

#Jaigarh Fort Tour Package ; Jaigarh Fort Travel Package ; Jaigarh Fort Travel Agent ; Jaigarh Fort Travel Services ; Jaigarh Fort Holiday Pa

[drwhotht]

Double Doctor Dastardly Danger

Double Doctor Dastardly Danger The Tour Honchos have just finished a watch of ‘Waking the Dead,’ a cold-case, and increasingly sour, procedural which ran for 9 series on BBC1 and ended in 2011.  The final story, ‘Waterloo,’ featured an unexpected dual dose of Doctors, and they were both baddies. Paul McGann was the most prominent, playing a very senior cop in the Met, but who was ultimately revealed to be under the thumb of mob-like boss David Bradley.  The best part though, instead of having a near miss (or misses) in terms of their screentime–there are plenty of examples of those out there–viewers were ‘treated’ to a couple of scenes of them together. But more intriguing, given the long sweep of history which the Tour dabbles in, is the, for lack of a better term, near-Doctor-like status for both actors.  Of course this characterization is quite unfair to McGann, who was, and is, a Doctor, one whose all-too-brief glimpses, set 17 years apart, tantalized more than informed.  An oh-what-could-have-been Doctor. Bradley on the other hand is an almost-Doctor who made it into nu-Who somewhat indirectly by playing William Hartnell in An Adventure in Space and Time before going ‘legit’ alongside Peter Capaldi in Twice Upon a Time.  Although the Tour has some problems with cognitive dissonance in terms of being a faux-Hartnell, we guess it still counts in some oblique way. To that end we’ve put together a small-ish gallery of David Bradley images.  Guess that makes Bradley ‘legit’ after all, doesn’t it? ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ Time ticks until the short sprint which will comprise Season 14 soon. gotta it all those loose ends tied up before that happens. Tags and categories: Who Not Who!, Paul McGann, An Adventure in Space and Time, The Enemy WIthin, Twice Upon a Time, William Hartnell, Peter Capaldi, David Bradley via WordPress https://ift.tt/jgOvR5t April 25, 2024 at 07:00AM

[arthurdrakoni]

Ministry of Space presents a tantalizing glimpse into an alternate manned British Space Program. This is my review.

Straight alternate history comics are still relatively rare in the world of comics. By straight alternate history, I meaning ones that don’t involve stuff like aliens, the supernatural, or time travel. Don’t get me wrong, you can tell some great stories using those things. In the world of alternate history, we call such things alien space bats stories. Still, there is something to be said for pure alternate history.

Few though they are, there are some gems if you know where to look for them. Case in point, The Ministry of Space. It is set in a world where the British army captured German rocket scientists and brought them back to Britain following World War II. The British government used a black budget to establish a manned space program. We follow an assortment of snapshots of various moments within the history of this alternate British Space Program. We also get flash forwards to 2001, where the Truth about the black budget is threatening to leak.

I absolutely loved this comic, and I’m not the only one. The Ministry of Space is, thus far, the only comic book to win the Sidewise Award for Alternate History. The Sidewise is an annual award that recognizes excellence in alternate history fiction. It is like the Eisners or the Hugos, but for alternate history.

The artwork is absolutely gorgeous; I could just look at it all day. Everything is very sleek and Jet Age in design. Many of the vehicles and missions seen in the comic are based on actual proposals by scientists such as Wernher von Braun. It is mentioned that Von Braun was among the scientists that the British captured, so this isn't all that surprising. The technology really embodies that optimistic can-do attitude you see in a lot of science fiction from the 1950s and 1960s.

The comic is only three issues long, which is a shame. I wish it had been longer and that we’d gotten a more detailed look at the alternate British Space Program. Because what we do get to see is utterly fascinating and I’d love to know and see more. Now, many of you up on your history are probably wondering how the post-war British government had the money to pay for a space program. Oh, don’t worry, there is a, rather dark, explanation. But telling more would be spoilers.

Let me give you a few highlights of this alternate British Space Program: breaking the sound barrier (1946), first satellite (1948), first manned spaceflight (1950), first space station (construction from 1953-1956), first mission to the Moon (1957), and first mission to Mars (1969).

So yeah, though it is short and I wish it had been longer, I still love The Ministry of Space. I love alternate histories about manned space flight, and this one provided a very fun premise.

Have you read The Ministry of Space? If so, what did you think?

Link to the full review on my blog is here: http://drakoniandgriffalco.blogspot.com/2017/09/comic-review-ministry-of-space.html?m=1

#alternate history #review #comic books #comics review #graphic novels #graphic novel review #graphic novel #science fiction #scifi #Ministry of Space #warren ellis #great britain #British Space Program #Manned Spaceflight #united kingdom #UK #space exploration #space #outer space #science fiction comic #raygun gothic #atompunk #dieselpunk #Image #image comics #alt history

[graywyvern]

( via via @xxLONGOLONGOxx / via )

Paisley Cat.

"For a Wordfarer (Englyn Unodl Crwca)

Speak them slowly, space them so: Say them soft, or sing them low; Words whose way we may not know any more. Still, before the days go,

Sing them low, or say them soft. Such a little while is left To counterpoint the soundless drift of Time, Let rhyming fall and lift.

Space them so, with lift and fall Decent in their interval, Late, archaic, who could say?--but always Graceful, musical."

--Rolfe Humphries

Roof Rack.

Remembering the summer after i graduated from high school, when i was engrossed in the most challenging mathematical calculation i ever attempted: to integrate the formulas of the Lorentz-FitzGerald Effect (which i could only ever find in most skeletal form in any reference book), so i could calculate directly the subjective & objective travel times of relativistic acceleration (such as Carl Sagan, for example, gives in several of his works, in graphic format). I covered page after page with algebraic transformations of the basic calculus equation; it was just a little bit beyond me, & the tantalizing frustration of it was exquisite. Finally i put it into a form that i could use, & immediately set out to calculate the travel times to all my favorite stars. This information which seemed so important at the time, i have never found any use for.     And now i think the whole genre of humans travelling to other planets & interacting with alien intelligences, should be recognized as (1) a metaphor for colonialism, & (2 a culdesac for storytelling. We, who hardly can recognize the Other in humans who are very much different from us, & not at all in such highly intelligent species as chimpanzees, elephants, & the higher cetaceans, do not deserve to meet anything stranger; & the only story of it that could be told, is the same tragedy of Earth. I see only two fruitful branches of scifi to further explore (& perhaps a third, as yet dimly adumbrated--): descriptions of the near future that actually take account of such necessary debacles as global warming, & hence help acclimate us to beginning to construct some non-oblivious response; & descriptions of hypothetical nonhuman cultures, such that other modes of being can be explored in a way that shows us how arbitrary our own is; lastly, something that J G Ballard in an illuminating if offhand remark, has pointed the way to; "...I'd like to see more psycho-literary ideas [in scifi], ...synthetic psychologies and space-times, more of the sombre half-worlds glimpsed in the paintings of schizophrenics..." --This latter, though, might be thought of as what has always been the province of poetry: mystification.

🐮映画「牛ブラ日和」より🐮.

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Insatiable -  Part Three

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x OFC

Word count: 2k

Tags: Wolf shifter AU, Supernatural AU, Slow burn, Mating bond, Canon typical sex and violence, Attempted kidnapping, Blood, Injury, Hurt/comfort, Eventual smut

Summary: You’ve travelled the world looking for home, but what if it finds you?

Author’s Note: I hope people don’t mind the shorter chapters, but they’re helping me stay motivated! 

Missed Part One? You can read it here.

Moodboard by @acrossthesestars​

It takes 27 seconds to walk around the perimeter of the cramped living room in your rented apartment. You know this because over the last three days of your doctor-ordered rest, you’ve nearly worn a track into its scuffed wooden floor with your pacing. It kills you to know that there’s an entire city outside your door, one bursting with life and color and new experiences. You’re dying to roam the botanical gardens and visit the many crumbling ruins of centuries past, to visit the Basilica or hike in Parque Nacional Volcán Irazú or go white water rafting or-

But no. You’re stuck here, with nothing but a tantalizing glimpse of the world outside and your laptop for company. Sighing, you reach for said laptop. Its profusion of colorful stickers (mostly from coffee shops and bars) are more than merely decorative, hiding various dings and cracks from where it’s slipped onto gravel paths or been hastily shoved in a bag as you ran to catch one flight or another. Faithful as ever, it whirs to life when you power it on and you resist the urge to stroke it like a pet.

Maybe you have been cooped up for too long.

There’s not much to do online that you haven’t already taken care of. No new emails other than spam, nothing new to share on your blog or Instagram. You find yourself scrolling mindlessly through your newsfeed, nothing snagging your attention- until a headline jumps out at you.

Famed Cryptozoologist Found Murdered - Police Baffled By Bloody Crime Scene

Immediately hooked, you scan the article, gleaning bits and pieces as you go. The man in question, a professor at some obscure college and an author of several books about cryptids and other extreme possibilities, had been found in his home literally torn limb from limb. It’s a grisly story, one mercifully free of pictures- except one.

There is a single photograph taken at a dizzying angle, showing a bloodied carpet presumably at the fringe of the crime scene. Even through the chaotic smears of rusty blood, one detail is crystal clear- the paw print of a massive, clawed beast. 

Detectives have reached out to several prominent  biologists but as of yet, none of them have come to a consensus regarding the species that could have left this grim mark - especially as the killing took place not in the remote wilds of some distant forest, but in the heart of downtown Seattle. 

Some have raised the possibility of this being merely a sick joke on the part of a deranged killer. Others are claiming it as the work of one of the very creatures the professor spent his life in search of. 

“Holy shit.” Before you’d been bitten by the travel bug, these were the sorts of stories that captivated your imagination. True crime, sure, but more the hints of mystery lingering at the edges of mundane life. You’d spent an entire summer engrossed in the occult section of your library, devouring anything you could get your hands on about folklore, magic, and things that went bump in the night. To your young mind it made a certain kind of sense - of course there were secrets you simply weren’t allowed to know yet. If you could only find your way in, through a wardrobe or a fairy ring or the right hidden door, you’d be rewarded with all that forbidden knowledge and vast new worlds would open to you. 

Even now a part of you wishes you could still believe the rumors that whisper along the fringes of the Internet: Mysterious disappearances. Hauntings. Shady government agents waiting in the wings to erase the merest hint of anything strange or out of place. Mysterious beings with abilities beyond what even you could dream of.

If only. 

Even when you were escaping into books about mermaids and dragons and werewolves, part of you knew all too well that the only monsters that prowled the night were the human kind- like the man who’d tried to drag a terrified girl into his cab and left you with a gash over your eye that will almost certainly scar for having the temerity to tell him “no.” It’s a nasty reminder that nowhere on the planet is that much different than any other and that no matter where you go, the world is full of predators like him. 

Well, at least there are some good people out there, too. 

Time and again your mind drifts back to Frankie and Santi as you sift through the fractured memories of that night. They come back to you in dreams, tantalizing snatches of half-remembered conversations.

“ - take all these pictures yourself?”

“You really free climbed that mountain? Shit.”

“I’ll get you some more water.”

“Oh you haven’t lived until you’ve surfed Ponta Preta. One time Santi wiped out so hard he-“

“Just finished a job in-“

“Come on sweetheart, don’t fall asleep yet. Tell us some more about backpacking in Banff.”

“ - sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

“ - says she doesn’t have any painkillers.”

“You stay here, I’ll go.”

“Está bien, duerma un poco.”

“You’re looking at her like-“

“Dulces sueños. Cuídate.”

Echoes of conversations that may or may not have happened aren’t the only things crowding your sleeping mind. You’re consumed with the phantom feeling of Frankie’s careful hands on yours and the ghost of Santi’s hungry kiss heating your blood, the press of their bodies surrounding you, the comforting weight of them caging you in and freeing you all at once. You’ve woken up gasping more than one morning, sweat dripping down your spine and their moaned names on your lips. 

That night is a blur, and it’s nearly impossible to untangle truth from dreams. The only parts you know didn’t happen are the stolen kisses, the hot tangle of limbs and ragged panting you can almost feel against your ear just before you wake. Those are purely the work of your fevered imagination, your wish that you’d met them some other way than with you laying concussed on the sidewalk. But no, the one truth you know down to your bones is that they’d done nothing more than help you get home safe and leave before you could ask them why. 

The call from local authorities that you’d been half expecting and half dreading had never come and you’re left hoping that means everything is sorted, that there were enough other witnesses to tell them what happened without your fractured recollections. Then again, at least you would have been contributing something, rather than sitting on your ass. God, you can’t remember ever staying in one place for this long. You’d planned to be on your way to Ecuador or Peru by now, the restless urge to move on clawing at the back of your mind.

Impatience grows and snarls until you’re straining with it. If you don’t get out of here for a bit you may actually lose your mind. Slamming the laptop shut, you stalk towards the small bedroom and your luggage. You can take things slow. Stroll down to the nearest bar for a quiet drink. No more excitement, no adventures, just you and a glass of wine and your battered copy of your favorite book. Even making that decision raises your spirits and by the time you slip out the apartment door, carefully locking it behind you, you’re practically bouncing on the balls of your feet, eager to see where the night takes you. 

A gentle wind caresses your cheeks, warm and scented with night-blooming flowers, beckoning you into the heart of the city. You're heading for a bar you’d spotted when you’d first arrived in Cartago, one tucked away on a quiet side street, the perfect site for a low-key evening, but you’re in no rush to get there. You meander slowly, basking in the atmosphere. 

In the midst of idly window-shopping, the hairs on the back of your neck creep up. You whirl around, but there’s no one behind you aside from the usual bustle of people returning home from work or heading out for a night on the town. No one staring at you balefully or even feigning casual disinterest. Still, it’s hard to shake the sensation of being watched, and you hope the events of the last few days haven’t rattled you more than you’d realized. 

“Get it together,” you mutter, nails digging into your palms before you notice, exhaling slowly and forcing yourself to release the tension in your shoulders. “Don’t let him win.” The all-too familiar mantra helps to clear your mind and, with a shake of your head, you set out for the bar once more.

Turning the last corner, you come to a jerking halt when you see what’s waiting for you. You’ve locked eyes with a massive dog, one whose shaggy brown and cream coat looks far too thick for this climate. Your rigid limbs relax a bit when the creature, his golden eyes fixed on yours, wags his tail once, twice, before lying down with his head on his gigantic paws- the very picture of a well-mannered house pet, despite his size and wild appearance. The image is so bizarre that it startles a laugh from you. 

“Very convincing.”

His ears swivel to attention, alert and questioning.

“You almost don’t look like you’re about to ask me what I’ve got in my basket, or how far it is to my grandmother’s cottage in the woods.”

The tail swishes once again and he opens his mouth in a doggy grin- one that reveals a glimpse of fearsomely sharp teeth set in powerful jaws.

“Ok,” you chuckle, edging past and resisting the mad urge to try to stroke him. “I definitely needed the night out if I’m standing here having a conversation with you about fairy tales. Go find some water and air conditioning before you collapse- you can’t be comfortable under all that fur.”

As you’re moving past him, the dog huffs and you’d swear it almost sounds amused. 

You make it the rest of the way without incident, creepy or canine. The bar is just as you remembered it: a small patio slightly crowded with tables, chairs, and potted palm with strings of lights running between them and bathing everything in a golden glow. French doors stand open and inviting, showing you the way to a bar lined with stools and beyond that, several cozy booths. The night is still young but the place is already full and dozens of people are dancing to the lively beat pounding out of several large speakers. 

You slip into the throng with a sense of relief, glad to be out in the world again. A friendly server leads you to a tiny corner booth, returning in just a few minutes to hand you the drink you’d ordered. Just as you’re settling in with your book, movement near the entrance catches your attention. 

Two familiar figures have just entered the bar-  and they’re headed right for your table.

Part Four

#Frankie 'Catfish' Morales #Frankie Morales x F!reader #Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader #Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia #Santiago Garcia x Reader #Santiago Garcia x You #Santiago Garcia x F!Reader #Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader #Fic #My fic #Maybe pinky swears are a thing in Insatiable

[deep-spaghetti]

Something interesting about the way Toby Fox writes his more obscure alternate paths is the way he assumes a lot about what the player knows. Snowgrave and the No Mercy route share commonality not only in their grim tone but also in the way they forego establishing things that act as payoffs later. It’s interesting because his approach isn’t really to ignore a traditional 3 act structure so much as it is slicing and splicing it.

“It’s a beautiful day outside” is a parallel to a line that doesn’t even appear directly within the narrative of No Mercy and so the warping of it from Asgore’s “Perfect weather for a game of catch.” into Sans’ “Should be burning in hell.” doesn’t even necessarily exist to a hypothetical player who did No Mercy before anything else. Snowgrave doesn’t even show you Spamton until the very end, until then he’s just a dumpster with a weird speech impediment. A lot of the big payoffs and crazy twists are, at least contained within their own runs, not even really established at all. It’s as if the story started in act 2 and just assumed you knew what was going on, and yet this works.

One could argue that Undertale DOES in fact have a 3 act structure, but that each act is a full 3 act narrative within itself, because of the nature of what a “save” or a “run” means in the story. The average player’s act 1 might be a neutral run, or even several neutral runs. Within this “act”, they are introduced to and acquire an understanding of the meta rules behind the otherwise seemingly traditional concept of the save file, as well as how the choice to fight or act does very much affect the narrative. Act 2 would likely be a pacifist run, an application of all this knowledge to try and score the best, “true” ending, after being unsatisfied with the neutral runs’ bittersweet farewell phone calls and lackluster “roll credits” vibe.

This would make act 3, obviously, No Mercy. No Mercy does not establish certain things because Toby Fox knows, or at least very much expects, that you already know what’s happening, what you’re doing, and why. I feel like the way the post-pacifist True Reset is presented almost frames it as some kind of tantalizing, selfish indulgence. Coupled with the way you’re only really given a brief glimpse into the new lives of all these characters and this world you just spent all that time falling in love with, it really feels like the intent was to make the player want to have another go. To see more, whatever they can get. I feel like it really sets you up for going for No Mercy.

To return to where I was going with this, I think No Mercy’s “payoffs” are so impactful in spite of their lack of self-contained setup, because everything from all your other runs “comes together” by kind of not coming together at all. The fact that it entirely removes certain memorable moments that appear in literally any other run regardless of what you might do is something I see as a final, ultimate way to cash out on that overarching theme of the importance of your choices. You’ve stopped exploring the world and are now exhausting it. The narrative shifts from the characters (due in no small part to your systemic “removal” of them) and focuses more on you.

Nobody’s bringing up Asgore throughout your entire journey, or warning you about Undyne. These things don’t get setup not only because of the fact that in-universe anyone who might have been there to spout that exposition is actively fleeing from you, but also because the game KNOWS the only reason you got here is because you’ve seen it before, that you know this world and it’s characters so well that all that’s left for you to see is their total destruction. The story you chose was to destroy it, to forcibly remove the actors and be left with an empty stage. No Mercy doesn’t have nearly as much of a second act as other runs. Snowdin is almost typical, there’s still some skeleton antics, albeit interrupted, and Waterfall still sees you encountering Undyne and is otherwise pretty characteristically quiet, but once you reach Hotland and The CORE, nothing really happens there anymore. You pretty much skip straight from the midpoint to the climax and there wasn’t even really a first act. You’ve almost literally slashed right through the story, and I think that in and of itself is a huge story moment.

To reiterate, in allowing you to completely restructure the story, Undertale’s No Mercy route drives home the weight of your choices in an extremely unique way. The fact that it is assumed that the player knows certain things about the world and they are treated as such almost feels like being called out. Like Toby Fox is saying “So THIS is what you wanted to do after putting in all that effort to help all of them? I KNOW you already got the best ending, was that not enough for you? Couldn’t you have just let them be?” It is a truly masterful approach; upturning traditional narrative structure and using it as leverage for a theme and uniquely memorable moments that simply would not hold the same weight if presented in any other way.

#undertale #deltarune #Snowgrave #no mercy #Toby Fox